#i did these a while ago now but i figured there would probably be folks that would appreciate them on tumblr hehe

[kalamity-jayne]

Sorry for asking but I am a cis male teenager (well, I thought I was.) but lately I have realized I think I might be a trans girl? I am very scared to drop my masculinity. How did you find out you were trans if that’s okay to ask?

Of course it's ok! I am always happy to help someone who is questioning their gender. However, this is actually a pretty loaded question, because while there is a lot of talk about "when my egg cracked" in trans circles, figuring out you're trans isn't always attributable to any one singular event. Some folks might crack through and emerge from their egg in one swift motion but that is not true for everyone, it certainly wasn't true for me. Sure I could tell about the moment the first crack in my shell appeared, but a single crack in the egg is a far cry from actually breaking out. For many it's a process that can involve a series of revelations and tends to require lots of self reflection and learning how to love yourself. So, there is no quick and easy answer for this. However, I think my story will have a number of different lessons relevant to your question.

Before getting into all that though, I feel I must point out that cisgender folks rarely ask themselves these kinds of questions and when they do entertain these thoughts it's brief and comes with very little agony. The fact you have gone so far as to reach out to trans woman for advice, the fact the you are clearly worried by the prospect of being trans, is a pretty clear indicator that you probably are trans. Regardless of whether you actually are transgender or not, I want you to know that either way, it's ok. You will be ok, no matter what conclusions you come to.

Now, the story of how I figured out I was trans. Bear in mind, the first “aha moment” was 20 yrs ago and things were very different back then. I was about 17yrs old at the time and the term transgender didn't have the currency then that it does now, there wasn't the robust set of terminology that we have today, there were far fewer resources to turn to, no social media, and the overall public opinion was significantly more hostile towards anything LGBT. Anyway, more below the cut.

I didn't follow the typical trans narrative of the time in the sense that, as a child I didn't really care about my clothes so long as my favorite cartoon characters were on 'em, I liked toys typically marketed towards boys, I looked like a boy and everyone referred to me as a boy. So I thought I was a boy. However, I do have a vague memory from early childhood, somewhere between the ages of 4-6, of sneaking into my mother’s room and stealing a pair of her satin underwear and trying it on (it surely would have been too big on me but I remember liking the texture of the fabric) and hiding it under my bed. This memory has since been confirmed during my adulthood by my brother who shared a room with me at the time and had apparently found the hidden stash.

From an early age I was explicitly shunted towards masculinity. I was regularly told to “stop acting like a girl,” and “quit crying like a girl,” and even at one point to “stop walking like a girl,” by my peers and one of my brothers. By the time I was a teenager I was doing my best to be as masculine as possible going so far as joining the highschool wrestling team, a sport that is as homophobic as it is homoerotic, and I hated every minute of it because being manly didn't feel natural to me (and it definitely didn't stop the bullying). It felt like I was trying to ice skate uphill. I fit in but only imperfectly for I was merely acting.

I was also very confused about my sexuality. I thought maybe I was gay or bisexual (turns out the latter) but that didn’t really explain what I was feeling. Around 17yrs old I got curious about transsexuals, thinking maybe the answers would be found there and hoped on to the early and oh so clunky internet. Now I knew of transsexuals conceptually but I didn't know anything about them. Sadly, pornography was really the only reliable way to actually see what a trans body looked like back then. I was stunned because the women I saw did not look at all the way I expected. I was blown away by how so many of them, genitalia aside, looked indistinguishable from cisgender women. And they were all absurdly beautiful. I felt an immediate attraction but there was something else I felt too, envy. And that realization was the first crack in my eggshell.

After that I couldn't get the thought of crossdressing out of my head. So, I dug through a box of my mother's old clothes and took a few items she no longer wore, an old white tennis skirt and a very very 70s sleeveless orange blouse. I was so comfortable in those clothes and when I looked at myself in the mirror I felt good, really good. So, I continued exploring, shaved off all of of my body hair, went to department stores that were open late at night to buy girl clothes (deathly afraid someone would recognize me), I would stay up late at night to watch HBO because at midnight they would occasionally air stuff about trans people, (I remember two documentary shorts in particular and the movie Soldier’s Girl) and I scoured the internet for more information. The internet search brought me to a website called TG list (at least I think that’s what it was called, this was 20yrs ago after all) which was a directory of resources ranging from The Breast Form Store (which still exists!), a myriad of gender identity quizzes (I took nearly every single one), and Susan’s Place.

Susan’s place was one of the few reliable places to hear from actual transgender adults. Unfortunately, while Susan's Place had a lot of useful information the forums there were full of horror stories, a never-ending supply of all the things those women had suffered. So needless to say, there was little to no positivity around transness to give me hope. I was afraid to call myself trans as a result, afraid of what it meant for my life, my future, and my physical safety (you have to remember that back then Mathew Shepard wasn’t old news, his tragedy was practically current events). So I called myself a crossdresser but for reasons I didn't understand at the time I deeply resented that label. I think deep down, no matter how much I tried to deny it and bury it, a part of knew I wanted to be a girl. So when I came out to my parents as a crossdresser and explicitly told them I wasn't trans, that I didn’t have any desire to transition to female, there was that lil voice at the back of my mind calling me a liar. That voice would follow me until my late 20s.

Coming out was a real struggle for me because not only did I think my life would literally be in jeopardy, I thought everyone would think I was making it up, having not followed the stereotypical models of transsexuality. When I came out to my parents they didn't disown me or anything but they were noticeably uncomfortable around me when I was in girl mode. At a certain point I needed their help (credit card) to buy a gaff for tucking and that was when my parents, out of a misguided desire to protect me, pushed me back into the egg. Because of their rejection I spent the rest of highschool and most of my college years trying to hold the egg together with even more denial and by doubling down on masculinity. While I did have some fun during my college years, on balance I was miserable and depressed. I chafed at my male costume and I knew I was lying to myself the entire time, and I hurt myself a great deal.

During my senior year of college I started privately dabbling with crossdressing again, the desire had been nagging at me incessantly. A short time after graduating I met my wife who accepted that side of me and she introduced me to the BDSM/kink community, and the overall culture of nonjudgmental acceptance there cracked the egg for good, because is provided spaces besides my own room where I felt safe being a girl. From that point on I slowly but surely came out of the egg, first calling myself a crossdresser, then genderfluid for awhile, then GENDA passed in NY making me an explicitly protected class and for the next 2 yrs I presented as a they/them genderqueer woman 100% full time without HRT (I was still reluctant to call myself a woman).

I wrestled a long time with the choice to go on HRT. Ultimately that was always a big stumbling block for me. Therapy had gotten me pretty far but I was still afraid of so much and was unsure I would be happy with the changes because my parents had initially rejected me as their daughter in very paternalistic fashion I struggled to trust my own instincts. I still struggle with that sometimes. Eventually, I befriended a trans woman in my neighborhood who pointed out HRT works very slowly and that it takes a long time for any permanent changes to take root. So, she suggested I give it a try and if it didn't feel right I could stop.

I was also taking gender identity quizzes again. Now most of these claim to be diagnostic and those ones a generally misogynistic garbage (they ask stupid questions like, “are you good at math?” and assign a gendered value to the answer) but I happened upon one that started with the disclaimer that it wasn't diagnostic and instead only offered questions that are good to think with. Two questions in particular were very helpful. The first asked, "If you could take a pill that would allow you to wake up tomorrow as a girl, would you take it?" My answer was a hesitant yes, but that yes was bolstered by the next question, "If you could take a pill that would allow you to wake up as a man, in your current body, but without any dysphoria or desires to be feminine, would you take it?" My answer was an emphatic no because that would have felt like killing an important part of myself off. I then at the age of 33yrs old started HRT and 4yrs in I am incredibly happy. That was one of the best decisions I have ever made.

Now, I know that was a lot of fucking text to read but I wrote all of that because I know the prospect of maybe being a trans girl feels scary to you right now but I want to assure you that as daunting as it may seem there is so much about being a trans woman that is full of beauty and joy. I love my trans womanhood and despite the hardships, I wouldn’t give it up for anything. In fact the opposite is true. Knowing what I know now, I would give up almost everything in order to be a woman. So if you feel like you want to give girlhood a try, do it! You can take small incremental steps and you can always stop if it doesn’t feel right, either way you will gain a degree of self knowledge most cisgender people lack completely and that is absolutely priceless! Plus, unlike me when I was a teen, there’s all kinds of resources and information available to you now and an entire community of people ready to help you, and unlike the women in the forums from my past, we aren’t all gloom and doom.

As for your fear of giving up masculinity, don’t let that fear lure you into the denial trap like it did me. Denial is like quicksand, once you’re in it becomes hard to get out, the more you struggle the deeper in you go and it is so very suffocating. And the thing is, you actually don’t have to give it all up. Back when I was presenting full time as woman without HRT, I felt like I had to be ultra feminine all the time, full face of make-up, dress, heels, the whole nine yards. Now that I’m 4 yrs in with HRT I don’t feel that pressure anymore and have since reclaimed certain aspects of masculinity I actually liked. I sill like presenting high femme from time to time but these days I mostly rock a soft butch aesthetic, flannel/t-shirt, jeans and the only makeup I wear daily is just a lil bit of blush. At certain point you become comfortable and realize that gender is just a sandbox to play in and experiment. Masculine and Feminine are just concepts, they aren’t real! so regardless of being cis or trans, don’t let those mere concepts box you in! Just do what feels natural and right to you!

I hope all of that was helpful to you anon, and that at the very least you walk away from this knowing you don’t have to have all of the answers about yourself right now. Now, I don't no the particulars of your situation, so I’m happy to speak with you further if you have follow up questions, just send another anon.

Best of luck to you anon, I am rooting for you!

Big hugs,

Mother Calamity

[m1ckeyb3rry]

── THE GLASS PRINCESS // FIVE

Series Synopsis: You wake up in a strange room with no memories, broken glass at your bedside, and a prince named Zuko as your only chance at figuring out who you really are.

Chapter Synopsis: You visit Ember Island with Jia-Li and grow closer with her and her brother. Everything comes to a head, though, when a party on the island goes wrong.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Zuko x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 7.4k

Content Warnings: complicated relationships (strangers to friends to lovers to enemies to strangers to lovers to enemies to lovers), amnesia, alternate universe, lots of secrets and lying and mystery

A/N: would you guys believe if i said i thought we’d already know reader’s real identity this many words into the fic?? anyways enjoy the fun times while they last folks because trust it will be getting angsty at some point probably

Dear Zuko,

I’m sorry for whatever I did that made you angry with me. Please forgive me. I don’t want you to be upset.

Sincerely, Ursa

P.S. Destroying Chan’s house was wrong, but since it was him, I won’t chide you. Jia-Li and I also participated a bit, so it would be hypocritical, anyways.

P.P.S. I’m not friends with Ruon-Jian anymore. 

Though you had been at sea for quite a bit of time now, you still had not grown bored of staring at the ocean. Jia-Li had sat back down under the shade of the silk canopy a while ago, eating a bowl full of ice cream and watching you in amusement as you stood at the prow and peered down into the water.

“It’s so beautiful,” you said.

“You’ve said that like a hundred times,” Jia-Li teased you.

“I know, I just…I just can't get over it. I’ve never seen anything quite so blue,” you said, though this was somewhat a lie. That blue from your memories, it resembled this water in depth, though not in texture — the water was clear and lucid, whereas the blue you remembered was harsh and matte.

“I guess I should be glad that you’re enjoying yourself already! Just think about it — you haven’t even gotten to Ember Island yet, and you’re having so much fun. Imagine how much better it’ll be once you’re there!” Jia-Li said.

“I can’t wait,” you said dreamily. “As long as we can go swimming, I’ll be happy.”

“Of course,” she said. “We’ll swim every day! My brother wrote to me, he said that the tides have been forgiving this season. Maybe I can convince him to teach you how to ride the flying dolphin fish. He always shoos me away whenever I ask, but it’s impossible to hate you, Ursa, so he’ll definitely say yes.”

You had been growing accustomed to that name. It still felt like an alias at times, but it was a familiar one, said around you so often that you barely even hesitated before responding to it.

“It’s fine if he doesn’t,” you said. “Though it would be nice to learn something like that…”

“Maybe you should ask him!” Jia-Li said. “There’s no way he can refuse then!”

“I wouldn’t want to be imposing,” you said immediately, shaking your head. “He shouldn’t have to do something just because he’s too guilty to say no.”

“No, I was more thinking along the lines of ‘you’re pretty and he doesn’t say no to pretty girls’, actually,” she said. “He’ll be happy to oblige you, but if it’s a request from his little sister, he’s likely to say no just to be contrary.”

“We’ll see,” you said after ruminating on it for a second. “Also, thank you for the compliment.”

“It’s just the truth,” Jia-Li said. “But since we’re on the subject — I know you don’t have memories, so you can’t answer about your past life, but what about recently? Have you had a crush on someone before?”

“A crush?” you said.

“Yeah! I mean, have you ever liked anyone?” she said.

“I like a lot of people,” you said. “For example, you and Ty Lee.”

“No, silly, not in that way. I mean liking someone romantically,” Jia-Li elaborated. “I know a few of the boys in the Royal Fire Academy for Boys have been talking about you, so I was just curious.”

“Oh!” you said, covering your face with your hands so that she could not see the embarrassment blooming on it. “I didn’t know that they were.”

“Sure, of course they are! They talk about a lot of us, so it makes sense, and anyways I wasn’t lying when I said you’re pretty. They’re all too scared to actually talk to you, but I’m sure that if you went to the market alone and met one of them, they’d propose on the spot,” she said.

The academies for girls and boys had separate campuses, but they were run conjointly, so that your breaks aligned and your events were held in tandem. Though you tended to avoid attending sporting matches, you had gone to one or two in your time as a student, so you supposed that must’ve been when you had become a viable prospect for whatever nonsense Jia-Li was spouting.

“I don’t talk to any boys,” you pointed out. “Even if any of them like me, I don’t know them, so I can’t say I like them back.”

“You talk to the prince a lot,” she said.

“What?” you said.

“Did you really think I didn’t notice how often you send letters to him via Bian?” she chided. You coughed uncomfortably.

“Um, well, he is my benefactor, so I have to keep him updated with my day-to-day activities,” you said. “It’s, er, part of my scholarship, you know.”

It was not, but Jia-Li seemed to buy the lie readily enough, nodding sagely, though not without a dramatic pout.

“That does check out, but it’s not nearly as exciting as a secret love affair or letters written out of pining and sent with longing, stamped with your heart’s greatest desire for a man that can never be your own!” she said.

“Sorry?” you said. “I don’t think any of that fits the situation, though.”

She sighed. “It’s okay.”

“What about you? Do you have any crushes?” you said, recognizing that this was the logical next step in the conversation. Jia-Li blushed and looked at the wooden paneling of the deck, using her fingers to twirl the hair which escaped her ponytail to frame her face.

“Yes,” she said. “Kind of. But it’s someone who I shouldn’t like, and who would never like me back, so I’ve never said anything.”

“Who?” you said. “Your family is pretty influential, isn’t it? I can’t imagine most anyone rejecting you. Unless you like Prince Zuko and are projecting your ‘heart’s greatest desire for a man that can never be your own’ onto me?”

“No way!” Jia-Li said. “It’s more complicated than him being of a higher ranking than me.”

“Then what is it?” you said.

“He’s my brother’s best friend!” she said, all in a rush, her entire face in flames at the confession.

“Oh,” you said, cringing in empathy. “I see. He would not approve?”

“Definitely not,” she said. “But there’s something worse than him not approving: marrying this boy would mean having Kaho as a sister-in-law!”

“Oh, Agni,” you said, slapping your palm against your forehead. How had you forgotten? It was the only reason Jia-Li was somewhat exempt from Kaho’s reign of terror, despite her association with you: her brother and Kaho’s were best friends. But if she liked Kaho’s brother, then what would that mean?

“That’s the scenario,” she said. “And to top it all off, he’s notoriously popular with girls. He probably wouldn’t even look at me twice. I’ll always just be Ruon-Jian’s annoying little sister to him.”

“I doubt that that’s true,” you said as you approached the docks. “Really, Jia-Li, I don’t think that's the case. You said his family will be on Ember Island at the same time as us?”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Although Kaho mentioned not being able to come — something about volunteering as a scribe for some official meeting that the Fire Lord will be hosting over the weekend.”

“Perfect! That’ll be our goal, then,” you said.

“Huh?” she said.

“We’re going to get you noticed by your crush! Who cares about the consequences? Kaho and your brother can just deal with it, and if they have something to say, then they can talk to me,” you said.

“That’s nice of you to offer, but what would you even do?” Jia-Li said.

“I don’t know,” you said. “Talk to them, I guess. Kaho already doesn’t like me, so it’s not a tragedy if she hates me more, and I don’t know your brother that well, so if he and I don’t get along after that kind of conversation, it won’t be a great loss.”

“Do you really think we can do something like that?” she said.

“We have to try,” you said. “You deserve it, Jia-Li.”

“Thank you,” she said, swallowing. “You’re a really good friend, Ursa. If you ever change your mind and decide you do like Prince Zuko after all, just let me know—”

“Jia-Li!” you warned her, though the threat fell flat, as she only laughed in return.

Jia-Li’s home on Ember Island was close to the docks, and it was right on the water. She told you as you walked up the seashell-lined path that that stretch of sand was actually a private beach that belonged to her family, so you wouldn’t have to worry about anyone bothering you while you were there.

“Sometimes my brother goes to the bigger beach a little ways away, though,” she said. “They like seeing other people our age and hanging out with them and whatnot.”

“Maybe when I’m a little more confident, we can try it,” you said. “For now, I’m just glad we have our own space where I don’t have to be worried about embarrassing myself in case I drown or something.”

“I wouldn’t let you drown,” Jia-Li said. “But I’m fine with that plan. It’s not like I have some huge desire to be on a massively crowded beach with the others, so it’s not heartbreaking for me if we just stay here the whole time.”

“Now, now, not the whole time,” you said. “We have to leave the house at some point so we can meet this guy you like!”

“I’m still not so sure about that,” she said, pulling out a key from her pocket and using it to unlock the front door. “Now hush, I don’t need my brother overhearing us. We can talk more later tonight or something.”

“On it,” you said, pretending to seal your lips shut. She rolled her eyes before motioning you after her. Carefully, you stepped into the grand foyer, scuffing your shoes on the welcome mat to rid them of the sand. Jia-Li smiled in approval, presumably at your politeness, and you smiled back at her.

“Mother, father!” Jia-Li shouted. “Ruon-Jian! Ursa and I are here!”

Jia-Li’s mother peeked her head around the corner, nodding demurely at the two of you, though it was deeper and more reverent when it came to you. She looked exactly like Jia-Li, only a little older, her features aged, the cut of her face sharper.

“It is good to meet you,” she said. Her voice was musical and quiet, carefully controlled — it was the culmination of years of training as the wife of a high-ranking Fire Nation official. It was what you and Jia-Li and Kaho and Ty Lee would one day sound like, once you had graduated from the academy and were ready to enter society properly.

“And you as well, madam,” you said, clasping your hands, bowing your head slightly. “Thank you for welcoming me into your home. It is greatly appreciated.”

“You are so polite,” Jia-Li’s mother said, the slightest traces of happiness flickering over her face. “I am glad Jia-Li has such an exemplary friend to look up to.”

“Nice to see you, too, mother,” Jia-Li said. Her mother laughed, opening her arms.

“Come here, then,” she said. Jia-Li brightened, racing into her mother’s arms and hugging her. You looked away, feeling like you were intruding on the moment and wishing you had your own mother to embrace like that.

“Where’s father?” Jia-Li said. Her mother sighed.

“He and Admiral Chan were called back to the palace for some important meeting, so they’re not on the island for the moment,” she said.

“It must be the meeting Kaho is scribing for,” you said.

“Most likely,” Jia-Li said. “Do you think he’ll be able to come back before I leave for the academy again? I haven’t seen him in so long.”

“I’m not sure, darling,” her mother said. “If he is still in the capital by the time your boat leaves the docks, I will send him a message to stay in the capital and receive you before he returns.”

“Thank you,” she said. “What about Ruon-Jian? Where is he?”

“Oh, that boy, he’s being as troublesome as ever. I believe he’s locked in his room at the moment. Ruon-Jian! Please come downstairs and say hello to your sister and her friend!” her mother said. It was strange — even yelling, she sounded soft and polite, which should not have made sense but somehow did.

“Why?” a deep, grumbling voice said. There were heavy footsteps on the stairs, evidence that Jia-Li’s brother was on his way but wasn’t exactly happy about it. “I don’t wanna meet Jia-Li and her stupid friend — woah.”

Her brother was tall and willowy, with shaggy brown hair that fell into his face, giving him an effortlessly cool appearance. His eyes were the same color as Jia-Li’s, but that was about where their similarities ended. If you had seen him outside, without introduction, you wouldn’t have been able to guess that they were siblings in the first place.

“This is Ruon-Jian,” Jia-Li said when it became obvious that her brother wasn’t going to introduce himself. He was far too busy staring at something, his jaw dropped and his eyebrows raised, though when Jia-Li spoke, he was able to pull himself together, running his hand through his hair and then smirking.

“That’s right,” he said. “The name’s Ruon-Jian.”

“That’s what I just said,” Jia-Li said.

“What about you?” he said. You looked from side to side, wondering who he was talking to, and then you realized it was you, which meant that the thing he had been staring at was also…

“Ursa,” you said. “I’m Ursa.”

You weren’t sure how you felt about the attention. Maybe you liked it, or maybe you didn’t. It was strange and fluttering and unfamiliar in the pit of your stomach, and behind your back, you wrung your hands nervously.

“Ursa,” he said. “Great name. It’s as pretty as you are.”

“Um, I guess if I knew who my parents were, I’d pass along the compliment,” you said.

“Wicked,” he said. “So, what are you doing on Ember Island?”

“She’s my friend, idiot. My roommate from the academy,” Jia-Li said.

“Shh, Jia-Li, I’m trying to get to know her better! Stop talking and interrupting her,” Ruon-Jian said. You exchanged bewildered looks with Jia-Li’s mother, while at your side, Jia-Li fumed, the air shimmering from the heat she gave off as a Firebender.

“She’s right,” you said. “I’m her roommate back at school. She’s one of my greatest friends.”

“Sick,” he said.

“I don’t think I am,” you said, puzzled.

“It’s slang,” Jia-Li said.

“I understand,” you said, although you didn’t, not fully. This way of speaking was entirely foreign to you, but you figured that if you had Jia-Li with you to translate, you’d probably be alright.

“Who’s your family, Ursa?” Ruon-Jian said.

“I don’t have one,” you said.

“Word?” he said.

“He’s asking if that’s the truth,” Jia-Li whispered. “It’s like saying ‘really?’”

“It is the truth,” you said. “I have no memories. I am the girl that the royal family sponsored to study at the academy after I was rescued from the Earth Kingdom.”

“No way!” Ruon-Jian said. “That’s so cool!”

“Not really,” Jia-Li said. “She doesn’t remember anything. Including her family. Idiot.”

“If I could forget you, I’d do so in a heartbeat,” Ruon-Jian said.

“Well, I’d do the same!” Jia-Li snapped. You cleared your throat.

“I’m just grateful to Prince Zuko for saving me and ensuring my future,” you said. “He, and the rest of the royal family, are likely the reason I’m still alive and standing before you today.”

“Word,” Ruon-Jian said.

“I am not lying this time, either,” you affirmed.

“No, that was more of an expression of agreement,” Jia-Li said.

“I am a little confused,” you said. “But I shall trust you on this one, Jia-Li.”

“Do you have plans for the week?” Ruon-Jian said.

“Jia-Li is going to teach me to swim,” you said, beaming at Jia-Li, who gave you a high-five in return. “Beyond that, no, not really.”

“We were going to ask you if you could teach her to ride the flying dolphin fish,” Jia-Li said. “I know you’d never teach me, but—”

“Definitely!” Ruon-Jian said, cutting Jia-Li off. “I’ll teach you anything you want, Ursa.”

Heat rushed into your face, and you bit your lower lip, shifting from foot to foot nervously. Glancing at Jia-Li, who shrugged, you trained your attention on the ground instead of looking at Ruon-Jian when you responded.

“I think that that would be fun,” you said.

“We’ll get started tomorrow,” he said.

“Ruon-Jian, usually I’m joking when I say it, but you really are an idiot! How can you teach her to ride flying dolphin fish if she doesn’t even know how to swim?” Jia-Li said.

“The day after tomorrow, then!” Ruon-Jian declared. “See you around, Ursa!”

With that, he bounded back upstairs, taking the steps two at a time, leaving you, Jia-Li, and her mother standing in the foyer, somehow even more confused than before.

The next day was somehow sunnier and brighter than the previous, which was a relief, as it was the day you were supposed to learn to swim. At present, you were wearing one of Jia-Li’s sets of swimming clothes, your towel spread out on the sand as you looked at the ocean with furrowed brows.

“You ready?” Jia-Li said.

“I think so,” you said.

“Let’s go!” she said. Without waiting for you, she charged into the water, flopping onto her stomach once it was deep enough for her to do so. Not even taking a second to think, you sprinted in after her, and when the water rose to the level of your thighs, you didn’t second-guess yourself. Using your legs to push off, you dove into the water, jetting through it, forcing your eyes open and laughing soundlessly as you wove amongst the flowing bubbles and colorful fish that decorated the ocean.

It was many seconds later that you pushed your way to the surface, taking a deep breath, your legs churning the water so that you stayed afloat. Some ways away, Jia-Li had done the same, though she was busily scanning the shore for where you might be.

“Jia-Li!” you called out. “Over here!”

“Ursa!” she said, clapping her hands in delight. “I guess you do know how to swim!”

“I guess so!” you said, overcome with a rush of euphoria at the weightless feeling the water afforded you. Jia-Li paddled over to where you were treading, doing the same beside you so that you two could talk.

“That means you can learn to ride the flying dolphin fish sooner rather than later,” she said slyly. You lowered your eyes.

“Maybe,” you said.

“I knew it!” she squealed. “You have a crush on my brother!”

“No!” you said, far too quickly to sound convincing. “I mean. No.”

“You do!” Jia-Li said. “I can’t understand why you’d ever have a crush on him, but I guess there’s really someone out there for everyone.”

“I don’t even know him,” you said. “Sure, he’s cool and all, but I don’t know the first thing about who he is as a person. How can I say for certain that I have a crush or anything?”

“That’s why you have to get to know him,” Jia-Li said, poking you in the forehead. “Right?”

“True,” you said. “Then I can tell you for certain how I feel. What about you, though?”

“What about me?” she said innocently.

“When will I get to meet this mysterious crush of yours? You can hardly expect to pursue him if you never even go to see him!” you said. She splashed you with water.

“I’m not about to just go visit his house for no reason! It would be weird,” she said.

“Maybe a little bit,” you said. “But there has to be a way for you to accidentally run into him! And when I say accidentally, of course it won’t be an accident at all, but it’ll appear to be one.”

“Just forget about it,” Jia-Li said. “It’s not a big deal. If it’s meant to be, something will come up.”

“If that’s what you want,” you said. “But you have to promise me that if something comes up, as you say it will, you’ll really try your hardest.”

“Okay,” Jia-Li said in determination. “If there is some opportunity for me to talk to him, I’ll do it.”

“That’s the way!” you said. “Now, let’s race. I want to see how fast I am, too.”

“First one to that bit of driftwood wins?” Jia-Li said, pointing at a smoothed-over log floating in the distance.

“You’re on,” you said. “Three, two — hey, I didn’t say go yet! Jia-Li!”

You could not remember ever having as much fun as you did during that time on Ember Island. You and Jia-Li spent hours lazing around on the beach or swimming in the water, eating whatever her family’s chef prepared for you, drinking fruit juice that was sometimes sweet, sometimes sour, oftentimes both. At night, you would stay up until the moon was high in the sky, giggling and exchanging secrets and stories, making fun of your classmates and the boys in the Royal Academy for Boys.

“You know, one of them has a shrine dedicated to Kaho,” Jia-Li told you one night. You howled with laughter.

“No!” you said.

“Yes, he really does! He found a portrait of her and leaves money and food in front of it every week,” she said.

“You’re making that up,” you said.

“Nope, I found out during one of the sporting matches,” she said. “I was a little disgusted, but now that I see the humor in it, I confess I’m entirely amused by the entire thing.”

You would sleep late into the day, sometimes missing the morning entirely and only waking up for the afternoons. Jia-Li’s mother never scolded you two for it, saying that she was happy you were catching up on your rest, since dark circles were not comely on a woman or something along those lines.

Sometimes, Ruon-Jian would spend a few minutes with you both, but for the most part, he was off with Chan, his best friend and Kaho’s older brother. When he was with you, he was usually sitting at your side, making fun of his sister and complimenting you all at once. And even though you barely knew him, you had to admit that it was nice to have someone paying such close attention to you for once, treating you as if you were worthy of his time and entirely normal, the way he was, instead of tiptoeing around you and your lost memories.

“You ready, Ursa?” Ruon-Jian said, plopping down on the bench beside you as you and Jia-Li ate breakfast — or was it lunch, at this point?

“For what, Ruon-Jian?” you said, batting your eyelashes at him. From across the table, Jia-Li pretended to gag.

He elbowed you in the side. “To learn to ride flying dolphin fish, of course!”

“Yes!” you said, shooting to your feet. “I thought you’d forgotten!”

“How could I forget about you?” he said. “The currents just haven’t been right for a beginner recently. You should’ve seen how badly Chan wiped out the other day!”

You glanced at Jia-Li. She mimed falling over, and you gave her a discreet thumbs up.

“You didn’t fall, though, did you?” you said. Ruon-Jian beamed and flexed his arms.

“’Course not. I’m way better than Chan,” he bragged.

“Very impressive. Then there must be no one in the Fire Nation more equipped to teach me,” you said.

“Not a single person,” he agreed.

“I can’t bear to watch any more of this,” Jia-Li muttered to no one in particular. “You guys have fun. I’m going to collect our clothes so that they can get washed, Ursa.”

She left without another word, though as she walked away, you thought you caught her saying something about how you could do better. Ignoring it, you followed after Ruon-Jian towards the beach behind his house, struggling to keep up with his brisk stride.

“There’s a pod of flying dolphin fish that visits our beach pretty regularly,” he said. “We should be able to catch a ride there.”

“Okay,” you said. “Is it safe?”

“We’ll ride the same one, so I can look after you, but on the whole, flying dolphin fish are very docile, so as long as the waves are gentle, it’s fine,” he said. “That’s why I’ve been waiting to take you out.”

“That sounds good,” you said. He whistled.

“That’s how we call them. Now, we just have to wait until they come,” he said, pulling you forward to stand beside him.

“Then what?” you said.

“It’s a surprise,” he said. “Just kidding! Then we swim out and find the friendliest one and get on.”

It took a few minutes, but eventually, in the distance, there were splashes. Ruon-Jian whooped in delight, grabbing your hand and dragging you after him before you could protest.

“They were fast today!” he said. “Let’s go before they decide to leave again!”

Ruon-Jian was a little faster than you at swimming, though you had been faster than Jia-Li. You didn’t feel insulted, though; he spent much of his time in the ocean, so it was to be expected that he was better than both you and his sister alike. The end result was that he reached the flying dolphin fish before you, and had already mounted one by the time you swam up to its side.

“How do I get on?” you said.

“You don’t,” he said, using his legs to hold onto the body of the flying dolphin fish and then bending over to pull you out of the water and set you in front of him.

“Thanks,” you said, suddenly very aware of how close he was to you, how he held onto your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder.

“Just rest your hands on its head,” he said. “Like that. Good job! I’ll do all the steering and stuff with my legs, so don’t worry about that for now. All you have to do is focus on your balance.”

“Got it,” you said.

“Then let’s get going!” he said, clicking at the flying dolphin fish, which took off with a push of its powerful tail, propelling itself through the water. Its speed was breathtaking, and as the wind rushed against your face, tears gathered in your eyes, tears of joy and freedom and also of regret. When was the last time you had felt like this? When was the last time you had been so happy? Why didn’t you endeavor to be so more often?

Suddenly, the flying dolphin fish took off into the air, and then you were soaring. Everything faded away, the rest of the world and Ruon-Jian and the flying dolphin fish and even you. It was all nothing. You were all nothing. There was only the sky and the sea and the smell of salt on the wind, blue taking over your vision and almost, for a second, reminding you of something else.

Then you were slamming back into the water, the flying dolphin fish not even slowing its pace as it went from air to ocean. The spray that hit your face from the impact was enough to wake you up from the daze, and you were reminded of where you were and who you were and what you were doing.

“That was so fun,” you said as you and Ruon-Jian re-entered the house, still dripping with saltwater despite the towels wrapped around you both.

“It’s sick, right? I knew you’d like it,” Ruon-Jian said. “Speaking of things you might like…my friend Chan is holding a party later tonight. You wanna come?”

You perked up at the name Chan, knowing he was none other than the object of Jia-Li’s affections.

“Yes, but only if Jia-Li can come, too,” you said.

“Aw, no way! Chan never leaves her alone, and I don’t want my best friend bothering my little sister. It’s so odd!” he said.

“It’ll be really lonely for me to be at a party where I don’t even know anyone,” you said with a small frown.

“That’s fair,” he said.

“And she’s my friend, so it’ll be more fun for me if she’s there,” you continued. “That’s why I’ll only go if she can, too.”

“Okay, okay,” Ruon-Jian said. “Fine. She can come, too.”

“Yay! Thank you so much!” you said, clapping. “It’s going to be so much fun.”

“Sure will be,” he said. “You should go get ready, though. There’ll be a lot of influential people there, so you should try to look your best.”

“Of course,” you said. “See you soon!”

Luckily, Jia-Li had been right in assuming that you and her would be the same size. You had been wearing her clothes for the entire vacation, and tonight was no different, as she picked out something nice for you to put on for the party.

“Ursa, I’m convinced you’re a miracle worker,” Jia-Li said, shaking her head. “Seriously! How is it that you managed to get us invited to one of Chan’s parties? They’re super selective.”

“Simple. Your brother invited me, and I told him I’d only go if you could, too. He was initially a bit reluctant, since he seemed to think Chan wouldn’t leave you alone, but he came around,” you said.

“You’re the best,” she said.

“I honestly might’ve just said no from the get go, but I heard that Chan was hosting, and I knew we had to attend. This is literally the sign you were waiting for!” you said. “What are the odds that your brother would invite me to a party hosted by the man of your dreams?”

“Pretty high, considering he thinks you’re really attractive and the so-called man of my dreams is his best friend,” Jia-Li said. “But I know what you’re saying, and I agree. Enough about that, though. The only thing left is for us to do our best to look amazing!”

Because Ruon-Jian and Chan were best friends, you arrived at the party before anyone else so that you could help Chan set up. His house was enormous, according to Ruon-Jian, and he had said it would be greatly appreciated if you all could lend a hand. With a meaningful look at Jia-Li, you had accepted.

“I made sure that Chan knew what food you like, Ursa, so that he could serve it,” Ruon-Jian said, his arm tossed around your shoulders. “I want you to have the best time!”

“Aren’t you so romantic, brother?” Jia-Li said dryly.

“Thank you, Ruon-Jian,” you said.

“Anytime,” he said with a smirk.

“Ruon-Jian!” a tall, muscular boy said as he opened the door to the mansion. “I thought you’d never get here.”

“Jia-Li took forever getting ready, dude,” Ruon-Jian said. “By the way, Chan, this is Ursa. And Ursa, this is Chan.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you said.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Chan said. “Did you say Jia-Li? Is she here?”

“I am,” Jia-Li from where she was hiding behind you and Ruon-Jian. “Hi, Chan.”

“Jia-Li! It’s been ages since I saw you last. How have you been?” Chan said, yanking her by the arm and into the house.

“Quit flirting with my sister!” Ruon-Jian shouted, though he went ignored by both Chan and Jia-Li. You patted him on the arm.

“It’s okay,” you said. “She doesn’t seem upset about it, so you shouldn’t be, either.”

“It’s just so freaky,” he said with a shudder. “Jia-Li’s my baby sister. She shouldn’t have guys interested in her, let alone guys that have been my best friend since I could count.”

“She’s grown up now,” you said. “She can make her own decisions. You should just support her.”

“If you think that’s what’s best,” he said reluctantly. “You’re pretty mature, you know.”

“It’s funny, I feel like I’ve heard that before, though I don’t quite recall who might’ve said such a thing,” you said. “It doesn’t matter; either way, thank you.”

Jia-Li and Chan were too busy talking with each other, and Ruon-Jian was too busy fixing his hair in the mirror, so the brunt of the party set up fell to you. You didn’t mind, though, liking the act of working, and you were so efficient that everything was ready right around dusk.

“The place looks great, Ursa,” Ruon-Jian said when you rejoined him in front of the mirror.

“Your hair does, too, so you can stop fiddling with it,” you said. He pulled you in by the waist, flashing a peace sign in the mirror.

“Don’t we look so good together?” he said. “It’s like…like you were meant to stand beside me.”

“I suppose so,” you said, though you weren’t sure if you would go so far as to say all that. Still, it was nice to know that someone thought you belonged with them, so when he began to lean in, you did not move away.

Right when his lips were about to brush against yours, there was a knock on the door. He drew back in irritation.

“Who is here this early?” he said. “Whatever. Where were we again?”

The moment was ruined, though, so you pretended to be preoccupied with straightening your clothes, your head tilted downwards so that he could not even catch your eye.

“These are some really punctual party guests,” you said. “No one else is here yet.”

“Yeah, punctual’s one word for it,” Ruon-Jian said, clearly taking the hint you had given him and hopefully not being too miffed about it. “Wait, it’s that group we invited when we were on the beach earlier! Should’ve known they’d be the type.”

“On the — Ty Lee?” you said.

The first one to enter, Ty Lee turned in search of whoever had said her name. When she noticed you standing beside Ruon-Jian, one of his arms still around your waist, your posture clearly still set towards him, her jaw dropped.

“Ursa?” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“I feel like that’s a question I should be asking you,” you said as she cartwheeled over to drag you away from Ruon-Jian and into a hug so tight you temporarily stopped breathing.

“We were just hanging out on the beach when we got invited to come by Chan and Ruon-Jian!” she said. “I can’t believe you’re here, too.”

“Ruon-Jian is Jia-Li’s older brother, and he’s best friends with Chan, so I think that my presence is a little more explicable than yours,” you said. “When you say we, though, who do you mean?”

“Me, Mai, Azula, and Zuko!” Ty Lee said, pointing at each of them in turn. Mai was sitting by a painting, glaring whenever someone tried to approach her, and the girl who must’ve been the infamous Princess Azula was talking to Chan while Jia-Li stood behind her, ostensibly shoved out of the way so that the princess could have her turn talking to the host.

As for Zuko, he was still awkwardly standing by the doorframe, though when he glanced over at you, his eyes widened. At first, relief filled them, but when he noticed your proximity to Ruon-Jian, a strange sort of malcontent settled over his expression.

“Zuko!” you said as he stormed over to you. Ty Lee looked at him and then back at you before promptly dashing over to Mai’s side, the only one who didn’t get glared at for daring to go near her. “What are you—?”

“Who is he?” he said.

“The name’s Ruon-Jian, dude,” Ruon-Jian said, holding out his hand for Zuko to shake. Zuko looked at it disdainfully before scoffing and then returning his gaze to you.

“He’s Jia-Li’s older brother,” you said.

“Right,” Zuko said sardonically. “That’s why the two of you are so close.”

“I’ve been staying at his house the whole time I’ve been on Ember Island, so yeah, it’s probably a contributing factor,” you said.

“I’m gonna go get some food, Ursa. There are some freaky vibes here right now that I don’t really approve of,” Ruon-Jian said, inching away.

“Do you like him?” Zuko said. You blinked, taken aback by the direct question. In his letters, he was so kind and tactful, so you had come to associate him with that sort of language. The elegance with which he wrote, the careful concern he always showed for whatever you said — all of it had caused a fondness for him to grow in you.

“He’s just my friend’s older brother,” you said. The way he was speaking now was as if he was accusing you and you had to defend yourself or face judgment, but what crime had you even committed in the first place? “He taught me to ride flying dolphin fish and invited me to the party. That’s all.”

“Of course,” he said. “He’s so cool, with his dumb hair and clothes and flying dolphin fish, so of course you like him. No surprise there.”

“Are you angry?” you said. “Why?”

“Am I angry?” he said. “No!”

“You sound a little angry,” you said meekly. “I just wanted to make sure.”

“Why would it even matter to you?” he said.

“I don’t know?” you said. “I was only asking.”

“Don’t ask questions for no reason, especially when you don’t care about the answer in the first place,” he said.

“But that’s not the case. I did care about the answer, or else I wouldn’t have asked,” you said.

“Well, next time, just ask that boyfriend of yours,” he said.

“Ruon-Jian?” you said.

“Yes?” Ruon-Jian said, appearing out of nowhere. “Here, this is for you.”

“You have such horrible timing,” you said under your breath, accepting the plate he handed you. “Zuko, have you eaten anything yet? There’s a lot of really good food out. I’m sure you’ll like it.”

“It’s all Ursa’s favorites!” Ruon-Jian said. “I made sure of it myself.”

“Oh, yeah?” Zuko said with a sneer. “What the hell do you know about her, anyways?”

“Yo, chill, dude,” Ruon-Jian said, holding his hands in the air. “Who even are you? I probably know more than you! Her and I are really close, you see.”

It was probably the worst thing he could’ve said. Zuko’s face darkened, and then, before any of you knew it, he was grabbing Ruon-Jian by the collar and throwing him into a nearby vase. You jumped at the noise before rushing over to help Ruon-Jian stand.

“I’m fine,” Ruon-Jian said, waving you off as he staggered to his feet. “What is your problem, dude?”

“Stay away from her,” Zuko said.

“Who are you to say that?” you said. “My benefactor? That doesn’t mean you get to control my life, Zuko! Why does it matter to you who I’m hanging out with? He’s from a perfectly respectable family, so it’s not like it’ll reflect badly on you. I don’t get what the big deal is!”

“Seriously?” Zuko said. “You think I care what family he’s from? Do what you want! It doesn’t matter to me. It’s what you’ll do anyways, so why should I try to stop you?”

“What happened?” you said. “Why has your opinion of me lowered so thoroughly? What have I done to offend you so greatly? I know that you are angry, and I know it is because of me, but I cannot understand why!”

“There’s a lot of things you can’t understand,” he said.

“I heard a crash, is everyone — who broke my nana’s vase?” Chan shrieked as he came back into the main room. Ruon-Jian pointed at Zuko. “You! I’ve had enough of you, alright? Get out of my party!”

“I was just leaving,” Zuko said, though not without one last glare at all of you.

“See you around, loser!” Ruon-Jian said.

“Jia-Li’s right,” you said as Mai, Ty Lee, and Princess Azula excused themselves as well. “You really are an idiot. Do you know who that was?”

“Some jealous loser?” Ruon-Jian said. You opened your mouth to argue before deflating, knowing that there was no point.

“Just forget about it. Let’s try to enjoy ourselves for the rest of the party,” you said.

Some time later, there was a knock on the door. Chan opened it, and then his face fell.

“Hello, Chan,” a voice that could only be Princess Azula’s said. “Thanks for inviting us earlier, but I have some unfortunate news to share.”

“The party’s over,” Zuko said, and then all four of them were in the room, sending bursts of fire everywhere, kicking the tables in half, swinging from the chandeliers and slicing up the paintings.

“What is going on?” Jia-Li shouted, covering her head with her hands.

“I have no idea,” you said. “Hey, what are you guys doing?”

Chan screamed as Mai threw a set of knives into a pair of antique paintings on the walls and the chandelier came crashing to the ground under Ty Lee’s weight. Jia-Li pulled you out of the way of a stray lick of blue fire from Azula, and you buried your face in your hands.

“This was a pretty terrible party,” Ty Lee said, dropping lightly to her feet in front of you. “You could say we’re showing our appreciation as guests!”

“By destroying his house?” you said as Zuko kicked an entire pillar in half.

“Yep! Wanna join?” Ty Lee said.

“No!” you and Jia-Li said in unison.

“To each their own!” Ty Lee said before springing away.

“Well…” Jia-Li said. “It would feel nice.”

“What? Why?” you said.

“I thought Chan was confessing to me on the balcony earlier, but it turns out that even though he does like me, he wants to live a free and unburdened life, without the commitment of having a girlfriend. He told me that the best he could offer me is a long-term arrangement in which he does what he wants and then spends some time with me whenever I’m on the island,” Jia-Li said.

“That’s horrible,” you said.

“And while I was out there, he told me that Ruon-Jian invited Mai and Ty Lee because he thought they were hot and he wanted a chance with them,” she continued. “So there’s that.”

You scowled, and even though you hadn’t been betrayed, it felt as if you had been. Naturally, you held no claim on Ruon-Jian, but the entire reason you had grown close to him in the first place was because you liked being someone’s priority. If you weren’t even that, then what was the point?

“Jia-Li,” you said. “Since it’s the prince and princess in charge of the destruction, you could consider it a royal order.”

“You could,” Jia-Li said, a grin creeping onto her face.

“And as students of the Royal Fire Academy for Girls, we are duty-bound to follow all royal orders,” you said.

“That we are,” she said.

“I think that means we have to participate,” you said.

“I think you’re right, Ursa,” she said.

“Of course, it’s not because we’re angry at Ruon-Jian or Chan or anything,” you said.

“Definitely not,” she agreed. “We’re just following in the prince and princess’s example.”

“That’s exactly correct,” you said. “After all, what are we but their humble and obedient servants?”

“Nothing, indeed!” Jia-Li said brightly. “All hail the royal family!”

With that, she ignited her hands and placed them right on a portrait of Chan as a child. You cheered before taking a steak knife and using it to cut up the curtains, tossing them into the fire she had started as kindling.

“I’m glad we’re friends, Ursa,” Jia-Li said.

“Yeah, I’m glad we’re friends, too.”

Ursa,

It wasn’t anything you did. I’m sorry; I was upset about something unrelated and took it out on you. You have no need to ask for my forgiveness — if anyone should be doing that, it’s me. Please, please forgive me for being so angry. I promise that I will make it up to you the next time we meet.

Yours, Zuko

P.S. I did not think that you and Jia-Li would join in, but I can’t say that I’m disappointed.

P.P.S. Ruon-Jian is ugly and his hair is terrible. You don’t need to be friends with him, anyways.

[gingerbreadmonsters]

better half

or: here comes the... um...

gn!reader, strong language and innuendo, good old-fashioned fluffy stuff. my undying love and gratitude to the gang over on discord who have kept me sane for the last two months or so - @zozo-01 @pinksparkl and @autisticempathydaemon i would be LOST without you!! a veritable tropefest of all my favourites - just don't ask me when it's set, i beg. astarion taking matters into his own hands in 20,700 words or less.

“No, no, do go on. And the marigolds?”

Dear gods.

“Well, they’re a fine variety, to be sure - and fresh as anything, just come in this morning from-”

It was the right thing to say - the man keeps talking, voice lifted slightly over the bustle of the market as he chatters on about petal density and stem texture and who knows else. You’re only half-listening, nodding along and making encouraging little noises whenever he starts to run out of steam, but you’re not really paying attention.

You’d only come to this damned city in search of some complicated magical artefact that Gale’s been wanting - according to him, there’d been an auction back in Waterdeep not long after he left, and the nobleman who’d bought it arrived back home here just a few weeks ago. As luck would have it, he’s throwing a party in a little less than a tenday’s time for a bunch of the city’s rich folk, so naturally you’ll be taking advantage of the distraction to quietly sneak in and steal the artefact when nobody’s looking.

Or at least, that had been the plan, until closer inspection had revealed some pretty nasty enchantments protecting the manor from intruders. Gale and Shadowheart had both had a look, and agreed that while they could probably break them, given enough time, it wouldn’t exactly be discreet - rather, it’d probably set half the house on fire or something equally ridiculous. You’d all been standing around a few streets away, trying to figure out a plan for how exactly you were going to pull this off, when-

Really, now. Did they teach you idiocy at wizard school, or did it just come naturally?

You’d turned, surprised - Astarion, appearing out of thin air and self-satisfied as ever, swanning past Gale with a dismissive flutter of his fingers. I don’t suppose you’d know, but some of us have actually been to parties before.

Ignoring the affronted squawking from behind him, he’d dropped an expensive-looking roll of paper into your surprised hands, before looking down at you expectantly. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be an invitation to the manor, addressed to some minor lord you’d never heard of.

How on earth…? You’d been shocked at his good fortune - what are the odds he’d run into someone carrying an invitation for a party that’s happening days from now? Where did you-?

All taken care of, darling, he’d said dismissively, even though you could see the smug smile tugging just slightly at the corner of his mouth. A word in the right ear is a wonderful thing. We won’t be interrupted, believe me.

It had been that sort of smile - you’d said a silent prayer for whatever poor soul he’d lifted the invite off of. ‘We’?

Please. As much as I’m sure Lae’zel would love to spend an evening hanging off my arm - he’d dodged the kick to his shins with infuriating grace - I think we both know that the answer is obvious.

He’d gestured to the paper in your hand - ah. You hadn’t seen that part.

What say you, dearest? he’d said with a bow, taking your free hand with a princely flourish and laying a delicate kiss against your knuckles. Shadowheart had rolled her eyes at Astarion’s antics, mouthing something at you from over his shoulder before turning to start herding the others back towards the tavern you’re staying at. Fancy an evening as my beloved?

Obviously, there was no way this could possibly go wrong. You’d replied with your best Astarion impression, gasping in theatrical shock and trying desperately not to laugh. You could at least ask me properly, you know.

We’ve no time for courtship, sweetheart, he’d groaned as if in pain, kissing further and further up your wrist, your forearm, your elbow. I simply must have you - and tonight, no less!

Tonight? At least wait ‘til we’re wedded, dear, you’d gasped in return, smacking him in the shoulder and utterly failing to hide your grin. I’ll have the ring first, then we’ll see.

Conniving little magpie. He’d said it like he’s any better, the bastard. Is that how I’ll win your heart, then? Dangling sparkly trinkets over your head, putting a shiny ring on your finger?

The others are long forgotten, vague shadows in the street. If it were from you, my lord? Nothing would please me more.

He’d raised a single, silver eyebrow, something unreadable sitting just behind his smile. Nothing, you say?

Well. You’d shrugged as he laughed at your faux-serious expression, looking him up and down with an exaggerated leer. I can think of at least one thing…

He’d been about to reply, but you’d caught sight of Karlach halfway down the street behind his shoulder, leaning over to Wyll and whispering something with a chuckle. At that distance, you hadn’t been able to make it out, but that’s what vampires are for - Astarion’s jaw had dropped theatrically with an indignant I heard that, you-!

An unapologetic middle finger from Karlach, and an outraged huff from Astarion as he took your arm and started after them. Defend my honour, won’t you, my love?

For sweet Astarion, paragon of innocence? Dragged laughing after him by the elbow, you’d not really had much of a chance to protest, but it’s not like you were going to anyway. Why, always.

Yesterday evening and today have been dedicated to prepping the pair of you for this little mission, and you really can’t tell if you’re more excited or terrified of the whole thing. Is it a bad idea? Yes. Is it a ridiculous solution to the problem? Yes. Are you going to do something that inevitably gets you both discovered and kicked out of the house empty-handed at best, or run through with something sharp at worst? Almost certainly.

That being said…

What’s the right way to put it? It’s not good for you, to be doing this. It’s not going to do you any favours. It’ll be nice at first, but when the glamour falls away, it’ll hurt even more than it did before.

You like him. Or maybe you don’t. Or maybe you’re scared of what liking him might mean, so you’re trying desperately to convince yourself that there’s nothing out of the ordinary about the way you like him. It could mean anything, the way your eyes always seem to fall upon him first. It could mean anything, the way any joke you tell isn’t funny unless he laughs. It could mean anything, how his voice makes your stomach drop and his smile makes your lungs hurt and his fingers on your skin make you want to tear your heart in half.

He’s something else entirely. The sting of his fangs in your neck, the comforting way he sits in the corner of your eye. This is going to destroy you.

For what it’s worth, the others have been doing some intelligence gathering on this nobleman that Astarion’s supposed to be. Wyll and Halsin ventured out to one of the nicer parts of town last night to see if anyone might have drunk enough to spill anything good, while Shadowheart and Karlach had been making the rounds of some of the… less respectable establishments to try and dig up what dirt they could.

According to their collective notes, he’s one of the younger sons of a relatively unknown house somewhere up north, and he was due to arrive yesterday on some sort of business for his father. It can’t be for anything too complicated or expensive, seeing as a wealthier house would probably have a more famous name, and likely wouldn’t want to be seen sending a fourth or a fifth son as a negotiator.

He seems to be a fairly private figure - no especially distinctive features, and no particular public scandals or habits that Karlach or Shadowheart could discover, which is definitely good news for Astarion’s cover. Gale didn’t recognise the name in a magical context, and Lae’zel hadn’t heard of them as a notable military house - altogether, it’s likely that they’re probably a merchant family that’s come into money through trade, as opposed something like land or banking or politics.

Unusually, he seems to have brought someone with him - the invitation is addressed to him and a nameless betrothed, but none of you have been able to find anything out about them whatsoever. Nobody’s seen them, or heard about them, or even seems to know their name. As far as the people of the city have let slip, they might as well have never existed. Astarion had even said as much when you’d asked him.

I mean, he certainly didn’t look the type, he’d said, grimacing faintly as he pictured the man he’d pickpocketed. I’m more than aware that travelling can be a thoroughly unpleasant business, but really. If he does happen to be affianced, as you say, then I do pity the poor creature - it was barely the afternoon and the man reeked of alcohol.

An easy target, then, you’d replied with a grin. Please tell me you left him with some gold for a place to sleep last night.

He’d made a face, waving a hand dismissively. Oh, don’t be ridiculous, darling. He’ll be halfway home by now, I expect, if the look on his face was anything to go by.

A few seconds had passed.

What? I’ve told you before, I can be very persuasive-

And the fiancé?

You’d been able to feel the headache coming on already. No. No, you didn’t.

…Ah. He’d had the good grace to at least look a little bit sheepish. I, um-

You mean you sent him home without the fiancé? Who I’m supposed to be impersonating? By this point, you’d had your head in your hands, already picturing the myriad of ways this could so easily go wrong. Who’s probably going to turn up at this stupid party and tell everyone that w-

No, no - none of that now, dear. It’ll be fine, I promise you. He’d not sounded entirely sure, but you’d grudgingly let him shush you, featherlight pressure on your shoulder. I’m sure this fiancé - you know, are we even sure there is a fiancé? That it wasn’t conjured up at the bottom of a bottle? The fool was practically pickled - I’m telling you, darling, it wouldn’t be out of the question.

I’ll pickle you in a minute, you’d grumbled, not entirely joking. If we die, I’ll kill you.

Oh, my love. I look forward to it already.

“You know, I had a gentleman come by, not half an hour ago, swearing up and down I’d got these confused with the peonies - peonies! Can you imagine!”

Startled out of your daydream, you’re left blinking back at the man in hapless confusion. “Sorry, come again?”

“Well, that’s just what I told him - but apparently…”

The flower seller launches right back into his monologue, and you’re starting to wonder if there’s a reason nobody was looking at this stall when you arrived. Curse these ridiculous noble types and their ridiculous fashions! Wyll had taken one look at your - admittedly somewhat slender - wardrobe and declared that none of it would do, either for the sin of being far too cheap or terribly out of vogue. Fortunately for your wallet, you’d collectively been able to cobble together something halfway decent out of bits and pieces your little group had thieved over the last few weeks.

Unfortunately, they don’t exactly fit too well, so you’ve been sent out to get it all tailored into something suitably expensive-looking to wear. Astarion, true to form, had jumped at the chance to take you shopping, although you couldn’t tell if it was because he’d been dying for the chance to indulge in a little retail therapy at your expense, or just all of the various trinkets and knick-knacks he’d be able to swipe from unsuspecting merchants.

Oh, and you mustn’t forget about our little ruse, dear. Who knows who might be watching?

And thus, you’re stuck at this damned flower stand where he said he’d meet you, trying desperately to avoid whatever increasingly-unsubtle flirtation the flower seller aims at you, and really wishing you’d brought a book. Maybe that would have distracted you from the horrible, twisting feeling in your stomach at the thought of what might happen when he does show up.

Is it going to be weird? Oh, it’s a stupid question - it was always going to be weird, doing something like this with him. Acting as though you’re faking liking him, pretending to have to pretend, the double-triple bluff. It’s bad enough as it is, heartstrings all stretched and sore from the weight of keeping it all inside - but to be allowed to indulge, just this once? Falling into the fantasy of what could never be, letting yourself believe for a long, golden moment that he might actually love you the way you dream of. You’re afraid you’ll snap completely.

To be honest, the waiting isn’t helping. He’d rambled something last night about having some sort of business nearby - what sort of bloody business could he possibly have in a town he’s never seen before? - and that he’d catch up with you by the flower stall by mid-morning at the latest.

Naturally, that means that it’s nearly midday and you still haven’t seen hide nor hair of him, one eye on the crowd as you stare absently at the colourful buckets of flowers. The noise of the market all around you, the sun in your eyes, the mild breeze that’s more hot than cold - you were right, you definitely should have brought a book or something, because where in all the hells is that blasted-

“There you are, dearheart!”

Your head whips to the right at the sudden weight of a cool arm around your waist, pulling you to the side. Surprised, you’re already reaching for the borrowed dagger at your hip, only to be met with-

“I - oh, darling!” Before you really know what’s happening, you’re swept into an uncharacteristic embrace, face-to-face with a slightly-harried, definitely-late, maddeningly-beautiful Astarion. Hurriedly, you paint on a smile, looking up at him with what you’re hoping reads as blissful excitement. “Back so soon?”

“Soon?” He takes you at your word, the bastard, like he wasn’t supposed to be here hours ago. “Oh, it’s never too soon to be with you, my sweet.”

It’s infuriating, how your heart stutters at the rakish grin he gives you as he says it, at the thought - fake as it may be - that he might actually mean it. Pressed against him like this, strong hands keeping you close as you steady yourself against his chest, it’s even worse than usual. Can he hear it? Does he know?

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the flower seller trailing off clumsily in the middle of his sentence, clearly now at something of a loose end. He settles for reaching down to adjust one of the displays, but you can feel his eyes on you even while he pretends to look away.

He doesn’t suspect something, does he? No, he can’t - why would he even be suspicious? He doesn’t know that this isn’t real.

Astarion must notice too, diving down to kiss your cheek so lightly that it almost tickles - you make the mistake of letting the involuntary laughter show on your face, and immediately regret it when it means he goes right back in for another one. Then another, then another, dipping you further and further back and smothering your protestations in kisses that shouldn’t feel as good as they do.

“Wh-hey, hey - darling!” Embarrassed, you struggle against him, trying to escape his hold, but it’s no good - he’s just too strong. “We’re - this is hardly the time-!”

He relents slightly at that, bringing you back upright and turning you around to face back towards the flower stall, before draping himself over your back and locking his arms once more around your middle. Somehow, it’s even worse than before - now you can definitely see the awkward flower seller, trying not to stare at the absolute mess that you two must be right now.

“Mmm, my apologies for the interruption,” Astarion mumbles against your throat, thoroughly unrepentant, and you can feel him smile as he kisses over the soft, tender space where his fangs normally go. “You were saying?”

You wrack your brain, but there’s nothing there except the swirling, flustered mist that fills your mind whenever he gets this close. What would you say, if this were real? Blindly, you reach for something to say - anything, that might get him off your case. And your neck.

“Did you, um-” You pause, stumbling over the words slightly. He probably doesn’t want all and sundry knowing what he was up to before he arrived, and he probably isn’t going to admit it anyway. Better to just make it part of the charade from the start.

“Did you find anything good?”

“Mm, nothing much,” he hums, fingers tracing tiny spirals across the front of your shirt. “A little bit of this and that, you know how it is.”

Okay, great, a total non-answer. Good to know that he’s really trying to make this act believable.

  “Very well. Keep your secrets.” You turn your face away in faux-offence, before softening with a smile as a petulant hand comes up to turn your chin back towards him. “Did you at least get everything you wanted?”

“Really, dear,” he huffs, soothing the blow with a barely-there kiss against your temple. “Can’t a man have any secrets from you?”

Gods below, he’s up to something. If your brain wasn’t too busy melting into goo, you might even wonder what it is - alas, you just have to settle for discreetly elbowing him in the ribs.

“Of course not,” you reply matter-of-factly, even though the words make your heart ache just a little bit. If only it were true. “What’s yours is mine, and all that.”

“How could I forget?” Sweet hells, he says it so softly, like he’s trying to make it hurt. “As if I could ever be free of you, my love.”

You roll your eyes, even as you lean back into his chest - you’re vaguely aware that you were supposed to be doing something, but you’ll be damned if you can remember what it is. “You make it sound so appealing, you know.”

“Do I? It’s not on purpose, I assure you.”

You gasp, hand limp against your forehead in a mock-faint. “Rude.”

“All part of the plan, darling,” he says, nonchalant, and it’s ridiculous how it does actually make you feel better. “For a prize as lovely as you? I have to find some way of keeping you all to myself.”

You’re about to respond when the flower seller clears his throat awkwardly, evidently not really sure what to do with the pseudo-couple flirting incessantly in front of his stand - you jump slightly at the reminder, feeling weirdly like you’ve just been walked in on.

Astarion, meanwhile, remains annoyingly unfazed - when you turn to look at him, he’s… smiling? No, not quite. It’s less of a smile and more of a smirk, but not his usual one - and yet you can’t quite put your finger on why it’s different.

“Go on, then,” he prompts you, nudging you gently in the side. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new friend here?”

“Right, right, um-” Shaking your head slightly, as if to clear it, you smile as brightly as you can at the flower seller. Fuck, what did he say his name was again? “Love, this is - oh, this is…”

“Osric, sir.” The man comes to your rescue, tipping his cap in Astarion’s direction with a friendly smile. “Pleasure to be of service to you both.”

True to form, Astarion meets him with a flat, haughty stare, seemingly unimpressed. “Charmed. Now, sweetheart, I believe we were just on our w-”

“Ah - just a moment.” He recoils ever so slightly at the interruption, a tiny tremor that you feel but don’t see. Got him. “I might like to look a little longer.”

It’s only really for show, but you make a point of umming and ahhing over the display, surreptitiously stepping on the toe of his boot as you do it. If he’s going to try and empty your wallet today, as you’re sure he will, you’re not going to let him have all the fun.

“Really. If you want me to buy you flowers, pet, you only have to ask.” Astarion shakes his head indulgently as he catches your drift, rolling his eyes at the young man behind the stall in pretend commiseration. “Trust me to find the one creature in all of Faerûn who’d rather I spend my fortune on dahlias than dinner.”

You twist slightly in his arms without looking away from the flowers, one hand slipping idly up to cradle his jaw as the other drifts over the box of tulips. “But you do it anyway.”

He sighs, exasperated and achingly fond in a way you wish he meant, turning to press a gentle kiss to your palm. “Yes, I do it anyway. Fool that I am.”

You’re forced to step slightly to the side as a lady comes up beside you and starts chatting to the vendor, which gives Astarion the perfect opportunity to dial down the act a little bit. It’s hard work even for you, and you’re not even really faking it - you can only imagine how annoying it must be, having to do all this with someone you’re not actually in love with.

For some reason, though, he doesn’t. Instead he seems to double down, swaying the two of you lightly from side to side as you examine the flowers on display, cold hands warming with your body heat as they smooth absentmindedly up and down your sides.

“Tempted by anything, darling?”

A classic line - somehow, it makes the whole thing easier. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and you know exactly what he wants to hear. “Oh, plenty,” you say, not even trying to hide your grin. “Nothing fit for polite company, though.”

You don’t even have to turn and look - your mind’s eye is enough to see the faux-outraged face he’s making. “Do I look like polite company to you?”

“Well, now that you mention it…”

The lady accidentally bumps you with her bag as she walks over to look at some of the other displays, and you can’t be sure, but it almost sounds like you can hear Astarion muttering something under his breath. “I don’t think you want me to answer that, you know.”

“Mind if I answer for you, then?” He waits for you to nod, cautiously curious about what he’ll say, before lifting a blasé hand to the flower seller and beckoning him over with a lazy wave.

“Six of the roses, if you will.”

“Certainly, sir,” the vendor replies with a nod. “Right away.”

What?

Utterly bewildered, you watch detachedly as Astarion points to the colours he wants, some comically cliché blend of red and pink and white. He can’t be doing what you think he’s doing. “What in - what on earth do you think you’re doing?”

A sideways glance, faintly bemused. “Pardon?”

You should probably be more embarrassed about the way you’re tripping over the words, but you’re more concerned with wondering if he’s actually, genuinely lost his mind. “I don’t need - it’s fine, let’s just-”

"No, no, you're right, six won’t do." He’s unmoved by your futile attempt to drag him away, free arm locking around your waist to keep you trapped against his chest as he corrects himself to the flower seller. "Make it a dozen."

“Astarion!” you hiss, as quietly as you can so that nobody overhears. “This is - you can’t just-”

“I’ll have you know I certainly can,” he replies, producing a handful of coins out of nowhere and casually dropping them into the flower seller’s palm. Absentmindedly, you notice that he’s wearing more rings than usual - your eye is drawn to a particularly lovely gold one on his left hand that you haven’t seen before. “In fact - oh, would you look at that? It seems I just have.”

You - he - you’re going to m-

“Do close your mouth, sweetling,” he sighs, eyes bright with concealed mischief, one elegant finger pressing up under your chin. “It’s dreadfully unbecoming.”

Sweetling. You’re going to strangle him.

The excellent retort that you were surely about to give is cut off by the flower seller, bouquet in hand and clearly very amused by the whole situation. “There we are - a dozen roses, compliments of your gentleman friend.”

He’s certainly no gentleman, but that’s hardly the worst of his crimes. Hateful, traitorous creature, that scheming villain, tormentor of your mind and thief of your heart.

“Excellent taste, sir,” the vendor says innocently over your shoulder as you lean forwards to take the flowers from him. “They’re some lovely blossoms, those!”

“Mm, aren’t they just?” Damn it all, you know what it means when he uses that voice - when you turn around, his eyes flick back up to yours with a shameless grin. “And the flowers are rather pleasant, too.”

“I - you-!” Oh, you could just smack him for that - you can guess what he was talking about, and it certainly wasn’t a bouquet. The vendor hastily stifles a laugh behind you as you glare daggers at Astarion, sorely tempted to take a swing at him. “When I get my hands on you-!”

Cackling wildly, he dances out of the way with an annoyingly dignified sidestep, bidding a quick farewell to the flower seller over his shoulder before looping his arm around your waist and sweeping you away further into the market. “Careful there, petal. We wouldn’t want the whole town to know about where you’ll put your hands on me, would we?”

You’re going to kill him. You’re actually going to fucking kill him, and nobody is going to blame you.

“Come now, darling, no need to look so glum,” he murmurs, leading you gently through the crowd. “Don’t you like them?”

Irritatingly, you can’t actually say you don’t. The roses really are stunning, each one beautifully rich in colour, all soft, velvety petals and long, elegant stems wrapped in thick paper. They’re also far too expensive for him to be wasting money on like this, but you know exactly what he’ll say if you try to protest.

Instead, you settle for honesty. Staring down at the delicate flowers in your hands, you let yourself believe, for just a single second, that they mean what you wish they would mean. That he gave them to you because he loves you, rather than as a prop for a foolish charade - that the kiss marks burned into your skin spell devotion, instead of duplicity.

“They’re gorgeous,” you say. “Thank you, my love.”

A sudden, scuffing sound from close by - next to you, Astarion suddenly lurches forward slightly, fingers digging almost painfully into your sides for a fraction of a second before relaxing. If it was anyone else, you’d say he’d just stumbled over his own feet. But this is Astarion you’re talking about, fleet-footed master of thievery and rogue extraordinaire, so that can’t be what just happened.

There’s a momentary pause, before-

“You’re very welcome, dearheart.”

He says it softly, low and unusually sincere. You don’t want to think about why. “And for what it’s worth, I do think your blossoms are really rather lo-”

“Alright!” You cut him off before he can finish the sentence - that’s quite enough about your blossoms, thank you very much - and practically drag him after you, bouquet cradled in the crook of your arm as your other hand reaches down to grab his. “No need to lay it on too thick, now.”

He doesn’t stop laughing until you’re almost there, magnanimously letting you pull him along with a shocking lack of complaints. The tangled streets that surround this part of the market are something of a maze, but before long you’re standing outside the tailor’s shop that you’ve been tasked with finding.

Thankfully, it doesn’t look like it’s too busy inside. There’s a few people working, but it’s not as packed as you’d feared - with any luck, it’ll mean that they’ll have the time to work on your requests, rather than just rejecting you outright.

“Ah - just a moment, dear.”

Your hand freezes on the door, and you turn to see Astarion fiddling with a hitherto-unseen pouch of some kind. It looks like leather, and the way he’s holding it makes it look like there’s something delicate inside. How odd. Did he steal it? You don’t recognise it.

“I have a little something for you that might help with our…”

He trails off, eyes not quite meeting yours, gesturing awkwardly with one hand as he tries to find the words. “Our little arrangement, shall we say.”

“Really?” Intrigued, you step away from the door and back to his side. “What is it?”

No reply. Instead, he takes your hand in his and holds it flat, before upending the contents of the little bag into it and letting you see for yourself.

“I do hope it fits.”

It’s just a prop. It’s just part of the disguise, and he would have done it for anyone. Your mind doesn’t stop, your heart doesn’t ache. It doesn’t mean anything, the lovely engagement ring sitting innocently in your palm.

“I…”

Wordless, you can only stare. Perhaps a more critical eye would call it plain, but to you it’s nothing short of beautiful, a tasteful gold band with a delicate tear-shaped ruby in the centre. It looks new, polished and pristine in its finish, not at all like any of the rings you’ve picked up on your travels so far. There’s something inscribed inside the band, but the letters are quite small and difficult to make out - is that Espruar?

Of everything about it, that’s probably the strangest thing. As much as it stings to admit it, at the end of the day it’s a fake ring, so why bother having it engraved at all? Nobody’s going to see the inside except for you.

He can’t possibly have bought it. He just can’t have. Creature of luxury though he is, he’d never waste money on something so… so frivolous. He must have stolen it. That’s the only explanation. He didn’t know it was engraved when he took it, so it doesn’t mean anything at all. And in any case, he’ll probably want it back when this is all over - you’re sure it’ll fetch a lovely price when he’s sold it by this time next week.

You’re interrupted in your examination by Astarion, discreetly clearing his throat, and oh, hells, your face feels like it’s on fire.

“Here. Let me.”

Ever so sweetly, he takes the ring from your hand and slides it carefully onto your finger. Head bowed, gaze fixed on his task. He’s so close. If he looked up, right now, you could almost be kissing. You’d only have to lean forwards a tiny bit.

The thought sends a shiver right through you that you try to hide - but true to form he notices anyway, pulling his hands away like it’s his cool touch that startled you, and you mourn the loss as soon as he does it. He’s right that the metal is cold at first, but it quickly warms with your skin, and you smile as you realise that he’d guessed correctly. Slim yet sturdy, a reassuring weight. It fits perfectly.

“I…”

Sunlight. Washing him in gold, filling the street with light, sparkling on your finger. Vaguely, you remember thinking something about a ring earlier, but you can’t quite remember what it was.

“Let’s get you inside, darling,” he says, and something in his voice aches in a way you can’t describe. “We can’t have you catching a cold out here.”

The bell above the door rings cheerfully as he pushes it open for you, one hand on the small of your back to steady you as you step inside. It’s a tiny little place, jam-packed with all manner of fabrics and half-mended garments - you’re barely able to get the words sorry, it’s kind of last-minute out before the no-nonsense lady by the counter is ushering you back behind a curtain, plucking the roses out of your hands, and pulling it shut with a brisk nod and instruction to the assistant there to help you get dressed.

You can vaguely hear Astarion being pelted with questions as you retrieve the bundle of clothes from your bag. Now that you really look, it’s obvious that some of this stuff has suffered somewhat over time, what with all the fraying seams and threadbare patches, but all things considered it’s not that bad. With a little bit of love, you should be able to decently pass yourself off as the minor noble you’re supposed to be.

It’s lucky that Astarion has such expensive taste, magpie that he is. He’d managed to come up with a reasonable ensemble last night with relative ease, thanks to the various spoils he’s picked up while you’ve all been travelling. His doublet is a little bare, though, so he said he was going to see if they could embroider something for him.

Ordinarily, you know he would have done it himself. He tries not to let on, but you’ve seen him picking through his little sewing box - yes, he does have one and no, he refuses to admit it exists - at camp in the evening when he thinks nobody’s looking. Perhaps the others haven’t noticed how his clothes seem to magically repair themselves overnight after a fight, or perhaps they just don’t care to comment. Either way, he’s certainly more skilled with a needle than you’d first thought, but life on the road doesn’t exactly lend itself to fine embroidery thread. He almost certainly doesn’t have any, or at least not enough, and he’s far too proud to ask if anyone else happens to.

He really is very particular about how he looks, and you suppose it makes sense. Considering all that’s happened to him, the monstrosity of his servitude… well. It’s hardly a surprise that any measure of control, even over something as seemingly trivial as the shirt he wears, might be intoxicating. If he wants to dress himself in nice things, however gaudy or over the top they might be, then he may as well. Hopefully, nobody out there is getting on his bad side about it.

Actually, now that you think about it, it’s probably not the best idea to leave Astarion unsupervised in a room full of people who you need to like you. Hastily, you start changing a little faster, in what little space there is behind this curtain - clothes like this are so complicated that the assistant back here has to help you, but there’s so little room that you’d almost rather be alone. At the very least there’s no shouting from the rest of the room yet, but you know what he’s like. No point in risking it-

“-haah-!”

“Darling, are you quite alright in there?”

Wincing, you emerge from the cramped little corner, fully dressed and clutching your banged elbow. You can’t move all that fast, seeing as some of these clothes are a fair bit too small, but it doesn’t really matter. The lady has you up on the riser in the middle of the room, and you’re swarmed by a handful of shop assistants armed with pins and measuring ropes, all chattering away about letting one seam or another out, let’s put darts in here, this’ll need covering up, I see what you mean about the sleeves…

To be honest, you’re not really paying attention, content to have them just get on with it. Wyll had said that this place deals with rich types all the time, so you’re sure they know what they’re doing far better than you do. Astarion, meanwhile, seems to be having the time of his life lounging in his little chair and making snide comments here and there, occasionally getting up and pointing at various bits of you that need embellishing - you’re strangely reminded of a child playing dress-up with a favourite dolly.

“Lift your arms a moment, if you please.”

The tailor gestures for you to raise your arms at your sides, so you do. Her voice is nice, sweet and smooth like honey, and you idly follow her instructions as she tells you how to move. Some of the assistants have gone off to sift through fabrics, but most of them are still clustered around you, honeybees to a flower.

How long have you been up here again? You’re surprised there are any bits of you they haven’t measured yet.

Your mind starts to drift as they keep picking at you, but fairly soon it catches on one of the girls closer to the front of the shop. She’s strikingly beautiful, all fine features and gentle grace, pointed ears peeking out of long, silky hair that reaches all the way down to her slim waist. She hasn’t come over to you, and at her bench it looks like she’s working on a doublet of some kind, so it makes sense that she’s talking to Astarion. It makes sense, because she’s probably asking what he wants embroidered on it.

Yeah. Yeah, that’ll be why she's standing so close to him, so she can hear every detail of exactly what he wants. She’s smiling so much and laughing at every little thing he says, because she wants him to feel welcome here. She’s guiding him away from you and closer to her workbench, so that he can make sure that she’s embroidering the right pattern.

It makes total sense. Nothing out of the ordinary.

“And if you could just turn this way, please?”

Only it doesn’t make sense, because you know for a fact he’d never be caught dead in that particular shade of coral pink - it clashes horribly with my eyes, don’t you think? - and he’s never liked that type of slashing on the sleeve.The laces are in the wrong style, and the length is all funny. Astarion wouldn’t wear anything like that, not even as a disguise. It’s garish and tacky and altogether far too tasteless. It can't belong to him.

So what in all the hells does that girl think she's doing?

Astarion, for his part, doesn’t seem too fussed about her - rather, he looks to be fairly entertained. It’s fine, though, right? He’s probably just humouring her, isn’t he? To say nothing of the way his fingers flex at his side, like he wants to reach out and touch her, or the way his gaze fixes on her face like he can’t bring himself to look away.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter - and it’s hardly your place to tell him what he can and can’t do, anyway. This whole thing is just a ruse. He doesn’t know how much you wish it were true, and he doesn’t need to know. If it hurts, that’s your own fault.

Besides, he’s probably just looking for some fun, right? He’s never exactly been shy about it. He flirts with everyone, but it’s not love that’s on his mind - and you’re not stupid enough to think he’s any different when it comes to this. Whether it’s out of boredom or hedonism, it isn’t because he wants to make you feel good, and it isn’t because he’s just so friendly. It’s because he wants something.

You’re not so naive to think he might actually mean the things he tells you, pretty though they may be. When he says he wants you, when he says he wants to please you - every time, it’s as charming as it is frustrating. Charming, because you think you’d give anything for it to be real, for him to like you - desire you - care for you the way you do him. Frustrating, because you know that someone like Astarion would never bring himself to settle for someone like you.

“Face this way for a second, please?”

Even men like him need a change of pace. When he makes faces at you across the campfire when Gale starts rabbiting on about his magic tricks, when he presses his lips against your neck for just a second before he bites, when he softens every practised line with a flick of his wrist and a teasing smile. You know what it means. It means he knows he doesn’t have to pretend, doesn’t have to play the fool with you - he’s not worried about getting you into bed, because he knows you know he’s out of your league.

He doesn’t want you. He trusts you to not want him either. And you, idiot that you are, thought you’d go ahead and ruin that by falling in love with him. How much worse could it be?

He’s your friend, loath as he is to admit it sometimes. You can’t bring yourself to hurt him with the admission - the part of you that knows he doesn’t come to you for sex, and the part that can’t help but wish he did. If he’s looking for somebody to warm his bed tonight, why would he ever waste time talking to you?

Yeah, that’ll be it. That dull ache deep inside, soaking into all the soft parts of you, watching the man you love give in to a girl he met fifteen minutes ago. And you can’t blame him at all, because it’s your own stupid crush that’s got you into this mess. The pain isn’t his problem. If you were the sort of person he could love, then maybe you wouldn’t have to hurt this way - but you’re not, so you can’t complain.

Gushing, sloshing, seasick. It’s not like he’s actually in love with you.

He’s turned slightly away from you to face her, so you can’t see exactly, but it looks like he’s… smiling? And look, he’s beckoning her closer, leaning down as if he might have a secret to tell her, and if you didn’t know better you might think he was just about to-

“Darling!”

Both of them whip around to face you, and neither of them are as good at acting as they think they are. The girl is breathing hard, pretty lips stretched into what you’re sure she hopes is a convincing grin, and you’ve seen enough of Astarion’s fake, hasty smiles to know when you’re looking at one.

You hadn’t really thought about what you were going to say next - blindly, you scramble for an excuse to get his attention back. “Won’t you come and help me choose?”

“Choose what, my love?” The girl scurries back to her bench as Astarion looks pointedly down at her, but you can still see how she watches him walk over to you, wide-eyed and flushed even as she tries to go back to her work. “Are you finished already?”

Fortunately, one of the assistants comes over to you at just the right moment, holding out a hand to help you down off the riser. Astarion clearly notices what she’s doing and offers his hand to you as well - and if it’s a sick sort of pleasure that runs through you as you deliberately ignore him, taking the assistant’s hand instead of his, then that’s nobody’s business but yours.

(In the corner of your eye, as you step down, he looks almost… well, it doesn’t matter. The moment has passed.)

“The sampler’s on the table, when you’re ready,” says the assistant to you, bowing slightly before vanishing behind a table piled with rolls of fabric, and you take a shallow breath as she leaves.

“The - um, the embroidery. You can pick.”

Your voice is small, too small, and you can’t quite meet his eyes as you say it - by all the hells, you’re pathetic. Don’t let him know, don’t let him see what this curse of a crush does to you. Weighed down, one hand that’s so, so heavy.

“Are you sure, dear?” Something dangerously close to worry crosses his face, just for a moment, but that can’t possibly be real. “Wouldn’t you rather decide for yourself?”

“It’s fine.” You shake your head and smile as best you can, already starting to step backwards towards the curtain where your ordinary clothes are. Anything, just to get yourself out of this for a second. “I’m sure you’re better at this than I am.”

He nods stiffly, eyes narrowed, and lets you go. You’re obviously not off the hook just yet, but there’s nothing he can say in front of everyone in here - gratefully, you take the reprieve and disappear back behind the curtain. It’s almost certainly your imagination, but you could swear you feel his eyes on you the whole way, burning through the back of your skull, setting your skin alight.

It’s only after about thirty seconds before you realise the problem at hand, and you can’t help but swear under your breath at the thought. This fucking outfit - you can’t even reach half of the buttons and laces that keep it on you, and this time there’s nobody back here to help you. Trying on your own will be pointless, seeing as you’ll probably just get yourself even more stuck, and if you go back out there now, you’ll have to face-

“Let me.”

Another lie. You should have known.

Quiet, slipping unnoticed behind you, cold hands searing through the layers of silk and velvet that separate you. Inch by inch, button by button. As always, he sees right through you.

“Careful,” you say, trying not to notice how hollow it sounds. “You and I, all alone. People might talk.”

He scoffs, and it’s something like lighthearted. “What would they say? Heavens forfend, I should spend a little time with the love of my life.”

Does he have to be so cruel about it? Stinging, smarting, lemon juice in the cut.

“I’m told that said time is normally meant to be spent fully clothed.” His fingers work their way deftly across your back, unbuttoning and unlacing all the pieces of your silken armour, and you fight to keep your voice steady. Whose idea was it to put you in this many damned layers again? “You’re a wicked man, my darling.”

“Oh, certainly,” he replies, and you don’t have to look to feel the careless shrug he gives. “Can you blame me? Between you and a second-rate sampler, I know which is the better view.”

“Depends how much you like embroidered flowers.”

“Not at all.”

“Then I commend your choice of entertainment.” The final button comes undone, and you gesture over your shoulder for him to step back outside. “That’s everything.”

He hums quietly in acquiescence, but he doesn’t leave. Instead, he just turns to face away. The rustle of fabric is loud in the sudden silence as you step out of your outfit, skin burning with the closeness of him - as you reach past him to the pile of your ordinary clothes, careful not to accidentally touch, you can feel the coolness of his body in the air. A shadow on the wall, drinking in the heat of you.

“It looked like you were having fun.”

It’s a normal thing for you to say, in a normal tone of voice. Easy, casual, teasing in the way a friend might be. Judging from the way he tenses, spine stiffening ever so slightly, you very nearly manage it.

“Did it?” he asks, and there’s something in his words that you can’t quite figure out. “From a distance, perhaps.”

“You know, I think she likes you,” you sing as you pull your shirt back over your head, poking him in the shoulder to disguise the fact that the note is slightly sharp. “How’s that for a scandal?”

“Hardly her fault.” He makes a show of preening himself in front of the invisible mirror, inspecting his nails and raking a practised hand through his hair - if your tongue didn’t taste so sour, you’d laugh. “An occupational hazard for a gentleman such as myself.”

See, if you weren’t already so stupidly infatuated with him, you’d keep pushing. If you were just a perfectly ordinary, entirely platonic companion, that’s what you’d do. So you say it, and you try your best to ignore the horrible churning feeling that settles in your stomach as you do.

“You ought to go back to her,” you muse, as lightly and sweetly as you can. “If you asked, I’m sure she’d make time for a private fitting.”

To be entirely honest, the innuendo isn’t your best work, but that’s not the problem here. It’s a perfectly ordinary comment for you to make, a normal sort of joke that he really should have been expecting. So then, why…?

Astarion freezes, unnaturally still, one hand still tangled in his curls as the words register. Maybe it’s magic, or maybe it’s just your blood running cold - either way, the temperature between you plummets until you could swear you see your breath turning to mist in the air, frozen solid with the chill.

“A pri- sorry, a what?”

It’s a good thing you’re mostly dressed by now - he turns back to face you with an almost comically incredulous expression, looking for all the world like you’ve just told him you’re thinking about asking Lae’zel for ballet lessons. “And why in all the hells would I want to do that?”

“Well, you know…” Your hand waves clumsily in place of words you can’t quite say - surely he knows what you mean. “I won’t stop you, if you want to stay and let her, um… ”

“What?”

It’s a thoroughly bizarre situation, watching the gears turning uselessly in his brain. Normally, you’ve barely had time to think of the innuendo before he’s already said it, and you were expecting this time to be no different. What’s changed? Isn’t that what he was after?

“Darling, you don’t - I didn’t-”

Wait. Oh, shit, don’t say it’s true. You’ve got this totally wrong, haven’t you? He must have genuinely liked her, must have wanted to speak to her - you know Astarion well enough to know that he won’t waste his precious time on somebody he doesn’t care for. That’ll have been why the girl was so close when you saw them speaking, and it’ll be why he’s so confused now. Shame blooms deep and bitter in your stomach as it finally dawns on you - gods be good, he must really think you’re an idiot now, accusing him of trying to solicit some torrid affair when he just wanted to have a chat with someone h-

“Um… excuse me?”

Both of your heads whip towards the voice coming from just outside the curtain - one hand instinctively flies to the still-undone front of your shirt, while the other darts out to cover the sudden flash of light in the corner of your eye. Astarion nearly jumps a foot in the air at your touch, uncharacteristically on edge, but he lets you push the half-drawn dagger back into the sheath at his hip regardless. As much as he might protest, whoever’s speaking probably doesn’t need to be greeted by several inches of sharpened steel.

“Yes?” he snaps, and you notice that he’s moved slightly to put himself between you and the curtain. “What is it?”

“The alterations, sir,” the voice replies. “We can’t start without the, um… without the actual garments.”

Right, yeah, that does make sense. Astarion looks at you as you swallow down the furious humiliation bubbling in your throat, but you can’t look back. Turning around, you’re just reaching for the pile of clothes on the floor when-

“Five days should be more than enough, yes?”

Fortunately, you have the presence of mind not to shout as the world blurs around you, cold hands shoving you gracelessly through the curtain and out into the room proper. Stumbling over your undone boots, you barely avoid tripping headfirst into the poor tailor’s assistant standing just outside.

“I, uh - well, we’ll do our best, sir, but-”

“Excellent.”

You can only watch as Astarion grabs the pile of clothes and dumps them into the woman’s arms along with a sizeable handful of gold, before practically lifting you off your feet and carrying you out of the shop entirely. The elvish girl from before looks up with wide eyes at the kerfuffle, but he swans past without even sparing her a glance.

“Right, then. I suppose we’ll be seeing you all soon, won’t we, sweetheart?”

He’s gone mad. Absolutely mad. It’s the only explanation you can think of, head spinning from the speed, dazed and dizzy as he coos the words down at you - there’s just enough time to catch the confused assistant’s eye and point to one of the nicer embroidery patterns on the forgotten sampler as he whisks you past it, before the door swings shut behind you and you’re back in the sun-bathed street outside.

(Numbly, you realise that you’re holding your bunch of flowers again, tucked loosely into the cradle of your arms, and that your bag is slung over Astarion’s shoulder along with his own. When did that happen?)

  Silence. Thorns, crawling up your throat, greedy stems clawing their way out of your soft, bloody mouth. Everything tastes like roses.

“Well, then.”

Your voice is remarkably calm, if you do say so yourself. Red sunlight, dancing on the wall every time you move your hand. It’s cold.

“Love, I-”

“Let’s just go.” He recoils slightly at the undertone of venom in your voice, cutting him off, but it doesn’t send more than a faint twinge of regret through you. The more you play this game, the worse it gets - you’ve already put your foot in it once, and you’d rather not do it again. “You don’t have to pretend when it’s just us. I won’t make you.”

Anger and embarrassment bubble in your chest, a sour cocktail that sears a hot flush all down your cheeks and your neck as you extricate yourself stiffly from his hold. It’s useless to try and hide it, but there’s something small and shameful inside that forces you to turn from him anyway, quick steps down the street.

Upset over nothing, you’re making a scene. You won’t cry, you won’t, but you could if you wanted to - clutching the flowers to your chest like they might stop him from being able to hear the rattle of your heart against your ribs, from knowing the heat of your blood as it soaks through your skin.

“You couldn't make me do anything.”

He's quiet, bitter words flung at your back. You slow down, but don't stop.

“Yeah.” Oh, if only he knew how much you wished you could. “I know.”

Sunlight bears down on you, no relief from the fierceness of its glare. Perhaps that's what this has always been about. Selfish from the start, always looking out for yourself, and just too afraid to admit it. This whole fiction you’ve created, that you’ve allowed yourself to indulge in. A puppet strangled in its own strings, a control freak in love.

He doesn't love you, and it burns that you can't make him - so here you are, playing house like a spoilt child, forcing him into the charade. Sweet hells. You really are pathetic.

Cool fingers, warmed by the sun, lock around your wrist.

“I always said you were a fool, you know.”

It’s so kind of Astarion, to really twist the knife like this. “Thanks.”

“No - no, not-” He cuts himself off with a frustrated groan, tugging you towards him and sighing when you still won’t look at him. “I didn’t mean-”

“It doesn’t matter, alright?” you snap. “It’s fine.”

“But it’s not fine, is it?” he retorts, louder than you think he meant to be. “It’s not fine, and it does matter, because I - I’ve-”

Stone shifts beneath your feet, lightheaded, vertigo. The tadpole.

I’ve hurt you.

He’s in your head, flat pressure against the bubble of your mind. Not pushing, just waiting. A quiet street in the middle of town.

Please. Let me show you.

You want to. Dear gods, you want to, but even now you know that out here, this won’t be good for either of you.

“Not here,” you say out loud, shaking your head. “Not like this.”

He looks a little affronted that you don’t reply in his mind, but acquiesces all the same. “Where, then?”

“Just…” A woman and her son turn down the street behind him, walking hand in hand towards you. They look well-off, to say the least, and you quickly thread your arm through Astarion’s like the lover you’re supposed to be. You can never be too careful. “Inside, at least.”

Not refusing, just postponing. Ever the gentleman, he gestures forwards with a little bow, eyes closed in mock-deference. “Lead on, dearheart.”

After a little bit of walking, inside turns out to be one of the taverns you’d passed on the way here - not the one you’re staying at, but one that might be acceptable for a couple of your supposed stature. It’s only the early afternoon, so thankfully there’s not too many people inside. Astarion goes off to get something to drink while you settle yourself at one of the tables, slightly out of the way and hopefully where nobody else will be able to overhear you.

He’s gone for a little while, coming back with a pitcher of wine and two cups. One for you, one for him, and you watch as he pours them both with a generous hand.

“Any good?”

He takes a tentative sip, pretty lips twisting into a telltale grimace. “Same as ever, I’m afraid.”

“That’s my love,” you sigh, light and airy as you take the offered cup. Contrary to what he’d have you believe, it’s actually fairly nice, much sweeter than you were expecting. “Always such a picky eater.”

“Oh, darling, we’ve been over this,” he moans, betrayed, gently kicking your shin under the table. “Not picky, dear. Particular.”

“Particularly difficult to please, you mean.”

“Difficult? Hardly.” That predator’s grin, sharp fangs in the low light. “I can think of a few ways you could please me, if you’re so inclined.”

You shrug, swallowing another mouthful of wine. “No accounting for taste, it seems.”

“There’s something I’d like to taste, certainly.”

“Somehow, I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing any more.”

He laughs as you roll your eyes, knocking his cup against yours in a poor mockery of a toast. “The story of my life, my sweet. The story of my life.”

The air between you feels a little warmer than it had before, sitting across from him like this, like it’s just another ordinary day. He looks a lot more relaxed than he had outside, and you suppose you must be the same. Dancing in and out of each other’s words, the familiar rhythm of your back-and-forth.

A bunch of roses, lying next to you on the windowsill. This is… nice.

Is this better?

Astarion’s voice is an echo in your head, ripples on the surface of the sea. You look around, but it’s fine. Nobody’s watching.

He reaches across the table, palm face up. Your hand slides into his so easily, fingers brushing over his wrist, the imagined pulse of an undead heart.

Go on, then.

Your mouth tastes like oranges.

Show me.

The world shimmers and swims around you, iridescent like a soap bubble, melting into something new. The chill of the early morning, weak sunlight not yet enough to warm the street that you find yourself remembering.

“Good morrow, sir. Can I help you?”

A haughty mask, concealing the nerves beneath.There’s nobody else in the shop, early as it is, and it’s an enormous relief - you get the strange feeling that if this strange new heart could race, it would.

“I have a rather… urgent request, I suppose.”

“Urgent, sir?” The man behind the counter looks intrigued, smoothing down the front of his apron, and looking altogether far too cheery for such an early hour and his only customer. “How so?”

Unbidden, the scene twists before your eyes in a blur of sunlight, the cold feeling of impatient anticipation swirling through you like ink in water. Vague impressions of the town rush past you, smoke and sound and life as the sun rises in the sky, before you’re suddenly stepping through exactly the same door as you were a minute ago.

“Ah, sir.” The same man as before, a little less neat than he was several hours ago, the sound of hammering metal louder than you’d like. “You’ve been well since last I saw you, I hope?”

Restless, nervous, fighting the urge to fidget like a child. “Yes, yes, quite. Do you have them?”

“Aye, sir. Just a moment, if you please.” The blacksmith in front of him walks over to the side, rummaging through a drawer full of little leather bags. “Oh, it was good of you to write it down for us - we make a lot of posy rings here, sir, but not so many in Espruar, you see.”

He finds the one he’s looking for, soft brown leather with a drawstring, and carefully empties its contents to be inspected. A familiar ruby ring, scarlet fire in the blacksmith’s palm, and a lightly-patterned gold band that you now realise you’ve already seen before, as the hand it adorned paid an unknowing flower seller for a dozen roses.

Both rings are engraved inside, and your borrowed brain supplies the words with no small degree of pleased satisfaction. Amorie ent vivas est ma vie, proclaims the ring that now sits on your finger, ubi amor ibi fides the one that Astarion kept for himself.

“All to your satisfaction, I hope?”

“Hmm?” Astarion’s mouth replies but you can feel that his mind’s far away, curled up warm and content in some possessive, instinctive corner of your shared skull. “Oh, yes… lovely stuff, certainly.”

Seemingly satisfied, the blacksmith tips the rings back into the little leather pouch, exchanging it for no small sum of gold from your own pocket. The rings are hidden away, safe in the depths of Astarion’s bag, and he’s quick to turn on his heel to leave.

“A good day to you, sir.”

From what brief glimpse you catch, the man looks a little taken aback at your hasty exit, but this body doesn’t really care. The sun outside is high overhead as you pull the door open, and you feel yourself waving your hand vaguely over your shoulder. Whatever. There are far more important things to think about.

“Yes, yes. And to you.”

After all, you’ve got a date to keep.

“You see?”

As quickly as it came, the scene disappears around you - blinking, you’re once again sitting opposite Astarion, gentle pressure as his thumb rubs slowly back and forth across the backs of your fingers. “I wouldn’t just be late for no reason, dear.”

You can’t really tell how you feel, to be honest - strangely vulnerable, but pleasantly comforted all the same. Knowing he’d gone to all that trouble, for something that you’d thought was just a stolen trinket…

“Elvish?” you ask, eyebrows raised, relishing the way his head dips just slightly to the right like he wants to hide his face but knows he can’t. “You’re getting awfully sentimental in your old age, you know.”

“I - you!” If he could blush properly, would he? As it is, you can just about catch the faint flush of blood - your blood, taken last night up in his bed, while everyone else was still downstairs in the tavern proper - spreading high across his cheek. “Mouthy little thing, aren’t you?”

You shrug, hand slipping out of his to exaggeratedly inspect your nails, not even trying to hide your grin. He really does set you up perfectly sometimes. “Never had any complaints.”

He laughs, low and surprisingly sweet, and reaches absentmindedly for another mouthful of wine. “Don’t sound so sure, sweetheart. I’m sure I’ll get a noise complaint or two out of you yet.”

Bold words for a man who’s barely even seen your bed, let alone set foot in it. “Well, when you learn how, let me know.”

“Darling. Chance would be a fine thing.”

He takes a sip and apparently remembers how bad the wine was the first time - his expression sours, and you very kindly don’t point out that it looks a lot like the face Lae’zel gave him when she caught him absentmindedly licking blood off a dagger she’d grudgingly lent him after a particularly nasty fight a few weeks ago.

(Astarion assured you at length that it had been a very long day and he’d only been having a snack, and really wasn’t it an honour, a real compliment, that he thought her blade to be so immaculately kept that he’d even want to lick it?)

(Shadowheart had not been pleased. Astarion’s not allowed to borrow things from Lae’zel any more.)

While he’s busy making various disapproving - you won’t say endearing, you won’t - little noises about his curse of a drink, you slide the ring off your finger and hold it up in front of your face. It’s warm from the heat of your hand.

Turning it this way and that, idly admiring the way the light plays off the shiny metal, the flaming flicker of the ruby. Hells, it really is beautiful.

Gold band, red stone. Amorie ent vivas est ma vie.

“‘To live in love is my life.’”

He’s watching you, slowly swirling the wine in his cup with one elegant hand. The words are even prettier on his silver tongue, ringing metal like a bell.

“I thought…”

Distantly, a floorboard creaks. Dust, floating in the afternoon sunlight.

“I thought it made sense.”

Carefully, he twists the ring off his own finger, and presses it into your palm. A simple pattern of vines and leaves, curling around the band. Ubi amor ibi fides.

“You should’ve let me pay.”

He frowns. “What?”

“You paid,” you say. “For this. Those flowers. My clothes. You didn’t have to.”

“Really?” It’s almost shameful how your heart stutters when he meets your gaze, even if it’s only so he can roll his eyes at you with a dismissive smile. “Come now, dear. I have to spend my ill-gotten gains on something, don’t I?”

“There are far better things to sp-”

“No.”

His hand comes up to grasp your wrist, tugging it towards him until he can press your fingers to the side of his throat. His ring is heavy in your other hand, knocking against the one already on your finger, clicking against the inside of the band.

“No, there’s not. And if there were, you wouldn’t get to tell me what they are.”

If he’s going to be stubborn about it, so be it. “Clothes that you’re not going to wear are the best things you can think of to waste money on?”

“Do you think about me not wearing clothes that often, darling?” It’s your turn to roll your eyes this time, definitely ignoring the way you can feel the vibrations of his voice through the skin, the purr in his voice as it dips low and tempting. “Naughty.”

“I’m just saying that you don’t need to throw money away by - mmf!”

Astarion mutters something under his breath you don’t catch, before there’s the sudden rush of air past your face and a blunt strip of pressure against your stomach, pulled forwards until you’re half out of your chair. It takes your brain a second to figure out why your words aren’t coming out any more - there’s something in the way - he’s so close - oh, he’s kissing you-

Fingers going slack, a quiet thud as his ring hits the table. Neither of you hear it.

Without even thinking about it, you’re already melting against him, hand sliding up from his neck to tangle softly in his hair as the other braces your body against the table. Ah, that’s what that pressure is - the edge of the table is digging into your middle where you’re leaning forward over it, but you don’t really care. You’re far more focused on the sharpness of his fangs as they dig into your bottom lip, the insistent grasp of his hand as he cups your jaw, the faint sweetness of wine that still sits on his tongue.

“Shut up, shut up,” he mumbles into your mouth, “I don’t care about the damn money, you heinous little ingrate, I - mmm, I just want you to stop being so - so-”

The rest of his words are lost in a frustrated hiss that absolutely shouldn’t be as hot as it is, and you wince as the tadpole behind your eye squirms sickeningly when he breaks the kiss. His right hand is still holding your wrist, warm with your body heat, and he groans as he slumps back into his chair and bows his head, pressing the back of your hand to his face. Something reverent, something sacred, saint and devotee.

Just let me be good enough, he thinks, words floating in the dark water of your mind. Tell me I’m good enough for you.

Your jaw tightens. Why does he have to be so vicious with it? That’s not the problem.

Then what is?

He can’t see it, but even so, you’re not going to cry. How could this be what you want? I can’t - I’m - Astarion, you deserve m-

Gods, how stupid can you be? he spits, freezing venom splattering your skin. I know, alright? I know! I deserve more, I deserve better, all these fucking things you won’t stop telling me - has it ever crossed your empty little mind that I might want to actually have the things I apparently deserve?

If he was looking at you, you’re sure it would be with a scowl. I deserve love, or so I’m told. Yes?

Of course.

Then let me have it, dammit!

He takes a deep breath that you feel more than hear, a thin veneer of calm stretched over the words he wants to say. Darling. Dearest. Sweetness. I am in love with you.

Well, that’s… that’s, um…

Hm. You don’t really know what it is.

A strange shiver races through you, giddy with nerves and bitter excitement. He can’t mean it, can he? This can’t possibly end the way you want it to, he can’t possibly be saying - saying that, of all things.

…Right.

Try not to sound so pleased about it, dear, he mutters. I’m only pouring my heart out for you here.

Well - well, yes, but-

He finally looks up at that, interrupting the stammering jumble of words falling out of your sort-of-mouth, handsome features slightly soured with annoyance. But what, exactly?

You don’t…

Pinned in place by his stare, all you can do is faintly shake your head. You don’t have to lie because you think it’s going to make me feel better. It’s not your fault, alright? It’s not.

You’re desperately fighting the urge to flinch. He deserves to know, but it’s a painful admission all the same. I said before, you don’t have to pretend. You’re not a - a prop, or a toy, or anything like that - and I shouldn’t have made you do all of… All of this. I was just being selfish.

Thin, sharp words, papercuts all the way up the inside of your throat. It’s for the best.

Selfish? Astarion laughs harshly, somewhere between outraged and hysterical. Are you serious?

I mean, I - I just…

He’s gone mad. Absolutely mad. All you can do is watch in confusion as he smiles, sweet at first before it turns manic, dissolving into some sort of - well, the only words that come to mind are giggle fit, which sounds much cuter than he’d probably like, but it’s true. Even the damned tadpoles give up, connection splintering and falling away as he loses concentration and falls back into his chair - anyone looking would think you’d got him with Tasha’s Hideous Laughter or something, it’s that bad.

“I’m in love with an idiot,” he manages to choke out, “an actual, bona fide idiot!”

Such a charmer, your Astarion. “Wow. Thanks.”

“Any time, darling,” he laughs, one hand on his stomach and wincing slightly as he sits up - belatedly, you realise you should probably sit down again before people start to stare. “I’m here all week.”

His little fit of laughter seems to be a little more under control - you can’t help but melt at the pretty smile that still lights up his face, even though you’re still not quite sure what was so funny. “My love, my love - traveller of the realms, slayer of monsters, and proud owner of the thickest skull south of the Spine. Gods, it must be safe as houses in there - that tadpole of yours is really very lucky, dear.”

“A rogue and a comedian,” you reply dryly. “Don’t quit your day job, I’d say.”

“Hate to break it to you, but you are my day job, darling,” he says, nonchalantly picking up his cup again - he doesn’t drink anything, though, and you’re starting to think it’s just because he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.“In case you’ve forgotten, I do have a rather vested interest in keeping you alive long enough to get rid of our…”

Apparently, he’s decided now is the time for him to start being subtle about your collective situation. He waves his hand awkwardly towards his head with his cup, wine sloshing loudly but - thankfully for his doublet - not spilling. “Of certain mutual friends we seem to have acquired lately.”

Well, you’ll play along if it makes him happy. “See, it all comes out in the end,” you sigh, wiping away an imaginary tear. “Marrying me for my famed tadpole-killing expertise. What a fairy tale, hm?”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he picks up his ring from where you’d accidentally dropped it on the table, and slips it back onto his finger where it was before.

“Yes. Yes, I…”

Astarion trails off, eyes slightly unfocused, and you get the feeling he’s trying to find the words for something.

“That’s what it was.”

The floor tilts beneath you, a wriggling pulse behind your eye.

“That’s why I did this.”

He meets your eyes. A silent question, or maybe an offering. No laughter - something small and vulnerable in its wake that you can’t quite name, raw and aching, hollow bones like a bird.

You nod. A whirling blur of colour, and all at once the world is a tailor’s shop a few streets away, awfully cramped and thoroughly too noisy.

“Let’s get you inside, darling. We can’t have you catching a cold out here.”

This whole your-mind-his-body thing really is incredible - you can feel the smile spreading across his face as he holds the door open for past-you, even though you obviously can’t see it from here. Unfamiliar muscles forming a familiar expression. It’s weird.

A flurry of questions that you’re not really paying attention to, your new eyes lingering on the shape of your real body as it disappears behind a drab-looking curtain on the other side of the room. Astarion’s hands, fishing a doublet out of his (your?) bag and handing it off to some wretched assistant or other, but not before making it very clear that it is to be embroidered in gold, not silver, to match with his betrothed.

The boy he’s given it to scurries off with a nod, and something flickers deep inside - instinctively, you try to look down, but the memory of Astarion’s body doesn’t let you. Oh, it felt good when he said that. Something lighting up in your chest, fluttering and fizzing, a still heart that dreams of beating.

“What can we help you with today, sir?”

You’re still not entirely au fait with this whole mixed-consciousness thing, but it’s gradually getting easier to let Astarion’s mind talk over yours, relaxing into the gaps to watch the memories like you would a play. Well, it’s sort of like a play. It’s more like an opera, really, or you might say a pantomime if you were feeling especially mean - he’s as theatrical in his head as he is out loud, and it’s absolutely fascinating to realise that this really is how he sees the world.

Some woman or other comes over and starts chatting away, steering him over to a chair on the other side of the room, a little closer to the riser. She offers him a drink, but you see him wave it away - it’ll hardly do to be distracted when there’s time to be spent with you. There’s so little time to be alone nowadays, what with everyone else always clamouring for your precious attention. He’s not about to spoil such a golden chance by filling his head with wool.

(The sentiment is unexpectedly sweet, and inside his head where nobody can see, you can't help but smile like a fool at the thought. He likes spending time with you, he wants to spend time with you. With you!)

He can still hear you changing, cloth rustling behind the curtain, so he gradually tunes back into - gods below, is this blasted woman ever going to stop for breath? She’s still twittering on about… well, he’s not been paying attention, so he doesn’t actually know, but it’s probably not that important.

“Just alterations, sir? Or embellishment as well?

Right, right she’s asking about what he wants them to do. Fine, fair enough. “Family legacies, sent by a rather poorly-informed relative, I’m told. See to it that it’s appropriate for evening, and that it matches mine.”

“Certainly, sir. We’ll do our best for you and your… friend - um, companion? Companion.”

Seriously? The nerve. Friend. Well, perhaps it’s a little rude for her to be presuming anything, but he can let it slide just this once.

“Betrothed, actually,” he says, casually running his left hand through his hair and enjoying the satisfied pride that fills him as her eyes focus on the ring on his finger. “Something of a recent development, but certainly not an unhappy one.”

“Ah, is that so?” she says with a smile, much more genuine than before. “I’m sure there’s quite the story there.”

He shrugs, and you can feel how much effort it takes to make it look like he doesn’t care. “Well, it’s not for a lack of trying, I assure you.”

“Oh, my brother was just the same,” the woman replies, like she’s known him for years. “I couldn’t tell you how many times he asked his wife to marry him before she said yes - you know, I told him she’s far too good for him, didn’t I?”

She shakes her head, sighing fondly, and your borrowed heart twinges at the thought of this woman, this glimpse of an ordinary family with ordinary troubles. “But he wouldn’t give up, oh no, I’ll marry that girl yet, Ros, just you wait and see, and now they’ve been married for - ooh, must be going on eight years? Nine? Happy as a clam, he keeps her, and there’s not a man this side of the Spine who loves his wife more.”

“I commend his fortitude.” Astarion tips his imaginary cap to the woman, and it’s so stupidly charming that you could just scream. Bless this ridiculous elf you’ve had the fortune to fall in love with. “I shall have to live up to his example, clearly.”

“Well, obviously your circumstances are a little different, sir, but I should very much hope so,” she says. Her mouth opens, like she’s just thought of something she wants to say, but-

“-haah!”

Astarion’s head snaps towards the curtain where your voice came from, room blurring with the speed, half-out of his chair in an instant. What’s wrong? Who’s hurt you?

“Darling, are you quite alright in there?”

The curtain that hides you swishes as a hitherto-unnoticed assistant pulls it aside, revealing you in all your stolen finery, and the woman - has he actually asked her name yet? Did she say it? - turns to usher you over. “My congratulations to the two of you. I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.”

“Yes, I…” Astarion trails off, and something in his voice feels like candle smoke, trailing up into the sky. Wistful. “Thank you. I rather think we will.”

(It’s incredibly sweet that he was so committed to the role, even when you weren’t there. Isn’t he a gem?)

She leads you across the floor, and… oh dear. It really doesn’t fit, does it? Well, that’s what you’ve come here to fix, after all.

It’s an eclectic mix, to be sure, but he supposes that’s what you get when you’re just stealing for fun, rather than to order. You’re all stiff and awkward when you walk like the underpieces are all slightly too small, and the rest of it is all oddly proportioned, sleeves heavy but cut too short, laces pulling tight in some places and hanging slack in others.

As dire a situation as it might seem, with a fair amount of elbow grease, he’s sure it’ll turn out wonderfully. The colour is lovely against your skin, and the embroidery is rich and detailed, gold thread twisting and curling around your body, over your shoulders, your chest, your waist…

Dear gods, he wants to know what it feels like. Raised stitches under his fingers, trailing across your body, pressing delicately until he can feel the soft give of your skin beneath the treacherous cloth that separates you. Would it be warm with the heat of you? Would you want him to know?

That’s my darling.

The sinful, stolen thought blossoms in his mind like sweet honeysuckle, out of control, filling his mind with that heady, giddy scent. Look at you, little love - aren’t you a picture, dearest? Mine, all mine.

His teeth ache, biting back the words as they threaten to tumble right out of his mouth. I want you, let me want you, I want to want you. Just right, just right. Pushing himself out of his chair for something to do, palms itching with the loss of you, restless energy thrumming in his bones. I want this to be real. So beautiful, let me hold you, soft and lovely. Spoil you, spoil you, sweets for my sweet. Honey, honey, honey…

(Sorry, wait - that’s what he was thinking?)

(You - you don’t…)

It’s a wonder he’s able to string words together as he watches you, admiring every angle as you turn, the bubbly taste of gleeful shame as he spots the places where everything’s just slightly too tight, revealing just a little bit more of you than it should. Is that wrong? Because if it is, he doesn’t care. He’s far too busy enjoying the way your eyes seem to glitter in the golden light from the window, the way he can see your chest rise and fall with every breath, slightly shallower than normal as you fight not to rip any of the ageing side seams.

The staff in here are mercifully receptive to his suggestions, clearly appreciative of his discerning eye and tasteful sensibilities. One of the stupider ones tries to say something about replacing the neckline with some hideous striped monstrosity, and he takes a grim sort of pleasure in thoroughly rejecting that particular brainwave - same with the one who seems to be advocating for a sort of avant-garde asymmetrical sleeve thing, that looks less like a fashion statement and more like it’s already been chewed by that little owlbear. Twice. Honestly, it looks ghastly.

He’s just about to say the thing about the owlbear out loud - the others won’t get it, but it’ll make you laugh, so it’s worth it, really - when there’s this… this voice.

“Oh, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

No. No, no, no. He knows that tone.

The laughter falls from his lips as his gaze flicks to the left, to be met with some waifish elven girl standing altogether far too close for comfort. She smiles when his eyes meet hers, in a way that’s just slightly too pleased to look as demure as she thinks it does. “I don’t believe we’ve met…”

“Quite.”

He’s terse, tension locking him in place and filling his voice. The girl’s hand comes up to just barely brush against his elbow, so lightly that he doesn’t even really feel it - but even that is enough to make him jolt, instinctively jerking away and one hand drifting towards the comforting weight of the dagger at his hip.

“Would you come with me a moment, sir?” she asks, undeterred, delicate fingers twisting in her hair and swishing it back over her shoulder - obviously, almost embarrassingly coy. “My workbench is just over here, but there are more rooms this way if you’d rather talk in private.”

Ugh. She’s not even subtle about it - he doesn’t need any sort of elevated senses to be painfully aware of what she wants. Her heart’s fast, eyes bright, breathing a little too hard. It’s almost comical. He’s been faking the exact same thing for longer than she’s been alive.

“And what, exactly,” he spits, “could I possibly have to say to you?”

She laughs - laughs! Normally, the vitriol dripping from his voice can clear a room in seconds, especially combined with the crimson glare that he’s currently levelling at her. Apparently, though, this idiot girl is an exception to the rule.

“Your doublet, sir? I’m an embroiderer, sir, and…”

If she fiddles with that ridiculous hair any more, he’ll cut it clean off and take her fingers with it - does she not see the way he’s desperately trying to keep his hand away from his dagger? “Well, I’d hate to disappoint you, and you seem like the sort of gentleman who’s very knowledgeable about all sorts of things…”

So she’s stupid as well as vain. Dear gods, darling, pick a battle.

“Do I look like I want to talk about embroidery?” He resolutely turns his back and tries to focus back on you, still as lovely as ever up on your little perch. “Do excuse me. My betrothed requires my attention.

“Oh, no need to trouble anyone else, sir.”

Forget the hair. If she makes that infuriating giggling noise again, she’ll be lucky to leave this room with a head.

“I’m sure we can find something to talk about…”

Her hand comes to lay lightly at his elbow again, and that’s it. That’s it. You’re going to have to apologise to that woman from earlier for him, because he’s about to stab this pathetic little worm right in front of everyone, and he’s not even going to feel the tiniest bit bad about it.

She lights up as he turns to face her properly, beckoning her a little closer with a single finger. It soon turns to horror as she sees the predator’s grin that splits his face, the façade of politeness cracking like a duck egg, fangs unashamedly on display.

“Shall I tell you a secret, little elfling?”

(You’ve always known that Astarion’s attitude to murder is a little unconventional, but murdering someone for the crime of threatening a relationship that isn’t even real? His head spins with the euphoria of the kill-to-be, and you’re dizzy with how much he wants it. Is it bad, that he likes the taste of her fear? Is it worse, that you like it too?)

The girl freezes on the spot as he leans in, something sharp and brittle in the way she trembles but can’t force her feet to move. Shivering, shuddering, perfect glass splintering like ice. A prey animal. This is going to be fun.

“There’s a funny thing that always seems to happen, to people who try to get in between my darling and I.”

“It - sir, I - I didn't-”

He laughs over her, dark and wicked, already salivating at the thought of what’s to come. Ooh, you could just kiss him.

“Don’t worry, little madam, I’ll give you a clue. It starts with please, sir, I’m sorry, and it rhymes with I don’t want to d-”

“Darling!”

It’s you - sharply, he pivots on his heel to face you, hurriedly smoothing his expression back into a slightly more pleasant, we are in public, Astarion, stop looking so bloody murderous all the time smile. The swarm of people around you has dissipated some, and it’s nice to finally have an unobstructed view of you. “Won’t you come and help me choose?”

“Choose what, my love?” Bless you, bless you for the excuse to abandon this grasping little wretch. He fixes the terrified creature next to him with one last self-satisfied smirk for good measure, enjoying the way she gasps and trips over her own feet as she stumbles away, before letting the magnet in his chest pull itself gleefully back to you. “Are you finished already?”

Some hapless assistant comes drifting by, clearly not noticing him, and holds out a hand to help you down off the stand. Well, that certainly won’t do - does nobody in this accursed place know that he’s engaged to you? Because he’d thought he’d made it really rather obvious. The ruby on your finger glitters in the light, and he thinks about the words he knows are pressed against your skin, a secret promise.

Amorie ent vivas est ma vie. It’s only right, it’s only fair. How could anyone ever look at you and not know that you were made to be loved? You were made to be doted on, kissed and held and adored like the precious thing you are - spoilt absolutely rotten, thoroughly and entirely, toothache and cavities.

You deserve love, so much more than he could ever give you, but by all the hells, does he want to try. This stolen, golden day isn’t nearly enough.

Perhaps he’s tipped his hand a little too far this time, but it’s true, it’s true. Ubi amor ibi fides, where there is love there is faith. Two hundred years of blood, cracked open on the altar, a broken heart that can’t afford to cry. He’s been abandoned by gods before. A faithful sunflower, ever turning to face you, held blissfully captive in your gravity. All that love that lights your path, that fills your world - would you let it be his, poor and pitiful as it is? Divinity. The crackle of a campfire, truth is faith is you.

Why, then…?

Don’t you notice it when he reaches out to you, palm upturned to help you down beside him? Weren’t you expecting him? Surely, surely he’s not done such a poor job as your fiancé that you didn’t think he’d want to hold your hand, that you’d choose some random shop girl over him.

I thought - I just-

Silently, he watches on as you step down from the riser, the phantom warmth of your hand in his. Does it matter? Of course not, of course not - how could you know that it even matters to him at all? You probably just don’t want to trouble him, or maybe you really didn’t see. It’s his own fault, after all, for trying to find meaning in the very charade he’s brought upon himself.

But I’m here, his traitor’s heart whispers, confused. Won’t you let me help you? What did I do?

So caught up in his own puzzled musings, he barely even notices it when the assistant mumbles something and runs off. The too-loud beat of your heart, the too-quiet sound of your breath, echoing through his skull.

“The - um, the embroidery. You can pick.”

Shit, shit, what’s wrong? You won’t even look at him now, eyes fixed somewhere over his shoulder, and you sound all - all sad…

“Are you sure, dear?” He won’t push it, not out here in front of everyone - no matter how much his empty arms ache to hold you, press his mouth to your temple, smooth away the tiny, worried creases in your skin with his thumb. “Wouldn’t you rather decide for yourself?”

“It’s fine.”

It’s worse than he thought. Before he can even do anything, you’re already backing away from him - inch by inch, step by step, like he won’t notice if you move slowly enough. You’re scared. “I’m sure you’re better at this than I am.”

You’re afraid - no scent of your blood in the air, no lingering taste of magic, but he’d know your fear anywhere. Fingers trembling ever so slightly, eyes forgetting to blink, pulse beating against your skin like a drum. Did someone hurt you? Say something to you? Fuck, he must have missed something. Who was it? Who was it? Tell him, and he’ll have them turned inside out before you can s-

The thought hits him like an arrow, cold shock spreading through his chest before it turns to horrified pain. He dismisses you with a nod that surely must look as wooden as it feels, unable to take his eyes off you as you scuttle away behind that damned curtain - but in his head he’s still half a mile away, replaying the last ten minutes in his head over and over in search of the thing he must have done wrong. One hand unconsciously comes up to his chest, just to make sure that the crater in his ribs hasn’t bled all over his front.

Broken heart, punctured lung. Are you afraid of him?

A low, stifled curse from the other side of the room brings him back with a jolt, and without really realising it, he’s already ducking through the curtain. Fingernails catching on velvet, still air, floorboard that creak underfoot. Something about forgiveness or permission, or one of those other things he never remembers to ask for.

“Let me.”

Quick fingers skimming across your back, undoing buttons, untying laces. Flashes of a thousand others in your place, pushed haphazardly to the back of his mind, gritting his teeth to stay, stay, stay. Seams tearing, lace ripping, buttons scattering across the floor - but that’s not right, he’s here with you, and you - and you-

“Careful.”

A quiet sort of affection, creeping up on him, the gentle blade that slots between his ribs and begs to stay buried there. Greedy, guilty hands, craving to ruin you, only knowing how to destroy. Protective, possessive, cursed for sure. Dread. Satisfaction, thick, dark blood smeared across his face, the carnage of his feast painted down your neck. The softness of your body, curved against his chest - desire, rich and syrupy, honey-sweet and terrifying in its sincerity.

“You and I, all alone. People might talk.”

I wish they would, whispers something in his head. I wish they knew - and I wish you knew too.

You feel your shared mouth open, but he doesn’t let you stay any longer - before past-him can reply, the scene dissolves into mist and falls away, leaving only Astarion looking back at you across the table.

“Clear enough for you, darling?”

The words crackle against your senses slightly, electric. You nod, left in something of a daze.

“Quite.”

You don’t say anything else, for a little while.

(Absentmindedly, you take a sip of your wine. It’s still not great, but it’s better than nothing.)

He’s on edge, fidgeting slightly in his seat, but it barely registers - your head is swirling with everything you’ve seen, everything he’s shown you. So he - so he had wanted this? It hadn’t been… everything he’d said…

It doesn’t make sense. How could he be so stupid?

You’re not good to love - you’re not good at love. Someone so precious, something so treasured. What could you possibly give him that he couldn’t find elsewhere? What do you have that he hasn’t seen a thousand times over?

You don’t know how to help him, or even where you could start. He ought to have someone he can trust with all those deepest, darkest parts of him, who understands him the way he doesn’t even know he needs, who knows just what to say, just when to listen. Someone confident and funny and kind, someone with the sort of love that’s warm and all-encompassing - a sunny summer’s day, a lighthouse in the storm. Sturdy, dependable, honourable. Safe. He deserves safe.

Instead, all you’ve got is a silly, reckless crush, a clumsy, gangly, unpracticed thing that you barely even know what to do with. Can you even call it love? Would he recognise it, if he saw it? Some trembling, pathetic infatuation, the best your body can do, thin and liquid in the marrow of your bones. Not blood, just water, filling but not full. Nothing that would satisfy him.

It’s not fair, it’s not fair. He’s lovely and he’s wicked and he’s clever, he’s cruel and he’s sweet and he’s made for so much more than you.

“I, um…”

He’ll thank you later. Not out loud, obviously - this is Astarion you’re talking about, after all - but he’ll know this is all for the best.

“Well, I’m very flattered, but…” Carefully, you arrange your face into what hopefully looks like sympathy, rather than pity. He’s clearly not in his right mind - he needs to think this is you offering to fix this together, rather than you letting him down gently. “Maybe this isn’t th-”

“Oh, for the love of - for once in your life, will you take the fucking hint?”

Reeling, your jaw drops as he practically shouts the words at you, hands slamming down onto the table with a thud.

“I didn’t even-!”

“No! No, you didn’t!” The tadpole in your head writhes as his mind opens to you once again, white-hot and shaking with rage. Does he even know he’s doing it? “Because you gave me that big, sad, I’m-so-sorry-I’m-so-useless look as you opened your silly little mouth, and I knew exactly what you were going to say!”

Snarling, biting, this must be what it’s like to be hunted by him. “So here’s what’s going to happen, darling - I am going to tell you what’s going on here, and you are going to sit there and listen, yes?”

Snap, snap, snap - he clicks his fingers insistently in front of your face when you don’t reply. “Yes?”

“Yes, mother,” you grumble, thoroughly chastised. “Listening.”

He narrows his eyes at the name, but lets it slide. Apparently, he’s got bigger fish to fry here.

“I am not a child.”

A thousand sarcastic replies flit through your head, most of them involving some variant of you’re right, a child wouldn’t be such a messy eater, but the murderous look he gives you as you open your mouth tells you that now might not be the time.

“I don’t need you to choose things for me. I don’t need you to tell me what to do,” he spits, fingernails biting into the wooden surface of the table. “I have had enough, of other people giving me orders, deciding things for me - do you hear me?”

His voice, low and bitterly cold. “You don’t get to be my master.”

There’s nothing you can really say to that, so you just nod, feeling slightly sick. Where’s he going with this - gods, what have you done?

“Oh? So you do understand!” he cries, throwing his hands up in the air in apparent frustration. “So it’s finally dawned on you, has it? You’re finally going to let me do what I want, is that it?”

“Yes,” you choke out, voice thin and cracking. “I - yes.”

“So if I told you I wanted to - to write a book about the uselessness of lockpicking, or let Gale turn me into a frog, or dye my hair purple, or something, you’d believe me? No matter how out of character you thought it was? You’d let me do it, even if you thought I’d lost my mind?”

There’s not even space to get a word in edgeways - he’s really, properly ranting now. “Or if I said I wanted to, um - oh, I don’t know, rob a bank, or run for mayor, or go into business writing terrible Sylvan love poetry - you’d believe me, yes? You’d say to yourself, oh, that Astarion, he’s big enough and bad enough to know what he wants, wouldn’t you?”

Another nod, a little bit more confused this time. Faerie love poetry? “I would.”

“Oh? Is that so? My, you sound awfully confident.” He feigns shock, one hand splayed mockingly across his chest. Sarcastic, almost jeering, a theatrical gasp.

“I must be so lucky, hm? To have someone who knows me so well, who trusts me to do whatever I want? Respecting me, caring about me, telling me that what I think matters?”

Something moving very fast - wine spilled all over the table with a clatter, a curse, a crescendo. “Well, then, dearheart - why can’t you seem to keep it in your ridiculous little head that I am in love with you?”

A beat.

“And before you say it - no, it’s not a joke, or whatever fool excuse you’re busy coming up with,” he snaps, pointing an accusing finger at you like it’ll keep the words from forming in your head. “I’m cruel, dear, but not that cruel.”

Sighing, he flicks his hand and the dripping, crimson wine stain soaking his sleeve disappears.

“Do close your mouth, sweetling,” he murmurs, reaching slowly across the table, pausing just before he can touch your face. “What did I tell you, hmm?”

“About my open mouth?”

Your voice is weak and the joke’s not your best, but you lean forward, letting him graze his fingers lightly across your jaw. “Not to make promises I can’t keep.”

“Gods. I really have taught you well.”

Words spill unbidden into your mind like oil, writhing in what might be fury or terror. Crawling into the strange, empty space that lies between you, dark and filled with agony, out of your body and inside your head.

Know me, see me - what a joke, that I should want to be seen at last, and by you, of all people. Are you there? Are you listening?

A thousand tiny moments, rushing past you in the current of his madness. You couldn’t make me do it, can’t you see? You couldn’t force me to love you - I have no need of force, not for you! It’s no pretence, it’s no game.

You couldn’t make me, but I did it anyway because it’s real, it’s all been real - why can’t you believe me? Do you think me so spiteful, so cruel, that I would do that to you?

Walls collapsing, worlds colliding. Where you go, he follows - always a step too slow, reaching out a second too late to find your hand already gone.

The words you think I wish to say, the pity and the scorn and the endless mockery that you imagine fills my head when I look at you. Is that what you want? Am I to be nothing but a hapless instrument of your own self-hatred, your own monstrous thoughts spilling from my lips, poisoning you with every word, every kiss?

My love, he wails, my love, my love. You’re so cruel to me.

Is this still only in your mind? The air is thick and close, seeping heavy into your skin. You make me sound so hateful, full of spite and loathing, bent on your destruction. Do you think me incapable of love - of loving you?

Tell me, savage darling of mine - tell this vicious, twisted creature that you say you see before you. Why can’t you believe that I could ever be in love with you?

Ragged, fevered fingernails tearing at the brickwork, half-mad with wanting. Ageing silk, soft and fragile as it frays. A whimper that might be a screech that might be a howl.

Why did I have to be a monster? he sobs, voice splintering and cracking - a phantom hand, all claws, desperately searching for your ankle. Couldn’t I have just been a man? Couldn’t I have just been in love with you for my own sake, because I care for you more than anyone I’ve ever known?

Please, my darling, I beg. Don’t make me this way.

You…

You don’t know what to say. Formless, faceless in this imagined space between - how would you speak, even if you tried? What words could reach his heart, could soothe this pain?

Whatever you say next, it can’t be a lie. Not again. He’ll know.

Paralysed with fear, but why? You like him. You want him, want to love him - and here he is, telling you that he feels the same. What’s the problem, then?

I’m scared.

The edge of the cliff, crumbling away beneath your boots. You know how to want love, but you don’t know how to do it - what does that even mean, for people like you two? How does it even work?

You don’t know what you don’t know, and it’s terrifying. Foolish and inexperienced - won’t he be ashamed of your clumsiness? He always seems so… so capable, so much bolder than you are. Confident, if a little too arrogant, and a healthy dose of vanity on top of that - ever unshaken, ever above it all. And yet, even in the moments when the act stretches too thin, when you can see it for the charade it is, it doesn’t matter. Astarion’s still miles beyond you, braver than you could imagine being.

He always seems to have an answer, he always seems to know. You’re embarrassed that you can’t match him.

I won’t - I can’t-

But that’s not all, is it?

He’s so precious to you. He matters, more than he thinks and more than you’ll admit, and he’s in pain. You don’t want him to be in pain. But you’re afraid that your love, weak and unpracticed as it is, won’t be enough to stop it.

Is it because you don’t want to see him hurt, or because you don’t trust yourself not to hurt him? He should want more, he shouldn’t settle for you. Selfish, lazy you, wanting but never deserving, complaining but never really trying. All these ugly, shameful parts of you that he must not know, or else he never would have said any of this.

Surely, he can’t know. Nobody could know all these things about you, and still pretend to love you the way he does.

And yet…

He says he doesn’t suffer fools, and you’ve seen him threaten to stab enough of them that you know it’s true. He says he doesn’t waste his time on things he doesn’t care about, that he doesn’t bother with anything he doesn’t like, and yeah, those also seem to be threatened with stabbing on an alarmingly-regular basis. So maybe it’s more about the propensity for knives than any particular economy of affection, but even so - you still believe him, don’t you?

He’s a liar. It’s the one thing he’ll always tell the truth about. But now, knowing what you know, you’re starting to think that’s not quite right either.

It all comes back to fear. Scared that it’s not true, that he’ll change his mind, that he was lying the whole time. Scared that you’ll be hurt, that you’ll hurt him, that he really is as cruel as he thinks he is. Can you do it? Trust him when he says you’re enough for him, that you’re what he wants? Trust him, when he says he means it?

It’s too much.

Your messy, sticky heart. A breathless, fluttering creature, laden with roses and sick with love.

I don’t want to get it wrong.

A cool hand cups your cheek, and the world comes back to you.

Stinging, your eyes open - weren’t they already open? - to find Astarion close, much closer than he was before. While you weren’t looking, he must have moved, but how on earth did he…?

“Steady on, darling. My eyes are up here.”

However he did it, Astarion looks down at you from where he’s perched in your lap, sitting sideways across your legs with one arm around your shoulders to keep himself balanced. Slowly, he coaxes your face up from the floor to look at him, fingers pressing into the softness of your cheek.

“Ah, that’s better. There you are.”

He doesn’t look angry, as you’d feared. Maybe pleased is the right word? No, that sounds too much like self-satisfied - not reverent, that’s too grand, and not proud either. It’s something softer than just happy, something contented and uncharacteristically tender. Charmed, perhaps.

Slightly awkwardly, you quietly clear your throat. Your body hasn’t cried, but it feels like your mind has, and the gap between the two is kind of disconcerting.

“I’m sorry.”

Astarion tilts his head, pretty eyes faintly confused, but you carry on. “It’s just a bit… you know. There’s a lot.”

Your hand stutters as it waves stiffly through the air in front of you, like that’ll somehow help you say what you mean. Everything that’s happened today, everything you’ve done, all summed up in some inept little gesture in your lap.

Luckily, he seems to understand well enough. With a sigh, he leans forward until his head is resting on yours, pulling you gently towards him to settle your head against the curve of his throat, safe in his embrace. Without really realising it, your arms find his middle, settling loosely around his waist in return.

“You know, I think I’ve changed my mind,” he says slowly, fingers tapping idly against your skin. “I think we do have time, after all.”

Bemused, you frown against his shoulder. “Time for what?”

Another memory, teased out of your brain by the tadpole. A sun-filled street, and a plan that couldn’t possibly go wrong.

What say you, dearest? Fancy an evening as my beloved?

Even now, you find yourself smiling at his overblown antics, the cocky flick of his wrist as he took your hand and kissed it. You could at least ask me properly, you know.

We’ve no time for courtship, sweetheart… Did he sound quite so mournful the first time? Or do you just remember it that way? I simply must have you - and tonight, no less!

“Let me ask you again, darling,” the real Astarion asks you. Well, with his chin resting lightly on top of your head, he more so asks your hair, but the meaning is clear. “Properly, this time.”

“Mmm…”

Is it a tiny bit mean of you, to make him wait? Probably, but he likes it when you’re mean. “You’ll have to convince me…”

“Oh?” Of course, he plays along, with a smirk that you don’t have to see to recognise. “Then set the scene for me, dear. However shall I win your hand?”

It takes a few long seconds for you to settle on an idea, fingers absentmindedly tapping against his back. This is nice.

“Tell me how it’s supposed to be,” you say, warm words against cold skin. “Tell me how this should have gone.”

“Well, it wouldn’t start like this, certainly,” he declares, tracing tiny, maybe-unconscious circles on the floor with the toe of his boot. “I wonder how we would have met? Something grand, I’m sure…”

He makes some gesture you can’t see, painting the picture in the air. “Perhaps a ball, or a gala, the kind they have in the Upper City - ooh, maybe in the foyer of an opera house or a theatre or something.”

“How… refined.”

“Oh, it would be terribly dull, I assure you,” he replies. “You’d have been to a thousand of these things before, and you’d be bored out of your skull.”

You can’t help but laugh at the way the words fall out of his mouth, full of longing and yet totally blasé. “And you’d save me from it, I assume?”

“Naturally.” Astarion runs a practised hand through his hair, adjusting himself in your lap slightly so he doesn’t fall. “I’d catch sight of you across the room and be utterly captivated by your beauty, darling. Then, I’d bring you a glass of wine and make some excuse to get you talking, and we’d spend the rest of the evening being absolutely awful about everyone else there.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Oh, you can’t help yourself - you have to stretch up a bit awkwardly, but you lean up to kiss his cheek, just once. Maybe twice. “Then what?”

He hums, deep in careful consideration. “I suppose I’d have to - oh, we’d both be living in the Upper City, by the way - I suppose I’d have to find your family’s home the next morning.”

“Bold, don’t you think?” you ask with a grin. “It’s barely been half a day since we met.”

He scoffs. “Like that would matter to me. They might show me into the drawing room, but they wouldn’t let me see you - I fear I might make quite a scene, you know. I’d stay as long as I could, waiting for you to come downstairs, and I wouldn’t leave until I’d begged permission to court you properly.”

The image of Astarion in all his finery pops into your head, perched defiantly on the sofa in the lavish drawing room of some imagined townhouse in Baldur’s Gate, arguing with the maid as she tries to shoo him away - it’s so ridiculous, and yet so absolutely him. Who else would turn up on your doorstep and elbow his way into the parlour, setting himself in the middle of the furniture like he owns it, and refusing to leave without an offer of courtship from the family?

“And what’s so funny about that?” He pretends to be affronted as you muffle your laugh into his shoulder, but there’s no heat in it. “Don’t tell me you’d keep me waiting, now.”

“Never, my love,” you proclaim, thoroughly charmed. “Once I heard the racket from downstairs, you wouldn’t be able to keep me away.”

“Racket - you think I’d be making a racket, darling? In what world?” he gasps. “I’ll have you know I’m the very picture of politeness. Very subtle. You wouldn’t even know, unless I wanted you to.”

“Right, right, subtle…” You nod exaggeratedly, taking in his perfect look of offended outrage. “And I assume that’s why the picture of politeness is sitting on my lap and trying to get his hands up my shirt in the middle of a tavern?”

Cold hands freeze against your sides, skin against skin, and you grin. Got him. “Nice try, though. I was almost convinced.”

“Of my subtlety? I’m sure I could persuade you...” He raises an eyebrow down at you, gaze dark with half-hidden promise. “You don’t think I could be quiet?”

“I’d be disappointed if you were. You mean you wouldn’t let me hear you?” You’re deliberately disappointed, a little whiny in the way you know he understands - a familiar dance, made all the sweeter by the fresh excitement of this new air between you. If he wants to play the game, you’ll play too. “Besides, I thought you liked it loud.”

“Oh, I do,” he breathes, one hand sneaking out from under your shirt, index finger pressing softly against the underside of your chin to keep your eyes on him. “Especially when you’re the one offering, darling.”

See, now you're speaking his language. “Who said I’d offer you anything?”

“Please. You wouldn’t get the chance, dear,” he scoffs, unfairly handsome in his arrogance. “Offering it to me? No, no. You’ll be begging me, pretty thing, and you’ll like it.”

The way he shifts to resettle himself in your lap is certainly no accident, and you really have to fight to keep your gaze up - you can just about keep looking at his face, but you can’t quite stop yourself from staring at his lips as he continues. “So how about it, hm? Would you be loud for me, my sweet?”

“I - well, I…” Your thoughts melt into nothing as the hand under your shirt slips just barely higher, words stuttering and faltering on your tongue. Curse his stupid face, curse his awful voice, curse his ridiculous hair and his strong hands and his pretty smile and his sweet kisses…

“Mm, I think you could be,” he muses, smug like the cat that’s got the cream. “I’d ask you very nicely, you know. And you’d be good for me, wouldn’t you? If I asked you nicely?”

The tadpole twitches behind your eye, the heat of something liquid and indulgent, a tantalising taste. Half memories, half dreams. Clever hands keeping you close in the middle of a crowded market, pulling you into a side street, pressing you hungrily up against the brick. The swish of a soft curtain, voices just outside, quiet now, darling, or do you want them to hear? Soft and warm and sweating, a trail of fabric in your wake - closer and closer, snatched up in his arms and - and-

Words, you have to say words - dizzily, your hazy mind latches onto whatever it can find. “Nicely?”

“Yes, honey. Nicely,” he sings through a wicked smile, faintly condescending in a way that really shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. “That’s right, sweetheart. Very good.”

He knows he’s got the upper hand and he’s just trying to get a rise out of you, that’s all. You’re not going to fall for it, you’re not. Was it always this warm in here?

“Look at you, darling. Feeling a little hot, are we?”

The flash of fangs as he presses the back of his free hand to your cheek, blessed coolness, before sliding it down your neck to toy with the collar of your shirt.

“You should have said something, poor thing. I know a way we could cool you down.”

He looks thoughtful for a second, expression pensive before it melts back into a smirk. “Well. Maybe not straight away. But I’d get you out of all these layers, at least…”

Promises, promises. Your hummingbird heart, fluttering out of control. Graceful fingers picking at your collar, digging playfully into the softness of your waist, skimming across the skin. Don’t think about it, don’t think about it…

“You want to do this here?” If you sound a little more out of breath than normal, which you’re not saying you are, then that’s neither here nor there. “Whatever happened to biding your time?”

“It’s your many charms, my darling,” he replies, endearingly - um, infuriatingly ready with a comeback, leaning down to kiss just beside your eye. “A man can only resist so long.”

“Bastard.”

“Mm, I love you too.”

The self-satisfied look is quickly wiped off his face by the bitterness of his wine - he takes one last sip before disgustedly dumping the rest of his cup into yours. “Gods, this stuff is vile - let's be off, darling, before anyone tries to palm another bottle off on us.”

Pushing himself up off your lap, he turns back with a neat little bow, palm upturned to help you out of your chair. “Delightful as the company may be, life is far too short to spend it drinking such dreadful wine.”

“This from he, the undying.”

“And I wouldn't waste another second of my undeath on it,” he sniffs, pulling you gently to your feet and brushing imaginary dust from his shirt. “I’ll have you know, being dead is no excuse for subpar drinks.”

“Your idea of a nice drink is human blood, dear,” you reply dryly as you pick your roses up off the windowsill, paper crinkling in your hands. “I’m not sure you're exactly an authority on the matter.”

Astarion rolls his eyes as he picks up his bag, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Touché, my love, touché.”

He leads you back through the tavern, stepping across to hold the door open for you. The barkeep lifts a hand in farewell, and as you go to do the same, something glitters in the sunlight coming in through the open doorway.

It’s true, it’s true. Sweet relief and incredible terror all at once, resolving into something bright and brave and fizzing. Where there is love, there is faith. Is this what stories feel like? Wanting and wanted, a kiss that’s a dance that’s a promise.

Thin gold, red light. Amorie ent vivas est ma vie.

“...Darling? Hello?”

Startled out of your reverie, you look up just as Astarion raises an eyebrow, amused, motioning towards the door. “Some time today, my sweet.”

“Right, right, yes…”

Hastily, you duck out of the doorway and step out onto the street, bathed in the warm light of the late afternoon. Astarion follows, offering you his arm with a flourish, and you take it gladly.

“Where to next, then?” you ask, falling easily into step.

He shrugs, gesturing in front of the pair of you with a wry smile. “Why, wherever the road may take us, of course! We’re free as birds, dear - the very world is our oyster.”

“Back to the others then.”

“Well, yes.”

“Thought so.” Wordlessly, you turn to head back through the market, a little less noisy than this morning but still busy enough. “Unless you were planning on throwing even more of your money at the flower boy, that is.”

He gives you a playful nudge, discreetly shifting you both to the right to dodge a man walking the other way with an enormous crate of apples. “Don’t tempt me, dear. Five minutes to acquire the necessary funds, and you’ll be walking home with more than an armful of roses.”

“Planting me a garden, are you?”

“You’ll have a veritable meadow, my sweet,” he replies like it’s nothing, grand as you like. “As many as there’s room for, and one more for good measure.”

His free hand reaches across to yours, lifting it to his lips and kissing it like a prince from a storybook - it’s almost embarrassing how much it gets to you, and you’re sure he can hear your heart speeding up at his touch. “You’d never buy perfumes or oils again, if I had my way - in fact, you’d be hard-pressed to wash the smell of roses off of you, my love.”

Oh, you can’t let him off that easily. “They’d be roses, would they?” you ask, thinly feigning disinterest, although the effect is somewhat lost when you have to speak up a bit to be heard over the woman hawking fish just behind you. “So cliché.”

He lets out a tortured sigh, pained expression on his pretty face. “It happens to the best of us, I’m afraid.”

“You’re right, it does,” you muse. “Can’t imagine why it’s happened to you, then.”

“Oh, you-!”

He makes a grab for you, but you’re already gone, slipping out of his grasp and away into the crowded market, ducking through the gaps between the stalls and laughing as he chases after you. “Get back here, you villain!”

It’s a doomed endeavour - you know he’ll catch you, but you run anyway. Weaving in and out of the crowd, he’s never far behind. Fingertips that just barely brush the back of your shirt, shouted threats that grow more and more ridiculous each time you twist away.

“When I catch you-!”

If he wanted to, he’d have you in an instant, but it’s not about that, is it? The chase, the catch, the game. It’s the one you love to play, and you love it even more when you lose.

“There you are, darling.”

Rose petals flutter in your wake, a ruby glitters on your finger. Cold hands pull you close, and the sky, the sky, the sky.

masterlist

this is an original work by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 1: Stuck

Birmingham, England, 1919

Much like America, it is an empire of industry. Giant factories tower over the slums and shacks, with drunks, thieves, and whores alike all sulking in the shadows. Smoke and ash cloud the sky and block out what little sun there is, as well as fill everyone’s lungs with foul air. With sparks flying everywhere it’s a miracle nothing catches fire. The gloomy and dreadful atmosphere is enough to make anyone faint, vomit, or lose hope altogether.

But I’ve got something these folks do not. 

I am an American.

While that may not be astonishing to some, to me it means that I’m independent, as well as rambunctious and a bit of a rebel even for my culture. My family always says I’m too rash and stubborn, and that it will diminish any chance of me finding a husband and settling down for a proper life. But I’m in no mood to marry, so sue me for actually enjoying my life.

However, at the moment I seem to be in a bit of a pickle. You see, I don’t travel much. Yes there’s the occasional trip out of state, but never in a million years did I think I’d ever go to England. Of all places, my family chose to vacation in Manchester, England. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a beautiful country with gorgeous countryside views and polite accents… that is until you reach the deep city. Then it gets bustling and dangerous, which is how I came to be where I am now. We decided to travel by train, stopping in Birmingham on the way to London before we headed home. Lord knows why I decided to stray away and get a better look at the intriguing shops, but after an hour of desperately searching for my family it finally sunk in that I was, quite frankly, alone. Talk about a dumb-headed move on my part. I passed back and forth through the train station for hours as night fell, growing more and more worried about what kinds of danger Small Heath, Birmingham has hiding in the darkness. 

Right now, people are giving me mixed looks of pity, confusion, and judgment. I know I’m not much to look at, with my messy blonde hair stuffed under a simple hat and my slim figure dressed in a gray dress with black heels. I probably look much richer than I really am, which makes my fear of criminals spike even more.

“Might I help you, young lady?” A sinister voice calls out.

He's a drunk, I’m sure of it. A man in a ragged overcoat staggers over, and he’s reeking of alcohol.

“No, I’m waiting for someone. Please leave me alone.” 

“Oh, no. You’re all alone? Perfect…” He licks his lips and starts reaching his hand out-!

“Back off! She’s with me.”

I look over and see an older man wearing a trenchcoat and bowler hat. He’s got a simple mustache, is smoking a pipe, and carrying a briefcase. Is he a cop?

“Says who, old man?” The drunk slurs.

But instead of answering, the man slugs the drunk in the nose and ushers him off. When he turns back to me the bowler hat man extends a hand to shake.

“Excuse me, miss. I’m Inspector Chester Campbell. Who might you be?”

“I- I’m Verena, Verena Steenstra.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Verena. I’m here for private matters, sent by Churchill on account of a BSA munitions robbery. I am here to weed out prime suspects and possibly recover some stolen items that belong to the Crown. You wouldn’t happen to know an Arthur or Thomas Shelby, would you?”

I shake my head. “Sorry, can’t say I have. I’m new to these parts, just having arrived from America yesterday.”

He nods. “Well it’s best if you don’t, miss. They’re ruthless, the lot of them. Gangsters, bookmakers, racketeers. The gang they’re part of call themselves the Peaky Blinders. You best be getting indoors instead of wandering these dreadful streets at this hour.”

When Campbell sees my uneasy expression he frowns. “You do have a place to stay, right?”

“Actually sir, I was… left here by mistake. My family left hours ago and I’ve been here ever since.”

Campbell’s eyes soften a little. “I’m sorry to hear that, miss. If I knew the area I’d find you an inn or hotel, so the most I can do is guide you to the desk clerk in the train station.” He gestures for me to follow him and leads me over to the back desk, where a middle-aged lady is typing. “Hello, would you happen to know where this young lady might find any lodgings?”

The lady gives me a once-over and tilts her head. “Maybe ask Harry at the Garrison. That’s a local pub nearby. You can’t miss it. Just ask for Harry.”

We thank her and head back outside, where it’s starting to get dark.

“I’m sorry to leave you here, but I’ve got my own appointments to attend.” Campbell grips his briefcase and waves to signal a passing cab. “You’ll be alright?”

I try to give a convincing nod. “Yeah, as good as I can I guess. Good luck with your investigation.”

“Best of luck to you too, miss. You’ll need it if you want to survive this wicked city.”

And with that, the inspector climbs into the cab and is driven off. Leaving me, once again, alone. But at least this time I have an idea of where to go and what to do. I tightly grip my small suitcase and begin walking down the bustling streets, trying my best to ignore the… less than Christian crowd that hovers around. 

“God does not care if you live in a slum or in a mansion!”

A man’s voice draws my attention, and I look to find the source coming from down the street. He sounds Jamaican, and seems to be a minister of sorts. 

“God does not care if you are rich or you are poor!”

I approach slowly, not wanting to interrupt. “Excuse me, sir? Where would I go to find the Garrison?”

The man frowns at me, confused. “What’s a lass like you doing in this part of town? Don’t you know it’s dangerous?”

“I understand that. I’m looking to find a place to stay, so I’ll ask again. Where can I find the Garrison?”

The man looks at me as if I’ve signed my own death note, then points to the building down the street. “There. But God be with you if you want to persevere with what kind of men go in there.”

I thank him and walk towards the building. It’s definitely a pub, because there’s drunk men staggering out and vomiting everywhere. 

“Look out!” Someone shouts.

Without warning, a small person plows into me and sends us tumbling into the dust.

“Dear God, what on Earth…?” I gather myself up and get a look at the person, or should I say kid. He’s a young boy with a conservative haircut, wearing dark pants, a white shirt, and gray vest. One might say he dresses just as professional as any stockbroker. 

“I’m sorry!” He says in a worried manner and looks as if I’m about to slap him. “I didn’t mean to, I swear!”

I gotta say, seeing this boy speak in an English accent is downright cute!

I kneel down to seem less intimidating and hold out a hand. “Hey hey, it’s alright, kid. It was an accident. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

He nods and shakes my hand, now looking at me differently. “You sound different.”

“I’m American, from New York. Now what was it you were running from?”

“Oh, right!” He points to the alley he just ran from. “I’m playing hide-and-seek with my aunt.”

I frown. “And you’re out here, in the dark, at this time of night? It may not be my place to say, but you should probably go back inside. Where’s your aunt now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well that’s not going to get us anywhere. You got a name?”

He smiles and nods eagerly. “I’m Finn, Finn Shelby. I’m 10 going on 11!”

“Wow, that’s old! So Finn, how about you head inside with me and we can find a way of contacting your aunt? That sound alright?”

“Finn! We were looking for you!” A man comes walking up, wearing dark clothes and a cap. When he sees me next to Finn, the man’s eyes darken. “Who are you?”

I ignore his question and look at Finn. “Do you know him?”

“Yeah, he’s my brother John.”

Now I know that I can trust this man. “I’m nobody. Just a lost tourist who’s looking out for Finn.”

The man looks confused. “Why? You don’t know him.”

“That doesn’t matter. I’d look out for him as if he was my own child because no kid should be wandering around at this time of night.”

He scoffs. “What are you, some nun or midwife? Doesn’t matter. Come on, Finn.” John takes the boy’s hand and starts walking away. 

“Nice to meet you!” Finn calls before they’re out of sight.

“Goodbye!”

Now to get back to the task at hand. While being as inconspicuous as possible, I sneak past the gruff men and enter the strangely quiet bar. I gotta say, it’s surprisingly clean. Compared to the filthy world outside you’d think the king himself would eat here. But I know better. I can tell this place has seen its fair share of violence, but I give credit to the barman for keeping it spiffy. Gruff and sketchy-looking Brits sit scattered all over the room. Murmured conversations ghost around the room, confirming that this is yet another place I shouldn’t be at. A few turn their heads, but seem uninterested… for now. I hold my suitcase close and discreetly make my way to where the barman is standing.

“You don’t know me, but the desk clerk at the train station said to ask for someone named Harry.”

The barman, just like everyone else, seems to think I’m a fish out of water. “I’m Harry. What do you want?”

“She said you could tell me where to find a place to stay. I’ll pay what I can, I swear. I just need somewhere to sleep until I can find a way to get back to America.”

His face changes. “America? You mean you’re stuck here?”

“For the time, yes.”

First Harry goes to say something but then seems to look over at someone behind me. This changes his demeanor and he gestures for me to sit.

“Can I get you anything?”

I shake my head. “I don’t drink.”

“I do,” a woman’s voice says behind me.

A dark-haired woman wearing a gray suit sits up next to me, her face being shielded by a hat.

Harry nods respectfully at the woman and pours a shot of whiskey. “On the house, Polly.”

She gladly takes the glass and downs it, looking at me with calculating eyes.

“Name’s Polly, love. Polly Gray.”

“You seem to be a woman who knows what she’s doing, and how to conduct authority,” I reply.

“And you seem to be a woman who has nowhere to go. Am I right, love?”

I look away and become more interested in staring at the table. “Yes, ma’am. I’m currently homeless, jobless, penniless, and on the verge of hopeless.” I look back up. “But I’ve got a song in my heart and a gleam in my eye, so that’s all I can do for now.”

Polly laughs and twirls the shot glass in her hand. “Well a song and dance isn’t going to take you far, love. It’s best if you come with me.” She stands back up and starts pulling her coat back on.

My thoughts freeze. Did I hear that right? This person, this complete stranger who has no inkling of who I am, wants me to go with them? Where? And what for? Inspector Campbell said to be careful.

“Wait- what? What do you mean?”

Polly walks to the door, unfazed by my questions. “I saw you interacting with Finn. You treat him as both a child and an adult, which is something I respect. You’re not too sour but still know when to show a firm grip. I’d like to hire you as his tutor. He needs help studying, as well as someone to make sure he doesn’t shoot his eye out.”

My jaw drops. “Shoot his… But how-?”

“Don’t ask. I have to deal with the most ridiculous idiots this side of England, you have no idea!” She scoffs as I follow her back into the inky night. “The fact is that I need a tutor, and you need a roof over your head. So, do you want the job or not?”

I try to form words but all that comes out is a babbling mess. My thoughts are fried! What reason do I have to even trust this Polly character?

“You’re conflicted,” Polly states plainly. “I can understand why.”

“Yes! Because- because I’m alone! I- I have no one to help, but everyone says I can’t trust anyone here, and then you happen to be passing by… I don’t know what to make of it!”

Polly puts a hand on my shoulder. “Love, one of the things I always go by is my faith. If fate had it so you would be here to help Finn and get my attention, then God has spoken. My trust is not so easily won over, so I suggest you consider this chance very seriously.”

She’s right. Everything’s led to this. Besides, she’s right. I need a job.

“Yes, I accept your kind offer.” I hold out a hand and we shake. “Thank you, Mrs. Gray.”

“I may be your employer but there’s no need for that formality. Polly’s fine, love. And yours?”

“Verena Nora Steenstra,” my name flies right off the tongue. 

“That’s Dutch, I’d imagine?”

I nod. “Yes, after my great grandmother. My father’s Dutch, my mother’s Irish.”

“Ah yes, you Americans and your mixed heritages.”

She doesn’t seem upset by it, and I’m glad she doesn’t inquire further. My family isn’t cruel, but we’re not exactly the most wanted people in New York. My uncle on my mother’s side is part of the Irish mob in Brooklyn, so our reputation is a bit strict.

Polly leads me through the dark streets and people seem to be aware not to test her. Crowds scatter away to let us pass, not even daring to meet her eye.

“You have authority here?”

“Of sorts. People know better not to start a quarrel. Here we are.”

The house itself is simple-looking on the outside, something I admire. Polly opens the door and shows me inside, which displays a traditional cross hung in the hallway. I follow her past a kitchen and into a small room near the back, one containing a simple bed and vanity as well as a single window.

“Bathtub’s down the hall. I’ll leave you here to settle in, I trust the lads will guide you through the house. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must attend a family meeting. Finn’s around here somewhere if you wish to chat.”

I set my suitcase on the bed and look at Polly with sincere gratitude. “Thank you so much. You really saved me from a tight pickle, and I promise I will do everything I can to repay you.”

Polly smiles and, to my uttermost surprise, comes over to give me a hug. “No problem, love. You seem like a decent girl, even if you are American.” She snickers and goes to walk out, then turns to say: “One more thing: when you meet Thomas, just know he’s a bit rough around the edges.”

I squint in bafflement. “Thomas? Who’s-?”

But she exits before I can finish. So just to be clear: Now I need to teach a boy from a family I just met and am expecting to meet someone who’s ‘rough around the edges.’ Yay?

[azures-bazar]

Accommodating 

Re-uploading this one shot because I wanted to add some changes. I'm experiencing a massive writers block tho, my inspiration is gone (my new job is taking most of my mental energy away but I love it lmao)

Here is some SOFT!Arthur one-shot, again, because boy oh boy it makes me want to write a full story about him going through our current era lol

Don't mind his absolute child-like fascination for modernity, I mean... it's cool to see our tough cowboy happy, isn't it ?

Arthur Morgan x GenderNeutralReader 

Word count : 2.9k

Short summary : You make Arthur try some new technologies, and it’s quite funny to watch his large blue eyes gaze at them ! 

A/Note : I bought myself a galaxy projector not so long ago and wondered how Arthur would react lol. Don’t mind it ! 

Tags : cute, Arthur discovers modern things, mentions of Avatar, movie-watching, snacks, cute nicknames, cuddles, soft boah is in the modern world, men can also cry

A cowboy in the modern world… what a weird story to tell ! Arthur had been in your life for a few months already, slowly accommodating to your era. Sometimes, it was fun, sometimes it was almost scary, and, occasionally, it could be sad. You knew Arthur was an outlaw, a thirty-six, probably thirty-seven year-old man who had been abandoned on the top of a mountain, but he never really brought the subject to the table. In fact, on a few occasions, he would mourn the rest of his gang, he would mourn his friends he would never see again. You had done your best to cheer him up during his rather sad moments, but nothing could really fill that void. 

Arthur missed these folks, a few names were frequently mentioned : Hosea, John, Tilly, Charles, Sean and Lenny. Six people he would describe at times, probably the six people he missed the most from his former life. A father-figure, his siblings, his closest friends… he often wondered what happened to them, to these people becoming distant memories he could only mourn. As of 2023, even little Jack was gone. You wished you could do something, probably beg for Francis Sinclair to come back and drag all these people he mentioned to your time… but Francis was long gone, not even bothering about stepping by your place anymore.

You knew Arthur loved drawing stuff, so you bought him a set of sketchbooks for him to practice. He would hole himself in your now-shared room, sitting on the edge of your window or on your bed, spending about one or two hours sketching figures, animals or even sceneries which appeared to be from a very distant era, mixed with modern buildings and figures he came across while wandering in the streets with you. You often left him alone for him to enjoy his solitude, listening to some blues while sketching his discoveries before he would head to you and proudly show you some of his works. One of your walls had a full set of Arthur’s drawings framed and displayed to the eyes of any guest coming in. After all… it was art ! And nothing could make Arthur more happy than receiving compliments about his sketches he often disliked. 

Arthur still had some hard time getting used to a smartphone you had bought him as you thought it would be a good thing to keep in touch whenever you would be away from him. He nearly broke his phone’s screen twice, unable to understand why it would not switch on, struggling to send you correctly written texts. His large fingers did not help much, he would get easily frustrated by not selecting the right letter for his text. You absolutely adored each one of them, finding them incredibly cute by knowing how much Arthur wanted to do things like you. Sending a text usually took you a few seconds, whereas Arthur would roughly spend one minute writing a five-word sentence filled with typing mistakes, some of them being due to his autocorrector. 

"Im misqing yoi, Y/N !" was an almost daily message he would send you

At some point, you saw an add of a galaxy projector while scrolling on some social media, right after telling Arthur he would probably get a lot of followers if he decided, by miracle, probably, to create an account for himself. He was handsome, had some sweet-looking traits and could easily model for some alternative brands. He often said he would never do such thing, finding his face too ugly to be shown to anyone. How wrong he was, he was probably the most gorgeous-looking man you had ever met ! But, somehow, you did not want to encourage him to post pictures of himself. Social medias were a rather dangerous place for healing minds, and Arthur still needed time. Besides, he would probably not even be able to post anything due to his lack of ease using his digital keyboard ! 

You bought that lamp later that night, it got delivered quite fast. You carefully unpacked your new tool and quickly headed to your bedroom, followed by Arthur who had stopped reading a book about extinct species as he saw you wander around your place with this curious thing you held. You calmly placed the lamp on your bed, reading the instruction manual while Arthur touched it several times, not understand what the hell this little thing was and what was its purpose. 

"What’s that ?" Arthur asked 

"It’s a galaxy projector." you answered. 

"Why d’you need that ? Can’t you just look at ‘em stars from your window ?"

"Light pollution prevents it. These are often used to create a cute ambiance at home or to distract kids. Wanna give it a try ?" 

"Sure." 

Arthur sat on the bed as you switched all lights off, plugging your galaxy projector on, making a large blue and purple light come out of it, filled with laser dots representing stars. The background was moving a little, creating a wave effect which froze Arthur on place. He kept his head up, looking at your now star-covered ceiling. His surprised and mesmerised face was absolutely priceless ! His eyes were shining, his mouth remained half-open as he could not help but stare at these fake stars covering your ceiling. All his troubles were forgotten, making him return to a child-like state. It was such a beautiful thing to see ! 

"And it can also distract grown-ups." you smiled 

Your cowboy-roommate did not even react. His attention was completely focused on the ocean of fake stars he had above his head ! Of course, Arthur knew what a projector was. It would have been awesome to see his reaction if he had never seen such thing before, he would probably have been trying to catch these laser stars like a cat and look confused. But, at the moment, his reaction was pretty cute. 

You left Arthur alone in the room to buy a ready-made lunch at the local market. He had a phone and would call you whenever he would need your help, if he would get lucky enough to make his fingers touch the right icon on his screen. It only took you a few minutes to buy some finger food for the two of you to eat while watching a movie, you came back to find Arthur exactly where you had left him thirty minutes earlier, in the same position, with this same amazed facial expression blooming on his face. He was hypnotised by these lights enough to feel suddenly so lost as you opened the curtains of your bedroom. 

"Wh… what’s going on ?" he said, placing his large hand over his eyes. "Damn sunlight…"

"I brought us some food. You wanna watch a movie ?" 

"Yeah, why not ! Just… just let have my eyes back first, hun." 

Arthur rubbed his eyes and shook his head while you smiled. You absolutely loved listening to him giving you cute nicknames, such as hun, sweetheart, lovebug… even calling you boo, sometimes, after he heard about that nickname while watching TV. It took him a few more seconds to leave your bedroom, keeping his eyes partly closed until reaching your living room, helping you placing all the food on the table, still looking surprised you did not have any forks or knives to eat these carrots, chips, mozzarella sticks and cucumbers. He glanced at the chips and took one between his fingers. Since his arrival in your era, he had never seen or had the opportunity to taste chips !

"What’s that thing ?" he asked. "Is that really food ?"

"Oh, that’s a potato chip." 

"Really ? Just like fried potatoes ?" 

"Yeah, just like fried potatoes, but smaller and thinner. We can eat them for snacks or very random occasions. Try it !"

Arthur nodded, taking a bite of the chip before smiling and taking more of them into his large hand. You could not help but chuckle at his sudden addiction to salty treats, wiping away a few crumbs stuck in his three-day beard with the tip of your fingers. He turned shades darker and smiled, gently taking your hand and rubbing it with his thumb as you launched the movie. Avatar, by James Cameron. Back in a day, that movie had been vastly acclaimed for its large technological progress, and was still pleasant to be watched to this day. You would take Arthur to watch the second Avatar movie someday soon in case he liked the first one. 

"Are ‘em blue folks real ?" Arthur asked while pointing a Na’vi on screen

"No, they’re modelled with computers." you smiled, trying to explain Arthur about motion capture in the most easiest way. "Our technologies allow us to record actors and then modify their bodies thanks to computers to morph them into these blue folks, like you call them."

"Is there a planet called Pandora too ?" 

"I don’t know. Probably ? The universe in infinite, and we didn’t explore much yet." 

The gaze Arthur gave you was adorable. You could see his eyes shine with admiration, it was such a privilege to be able to witness an era which was more than one hundred years ahead of his time, despite its good and bad moments. You had tried your best to keep Arthur away from newspapers in order to help him remain in his rather innocent state of discovery, knowing that a simple glance at the news on TV would probably make him terribly sad and somewhat nostalgic of his own time. 

It was quite unexpected, but Arthur cried during the movie. He cried because of its overall beauty, the story appeared amazing to his eyes, the soft melodies and choirs chanting in background soundtracks moved him a lot. He loved the bioluminescent effect of some scenes, the overall atmosphere of the movie, not taking his eyes away from your TV while wrapping his arm around your shoulders, gently kissing your temple at times. He adored that, he adored this moment. Having you close to him while being fully taken into this movie made him forget about all his past troubles.

"D’you also have ‘em guns ?" he softly asked 

"Maybe… why ? You want one in case you’d come across blue people ?" 

"Mmmm… yeah. Jus’ in case. I miss my good ol' revolver, sometimes." 

You rested your head on his shoulder, somewhat amused by his sweet attitude. You would listen to his gasps, his soft squeals, his almost inaudible wows… you could not deny how adorable Arthur was. You could even hear him sniff, his chest trembling a little whenever a scene would be emotional enough to bring him to tears. Who would have thought Arthur could be so sensitive ? Those who knew him much more than you did. Hosea and Charles, for instance, and most probably John at some point, even Dutch. Just by looking at his drawings, you could have guessed he had a soft heart and high intelligence hidden underneath his rather menacing appearance. 

The movie lasted for so long… you had time to check your phone about a dozen times while resting against Arthur whose eyes were glued to the screen. You did not even want to bother him, he was absolutely hypnotised by the movie and did not want to be bothered. You smiled at him as the credits rolled, noticing tears streaming on his cheeks as you teasingly poked them. 

"Getting a little sensitive, huh ?" you smiled 

"That was a beautiful show !" Arthur answered. "I loved every second of it ! Can we watch it again ?" 

"Someday, we will. But... let's just take a break, okay ?" 

Night came pretty fast, Arthur made you a lavender infusion, you found enough energy to work a little while Arthur sat on the couch and started sketching. Very random figures, some fantasy-like sceneries… and you. You could easily tell he was drawing you by looking towards your direction a few times, then proceeding to sketch something, and looking back again. Another artwork to frame, that was for sure ! 

"What are you drawing, cowboy ?" you smiled 

"Well… I’m trying to sketch you, but I can’t get it right… you’re too gorgeous and my hand shakes too much." 

"That’s… that’s really sweet !" 

"I mean it." 

What Arthur told you made your heart stop beating, you turned shades darker and hid your face behind your hands. Your smile widened enough to cause your roommate to move closer to you, carefully closing your laptop with a large smirk blooming on his face. He made you stand up, slowly uncovering your beautiful face before dropping a sweet kiss on your forehead. 

"You’re making me melt, you know that ?" you smiled 

"Let’s get you to bed so you’ll stop workin’ on your… weird machine here." 

"It’s a computer, Arthur." 

"Well, computer or not, you’re going to bed with me ‘cause it’s kinda late."

You shrugged, you didn’t notice how fast time had passed since you decided to get back to work ! Remote-working had its ups and downs, and Arthur had complained a few times about you staying up too late instead of going to bed and hide into his embrace. He could hardly sleep without having you next to him, and there were no ways to escape him that night. How could you resist these puppy eyes and insisting behaviour ? Your arms spread wide for him to lift you up while you dragged your legs around his hips. Arthur loved carrying you around your place, he could easily remain in shape by doing this almost on a daily basis ! You did not mind it. In fact, you loved having him carry you from a room to another. Bridal and koala style, as you called it, were your favourite. 

Arthur calmly put you on the bed and proceeded switching all lights off while you changed into some more comfortable wear, slipping under your blanket as Arthur moved next to you and wrapped his arms around your waist. He took advantage of you turning yourself towards him to passionately kiss you before making you rest your head on his shoulder. You remained like this for a few seconds, in your pitch-black bedroom, up until Arthur cleared his throat. 

"Erm… Y/N ?" he sheepishly asked 

"Yeah ? What’s wrong ?" 

"Would you mind… switching the galaxy lamp on for a bit ? I… I liked it and…-"

"Sure, sweetheart."

You gasped at your own sudden reaction. "Sweetheart ? Really ?" you scolded yourself, covering your forehead with your palm. You never dared giving Arthur nicknames, not finding anyone of them suitable enough for your time-traveling cowboy, his sole name sounded just fine, you would sometimes call him by his surname. Sweetheart came out of nowhere, and was well deserved ! 

"S-sorry." you stuttered 

"Nah, it’s fine." Morgan responded. "I like ‘em sweet nicknames. "

Arthur smiled, deeply flattered by the nickname you just gave him. His heart pounded faster than expected as you calmly reached out to get the lamp and switched it on. A beautiful fake galaxy suddenly covered your ceiling, filled with laser stars which slowly moved along with the rest of the digital ocean of blue and purple clouds behind them. You analysed Arthur’s reaction and smiled at his sight. 

"Why do you like this lamp so much ?" you smiled

"Oh… it just reminds of home." Arthur answered as he moved closer to you, allowing you to place your head back on his chest 

"You never slept with a roof over your head before you came here ?" 

"I did, at some point… but I got used to fall asleep while gazing at the stars from a corner of my tent, or sometimes from my bedroll when I was away. Gazing at ‘em moving above me was always calming."

"If you want, we could go camping this summer. Would you like that ?"

You heard Arthur moan a little, feeling his heart pound faster. Your head rose a little, allowing you to get a better view of Arthur’s beautiful face. Your hand caressed his chest, drawing circles on them while you kept gazing at him. His eyes kept staring at the ceiling until he felt your gaze, slowly turning his head to you. 

"That’d be awesome." he smiled 

There were many things left to discover, many things you wanted to show Arthur. The world was full of treasures, modern or ancient, cultures you wanted him to get familiar with, places to visit… Arthur’s health was back to normal, you could now guide him through your own era without bothering about any health issues he would encounter. Indeed, that man was not twenty anymore, but you were ready to do so much for him ! You were ready to guide him, to be with him. Beyond what Francis had first asked you. Your help turned into a beautiful blossoming relationship filled with embraces, kisses and… very noisy nights. 

Switching this galaxy lamp became some sort of ritual every single night. Along with waking up to Arthur’s face and his hugs after you would come back from work, your daily embrace in bed facing a fake galaxy was your most favourite part of the day. At times, you would run your fingers into Arthur’s dirty-blonde locks, massaging his scalp with singing some song. Sometimes, he would do the same with you. You adored it, you adored him. No, you loved him… and did not have the courage to tell him just yet, but you knew this day would come soon enough. The world was filled with treasures, mysteries and beauty. 

And Arthur was going to find out about them. 

[kimthwariru]

Like the wind

pairing: Taehyung x reader

(+Jungkook)

genre: smut, enemies to lovers, angst, collage au, rich kid!Taehyung

Masterpost

Chapter 3: flashbacks

You were used to having cold showers by now. You’d first tried it when you’d read on some health site that it was supposed to help with skin and stress. You didn’t know about the skin part, but you truly felt way more relaxed when you showered with cold water. You’d get so distracted with how cold it was, that there was no time to overthink—a task you often did while showering. Something you truly did not need right now.

Because there was a list of questions in your head waiting to be checked out. Questions you had no answers to, and would probably never get.

Why was Kim Taehyung such an asshole?

Why did he act the way he did?

Why did he fuck you over like that?

How can someone place a bet over who they’re fucking?

That dude was disgusting, but what was worse was the fact that, for mere moments, you’d fallen for his lies. You thought that maybe, there was something there. That maybe that boy you’d met years ago was starting to resurface.

But no. Kim Taehyung was a fucking monster who didn’t care about anyone’s feelings but his own.

Frustration clawed at your chest as you closed your eyes under the ice cold water.

Your mind travels to Marloom 4 years ago, a port near Outfield where fishermen and boat crew mostly lived. It was probably the poorest region outside the wall, which was why you were so surprised when you saw Taehyung there, sitting at the edge of the deck, his bare feet brushing along the waves. He was like a picture.

“y/n!” He’d called out “check this out” he’d showed you a book you’d been trying to get your hands on forever which unfortunately, was limited edition and way out of your budget.

“No way!!” You smiled “How did you even manage to get that?”

He shrugged his shoulders “The publishing company works for my dad” he handed it to you “it’s yours”

“You’re kidding!?”

“No, take it. Read it and tell me if it’s worth the trouble.”

“Of course I will. Thanks, Tae”

He smiled at that, but his expression quickly faded into a sad grimace “Hey, are you alright? What are you doing in Marloom anyway?”

“I don’t feel lonely here. Local folks don’t even recognize my face, to them I am just a teenager, not Kim Taehyung, so they will scold me for chasing ducks, yell when I steal the ropes to climb some tree… there’s even an old lady that gives me these vanilla cookies every Sunday, somehow they make me feel less lonely”

You’d basically forgotten that Kim Taehyung was this well known prince of Hashfield that would take his father’s place one day. His face would feature in many magazines. ‘Prince Charming’ was one of the many nicknames given to him by the media, but, to you, he’d always been Tae.

“Did I tell you about the novella I’ve been reading?” You tried to change the subject the minute you saw his eyes turning sad. Today would’ve been a month since his mother had left without even saying goodbye, or where she was going.

“About the knight who doesn’t know whether to speak or die.? I think you told me already.”

Obviously you had mentioned it and forgotten. “Yes.”

“Well, does he or doesn’t he?”

A handsome young knight is madly in love with a princess. And she too is in love with him. Though she seems not to be entirely aware of it.

Despite the friendship the blossoms between them or perhaps because of that very friendship, the young knight finds himself so humbled and speechless

He knows they are from two different worlds. The princess was to marry soon, and he’d be serving the new king until the day he died.

So, despite his feelings, he's totally unable to bring up the subject of his love.

Till one day he asks the princess point blank

Is it better to speak or to die?

“Better to speak, she said. But she’s on her guard. She senses a trap somewhere.” You replied

“So, does he speak?”

“No, he fudges.”

“Figures. People never say what they truly feel”

“If you speak, you risk rejection, or worse. The knight could be exiled from the kingdom. . .But if you don't speak, then you keep the words inside you, you essentially kill them, let them die with you, and you risk nothing. Which one would you choose?”

His honey eyes reached yours and for a second you’d forgotten your name. “I’m not sure which would be more suitable…”

He made a pause.

“To expose your depth and your darkness, to expose the most personal parts of yourself? To present yourself to the world with your skin flipped inside out? Or to keep a fire bubbling within, never unburdening yourself by letting go of the passionate energy pounding in your lungs? To suffocate, never releasing the words from your throat. To die with a legacy or to have your beliefs, mind, thoughts remain unknown, to let your mind leave with your body. A well known library book or a diary that has never been invaded. Realistically, I’d choose to die, but I knew I would regret it later on”

You loved the way his mind worked. The way he’d analyze situations the same way you did. But you couldn’t help but see he was in sorrow, his eyes would wonder around, because maybe if they met yours for too long they’d uncover how hurt he was. “Look I know you don’t wanna talk about it. . .but what you said earlier, about feeling lonely. I feel like that all the time. I’m only saying this because I want you to know you’re really not alone in that feeling. In case you think you are.”

He averted his stare from the sea to your eyes “You know what’s really funny? When I seem to get really lonely you’re the person that happens to be there…and…I guess, I’m lucky for that because you seem to have a soothing effect on me. You know, the things I would normally worry about, they don’t really feel that warring when I talk to you”

Fuck.

You close your eyes and let the water drops his your face. Cold showers were the only thing that prevented you from overthinking, but it looks like this time, your thoughts had taken over.

Taehyung P.O.V

It was cold.

Not that he expected to find warmth and comfort, but he couldn’t help but notice it seemed to be colder than usual. While he walked down the silent corridors, Taehyung wondered when was the last time this house had felt like a home, and not just a shelter with a roof under which he barely existed.

He guesses it was a long time ago. Before his mother had left. The process took him back to a long lost summer, too many years ago, when the walls were still vibrating with life and happiness. That there was even a time in which he had walked barefoot, with just his trunks on in the middle of the winter, without feeling cold, was such a preposterous thought he sometimes wondered whether it had really happened at all, or it was just a fantasy his mind had made up.

It was not a fantasy, and he knew it.

Taehyung knew there was a time he had loved his life, and that he was believed to be destined for greatness. To inherit this big empire his dad had carefully laid out for him.

All bullshit. 

He quickly pushed these pointless thoughts to the corner of his mind where they belonged, to focus on the more pressing matter of why his house had suddenly become as cold as the Antarctic. The answer to that question came when he noticed that every single fireplace was empty.

“Fucking hell” he muttered

It was Maya’s fault - as always - but he couldn’t bring himself to summon their head maid to tell her she had yet again forgotten to light the fire, mostly because it would have just made her cry for thirty minutes, promising him that she’d be more attentive next time. But no matter how many times Maya promised, she always forgot and, to be honest, he didn’t care any more.

Taehyung was conscious this house had long lost its past glory, with the cold that now covered every piece of furniture and treasure his family had been so proud of. He vaguely remembered his father showing off a miniature greek statue of Achilles, whose head was covered in gold, to a distinguished member of the British Royal family, and wondered what his old man would have thought if he knew his son had used the priceless treasure as a target, and had concluded its existence by flinging the remains into the fire.

 After having lit all the fireplaces, he sank heavily into an old velvet armchair and grabbed the bottle on the small table on his left. Not even bothering to acknowledge what it was - honestly it didn’t make any difference - he uncorked it and began to drink straight from the neck.

Irish.

It was definitely Irish whiskey. Although not The Macallan, or perhaps it was just the shittiest bottle ever produced by that brand.

Taehyung took another long swig, Macallan or not it perfectly served its aim. Unfortunately, his busy drinking was interrupted by the sudden appearance of their head maid, Maya.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir,” she squeaked in her high-pitched voice, “but mister Logan has come to see you.”

He closed his eyes and set his jaw, mentally cursing his bad luck. “Where is he now?”

“I’m here.”

Logan Everett’s slow deep voice forced Taehyung to lift his eyelids. Time hadn’t been kind to the former Minister of justice, the black of his hair had long ago disappeared to make room for a pure white, his forehead wrinkled and it seemed he needed aid from an emerald embedded cane in order to stand up straight. But time hadn’t been kind to Taehyung either, so he wisely opted to not share his thoughts.

“Hello, uncle Logan” were the words he greeted him with instead, after dismissing Maya with a nod, and before lifting his left arm to offer him the liquor. “Want some? I’m afraid it’s not Macallan but it gets the job done”

Logan twisted his lips into a disapproving grimace as he proceeded to sit on the armchair opposite to him. “It’s 5 o’clock in the afternoon, Taehyung.”

“Do I have to take that as a no, thank you ?”

“Obviously.”

Was it ten years ago? He recalls that’s the last time he’d seen Logan Everett this close. He’d phone Taehyung from time to time, make sure he wasn’t drunk driving himself into a ditch, but other than that, Taehyung’s godfather was nothing but a ghost in his life.

His father’s best friend.

Funny, considering Logan was somewhat of a decent human being, or just, a human being—unlike his father. When his mother was still here, Logan along with his late wife vacationed with them every summer. Taehyung remembers himself running around in Verona, Italy. Logan chasing after him.

It was warm then, unlike now; Taehyung was freezing.

“Is he here? Your father?”

Taehyung took his time to drink again and then shook his head. “No.” Thankfully

“Does he plan to come back soon?”

“As far as I know, he is having the time of his life finalizing some deal in Germany so… no.” He cocked his eyebrows while staring at his Godfather. “What do you need from him?”

To state that the relationship between Logan and his father had deteriorated was an utter underestimation, since the two of them had barely spoken in those long years. When Taehyung had asked why —when he still cared—the cryptic answer Logan gave him was “he destroyed something I cared about”

Nothing surprising there. Ruining others’ lives was his father’s expertise, as Taehyung knew from first hand experience.

“I heard he’s getting you engaged with the Arden family.”

“I’m not getting engaged with anyone” Taehyung replied immediately, taking another sip of Irish while his eyes stayed on the older man.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think it’s your choice to make, kid”

“Uh I’m pretty sure I can’t get engaged if I don’t consent. My dad may be rich but he is not God. Besides, what’s the worst he could do? Exile me from Hashfield? He’d be doing me a favor”

“You’re speaking nonsense” Logan’s hands wrapped around the cane in frustration “Believe it or not, The wall is here to protect you son. To get to the level of wealth your father is right now, he had to make a lot of enemies, powerful people, who would love nothing but his only heir outside the wall, unprotected.”

Every word Logan spoke made less sense than the other “What do you even mean?”

“The less you know the better” There was no hesitation in Logan’s speech. He slowly got up and paced towards Taehyung. Resting a palm in his shoulder “You’re getting older Taehyung, you’re not a little boy anymore.” There was a pause “Get engaged with the Arden Lady. . .people like us, living in our world, we don’t marry for love… but power. We build walls higher than the rest, because we have way more to loose”

The smell of expensive paint, deodorant, high-end perfume, and cigarettes entered your nostrils as you opened the door.

“You need anything madam?” Celine’s maid greeted you, making you feel more out of place than ever. Maids, palaces for homes and stadium like gardens made you question your existence in Hashfield everyday.

“No, thank you” you honeyed your voice. These people were working class—like you. You’ve seen the way insiders treated their staff and it made you sick to your stomach every time, you figure that’s how they’d treat you had you not been accepted into Hashfield College.

“This way, madam”

You look around.

Imagine the interior of the Palace of Versailles—or perhaps those gorgeous buildings in Florence were more like it— gold, marble, mirrors. Large and heavy-looking curtains draped down the sides of the extensive windows and the floor was this sturdy polished oak wood. The contrast between the light colours and the dark ones was just perfectly balanced. It was extraordinarily aesthetically pleasing. You felt so out of your league you thought you’d stain the place.

Underneath all the chemicals you perceived, you could distinguish the smell of wood, which was probably because of the floor. Your eyes glazed over the gorgeous cream-coloured walls, which were decorated with the most awe-inspiring golden ornaments. The place was definitely for the elite. And if the walls weren’t a perfect indication then the silk, ruby red, one of a kind dress Celine was wearing certainly was.

“Y/n!, hey! what’s up?” Jin called you out the minute he laid eyes on you. He’d been extra protective this week, texting you every day to see if you wanted him to bring god damn ice cream like it would make this whole ‘bet’ scandal go away.

It was sweet of him, it really was, but the embarrassment that washed over you when everyone learned about the bet Taehyung had made over who was going to fuck you first, was not going to get better with fucking ice cream.

“Hey guys” you acknowledged everyone in the room. You hadn’t made eye contact with Zed since that night—and you weren’t planning on making any today—your stomach dropped to your knees every time you thought about what had happened.

Kim Taehyung fucked up the relationship between the only insiders you hanged out with.

“Y/n, you know we’ve all been talking about how much of a dick Taehyung is…” Jiyeon started. An apologetic look on her face.

Fucking great.

You specifically had texted Jin about wanting to avoid this situation. He’d promised this would just be a simple hang out with friends, maybe drink a little wine to pass the time and then go back home.

You did not want to talk about the bet that had been placed without your consent. Especially in front of Zed who was swirling his whiskey like it was freaking talking to him.

“What he did was… terrible, he’s always been such an A-hole to girls. But betting over such a thing?” She shook her head “That’s low. Even for him”

“True” added Celine

“Guys. Really. It’s fine” you tried to mask your emotions with a smile “Can we talk about something else?. . . Anything”

• • •

Billie Holiday played softly from the pool radio. Condensation dripped down crystal glasses, and silverware glinted in the bright sunlight. It was a chilly October afternoon, the steady breeze being the perfect interlude.

The chairs were soft, the food was good, and the wine was worth twice your house, but it could only be so comfortable having dinner with a bunch of insiders.

“Anyway, I heard the Arden family is settling matters with The Kim cooparation—”

“Jiyeon.” The word was a low warning from Zed’s spot at the table.

She rolled her eyes and took a deep drink of wine, but she spoke no more.

You couldn’t care less about this conversation. What Taehyung’s father did was none of your business, they could all go drown and you wouldn’t think about it twice—or once— for that matter.

You always pondered Jiyeon’s and Zed’s relationship though. They did appear to find each other annoying, Zed would talk shit about Jiyeon sometimes and so would she. But then you figure, most of these insiders weren’t really friends with each other, they just existed in the same place at the same time. Much like now. Including yourself.

Jin—your only actual friend among these people— was sitting next to you though hadn’t said a word, except for some oddly-timed chuckling. His mind was clearly traveling somewhere else.

Trevor was apparently already devouring his third stake. Making another rude remark towards the house server while downing what seemed to be a liter of Syrah wine all by himself.

And then there was Celine. Whom you knew was the person that tolerated you less from here and didn’t care about not making it obvious.

Celine was your polar opposite. Where you were quiet, she spoke with abandon and laughed loudly. Where you were demure, well . . . she’d stuck her gum to her cloth napkin before eating her pasta, twirling it around the fork at least a hundred times to make sure nothing was getting spilled on her precious dress.

Low chatter and the scraping of silverware filled the yard, but beneath that lay a tense air that wouldn’t dissipate, an uncomfortable vibe the breeze wouldn’t take with it. Everyone seemed to be easily chatting amongst themselves, so maybe it was just you. You tried to brush it off.

Jiyeon —despite Zed’s orders— didn’t stay quiet for long, though she no longer spoke about insider business gossip. She changed the subject to horse racing. That was an acceptable conversation many joined in on.

However you couldn’t help but think about the question Taehyung had made.

“Why are you here?”

Why were you here? Hashfield is a cold shallow place that’s filled with people you don’t like. Their view of the world was so superficial, human relationships were glib, basically meaningless. No one cared what values their friend had, as long as they had more than five cars on their parking lot.

You couldn’t be more different. Your favourite literary period was the Romantic for crying out loud. . .and it was the same for music and art. There was something about the music from the Romantic period which enamoured you. Genuine emotions came through the music. Every time you listened to Chopin, something rooted inside you pushed you to dance. Perhaps the expressiveness, emotions, and escapism were the factors that drew you towards the Romantic period. You wanted to waltz through a room, carefree. Your body moving along to one of Chopin’s masterpieces instead of sitting across from a bunch of insiders.

Maybe you were a coward, but you were glad you didn’t have to sit near Zed. You were carrying out this carefree facade all evening and had a polite response for anything—as inappropriate as the comments could sometimes be when insiders were drinking—but with him, words were at a loss for you. You felt tongue-tied around him, tilted off your point of gravity, and truthfully just embarrassed, as though a blush permanently warmed your skin. It might be unpleasant speaking to him, but it was too easy to look in his direction.

You cringed as you recall what had happened.

-One week ago, Clair’s party-

Your mother used to smoke at the kitchen table in her nightgown after she and your father would scream the house down. So, naturally, you’d picked up her habit of smoking during stressful times.

With your cheeks burning in anger and the cigarette in your hand, it wasn’t lost on you that the apple really doesn’t fall that fucking far from the tree. Kim Taehyung was a fucking asshole just like his father was rumored to be. But for whatever reason, you realize that you’re more mad at yourself for thinking the opposite for even a second.

You closed your eyes and mentally cursed at yourself when you saw Zed approach you.

“Kim Taehyung” Zed’s voice was a low growl “What a fucking idiot”

“Yeah Zed, I know. That bet was stupid and embarrassing and I’m sorry you got dragged down into it-“

“I mean—is he out of his mind? If I was really trying to fuck you I’d be working much harder, trust me. . . Who does he think he is? He thinks he’s better than me or something?”

Wow.

That was definitely not the reaction you were expecting. Zed was a fucking idiot. He’s obviously intoxicated— but you like to call alcohol the truth serum, so yeah, fuck him.

“Oh really? That’s what you’re so mad about? That you think you could fuck me first?” you let anger sip into your tone

Zed’s eyes widened in embarrassment when he realized his tongue had run faster than his brain “No, y/n look—“ he stammered “all I’m saying is he shouldn’t have placed that bet alright? I mean, I wouldn’t want to fuck you anyway”

You gave him a deadly stare

“That came out wrong! I’m sorry—all I’m trying to say is-“

“Honestly, I bet that whatever you’re trying to say isn’t even important, so how about you get out of my sight?”

Why was it such a surprise to you that Zed was as much of an asshole as the others?

You kept feeling naive lately.

Lunch continued with meaningless chatter, good food and drink, but the tension never dissipated. It sat there, uninterrupted. Like an echo before the words were even spoken.

You remember the first time you met Mina and Namjoon. They were both decently shy kids that gravitated towards each other because their mums were best friends. Seokjin came on later in the picture, Mina was skeptical about him at first because he was an insider, but his true colors surfaced and everyone realized he was a decent human being unlike the rest of them. Eventually, you four became close and the rest was history.

“Feels good to party outside the wall after so long huh?” Seokjin’s smile had basically reached his ears as he handed you a drink

“You can’t imagine” you quickly agreed “I’d forgotten people actually danced at parties”

“How did Mina manage to make such cool friends in Uni? I swear she self diagnosed herself with social anxiety last year.” Namjoon added

“I heard that, asshole” Mina suddenly made an appearance from Namjoon’s back. “And I promised my self I’d change unlike you” she downed what was left of her drink “You’ve made like… two new friends? And one of them is your cousin” she burst a laugh.

But her laughter soon faded away once she made eye contact with you “How are you doing?” She made a pause “Kim Taehyung. That asshole, I hope his house burns down or something.”

“He has like three whole mansions” you rolled your eyes and smiled at her

“Whatever” she took a sip

Four drinks in was when you decided that a bathroom break was more needed than you’d thought.

Stumbling a bit along the narrow hallway, you managed to find your way into the bathroom. To be fair, it was much easier to navigate a normal house as opposed to the three story mansions you were used to these past months.

“Ahh somebody would think you’re stalking me, angel“

Your heartbeats collided with a crash at the familiarity of the voice.

A burning rush of recognition ran down your spine as you met Jungkook’s heavy gaze. Brown doe eyes hugged by thick long eyelashes and a killer smile.

Jungkook was so much more dangerous than he looked. But that was what made him lethal. Because just by looking at those sweet eyes and that picture perfect smile, you wouldn’t be able to imagine how easy it would be for him to break your heart.

What was he even doing here? This was a one hour drive from Hashfield, and a party filled with people that didn’t really match his ‘status’.

You weren’t curious enough to ask.

“Move” was what you spat at him instead.

“Damn y/n. . . You’re breaking my heart”

Why had your name rolled of his tongue like he was more than familiar with it? Well you guess, because it was. . . Considering the fling you two had back in the day.

Another experience ruined by Kim Taehyung.

“Oh I’m sure you’ll get over it. Now, move”

He smiled.

An outrageous smile.

“Since when did you become such an ice queen?”

An even more outrageous question. “Uhh I don’t know, maybe since you and your little friends constantly fucked me over?” It’s ridiculous that you’re even talking to him right now, but somehow you couldn’t hold yourself back.

This hallway was narrow, narrower than you’d like. So when you tried to make your way past him, it was easy for him to pull you back with a simple hand movement.

He suddenly seemed to get ahold of his drunk self “Y/n about that… I just wanted to say I’m sorry, it was a shitty thing to do”

“Yeah, you think?” You don’t hold back the anger and bitterness sip into your tone, Jungkook deserved nothing less. “Let go”

An evil grimace formed, and the way he slightly came closer made your stomach drop. “I don’t really want to”

“I can smell the alcohol in your breath, Jungkook. Let go”

“I can assure you I’m very sober right now” he followed your order and took a step back, letting your hand slide down his fingers

You hadn’t talked to Jungkook since the whole fiasco between you him and Taehyung, yet this moment was enough to remind you the pull he had on you.

An annoying pull you had no control over.

“Y/n, I really am sorry. . . About everything”

You took a long sight, forgiving Jungkook for all the bullshit he’d done in the past was not on today’s to-do list. “Apologizing doesn’t take what you did back. It just puts me in a shitty position of having to decide wether you’re worth forgiving or not.”

“I know. I know. It’s selfish of me to say it now but uhm, I don’t think I’d get another chance so…”

“I get it, but I don’t think I’m ready to forgive you Jungkook.” You breathed in a shallow breath as you walked passed him and got into the bathroom.

It was the right thing to do. Jungkook was not the person you needed to talk to right now.

You closed your eyes and the mumbled music brought you back to the last time you had actually talked to him.

Outfield central club, two years ago

“I’m telling you pink brings out your eyes you should wear it more often” you jokingly pushed his shoulder. Jungkook didn’t need any color to bring out his eyes, they did a fine job being the center of attention on their own.

He smiled and pulled you closer by grabbing your waist. A signature move of his, you’d wondered how many girls had fallen for that trick. “There you go, romanticizing me again” he stood still but his eyes burned with intensity. “It’s too late for me, angel. I destroy everything beautiful that comes into my life”

That was not entirely wrong.

Sure, you and Jungkook had become extremely close this past year, the closest you’d been with an insider besides SeokJin and well, Kim Taehyung. But you felt comfortable around him, playboy reputation aside, there were times when he seemed genuine, sincere and kind.

Despite his rumors, Jungkook was not a bad person, which is surprising considering he hanged out with the devil himself, Kim Taehyung.

You and Jungkook clicked. You liked the same bands, enjoyed the same movies felt the same way when Jenna Jones and Brandy broke up. (She was too good for him)

“I don’t believe that. I think you’ve just convinced yourself that your not worth something serious because when you start to really care about someone it scares you”

His eyes got bigger “I care about you, and I’m not all that scared”

Gosh with the way he was smiling right now he had to have known how much you’d been crushing over him this past year.

You sighted. You wanted to put a chink in the ice he wore like armor. Stepping closer you ran a finger across his jawline, your voice soft “You have such a handsome face. Does it always get you everything you want?”

“Almost”

There was something so significant about that single word it put a hitch in your breath. “I bet one look from you can make women swoon at your feet”

He grow, probably annoyed that you brought up his popularity again. “Yet here you stand, perfectly not swooned”

You laughed lightly “Oh I wouldn’t say that”

He stared down at you.

You stared up at him.

As a corner of his lips lifted, You realized you were amusing him. “What?” You broke the silence

“Nothing” he shook his head “I shouldn’t really be here, Taehyung would kill me”

“What does Taehyung have to do with this?” You said firmly. Pretending the mere mention of his name didn’t bring your blood to boil.

“He’s just weird about me talking with you. He thinks we shouldn’t mix” he let out a breath

“We? As in. . . outsiders and insiders?”

He was a fucking asshole

“Cmon angel. . . You know how he is”

“Well, fuck him” You said, trying to take a step back, but his hand went to your lower back and drifted to the top of your ass. Your stomach tightened with unease.

Jungkook had always been subtly inappropriate—his fingers just grazing things they shouldn’t. Close enough to make you pleasantly uncomfortable, but not too close to where it would be considered something. If he went further, would you be able to handle it?

Jungkook pulled back to look you in the eye, but his hand didn’t leave you. Something crawled under your skin. You realized at this moment why you couldn’t escape the spell he seemed to have everyone under.

He buried his head on your neck before pulling back again “I could smell you all day, you know that?”

You stared at his big bright innocent eyes. Jungkook was the picture perfect son, or that’s what every magazine wrote, at least. He was kind and flirty to everyone, and could make every person in the room feel happy just by flashing a smile. That’s why he was so popular in the media. But what you found the most intriguing about his appearance, however, was the dark ink that showed through his white dress shirt. It was vague, but you thought it went all the way from his shoulder to the gold watch on his wrist. Jeon Jungkook had a full sleeve. You knew that «good kid» look was all smoke and mirrors.

He was looking at you as if he’d felt you observing him “I feel like you get lost in that head of yours sometimes” his smile was a soft one, the one he’d flash the paparazzi sometimes when he wanted to take an innocent looking picture.

“What can I say, thinking is my favorite hobby” you joked

“So. . . what do you think about me?” That smile never left his face

That you’re dangerous “I can be honest?”

“Please be”

“I was skeptical about you at first, I mean, your crowd, you know, they don’t have the best reputation, especially amongst outsiders. But as I got to know you, I’ve found that you’re the best exception to the rule ever”

“I am?” His eyes looked as if he’d succeeded at something

“Yeah, you are” your pulse leapt into your throat at the thought of your next words “I think I really like you, Jungkook—”

His name wasn’t even properly out of your mouth yet his lips locked on top of yours. He sucked slightly on your bottom lip, and he tasted as sweet as his reputation had been.

It was two days later that Taehyung had told everyone Jungkook hitting on you was a total prank.

You felt destroyed, defeated, because you had honestly fallen for Jungkook, but the disgust took every single feeling away. It took over your body for months, and you cried it out until you felt numb to it.

How shitty does a person have to be to do that? Yet how easily could you forget everything Taehyung had done to you? Your mind took you back to the «sober corner» and reminded you of everything you and Taehyung did together. But mostly what was more fucked up was how intense your feelings were for him. A person that never did right by you.

You closed your eyes shut and with a deep breath you let all the anger wash out of you. You decided that the pitty party was over as you had a very real party waiting for you on the other side of that door.

• • •

It had maybe hit four when Namjoon had finished throwing up for the third time tonight.

“What do you think y/n? Three or four months of teasing for this?” Mina bumped you in the shoulder

“I don’t know Mins” you let a laugh out “Let him live a little, he’s had a rough week”

So had you.

“You turned soft y/n, is it the change of the wall?” She teased

“Oh yes! Cause being around insiders all day turns me into such a softie!”

She chuckled at that but after a moment her eyes turned serious “You sure you don’t want to talk bout it?”

“Mina, don’t” you warned “Talking about it won’t change anything”

“It might change how you feel”

“I doubt it” You faked a smile, knowing Mina wouldn’t buy it anyway “So tell me all about that guy from the Kim’s firm!! What was his name? C something? It definitely had an E there was well—”

“Cedric, his name is Cedric” she rolled her eyes “Yeah well, I think he likes me. . . I mean he was aallll over me earlier” she smiled to herself.

“Well duh!!” You made a noise of acknowledgment, not surprised it had taken her this long to come to that assumption. The obvious was like a well hidden secret in Mina’s eccentric mind. Surprising, as she’d always aced her schoolwork, read people like a morning paper and had more friends than you could ever hope for.

“And I kept thinking, maybe there’s a reason he manspreads so much? He is big. Then I began to worry, so I started looking up pictures—well, videos—of men his size, naked, and that only made me worry more.”

“You were watching porn.” You said, deadpan, leaning by the side of Seokjin’s car while he fed Namjoon what seemed to be a hotdog? Where did he even get that?

She tilted her head “Yeah, I guess that’s what it’s called.” She turned around and followed your gaze “Okay where the hell did he get that hotdog from? I’m starving”

“Mina!! Hello? You were watching. . .” You lowered your voice “porn, for a guy? To like what? Prepare yourself? See if he’d fit?” A laugh escaped you but when Seokjin shot you a glare you turned it into a cough.

“Anywayyyys” she said as she opened the car door “Speaking of Cedric, I’ve got news!”

“Oh” was what you said when you got in the car, guessing the next sentence that’d come out of her mouth wasn’t going to be your favorite thing in the world.

“The Kim and Arden family are trying to make the engagement official”

“Trying…?”

“Jesus y/n, you’re living under a rock. Too many books not enough TV”

“You’re going to be a great mum” you chuckled

“Taehyung is literally all over the media, apparently some paparazzi interviewed him on the street last night, he said, and I quote! What my father wants is non of my business, I would rather eat a bag of dirt” she stopped “A bag. Of. Dirt.” she jerked her head backwards laughing “Listen, I don’t like the dude, but he’s got balls”

Relief shouldn’t be what you’re feeling right now. “I see” you tried to sound indifferent, because that was the acceptable reaction, but something pounded inside of you.

“I mean, acting up like that? In front of cameras? ANNND against his dad’s word? Makes you wonder why he’s so against it, doesn’t it?”

You rolled your eyes “What are you implying, Mina?”

She had a puppy look on her face “Nothing! Nothing! I’m just sayinggg”

“He’s young, and a massive playboy” you sounded more angry than you should “He obviously doesn’t want to be caged like a pup. Besides, he can’t tolerate Brianna for more than a second”

“And you know that because…?” Mina was obviously teasing.

Fuck. “Well, you know he told me, Mina.”

Of course Mina knew, but Seokjin, who was driving, and Namjoon, who was sitting on the edge of the passenger sit looking out the window probably contemplating life and why he had so much to drink today, didn’t exactly know the details between you and Taehyung. And you’d like to keep it that way.

There was a silence “I know I was stupid to trust him okay? I just—“

“It’s not your fault, y/n” Seokjin’s voice made an appearance “It’s not your fault he’s an asshole.”

“I know, I get it”

“So all that anger, don’t place it on yourself” Namjoon’s voice was barely audible

“Sorry are we still talking about y/n or are you talking about your alcohol problem? Because I’m a little confused” Mina snorted, she was always the one to tease Namjoon yet she took care of him the most out of all of us.

You rolled down the window, allowing the autumn air to flow through the car. It was a beautiful night, the starriest it had been for a while now. Cold air brushed your skin as you drove back to Outfield, gazing the wall from afar and that’s all you used to do, but now you know the other side of it very well. In fact, you were more familiar with it than you’d like. Bitterness crawled up your throat.

Toward the end of November, the bet was long forgotten and everyone and their mother was focused on Taehyung’s so called engagement, or rather, the lack of it.

You didn’t care. Focusing on schoolwork was far more important. . .Or that’s at least the lies you’d been feeding yourself.

It was hard to avoid it, considering it was all everyone talked about. The Arden and Kim family were arguably Hashfield’s founding families, the possibility of those two historic houses merging had everyone on edge.

Well, except Taehyung, apparently.

Ever since the scandal interview he gave about a month ago, Kim Taehyung seemed to do the opposite of what his father wanted. According to Claire, there had been a succession of crushes, flings, one night stands, who knows. To you all of it boiled down to one thing only: his cock had been everywhere. It had been in god knows how many vaginas, how many mouths.

Without your concern, your gaze found him. The amphitheater was big enough, so he shouldn’t notice.

The image disgusted you. It bothered you to think of him between a girl’s legs as she lay facing him, his broad, tanned, glistening shoulders moving up and down. Just looking at his shoulders when he happened to be going over his notes made you wonder where they’d been last night. How effortless and free the movement of his shoulder blades each time he shifted, how thoughtlessly they caught the sun. Did they taste of the sea to the woman who had lain under him last night and bitten into him? Or of his suntan lotion?

You remembered the last time you’d seen his shoulders all exposed under the sun. It was three years a go, near the end of your friendship.

You were in your mother’s garden, he’d stop by to bring you a Nintendo for your birthday. You tried to tell him that you were going to be a junior this year and that he should cut it with the kid stuff, but you’d secretly wished for that Nintendo so badly.

“Listen, I need to pick up something in town.” he said.

Something was always weed.

“And here I was, thinking you came down to Outfield for my birthday”

He sat silently a moment. “I did.” cleared his throat “Want to come with me? It’s been a while since we rode our bikes together”

“Now?” What you might have meant was, Really?

“Why, have you got anything better to do?”

“No.”

“So let’s go.”

Kim Taehyung, billionaire, Kim Taehyung, riding on a bike instead of his panamera just because you’d convinced him it was fun two years ago was the funniest sight, ever.

When you arrived at the garage, Amir, was arguing with Kadir, as usual.

This time he was accusing him of dousing the tomatoes with too much water, and that it was all wrong, because they were growing too fast.

“They’ll be mealy,” Amir complained.

“Listen. I do the tomatoes, you do the driving, and we’re all happy.”

“You don’t understand. In my day you moved the tomatoes at some point, from one place to another, from one place to the other”—he insisted—“and you planted basil nearby. But of course you people who’ve been in the army know everything.”

Their heavy accents made everything a little lighter.

“That’s right.” Kadir was ignoring him.

“Of course I’m right. No wonder they didn’t keep you in the army.”

“That’s right. They didn’t keep me in the army.”

Both of them greeted the two of you. The gardener handed Taehyung his weed. “You have a familiar face kid. Ever since the first day you came out here, I’ve seen you before, I’m sure of it. Did you work in a farm nearby perhaps?”

A laugh escaped your lips at the thought of Kim Taehyung being a farmer, maybe in another life. Of course Kadir had seen Tae’s face hanging in magazines or blasted through the daily talking show, but he couldn’t exactly pin point it.

Taehyung caught your smiled and after eyeing you smiled back.

Amir couldn’t have been more peeved. “No farmer dresses like that, are you stupid? From now on, I talk to customers you grow the tomatoes”

Kadir gave a wry smile.

Once you two had reached the cypress lane that led onto the main road to town, you asked Tae, “Doesn’t he give you the creeps?”

“Who?”

“Amir.”

“No, why? I fell the other day on my way back and scraped myself pretty badly. Amir insisted on applying some sort of witch’s brew. He also fixed the bike for me.” With one hand on the handlebar he lifted his shirt and exposed a huge scrape and bruise on his left hip.

“Still gives me the creeps,” You said, repeating your aunt’s verdict.

“Just a lost soul, really.”

Lost soul.

On your way, you noticed that Tae was taking his time. He wasn’t in his usual rush, no speeding, no scaling the hill with his usual athletic zeal. Nor did he seem in a rush to go back to his precious wall, or join his new friends on the beach.

He’d been spending a lot of time with a new crowd, you didn’t really know them, nor were you interested. Rich snobby kids from far inside the wall, probably best to avoid them. It kind of bugged you that Tae had started hanging out with them so much, but you wouldn’t bring yourself to say anything.

Today he’d spend almost the entire day with you, perhaps he had nothing better to do.

When you arrived at the small café that overlooked the sea, Tae stopped to buy cigarettes. He had started smoking Gauloises. You had never tried Gauloises and asked if you could. He took out a cerino from the box, gently placed the cigarette in between your lips and by cupping his hands very near your face, lit your cigarette.

“Not bad, right?” he said after you took a puff

“Not bad at all.”

He didn’t like the fact that you’d picked up smoking, but he wasn’t any better so he decided not to scold you about it anymore.

“Just take a look at this,” he said as the two of you ambled with your bikes in the afternoon sun toward the edge of the café overlooking the rolling hills below.

Farther out and way below was a magnificent view of the sea with scarcely a few stripes of foam streaking the bay like giant dolphins breaking the surf. “Do you know about the wailing woman?” he asked suddenly.

“She threw her husband in the sea, thinking he was dead, but he had just been asleep for days due to some medication. He ended up drowning from the waves”

“You heard how she died?”

“The next night she took a bunch of sleeping pills and threw herself in the sea to drown as well” You replied and studied his pondering face.

“Do you know why she did that?”

“Because she thought that, if she died the same way her husband did, she’d meet him in the afterlife.”

Why was he quizzing you?

“Is there anything you don’t know?” he asked, his eyes a light caramel from the sun.

“I know nothing, Tae. Nothing, just nothing.”

“You know more than anyone around here.Anyone I’ve ever met”

Why was he returning your near-tragic tone with bland ego-boosting?

“If you only knew how little I know about the things that really matter.” you replied

“What kind of things?” It was as if he was starring down into your soul

How much you wanted to touch his hair which was slightly ruffled by the passing wind. How much you wanted him to come even closer, maybe enough to hear how fast your heart beat every time he was near you.

Tell him. It’s now or never.

Is it better to speak, or to die? “Nothing.”

You were treading water, trying neither to drown nor to swim to safety, just staying in place, because here was the truth—even if you couldn’t speak the truth, or even hint at it, yet you could swear it lay around the two of you, the way they say that if a necklace gets lost while swimming: You know it’s down there somewhere.

You focus back to the class. On the Present day, when Taehyung was just a mere asshole to you, nothing else. You hopefully averted your eyes fast enough so that he didn’t notice you staring at him for what was probably fifteen minutes now.

This class was boring, you blame the weariness that washed over you for the flashbacks you were having about him.

That version of Taehyung was long dead to you.

@nikkiordonez12 @travelleratheart101 @theaufanartist @world-moon @ratedbangtann @chimchoom @pnkoo @taehyungedd @turnthepageandbeburnt @glitteryouid @jkbangtan7 @chimchoom @thankyoublair @manuosorioh

[rawritzrobin]

The Waynes: Chapter 2

Title: The Waynes

Pairing: Mobster!Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: A bit of a nod to violence, but nothing descriptive. Somewhat signs of stalking?

Summary: Your mundane life changed the day a certain man walked through the doors of the bakery. You now had something to look forward to everyday.

A/N: Thank you all so much for the love on the first chapter!! It was a story that really sat with me for a while. I’m still figuring things out as I go so updates wont be happening as fast as I would hope. Slowly, but surely!

Taglist (if I missed you apologies, I saw some that came through a long time ago that might not be on this list. Please comment if you want to be added and ill drop your name into this list asap!): @msghostface @khaylin27 @thequeenofbigmacs @escapism-r-us @orighami @neobreakmyback @bubbles-incorrect-yb @hypnobanditprofessorhorse-blog 

Masterlist | Chapter 1

Chapter 2: Hi Stranger

The bell to the front door sounded, and your mood instantly shifted. Every day around this time, a certain tall, dark, and handsome man would come by and buy a couple of croissants. You smiled as you let your fantasies run wild for one second, imagining the handsome stranger whisking you away to a better place. You tried to push away the negative thoughts.

Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome was probably a taken man with your luck.

You weren’t really sure you would see him again after that incident with Randy. In fact, now that you thought about it, you never saw Randy again after that night. You wondered if he found another girl to harass. But it didn’t matter, he was out of your hair.

You quickly ran to the front to greet the customer, hoping it was your crush. You smiled when you saw the man with black hair and a white tuff. Jason was his name. You took a second to admire his suit. You were sure he was very well off. He always came in wearing a different suit, each of them specially tailored just for him. Probably some sort of finance man.

“Hi there.” You said cheerfully. “The usual?”

Jason looked up from his phone, where he was sending a quick message to his driver, and instantly smiled when he saw you. You still didn’t know that you were basically the only person he smiled for. You just assumed he was a nice man.

“Hey Doll. Of course. Can’t get enough of those croissants.”

Butterflies ran through your stomach as you tried your hardest not to blush when he called you Doll.

“Did you have a good day today?” You said making friendly conversation.

Jason tried his best to not flinch. He had just finished a semi intense interrogation with one of their suppliers. The team had intel that this man was feeding shipment info to the Falcones. He wasn’t exactly having the best day. But his mood always picked up when he saw the front of your shop.

“Eh, as good as can be. Can’t complain.” Jason said with a slight chuckle, he didn’t want to bring down the mood with his awful day. “And you?”

You gave a tired laugh.

“Nothing much! Just happy the day is almost over. It’s been pretty busy with the Holidays coming up soon. It will be really busy once Thanksgiving rolls around.”

“Got any plans?”

You shook your head, “No. My folks aren’t around anymore. So it’s just me.” You stopped yourself and looked down for a second. The Holidays were always a hard time, especially nowadays. Jason didn’t say another word.

You smiled, a way to distract yourself from your feelings. “It will be new years before we know it.”

Jason looked at you sadly. He kept quiet, not wanting to pry anymore today. He was secretly hoping that you would open up to him one day soon.

You finished ringing him up when you noticed a flash of red on his hand.

You gasped and pointed to his hand when you noticed it was a large cut. “Jason, you’re hurt.”

Jason’s eyes quickly shot to his hand. He chuckled nervously. There was a bit of glass that went flying when he threw the man into the mirror on the wall earlier. One of the shards must have nicked him. He couldn’t even feel the cut on his hand. His line of work tended to cause a lot of injuries to his body. Especially when they fought back. He had gotten used to the smaller wounds.

He pulled his hand away, trying to hide it. “Oh yeah, some glass broke while I was helping do some dishes at work today. Must’ve cut me and I didn’t even notice. It’s okay.”

You shook your head in disagreement. “No, it looks like it needs some medical attention. Wait here.” You said, quickly jogging into the main office. You turned on the lights and made your way into the back of the room. The red and white first aid kit sat in the corner. You picked it up with ease and made your way back to Jason.

You opened the door that allowed you into the front of the shop and ushered Jason to sit into one of the seats at the front.

“May I?” You asked, gesturing for him to give you his hand.

Jason hesitantly brought his hand up into yours. You examined it closely.

The cut wasn’t too deep. Luckily it wouldn't need any stitches. You turned away from his hand, still holding it in your left hand, and with your other hand, rifled through the first aid kit. After a few seconds you found what you were looking for.

You looked up at him. “This is going to sting a little.”

Jason nodded, merely focusing on how soft your hands were in his. He watched as you gently tore open the alcohol pad and slowly began to wipe it over his cut. He winced slightly, it hurt, but not nearly as much as his other wounds he had sustained over the years. Under his suit were more than a handful of scars from past jobs Bruce had him on. This scratch on his hand was merely another addition.

He looked up from his wound and watched you work. You were hyper focused on making sure everything was okay. After you cleaned the cut, you added some antiseptic to make sure the wound would heal fast. You finished up by gently wrapping up his hand in a fresh bandage.

“All done. It should heal within a few days. Just clean it once a day.”

Jason looked down at his hand, and then up at you. Your eyes met and you looked away once you realized he was staring, hoping you weren’t as red as you felt.

“Thank you.” He said in a gentle voice.

You quickly cleaned up the kit, and made your way back behind the counter after washing your hands. Jason watched you move around quickly, but gracefully. Jason stood up as you closed the lid to the box.

“Here you go. They were fresh when you walked in.” You said with a large grin.

Jason admired you for a second. He had come over a dozen times to see you. Yet every time he saw you, he still got butterflies in his stomach. No woman has ever done that to him before. Girls threw themselves at him constantly at the club. There was something about you he couldn’t shake.

“Thank you. And thank you for helping me with my hand.”

“Of course! Happy to help.” You said looking up at him once more. Your eyes met once again, and the world stood still for that one moment.

“Well I better get going.” Jason said, a hint of sadness in his voice. “I'll see you around.”

You smiled and waved him out the door. You looked down sadly, your favorite time of day over, when the door chime rang once again.

“Wel…” You began to say, when you noticed it was Jason. “Jason, did you forget something?”

“Uh no. There was actually something.. Something I wanted to ask you.” He said, nervously.

You didn’t notice as your heart began to beat faster and faster. Did you cross the line today? Was this him coming in to tell you that he had a girlfriend and to stay away from him? The possibilities were endless. “What is it?” You asked, nervously.

Jason couldn’t believe he was doing this. He could count the number of times on one hand he had ever asked out a girl. That number was one, when he was hitting on Babs for fun when he was younger. He wasn’t even planning on doing this until he walked out the door. Maybe he should just tell her he changed his mind.

“I uh, I was wondering if you had any plans tomorrow night?” The words managed to slip out.

Your eyes widened, you were not expecting that. “Um, no. I work early tomorrow, so I should be done by five.”

Jason’s excitement grew, with that his confidence shot up. He had one of his men follow you around for a bit. He wanted to make sure you didn’t have a boyfriend or husband of some sort. He was relieved when his spy came back and gave him the good news that you were single. It actually came from your own mouth when he overheard you telling the bakery owner that you were “Sadly, going to be single forever.”

Still, even with that information, Jason was nervous.

“Would you want to go have dinner with me? There’s a new restaurant in the diamond district. I got invited to a pre-opening, and I have a plus one.” Jason held his breath waiting for your answer. Just 30 minutes ago he had a man begging for mercy at his feet. Right now, he felt like the tables were turned.

You weren’t sure if you heard what you thought you heard. Was this really happening? Maybe you were dreaming. But if you were, you didn’t want this dream to end. Your lips turned up into a smile as you nodded excitedly. “Yes. I would love to.”

The weight of the world seemed to just disappear off Jason's shoulder all at once. He could not be smiling any harder. The butterflies in his stomach were going crazy. “Alright. Cool. Um, do you live nearby? I can pick you up around seven. That should give you some time to go home and change.” He said as he pretended to not already know where you lived.

He was a Wayne. The Waynes knew everything and everyone in their neighborhood.

“Yeah, not too far. Just a ten minute walk.” You looked around the counter for a notepad. You reached for the large one near the register. You quickly wrote down your address and phone number. “Here.” You said handing it to Jason. You were blushing quite hard now.

Jason took the piece of paper with a wide grin on his face. “Okay, I'll see you tomorrow at seven.”

“Sounds good. See you then.” You waved Jason goodbye once more. Once he was out of sight, you pinched yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming.

“Did that really just happen?” You mutter to yourself. Your mouth twisted up into a smile.

The smile on your face never faltered. Not as a rude customer threw a tantrum at the fact that you ran out of sweet cream horns two minutes before closing. Not as you spilled the leftover whipped cream all over the floor before locking up. Not as you walked home that night.

Jason, the handsome man you had been crushing on for weeks, just asked you out on a date. Nothing could tear you down. At least, for now.

A/N: It’s not much for now. But as the story progresses things will pick up. :3 

[layce2015]

Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

Sin City

Masterlist

Bobby was working on the Colt, while Dean and I were melting metal into bullets when Sam walks in. "Hey." He said and we look up at him. "Hey, what's up?" Dean asked him. "Might've found some omens in Ohio. Dry lightning, barometric-pressure drop." Sam replied. "Well, that's thrilling." I mutter, sarcastically.

"Plus, some guy blows his head off in a church and another goes postal in a hobby shop before the cops take him out. Might be demonic omens." Sam said. "Or it could just be a suicide and a psycho scrapbooker." Dean said to him. "Yeah, but it's our best lead since Lincoln." Sam said.

"Where in Ohio?" I asked him. "Elizabethville. It's a half-dead factory town in the rust belt." Sam said and Dean sighs. "There's got to be a demon or two in South Beach." He said and I roll my eyes at but I smile. "Sorry, Hef. Maybe next time." I said as I pat his shoulder and Sam chuckles.

"How's it going, Bobby?" Sam asked him. "Slow." Bobby said. "Eh, I tell you, it's a little sad seeing the Colt like that." Dean said to him. "Well, the only thing it's good for now is figuring out what makes it tick." Bobby said.

"So what makes it tick?" Sam asked and Bobby looks up at him, not amused. Sam holds his hands up in amusement. "So, if we want to go check out these omens in Ohio…" I said as I rise up from my chair then I turn to Bobby and said, teasingly and with a straight-face. "...you think you can have that thing ready by this afternoon?"

The boys chuckle while Bobby stares at me, incredulously. "Well, it won't kill demons by then, but I can promise you it'll kill you." Bobby replied and I smile at him. "All right, come on, we're wasting the daylight, boys." I said to them and Dean starts to get up.

"See you, Bobby." Sam said and we start to leave. "Hey!" Bobby shouts and we turn to him. "You three run into anything — anything — you call me." He said and we nod and head out.

"There's not much left for the insurance company. It was a suicide - I saw it myself." Father Gil said to us as the boys and I, now dressed in suits, walk along side of him as we enter the church. "Well, this shouldn't take long, then." Dean said and Gil sighs then points towards the balcony.

"That's where Andy did it. It's the first time I'd seen him in weeks. He used to come every Sunday." He said. "When did he stop?" Sam asked him. "Probably about...two months ago? Right around the time everything else started to change." Gil replied.

"Change how?" I asked, curiously. "Oh, let's just say this used to be a town...you could be proud of. People...cared about each other. Andy sang in the choir, and then one day, he just...wasn't Andy anymore. It was like he was..." Gil said as he started to struggle for words.

"Possessed?" Sam and I asked in unison. "You could say that. Gambled away his money, cheated on his wife, destroyed his business. Yes, like a switch had flipped." Gil said. "Father, did you know the man who killed those folks in the hobby shop?" Sam asked him.

"Sure, Tony Perkins." Gil replied. "Tony Perkins." I said , nodding. "Good man." Gil said. "Would you say that his personality suddenly changed one day, too?" I asked him and he looks over at me, slightly shocked. "I never thought about it that way, but...yes. about the same time as Andy — about two months ago." He said.

"Well, thank you, Father. Appreciate your time." Dean said and we begin to walk away then Sam begins to speak in an undertone. "Two months ago, we open up the devil's gate, all of a sudden this town turns into Margaritaville? It's no coincidence." Sam said and Dean and I nod.

We make it to the hotel and enter our room, Dean chuckles then elbows me and nods at the mirrors on the ceiling. I scoff and shake my head when the door across the hall opens.

"Richie." Dean said as he looks over and the other guy looks up. "I don't believe it." Dean said as Richie smiles. "Hey, Dean...Winchester, right?" He said. "Yeah." Dean said when a tall scantily dressed girl appears from Richie’s room.

"This is my sister, uh, Cheryl." He said. "Hey." She said and the boys and I stare at her. "Cheryl." Dean said as Richie hands Cheryl some money. "There." He said to her and she leaves. "Well, you know...stepsister." Richie said, shrugging, and Dean shakes his head, slightly.

"Come on in." Dean said and Richie comes into the room. "This is my brother, Sam." Dean said as he gestures towards Sam. "And this is my girlfriend, (y/n)." Dean said and Richie nods. "Hey. How you doing?" He asked. "Not too bad." Sam said as I nod at him.

"How do you two know each other?" I asked, gesture towards Dean and Richie "Sam was in school and you, I think, were with your dad." Dean said. "It was that succubus, in Canarsie right?" Richie said to Dean. "Yeah, yeah." Dean said. "Oh, man. You should have seen the rack on this broad. Freakin' tragedy when I had to gank her." Richie said. "Whoa, whoa. Wait. Who killed her? If I remember, your ass was toast until I showed up." Dean said and Richie chuckles.

"Oh, I forgot what a comedian this guy was." He said. "Richie, Richie, know what? I told you then and I'll tell you again — you're not cut out for this job. You're gonna get yourself killed." Dean said and Richie's phone rings.

"Talk to me." He said into his phone then he turns to Dean. "FYI, Winchester — words hurt." He said and I chuckle as Richie goes back to his phone. "Yeah? No, it's not a good time, babe. Later." He said while Dean gives a look towards us. Then Richie hangs up.

"So you find anything in this town, anyway?" Dean asked him. "Ah, no. I got nothing. Oh, wait a minute. You mean as in demons and whatnot?" Richie said. "Yeah." Dean said. "No, I got nothing." Richie said. "Typical. What about your sister back there?" Dean asked. "Oh, honestly? She definitely had the devil in her, but she wasn't no demon, you know what I'm saying?" Richie said and Dean gives him a look of disapproval.

"Right. Seriously. Church guy, hobby-shop guy — they were lunch meat by the time I got there. Hey maybe they were possessed, but I can't prove it." Richie said. "Yeah, that's where we are, too." I said. "You know, let's just say that demons are possessing people in this town. You know, raising hell—" Sam said. "Yeah, but why would a demon blow his brains out?" Dean asked. "Well, for fun? You know he wrecks one body, moves to another. You know, like taking a stolen car for a joyride." Richie said.

"Anybody else left in the town that fits the profile — you know, nice guy turned douche, still breathing?" I asked. "There's Trotter." Richie said. "Who's that?" Sam asked. "Well, he used to be head of the Rotary Club. And then people say he turned bastard all of a sudden? Brought in the gambling, the hookers. ...Ah, he practically owns this whole town." Richie said.

"Know where we could find him?" Sam asked him. "Oh, he'll be at his bar in a few hours." Richie said to us.

Later, the boys and I pull up in the Impala. The town in buzzing, it looks like Mardi Gras — people wandering around with cocktails, sexy girls, and lots of action. "I thought you said this was some boarded-up factory town." Dean said to Sam as he looks around. "It is. At least, it's supposed to be." Sam said.

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's do some research." Dean said and I punch his arm. "Ow!" He said and I raise an eyebrow. "I was kidding!" He said and I raise an eyebrow at him. "Mmmhmm. I'm sure. Just to remind you, I know my way around guns and knives." I said. "Careful, princess, jealous doesn't look good on you." He said and I give a playful glare at him. 

He smirks at me then he leans down and kissed my cheek as we head into the bar.

We thread our way through the crowded bar. People were drinking and dancing and seem to be having a good time. Up ahead, we see Richie as he brushes past a woman and approaches us. He's wearing a somewhat shiny orange short-sleeved shirt halfway unbuttoned to reveal a white t-shirt underneath.

"Oh, Richie. Look at you." Dean said. "Hey." He said as he and Dean shake hands. "Bringing satin back." I remarked and Richie looks down at his outfit. "Oh, you like this? Try Thai silk — Canal Street. You'd have to pay $300 for threads like these, easy. Cost to me — fuggedaboutit." Richie said.

"How much is forget about it?" Sam asked. "Ah, forget about it." Richie said, waving his hand, then he points out an older man. "That's Trotter over there. He sits there all night. Can't touch him." He said.

"So, what do we do now?" I asked. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm gonna do a little investigating with that bartender." Dean said and I turn my head to him. "Like hell you are!" I said and he chuckles. "Besides, me and her, we got a little...somethin'-somethin' lined up for later." Richie said to Dean. "Yeah, right." Dean scoffs.

"Stings, don't it? All right. I got to hit the head, release the hostages. Be back in a few." Richie said and Sam laughs at Richie's general cheesiness as he walks away.

"No way he gets a girl like that. I mean, look at her. You could fit that ass on a nickel." Dean said. "You think so?" A voice asked and we turned and see Father Gil sitting nearby. "Oh." Dean laughs. "Busted." I muttered to him. "Sorry, Padre." Dean said to Gil.

"Knew you three would find your way here. They all do." Gil said. "No offense, but what are you doing here, Father?" I asked him. "Like it or not, you go where your flock is." Gil said as the bartender pours him a drink.

"Plus, the clergy drinks for free." She said. "True, and a certain bartender owes me a confession." Gil said to her. "Not in this lifetime, Father." She said, smiling. "I better see your butt on Sunday." He said then he looks at Dean as he leaves the seat. "Nickel or no nickel." He said and he leaves.

"What can I get you three?" She asked. "What's your speciality?" Dean asked her. "I make a mean hurricane." The bartender said. "I guess we'll see about that." Dean said and she walks away and my jaw clenches at this.

"You drink hurricanes?" Sam asked. "I do now." Dean said. "Do you still want your fingers?" I asked him and he smirks at me. "You know, I'm starting to like this jealous side of you. It's kinda hot." He said and I glare at him.

"Hey." Sam said as he hits our arm and points towards two men ar a pool table nearby. One guy raises his gun and shoots the second guy point-blank in the forehead. The crowd erupts in chaos and the shooter aims the gun at his own head.

Dean runs and tackles him to the ground. Sam and I make our way over to them and Sam surreptitiously splashes holy water on him. But the man seems really surprised and outraged by being splashed with water, but doesn't sizzle.

"What are you doing?!" He asked, annoyed, and the boys and I share a look then the man mutters to himself. "He slept with my wife. That bastard slept with my wife!" He said.

"Somebody call 911!" Sam shouts and the bartender runs off.

We were standing in the bar as the cop arrested the shooter and take him away. Then one of the officers comes up to us. "You three ready for your mug shots?" He asked us and the boys and I look at him, nervously, and the cop hastens to reassure us. "The photographer's gonna be here in a few, and...take your picture for the local paper." He said.

"Be an honor, Officer. What a thrill!" Dean said, relieved but also was giving a fake enthusiasm. The officer nods and walks away then I turn to the boys. "Yep, time to go." I said. "Wait a second. Wait a second." Dean said and we look over at him.

"What?" Sam and I asked him. "Where's Richie?" He asked and we shrugged. We looked around the bar as we leave but didn't find Richie so then we head out.

Later, at a different bar, Dean was sitting at a table, a large burger in front of him. His phone was up on his ear but he hangs it up and looks at it, speculatively.

"You do realize there's red meat within striking distance, right?" I said to Dean as Sam returns with some beers for us. "How many times I got to tell Richie, he's gonna get himself in trouble?" Dean grumbles. "Dean, you're assuming he's missing. I mean, maybe he just bailed." Sam said as he sits down.

"He's a moron. I mean, he's a sweet moron, but he's not a coward. He wouldn't just bail. I got to go find him." Dean said. "I'll come with you." I said. "All right. Meanwhile I think I'm gonna trail this Trotter guy." Sam said. "Yeah?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. I don't know. Something about the way he looked at me last night. Maybe there is something going on here." Sam said. "Or maybe he likes you." I remarked and Dean snorts with laughter. "Ha ha, very funny." Sam said as he gets up and leaves.

Dean was able to track Richie's phone which lead us to a large house. We searched the house and found Richie's dead body in the basement, which looked like a place where a ritual could happen. I gasped while Dean stood there and stared at Richie's body. "Damn it." He mutters as he goes over to Richie. "Dean, I'm so sorry." I said and he shakes his head.

"Sam!" Dean shouts, annoyed, into his phone sometime later. We finished giving Richie a hunter funeral and decided to go back to the bar to hunt down that bartender. Dean and I came up with a plan to get her attention towards Dean and she would bring him back to her place down into the basement. That's where Dean would trap her as we drew a devil's trap under the rug in the basement.

Dean went to call Sam but it seems that Sam had to get off of the phone, quickly, as he hung up on Dean. "Sam okay?" I asked him. "Yeah, uh, he said he'd be back here in 20 minutes, so meet up with him and if I'm not back, come find me...or not, I don't care which way." Dean said. "Okay." I said, rolling my eyes. "Good." He said.

"Just remember that whatever I say, I don't mean it." I said as he looks me over. "I know." He said and we share a quick kiss before he heads into the bar.

I stand outside of the door as I watch him sit at the bar and order a drink. He gets the drink from the bartender then another woman, in scantily clothing, comes up to him and gives him a seductive smile and talks to him.

I felt a lump in my throat and anger in my chest as I take a deep breath and storm into the bar. "Are you freaking kidding me?!" I shout as I go over to Dean, who looks up at me in shocked. "Honey, it's not what you think!" He said and I stnad in front of him and fold my arms.

"Oh really?! That's what you said about that bitch from the other night!" I shouted and Dean gives a look of shock and a bit of fright. "You know what? Forget it! Just...just.." I stammered as I try to summon some tears to make it look real. I immediately started to think about my dad and his last moments and this brought tears to my eyes.

Then I glared up at Dean and said. "Screw you! Never talk to me again!" Then I turned and left the bar as Dean calls out to me but I continued to walk out. "Baby, please!" Dean said and he goes to grab my arm. I turn to him and slap him across the face, yank my arm out of his hand then I walk out and away from the door as I wipe the tears from my eyes and composed myself.

I hope that was convincing enough for the bartender to talk to Dean. He'll charm her and then she'll feel pity for him and take him home. Normal girls would hate this plan but I trust Dean enough that nothing will happen, he hasn't given me a reason to not trust him...as a boyfriend that is.

Eventually, I saw Dean and the bartender walk out of the bar together and I stepped to the side of the bar so they wouldn't see me. Dean looks over his shoulder and sees me and I give him a nod then he gives me a wink before he turns back ahead and walk with the woman.

After walking around a bit, I make my way back to the bar and see Sam coming out of the building. "(Y/n)!" Sam said as he comes over to me. "I thought you'd be with Dean?" He asked. "We found out that that bartender is a demon and she had killed Richie. Dean said he'd take care of it but it's been awhile and I'm getting worried. I meant to meet up with you sooner but...I lost track of time." I said and Sam nods.

"I know where to go." He said and he grabs my arm and we head out.

We make it to the house and knocked on the front door. The door swings open and we look at it but decided to go through it anyway. "Dean?" Sam calls out. "Dean?" I said as we check out the place.

I step forward and hear a weird noise under my feet. I look down and see I had stepped on little pink piggy slippers. I shake my head and kicked them aside then we look at a picture of the bartender with a guy, and a cross necklace hanging on top of it.

Sam sees something behind it and reaches around it them pulls his fingers back which were covered in yellow powder. "Sulfur." Sam mutters and I nod.

"Bobby, It's (y/n). We got a big problem. Sam and I found some sulfur, and now we can't find Dean. Call me as soon as you get this." I said into my phone as Sam talks to the barman once we make it back to the bar.

I hang up and look over at Sam, who was annoyed. "So what did he say?" I asked. "Nothing." Sam replied and I sighed then looked over to see Father Gil sitting at a booth. Sam and I exchange a look then approach him.

"Father." Sam said and he looks up at us. "Yes?" He said. "Um...can we, can we talk to you for a sec?" Sam asked and he nods and we take a seat across from him. "So, the, the bartender the other night, Casey. You know her pretty well?" Sam asked Gil, who nods. "Since she was in pigtails." He replied.

"Well, um, she and my brother, they, uh...they...left tonight. Together." Sam said. "Ah. Well...not that I approve, but they are consenting adults." Gil said. "Right." Sam and I said. "I, I'm sorry. You said brother. I thought the three of you were insurance investigators?" Gil asked. "Right, right. Well, well we are. Um, it's like, it's like a family business, you know? And (y/n) here, is an old family friend." Sam said. "Ah." Gil said.

"Anyways, so, we went to Casey's apartment, and they weren't there. Sam and I just have this feeling that they...that they might be in trouble." I said. "What kind of trouble?" Gil asked. "Just...trouble. Dean has a, how you say, a magnet for trouble." I said and Gil looks us over.

"Look, please, Father, we need your help. Is there anything you could tell me about Casey — anyplace she'd go, maybe...?" Sam asked. "Yes, there is a place. Let me get my jacket." Gil said as he gets up. "No, wait, wait, wait, Father. (Y/n) and I can do this by ourself." Sam said. "Son, if Casey's really in trouble, then there's nothing to talk about." Gil said as he stands and puts on his coat.

"Shall we go?" He asked as he has his back to us and straightens his coat. "Yeah." Sam said and we leave the bar.

"So, insurance investigating. You enjoy the work?" Gil asked us. "Yeah." I replied as Gil drives hs. "Yeah, yeah, I...like being able to help people." Sam said. "Ever think about doing anything else?" Gil asked. "Like what?" Sam and I asked in unison. "Mmm, anything. You two seem like pretty smart kids. Somehow I see both of you out in front of the pack. You could do some great things." He said.

"I don't know. I like doing what I'm doing, I guess." Sam said. "Yeah, same here." I said and Gil nods. "Well, it's your life." He said. "And you said that, uh...Dean?" He said to me and I nod. "You said Dean is a magnet for trouble?" He asked and I nod. "Yeah, if he isn't causing it, it'll follow him." I said and Gil chuckles.

We pull up in front of Casey's home, then we get out of the car and start walking towards the home. "Dean?!" Sam calls out but no reply. "Dean!" I shouted and we come upon the front door. "Dean!" Sam and I shout as he pounds door.

"Check that way." Gil said and Sam and I walk off in the other direction around the house. "(Y/n)! Sam!" Dean's voice calls out. "Dean?" Sam and I called out. "Guys, down here! The basement caved in!" Dean shouted as we come up to a grate and see him.

"Dean. Hey, hold on, okay? We're coming. All three of us." I said. "Three of us?" Dean said, confused. "We're here with the Father." Sam replied and Dean turns to look behind him then looked back at us.

"Guys, be careful." Dean said, warningly. Sam and I turn around and see Gil with black eyes. I gasped just as a shot is fired just past Gil's head, destroying a small statute.

He whips around and we see Bobby holding the Colt. Gil then uses his powers to fling him aside then throws Sam into the windscreen of the Impala. I start to run at him but then he flings me back and I hit something hard and I blackout.

I groan as I start to come back to to see Bobby over me. "You alright, girlie?" He asked me as I sit up. "Yeah, just peachy." I said then I noticed Sam wasn't around. "Where's Sam?" I asked. "He just ran inside the house." Bobby said and I get up and make my way into the house.

I just make it towards the basement when I heard a gunshot. I come up next to Sam to see Gil was shot, lightning emits from and circles him as he twitches and dies. Sam then points the Colt at Casey.

"Sam, wait!" Dean shouts but Sam shoots her, and the bodies of Casey and Father Gil, no longer possessed, lie dead on the devil’s trap. My eyes widen at this as Dean stares at his brother as he slowly lowers the Colt, and the bodies bleed out.

"Well, what do you think, Bobby?" I asked him as he, Dean and I walk along the busy sidewalk the next morning. "About what we did here, you think it made a difference?" I asked. "Two less demons to worry about. That's not nothing." Bobby said.

"Yeah, but Trotter's still alive." Dean pointed out. "Humans ain't our job." Bobby said. "Yeah, but you think anything's really gonna change? I mean maybe these people do just want to really destroy themselves. Maybe it is...a losing battle." Dean said to Bobby.

"Is that you or the demon girl talking?" I asked Dean. "Ohhhh, it's me. Demon is dead, and so is that girl it was possessing." He said and Bobby sighs. "Well, had to be done. Sam was saving your life." Bobby said. "Yeah, but you didn't see it, Bobby. It was cold." Dean replied. "Yeah, I'd have to admit that it was pretty cold-blooded of him doing that." I said and Bobby looks at us before Dean stops walking.

"Guys, You think...think something's wrong with my brother?" He asked and Bobby and I look over at him. "I mean, honestly, I was worried about you, (y/n), cause the Yellow-eyed demon said that when you came back from...wherever...it might not have been you." Dean said as he looks up at me and I frown, slightly, at this.

"But now I'm wondering...should I be worried about Sam?" He asked and there was a brief pause before Bobby spoke. "No. I'm sure Sam's okay." He said. "Yeah. Yeah, me too." Dean said then he looks over at me and smirks before he takes my hand and we continue our walk.

@rach5ive @kitsun369 @itzabbyxx @cevans-winchester

[thefrontofmymind]

When At Lover's Lake (Eddie Munson x fem!Reader) 18+

a/n: this is a repost! i posted and deleted it like 3 weeks ago bc i got shadowbanned like right after i posted it so let's hope this goes a little better this time! kisses! x

SYNOPSIS: You come back to Hawkins for Winter Break and catch up with your best friend, super duper senior, Eddie Munson.

WARNINGS: weed smoking, SMUT so 18+ please and thanks! (unprotected sex, wrap it before you tap it, folks)

You didn’t know what did it, but for some reason the Hawkins winter had gotten to you. You had a chill in your bones that you just couldn’t shake and it was becoming frustrating, more than anything else. You figured it was a way for the universe to punish you for leaving the small town, and all the people in it, when you left for college that previous September. Well, you say the universe, but it was probably closer to your best friend, Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson, who would without a doubt strike up a deal with a higher power to make sure you knew he missed you.

And you missed him as well, of course–the weekly letters back and forth and the occasional phone call just wasn’t cutting it. It was a shock you didn’t expect, you didn’t realise just how much you’d miss your Eddie once you left, with him having to repeat his senior year for the second time.

“This is my year, doll!” he’d tell you. “You’ll have to give me the grand tour of campus next year!”

You didn’t have much hope in Eddie actually going to college–you knew him that well, that it was obvious educational institutions weren’t his forte–but you held onto his drive at getting his diploma at least, you’d already began to make a plan to see him walk across that stage in May.

It took you a total of twenty minutes after you’d set foot in Hawkins to reunite with the man, himself–an all too familiar knock at your bedroom window as you placed your duffel bag for the winter break on your old bed. 

Almost on instinct, you rushed to the window to let Eddie inside, still thinking of all the times he’d sneak into your room to hang out during high school.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he said as he pulled you into a bone-crushing hug after you dragged him through your window. “How’s fancy-schmancy college life treating you?”

“Boring compared to yours, I imagine,” you answered. “Still running that little group of yours? And the business?”

“The Hellfire Club is good, we got a couple freshmen and they’re alright…” Eddie smiled. “And business is good, missing my favourite customer though…”

There was a silence between the two of you…was it awkward now? What happened in the three months you were gone that created this air of tension with you and Eddie–you didn’t know where to look, how to stand, all you could think about was how much you missed him.

“Well, I’m here now so let’s make up for it!” you joked. Eddie just nodded and helped you climb out of your window, like old times. The sun was just starting to drop, but there was still light in the sky, your parents wouldn’t mind if you were out late–you were an adult that was off at college for three quarters of the year now–though you figured they would probably hold an issue with the fact that you were out with the town freak, smoking weed at Lover’s Lake.

It was comfort, being back in Eddie’s old van that you swore just ran off prayer and the cheapest gas possible these days, rugged up in the blanket Eddie kept for you, while he blasted his newest cassette for you as he drove like a madman to Rick’s now abandoned shack on the shoreline of Lover’s Lake.

There were no other cars there when Eddie finally parked and settled with you in the back of his van, not very surprising considering the Indiana cold in December, fresh snow still dusted on the ground all over.

Eddie quickly parked and climbed into the back of the van with you, onto the crochet blanket he’d “found”–you were pretty sure it was taken from some random house party and no one ever came looking for it, and you’d made your piece with that.

Eddie pulled a joint out of the glove compartment of his van, pre-rolled for convenience, and lit up. He took the first few puffs before handing it to you. He simply sat back, trying to relax while you raised it to your lips. It was a relief, your dorm mate was a staunch conservative and would totally snitch on you if you tried smoking back at school, so you hadn’t partaken in a good while, and that was clear quite quickly.

Within minutes, you felt the high wash over you, more than Eddie felt. While he was simply more relaxed, a weight off his shoulders, your eyes were bloodshot, and you couldn’t stop giggling. It made Eddie laugh, when you explained that you hadn’t gotten high since you’d left Hawkins.

“Awww, my little lightweight!” he teased, roughing up your hair and taking the joint from between your fingers. “Maybe you take it easy, eh?”

You agreed, deciding it’d be better to just sit in the van as Eddie smoked. You caught up on all the going-ons of Hawkins, the new freshmen, how Eddie’s classes were going, how the new sheriff didn’t seem to care enough to even try to bust him once yet since he started at the end of the summer.

Eventually you’d caught up on everything, and so you sat in silence for a while–you’d mostly sobered up and mellowed out.

“Do you think we’d be friends if we met today?” Eddie asked out of the blue, laying back and just staring up at the roof of the van. “Like with how we are now? Or do you think we’d be too different, you off at college and me still stuck here?”

You contemplated it for a small second. “I think so. I think we’re the kind of people who were made to be close, like it’s written in the stars or something, so I think it was always in the universe’s plan for us to be friends.”

You saw Eddie smile, just a little. “Me too.”

“I can’t believe I was intimidated by you when we first met…” you reminisced. You’d met on the first day of your freshman year of high school–Eddie’s sophomore year, you’d just moved to Hawkins from a few towns over, your dad got a new job that required relocation.

His hair was still pretty short then, but he still had those curls, just cropped a lot closer to his scalp, and his skin was bare–which with your encouragement was not the case anymore. You ran into him in the hall, literally, not watching where you were going and face planted right into his chest as he stood at his locker. You were too scared to say anything as he just stared at you, and you quickly ran off after mumbling a quick apology. 

In the following days he tracked you down, he was intrigued by you, no one seemed to know who you were so he took it upon himself to introduce you to the world of Hawkins High, cliques and all. It was a shock to his system when he discovered you were almost a carbon copy of him–same music taste, love of fantasy, and a flair for the dramatics, you became friends immediately and you could count on one hand the amount of days you didn’t see him during your four years of high school after that.

“You know…” Eddie started, still avoiding eye contact. “When we first met, I had such a big crush on you…” Your blood ran cold at the revelation. 

“Yeah…. I did too-I had a crush on you, I mean…” You couldn’t blame the weed on your sudden burst of confidence. “Why didn’t we ever do anything?”

Eddie finally looked at you, who was staring right back at him. “I don’t know,” he said matter-of-factly. “I don’t know…”

“So do something now.”

Eddie quickly sat up with wide eyes, questioning you in a way. You didn’t say anything, but your grin spoke for you. You knelt on the floor of the van, and shimmied closer to Eddie, who was still sitting, legs out in front of him. You placed a hand on the side of his face–you could feel electricity running through your fingertips.

It took a second for your lips to reach his, but when it finally happened, you knew with every bone in your body that this was the universe’s plan all along. Warmth spread through your body as Eddie grabbed your waist and pulled you onto his lap so you were straddling him, and deepening the kiss. Your tongue brushed against his bottom lip, which he adjusted to let in, letting out a small groan as it happened, making you smirk into the kiss.

Soon enough, your hands began to wander from the sides of his face, to the hair on the back of his neck–which received a small tug–then to his shoulders, under his leather jacket, which was swiftly removed from his form, leaving him in just a t-shirt.

Eddie broke away from the kiss to catch his breath, as you did the same.

“A-are you sure this is alright?” he asked between pants.

You nodded, and began placing light kisses to his jaw, then to the column of his neck. “And you? Are you okay with this?”

Eddie let out a low chuckle, hands rubbing small circles on your hips. “Baby, I’m more than okay with it…”

And you could tell, the pressure growing on your inner thigh as you left a deep, red mark in the crook of his neck.

“Let’s get this off, hey?” he said, pulling at your sweater, which was quickly taken off to reveal the white, cotton bra you wore underneath. You swore Eddie’s eyes just about popped out of his head before his hands took hold of your tits and his mouth was back on yours.

You were beginning to get light-headed, and needed some relief. Without realising it, your hips began to move against Eddies, the seams of both of your jeans coming in very handy.

Eddie groaned and pulled away for a second. “Need you properly, not just like this…” You gave him a confused look, before he directed you to lay down on the blanket on the floor of the van, slipped off his t-shirt and laid over you. “Like this…”

Both of your hands made quick work of your jeans’ buttons and zippers, and before you knew it, you were bare before him, arms over his shoulders and mouths reunited again. You felt as he positioned himself at your entrance, the air was thick around you in anticipation. Eddie opened his mouth to speak again but you cut him off.

“Just get inside me already, Eddie!” you joked.

“Whatever the princess wants…” He slowly inched his way into you–you felt so full, so complete.

The pair of you stayed still for a second while you adjusted, before giving him the go ahead to move. Your blood felt hot as he thrusted, and your lips quickly found his ear and began nibbling. 

It felt like there was no one else on Earth, no one that could possibly approach the van from outside, no college that you’d have to go back to, no one that would judge the two of you.

It didn’t take long for the coil to begin to tighten in your belly, and you let it be known to Eddie, who post-haste began circling your clit with his left hand as his right hand held his head just above yours. Within minutes, you were a moaning mess below him, which set him off into his own release. After a minute, you both silenced, and Eddie pulled out of you and laid beside you–trying to catch his breath as you did the same.

“And why didn’t we do that before?” you laughed as you laid on Eddie’s bicep, still seeing stars crop up on the ceiling of the van.“I really, really don’t know…” Eddie grinned, giving you a chaste kiss on the cheek.

[dollsonmain]

I know folks are probably getting tired of this by now so you get a tag AND a cut.

But I feel like discussing this sort of thing might help people sometimes? since it's a first person account instead of listicles online.

What they did and didn't tell me about having stents.

They told me why: Facilitates drainage which takes strain (pressure) off of the kidneys and helps the antibiotics work by helping prevent pockets of infected urine reforming (that's what was making me sick, stuck urine that had built up lots of bacteria).

They told me how-ish: They go up with various catheters and things and install the stents, the stents stay in place until they are removed. Some stents have lines that exit the body to facilitate removal. Mine do not. The doc didn't want me accidentally pulling them out since the area they're in is heavily infected. They'll be removed at my first stone removal surgery in about two weeks from installation which was a couple days ago.

They did not tell me how-completely: The stents are hooked into my body meat like little fish hooks. They also didn't tell me they'd be taking urine for testing from my bladder and each kidney or that they would also be draining both kidneys during the procedure, so I did get a fluid-pressure reset.

They did not tell me basically anything about what the next two weeks will be like.

I'm on flowmax to soften my bladder so it's easier to empty. I don't think I needed that, I was peeing fine, but stents do change things.

I was worried that I might push them out while pooping but that's not likely to the point of nearly impossible. Not 100%, but nearly.

These things feel like a bad UTI and I have two of them. I got the ows, the zaps, the GOTTA GOs every few minutes. At least now I know that ALL of those pains are UTI pains, you know? I'd get some random pain sometimes and be like "what was that......" and now I know. It was UTI and pressure in my kidneys and the pain signals were traveling around the whole renal system. Because they do that.

I'm in a lot more pain now than I was with just the kidney stones. It is very, VERY atypical but my kidney stones and the pressure behind them don't hurt. Those nerves may have died off.

There's varying amounts of blood in my urine, sometimes very little, sometimes a lot. Sometimes there are clots. That's all normal but I had to ask as things were happening.

I get up every couple hours in the night and some times I don't make it to the toilet (I did all last night, so that is improving).

They also didn't warn me that just having the surgery itself might make me wet myself because the muscles hadn't all regained strength/how long it would take for the anesthesia to fully wear off.

I called the doctor's office and asked about that, too.

I'm glad I thought to have That Guy bring Depends but that's also something you'd think someone would like, mention. You know?

So that's what having stents has been like so far.

Feels like a bad UTI, though for some people they feel nothing. Need adult diapers for accidents. Need to be near a toilet at all times, and not going to get a hell of a lot of continuous sleep for a while.

-

I also think it's worth noting that I've had two male doctors blow me off about this and I think the only thing that went differently at the ER was that it was a female doctor.

The first male doctor said it was an anxiety attack.

The second male doctor said it was a viral stomach bug.

The female doctor listened to my symptoms and ordered a bunch of tests.

So, more personal blather about the whole situation.

While I was in the first ER I heard a man yelling and starting trouble in the waiting room. That Guy and Son got up and left as soon as the man was distracted by a security guy. I'd had told them to go home as soon as they dropped me off and I would text if I needed picked up. I knew I wasn't going home, though.

-

My neighbor was an elderly lady and they kept trying to figure out when she'd last pooped but she couldn't remember. Finally she called them in and was like I need to poop so they wrestled her up on a bed pan (she cried, she was in a lot of pain) and then left her alone with her curtain closed to poop. Right then the floor doctor walked in and was like HI MISS GERALDINE and whipped her curtain open to start talking to her.

...

I chewed him out. That's very atypical of me. Like, I laid into him for not asking if she was wanting to talk in that exact moment. And then I felt really bad until I realized he's probably had people a lot more angry at him than me considering a lot of the patients I could hear were elderly and some were confused, and I didn't feel bad anymore.

-

Since it's a university-run hospital there were sometimes pairs of nurses, and at one point a trainee came in to give me a dose of antibiotics through the IV but she hooked it into the wrong plug which depressurized the system and blood starting backing up the tube. As soon as she saw that she ran to get her trainer and they spent some time doing a full reset of the IV set up.

I wasn't worried or anything. It was my own blood and it could only go so far/only so much could be lost. At the most a cup since the saline bag was fresh and mostly full, still. So I was totally calm the whole time, which I'm sure helped.

I think the nurse in training was surprised when her trainer stepped out and I encouraged her instead of yelling at her. I praised her for not being too proud to get help when she noticed an issue, and for observing how to rectify the situation.

-

That Guy was like "Yesterday's nurses did NOT like me..." and I was like yeah I kind of told on you, but not out loud. He got put on the shit list FAST by staff. So for that I have a note in my account that I'm experiencing financial abuse and he exhibits controlling behavior. If there ever is a point where Son and I have to leave, I have the name of where to call. There's a facility in Next Town Over where the hospital is that will come and get us, and that would be the last time we see him.

I feel guilty for saying anything because he has paid for my existence for decades but he has also been abusive, just not physically.

They asked me if Son is safe at home alone with That Guy and I said "Safe, yes. Happy, no."

They also asked like how is Son and I said he seems to understand that his father's behavior isn't his fault but he still has had to endure it.

I also in the process learned how much money he makes (I didn't know before) and wow we should all certainly have insurance (he and Son might through his work but I have nothing and don't qualify for assistance while he claims me on his taxes as a dependent) and have had medical care all this time and there's no reason at all to be doing the whole -pointedly look at the food receipt every grocery trip, look up at the sky angrily, shake his head, shove it in his pocked, huff, and walk away- thing. Also explains why his work friends keep suggesting burger joints that end up costing like $80 for the whole family....

[dayyydr3amm3rr]

IMAGINE...

impressing your husband when you practice fighting a group of first years

~Do remember that this imagine will include violence and fighting with swords.

~The video above is sort of the scenario I had in mind but it won't be exactly like the video so you don't have to watch it.

**Word of caution**

None this time around folks!

****************************************************************************************************************************************************************************** 

You didn't stay in Alfea with your husband. You were a busy woman. You were constantly traveling through the different realms, meeting new people, you never settled down for long in one place. It did make your relationship a bit hard, however. Your husband missed you. You missed your husband. You missed the boy you had basically raised as your own. It had been a long while since you had seen the both of them. Which is why, you had decided that you were going to surprise the two of them. You walked through the gates of Alfea College, taking in a deep breath as you watched students and teachers alike filter through. You looked around for either of your boys, spotting your son figure talking and smiling with a redhead. A small chuckle escaped through your nose as you decided to leave him for later. For now, you were set on looking for your husband. You'd tease Sky later. You made your way to where the specialists would be training, if you knew anything about your husband, he'd more than likely be there. He wasn't. Probably talking to Farah about lesson plans and how many new specialists were going to be joining. Oh well, you could wait.

You sighed as you set down the bag that you held in your hands on a bench nearby. You should probably take it to yours and Saul's room but your excitement at seeing your husband soon kept you rooted to the open space of the specialist area. It wasn't long before you heard voices. Your ears perked at the thought of your husband, but you quickly wilted when you realized it was just a group of first years, it was obvious by the wide eyes and awestruck looks on their faces as they took everything in. You took a seat by your bag, gaining the attention of the group. One boy, a dark-skinned boy had let a smirk cover his lips as he trailed his eyes over your figure. "Well hello, gorgeous!" He called. You took note of how the group was already in their training gear, ah. Wanting to get on your husband's good side then. "I'm Dane." He continued, holding out a hand to you. You however glanced at it, crossing your legs. You placed your left hand over your knee, exposing the glittering diamond ring that sat on your fourth ring finger.

"You may call me Mrs. Silva." You stated, watching as Dane seemed to pale slightly. "Oh-uh..." His buddies laughed at his misfortune, shoving each other as you continued to sit there, silently wondering where your husband was. You were starting to get bored waiting for him, you were debating on finding Sky and surprising him first like you originally planned to beforehand. Dane continued to look flustered as one of his friends looked at you a little more closely. "Wait! Silva...you're Saul Silva's wife! Y/n! My mom said she went here with you years ago! You're basically a legend in my house!" He called, eyes wide as he really took you in. You gave him a smile. "That would be me. You know, I taught Saul everything he knows." You teased, throwing the boy a wink. "You?" Another boy questioned, a look of absolute disbelief on his face. Oh...Someone who thinks a woman doesn't know what she's doing. Your eyes narrowed in response. "Yes. Me. Top Specialist of my class. I kicked his ass and in response, he married me." You used a finger to twirl your wedding ring around your finger as a soft smile covered your lips. The same boy from before scoffed slightly. "There's no way!" He stated, looking between the group, hoping at least someone would agree with him. Even Dane looked ashamed to be associated with him at that point. Your eyes gleamed dangerously. How fun! Maybe you could pass the time until your husband showed up to start class for the day.

"No?" You questioned, looking up at the boy who now seemed to hesitate at the look in your eye. "Well!" You jumped up off the bench you were sitting on, walked over to a weapon rack, and picked up a sword. You tested the weight, swinging it once and then twice before you nodded. "Why not test that? It would make a wonderful first lesson of the day. Have you ever held a sword?" You questioned, tossing the sword in your hands towards him. He fumbled but caught the handle. "I...yes...my father-" "Great! Let's make this fun, shall we? First blood! Or, we could switch to the wooden ones if you so wish so no one actually gets hurt, but whoever draws first blood or, for the wooden sticks, first hit, will get to lead the first training exercise Saul has and have bragging rights about beating one of the best Specialists in Alfea...that does extend to the rest of you as well if you were interested." As you spoke, you made your way over to the weapons rack and grabbed another sword for yourself. You brought your gaze over to the rest of the small group which had slowly started to get larger as it began to get close to the time for class to start. It went quiet for a moment before Dane took the first shot, he quickly grabbed the sword out of the other boy's hands and lunged towards you. He swung and you easily dodged. Swords it was then. He swung once more and again you had dodged. Other students had stood by and watched, some snickering at Dane's misses, some chose to grab swords but were hesitant to move. Dane took one more swing at you, and you ducked under his arm, popping up behind him, one hand grabbing his shoulder as the other brought the blade of the sword to the back of his neck, but you didn't prick him. You chose to turn this into a lesson, a lesson on swordsmanship and becoming a specialist, as well as a lesson on not crossing you.

"Swordsmanship...or being a specialist in general...requires balance...you must fight with your feet...not your arms." Dane seemed stiff as he nodded at your words, it was obvious his ego had taken a blow. Another first-year lunged with a yell, causing you to shove Dane forwards before blocking his attack with your sword. Dane quickly turned and the two boys took turns swinging their swords at you, every hit getting blocked by you. You maneuvered around the other first year, ending up back-to-back with him for a brief moment before you elbowed him in the middle of his back, sending him stumbling forwards. You ducked under Dane's swing and quickly popped up, your sword now at the front of his neck, gasps rung out as that happened, and the group of spectators around had continued to grow, specialists and fairies alike gathered. Dane leaned away from your sword as he swung at you, you brought your blade down over his, knocking him off his balance before you dodged away from another hit from the unnamed first year who swung at you next. He brought the sword towards you again, you had blocked it before grabbing the handle of the sword he held too loosely, easily grabbing it out of his grasp, pointing his own blade back at him, causing him to freeze in surprise as he stared at you. You quickly swung the other sword that was in your other hand behind you, Dane skidding to a stop before the blade touched his jugular. There was a standstill. Both boys were breathing heavily as you held them at blade point. You sighed in mock disappointment, eyes taking in all the students that were gathered around you, seeking out all the ones that held swords in their hands. "Is that all you've got? No one wants to lead the first training practice of the year? No one wants the bragging rights? Ladies, come on...at least show these boys something! This is meant to be a lesson. Your first lesson of the year! Show me, what you've got. Show me you have what it takes to be a specialist!" By the end of your sentence, your voice had taken a hardened tone.

Off in Farah's office, Bloom had just left, and Saul had crossed his arms over his chest. Farah looked at him with a sigh. "I'm sure she'll visit soon Saul. I miss her too..." She muttered, both looking up as a few students ran by, looking very excited. Whispers of a fight were heard. More students passed by, all saying something along the lines of a fight between specialists. Saul and Farah looked at one another in alarm. It was only the first day, how was there a fight already? Both adults quickly made their way out, Saul stopping a passing student. "What's this about a fight?" He asked, a hard edge to his tone. The student in question shrugged. "Don't know! All I know is that she's fighting at the specialist area." He answered, waiting for Saul to let him go before he ran off, presumably to watch the fight. It was then that Sky locked eyes with his father figure, now dressed in his training gear, his eyes shone with confusion. Riven had shaken him, talking animatedly about some sort of fight that was happening. "Apparently it's a girl, and she's kicking ass!" he had said, he seemed a bit too excited at the prospect of a fight on the first day and had quickly run off to go and watch.

You were beginning to get bored with just fighting the two of them. The two held promise. With a lot more practice and getting rid of that first-year, "I'm better than everyone else" attitude, they would make exceptional specialists. But you and your husband would have whole groups to teach. Class upon class of students to teach so that they don't get themselves killed at the first sign of danger. You needed more students to step up and show their worth. And it seemed your words had done the trick. Swords were drawn and more students started stepping closer. "Now we're talking..." You muttered, a smirk curling on your lips as you twirled the swords in your hands. A moment passed before they attacked. Dane went first followed quite closely by other first years, you barely dodging at the last minute, knocking swords out of the way, shoving students to get more room, all the while making sure no one actually got hurt. You may have suggested first blood but it was only the first day, and classes didn't officially start until tomorrow, you didn't want anyone to end up in the hospital wing because of you. So you blocked and dodged, not only for yourself but for other students. You even ended up pulling a first year by the scruff of his shirt to save him from being impaled by another student. You moved elegantly through the sea of students, something that only a very experienced specialist would do so flawlessly. Somehow, through the throng of students and swords, you ended up at another standstill between Dane and the other first year from before. The first year curled in on himself as he felt your blade at the back of his neck, Dane looked on in irritation as you held the blade at his throat. You glanced over towards the first year. "Don't plant roots, you aren't an earth fairy," you quickly swung the blade that was pointed at the back of his neck down towards his bottom, using the flat end to knock him forwards and off balance, "keep moving." You then pointed the blade behind you, catching a second year by surprise as he gasped.

The fighting continued, you now called out pointers and observations, calling out problems while demonstrating how to fix them. You continued to block and dodge and weave between students, not catching sight of an angry headmistress or your husband next to her. Though it wasn't long before the angry look washed off of Farah's face as she caught sight of who started the fight. She nudged Silva, taking in the whole scene. She stayed on the lookout for anyone who might have been hurt but found no blood or bruises. That was definitely you. She thought. Always up for a challenge but always making sure no one got hurt. Saul glanced towards Farah when she nudged him but quickly looked up when he heard your voice echo in the open. "You can not always rely on brute strength to subdue your enemy, it is quite easy to maneuver your way out of it." He watched as you managed to knock a student's sword out of his hands before blocking a hit coming from Dane at the very last second. Everything stopped. You glanced over your shoulder at Dane who looked at you in surprise. You moved your sword, exposing a tear in your shirt, and a small drop of blood dripped from it. You shot him a smile. "Well done Dane...or shall I say Professor's assistant." The specialists around him whooped and hollered, clapping the first year on his back in congrats. Dane sported a bright smile on his face. Clapping filled the open area, cheering for Dane. You had set the blades you were using down, glancing down at the small cut on your arm. It wouldn't scar.

"Mum!" Your head snapped up at the sound of your son's voice, a bright smile covering your face as he rushed towards you. The blonde was taller than you, so he had to bend over in order to hug you. "Sky!" Your arms wrapped around his neck, your nose nuzzling into the top of his head. Gods how you've missed him. He quickly pulled away, hands grabbing your arm as he took a look at the small cut. "Does it hurt?" He asked, gently poking around the small injury. You gave a laugh. "No sweetheart it doesn't hurt. I'm fine, I promise." You kept eye contact with him, knowing he most certainly wouldn't let it go if you didn't. He was protective like that. He continued to eye you as your husband finally made himself known. He quickly pulled you into his arms, pressing his lips against yours. You hummed into the kiss before you remembered yourself and started beating on your husband's chest. For old-time's sake, Sky gave a dramatic eye roll before he gave a kick to Saul's shin. Said man winced in pain, pulling away from you in favor of glaring at the boy he raised as his own. Your cheeks were red as you huffed at your husband. When Sky was a boy, he hated the pda that you and Saul showed. Anytime Saul would sweep you into his arms, Sky would come out of nowhere and give a good kick to his shin, a deep glare on his face as he wrapped his small arms around your legs. It always managed to grab a loud laugh out of you, that most certainly hasn't changed. Both boys perked up at the sound of your laugh. It had been ages since they'd heard it.

   "You're back! For how long..." Saul didn't want to have that conversation so soon, after all, he had only just seen you again in months. The only thing he wanted to do was cancel class for that day and not let you leave your shared room for the day. You gave a small shake of your head, glancing up at your husband. "I was actually thinking of staying for a nice long while this time. I think it's time I took up that teacher position Farah offered. I'm quite bored of traveling now..." you answered, another laugh escaping you as Sky quickly pulled you into his arms. He wasn't afraid to admit that he missed you every time you went away. He always let it pass since you you always brought back souvenirs for him and Saul, but now he wanted you back for good. He had so much to tell you. But he supposed he could wait a day. Saul had missed you too and based on how he was looking at you, Sky wouldn't be seeing either of you for the rest of the day once Saul managed to get you back to your room. Gross. Sky wrinkled his nose in disgust. He didn't need the mental image. Saul payed no mind to him, he was probably trying to wrap his head around the words that had come out of your mouth. You were planning on staying. You were going to stay.

   It took Saul a moment before he finally seemed to work through what your words meant, and a large smile covered his face. "Really? You're staying? You're sure?" You quickly nodded, getting pulling into another hug, this time by your husband, and this time when he kissed you, you let him. "Mmm...speaking of staying..." Sky took that as his que to leave, shaking his head at his adoptive parents' grossness. Saul pulled away from the kiss, looking down at you. "You could stay as a specialist professor. Watching you sparring with the first years...it was kind of a turn on..." You punched at your husband's chest, smiling widely. "I'll think about it. But in the mean time, I'd much rather have you start your class, while I go catch up with Farah, and if I have time afterwards, catch up with my son...and later tonight, I'm all yours..." you suggested, giving your husband a smirk. "Deal!"

[masterofrecords]

13, 17 for ask, and I am so fucking sorry for the person just assuming stuff.

Oooh, thanks!

(For the ask game)

13. How much planning do you do before writing?

I don't usually do much planning for oneshots (just the general idea and like. Point A and point B), but with the length of Aquarium there is now a lot of planning involved.

It goes kind of in stages. I have a general idea of how the plot will go or the whole story. I have a solid idea of how the plot will go until the end of the year and I have notes about it. I have general outlines (list of events, basically) for the next 5-10 chapters, usually, and I usually make a more structured outline for the chapter I'm currently working on, so that I can easily work on it non-chronologically.

I also keep a list of like... loose ends? Like Azul's coat being in Jamil's possession after their fight, not necessarily big plot things. Just something that hasn't been resolved to the full yet. It helps a lot with planning for the future and arranging the background for plot progression.

17. What’s something you’ve learned about while doing research for a fic?

Ahaha

Ahahahaha

Well, you knew what you were doing.

Back in the day I started off my writing career in English by learning Welsh pronunciation, Welsh folk songs, UK laws on shoplifting and funerary customs. Aaaand it kind of went downhill from there.

Not a fic, but I've done a lot of medical research for the detective DnD I ran. I didn't mean to. But sometimes a player comes across a semi-fresh puddle of blood and you're suddenly not sure how fast blood dries and - bam! - here you are hanging out on forums with pathologists wanting to know the same thing. I also did a ton of digging into poisonous mushrooms for a complicated murder scheme that my players ended up not solving (they skipped straight to catching the murderer).

But you already know all of that. In fact, you know most of my behind-the-scenes secrets - the marine life, sports injuries and their treatment, the history of professional male dancers in the Middle East, a ton of food stuff, obviously... so I had to think long and hard about what to put here.

I learned a lot about divorce law in different places, especially regarding shared businesses to try and create a timeline for Aquarium Azul's family drama. It's... complicated, especially if there are wasn't an airtight prenuptial agreement, like. Wow some of the stories I've read were wild, but also that was like. Over a year ago, so I don't remember any of the specifics...

But honestly, probably the most ridiculous piece of research I've had to do for Aquarium is how the hell puberty works on most teens. Because I didn't really have that? Like, I was an idiot, but I wasn't a hormonal idiot, and I remember looking at some of my classmates' and peers' actions absolutely baffled, wondering "why would they do that".

Now I actually have to figure out the why and the how. Eye-opening.

[sunshinelulusplatoon]

4 months ago:

“YOUR MOTHER IS GOING TO KRILL ME!!!” Lutarna shouted, “WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?”

“Look, you wanted help, I’m here to help,” Jr. huffed.

“WE COULD BE GONE FOR DAYS!!! I DON’T KNOW WHAT WE ARE ABOUT TO WALK INTO,” Lutarna continued shouting, “YOU ARE THE LAST PERSON I WANT IN FRONT LINES IF ANYTHING HAPPENS.”

Jr. sighed.

“Grandpa found out about the project,” Jr. spoke.

Lutarna blinked.

“What?” Lutarna finally spoke.

“Grandpa found out about the project and told Sako to shut it down. I wanted to see you one last time,” Jr. sighed.

Tentacles drooping, Lutarna had a pain expression. She knew this would come sooner or later but she figured later than now. Scratching her tentacles, it took her a while to speak; Jr. crossing his arms in the process.

“Fine,” Lutarna finally sighed, “You can come. But no wandering off and no individual investigations.”

“Fair enough,” Jr. replied.

Coming over, Lutarna ruffled Jr. tentacles; getting a chuckle out of him.

“You’re curious like me. I don’t need you getting into things,” Lutarna chuckled.

“Yes Mom,” Jr. replied with sarcasm.

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

“Sako has done some crazy carp before but time travel?” Joey questioned.

“One of his, one purpose, turned into another by accident projects. Sako was trying to work on the big camera again and accident crossed some wire work and mechanics and well, found out how to time travel. We were asked to test things out after Sako tossing smaller objects through and pulling them back through; mostly cameras. Images showed things he knew were from years ago which gave him excitement to keep going,” Jr. explained, “Though Grandpa found out and doesn’t want the pass to be tampered with so he’s shutting things down.”

“How long have you been hopping?” Pixe asked.

“Few years now. I mostly just hang on turf wars, or around the metro to pester Mom,” Jr replied.

“Pester he says,” Lutarna joked.

“I’m surprised you allow this,” Lulu huffed, “And didn’t even tell me.”

“I was hesitant at first with him coming around, but he kept showing up so I gave in,” Lutarna sighed, “Though I set grown rules. No going to Gideon, no going to your aunt or other family. Them knowing could have major consequences. Only other person I know of that knows about him is T. You don’t say who you really are. If anybody asks, you lie.”

“Lulu would have probably bragged about her nephew if she knew,” Marcy chuckled.

“HEY!” Lulu huffed.

“Eh, she’s got a point. Gramps probably wouldn’t have been happy knowing either,” Joey commented.

“Yeah, Joey’s right. I doubt Grandpa would have kept his mouth shut too,” Marie replied, “And Callie would have been 20 million questions.”

“He’s from the future. I’m curious,” Callie squealed.

“My point,” Marie sighed.

“How did T find out?” Pixie questioned.

“I saw him on the karts. I know my uncle, he would have figured it out quick without me saying anything as mom was around that day, so I was just honest,” Jr. replied sheepishly as he scratched his cheek.

“Well, he’s here to help and we’ll probably need all the ink power we can get. Alright folks, tomorrow morning, we set out for Mars,” Joey commented.

“RIGHT CAPTAIN,” all The Squidbeaks and Jr. called out.

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

“You are still an overpacker,” Jr. joked.

“I don’t know how long we will be gone and I rather have as much as we need,” Lutarna replied.

Having come home, Lutarna went on a spree of packing things she though they needed; medical supplies, clothes, shoes, blankets, towels, etc.

Jr. shrugged before coming over to help. Folding things up and handing them to her, they filled a few suitcases up; both bouncing on the last one to make it shut.

“Have you ever been out in space,” Lutarna asked once done as they were heading downstairs.

“No, never. Grandpa was more interested in the deep sea base than exploring space. It’s only in the last year or so that Sako got Grandpa to think about it,” Jr. replied as he held onto Beethoven.

“So this will be a first for you. We didn’t go to far out when fighting Grizz. It was interesting. So many stars around us. But Mars. I don’t know what to expect,” Lutarna spoke as she started to make a meatloaf.

“Do you really think there are humans on Mars?” Jr asked.

Lutarna was quite for a moment before replying.

“I don’t know.”

[morphlingunderscore]

pointing at you. mask, scissors, pistol, wrench for oc asks foooooor rassel (of course) and one guy of choice

Ooooh fun selection crow :3

🎭 MASKS - do they act differently around certain people? what's different between the way they act around friends, family, strangers, etc.?

Rassel: Very much so! Rassel has many facets, though they went a while where "strangers" was a factor they really didn't have to account for. Around friends and family (interchangeable), Rassel is a pretty goofy guy, if Intense. What they feel, they can't not express if they have even the slightest social safety net. They hum a lot when they're comfortable, and feel more than happy to break into song at Dec's slightest provocation. Lately, things are a little different, but they'll figure it out again.

Around strangers, Rassel tries to be... Like, the perfect stranger, if that makes sense? They try to be nice, or at least civil, but they keep their distance. Even if they can't hold in their Eccentricities entirely, they kind of strive to be forgettable. They aren't interested in making new friends. (Or, at least not without forced interaction, like a feral cat through a closed door.)

Brian: (Of course I choose Brian. Cmon.) Brian used to act differently around different people, to the point that some folks might ask "Are you sure we're talking about the same Brian?" It wasn't really intentional, she was just a social chameleon type. Made things easier.

Now, though? Who gives a single shit. If you don't like her as is, die mad. Rassel hasn't found a way to bind her to a rock and throw her in the void yet, anyway, so she's probably fine.

✂️ SCISSORS - what is the "last straw" for them to cut someone out of their life? how easily do they let go of people?

Rassel: Eugh boy. I don't... Think they have one? Like, even at their worst, when they hated 10 completely for the sacrifices and what he did to Dec, and barely had any happy, pleasant memories of the guy to give them a reason... They didn't really let him go, did they? They stayed in his orbit. I mean, it was hard not to with the quad As They Were, but... I don't know.

I don't think they really can let people go. Even if that person is for all intents and purposes gone, dead, whatever, I think they'd still carry them. Call it loyalty or clinginess or whatever you think. You can't get rid of them, and they can't get rid of you.

Brian: Perceived betrayal or someone entirely outliving their usefulness. Even before Brian was lost in her obsession with breaking open the world like a kinder surprise, she was a bit ruthless when it came to casual relationships. Close ones, though, that's tougher. That would take something big, like ripping off all her work and claiming it as your own, or killing her in her sleep instead of in the streets like a rabid, sick dog. To give some entirely unloaded examples.

Rassel is a special case, for her. In a very literal sense, cutting ties with Rassel would kill her for good, or at the very least strand her somewhere she knows nothing about. Rassel could get away with a lot more than they probably realize.

🔫 PISTOL - do they trust people easily? how easily will they turn their back to someone? have they been backstabbed before? will they betray someone if given an ultimatum?

Rassel: Very, as much as they may say otherwise. A bright-eyed amnesiac, Rassel latched onto all of their forgotten friends with very little prompting, and even some new ones. Even if there was some Baggage, and even if you claimed that was subconscious trust, they did try to rig a presidential election for someone that they (in their mind) met like, a month or two ago. They're an octopus. It's part of why they try to stay clear of new people; they don't need the grief.

Not easily, for turning their back on someone. I mean, they turned around for "10", and they thought he just had a concussion or something. And they have been backstabbed, literally, by a blue-haired braided girl, as well as figuratively (though accidentally) by Brian. As for betrayal... Hm.

If given an ultimatum with a heavy enough weight, Rassel would, yes. But that weight couldn't be their own life. That's not worth betraying a friend, never.

Brian: Lmao, no. Brian only really trusts Rassel because she can literally get a sense on Rassel emotions almost 24/7. She can care for or like someone and not trust them a lick. It's pretty much how she operates. She'll turn her back on pretty much anyone if it means saving her own hide and protecting her Goal to enlighten the world. Key words being pretty much; there are a few folks in her past she refused to let go, to the bitter end.

She's been backstabbed quite a lot, academically, and then Quite Literally. Though she claims her death was this, the intent was born of fear for her, not of her. For what she might face, after all she did. That it would be worse than death. That she didn't deserve it, even if she killed someone, risked the whole city's lives several times over.

Brian will betray anyone if you can sell it well enough. You just have to speak her language.

🔧 WRENCH - are they good at fixing relationships? or do they tend to avoid doing so?

Rassel: Mm, tricky question. I'd say that they're... decent at it, for a few reasons. They did try to improve themselves to fix their relationship with the quad (specifically Echo and Dec), and they did actually make progress! They found a way to cope with their anger issues, they stopped attempting to hurt 10 when he was near, they even held a somewhat civil conversation with 5 when they thought he was 10!

But... They're also not great at other aspects. Mending bridges after a long time away seems like an impossible feat. Everyone has grown, and they feel like they've only gotten smaller. They don't know where to stand in the picture frame.

So... Decent. They'll get there. But they always, always want to try.

Brian: I think she could be, if she felt it was fixable. I think she's very much the type to say fuck it, that bridge is burned, mourn it later. Practical, if not very reasonable. She can be very determined if a goal seems plausible, but it's far more likely that she'll decide it isn't worth the grief to try to make amends. As is, she definitely avoids trying.

Even with Rassel now, she never says sorry first. If Rassel doesn't say it, it doesn't get said. She'd rather stew than admit there's something to fix, that it's anything that can be fixed.

[maskedemerald]

15 Questions Tag Game

I'm finally getting to catching up on the tags I've gotten while I was ill. You'll be seeing a lot more of me now!

Tagged by @the-down-upside-finch and @taveren-writing because I got tagged twice I'll do this for my OCs from both my upcoming NaNoWriMo projects: Blue is A Curiosity Piqued's current and upcoming protagonists Aelfraed and Arnvalr. Red is Magic Act's protagonists Magician and Night. Sorry this is going to be a long one but hey you get some Fae shenanigans and some detective vs thief shenanigans.

Rules: Answer the 15 questions as your OC or yourself. Tag up to 15 people.

Tagging: @card-queen @pb-dot @thetruearchmagos @dogmomwrites @i-rove-rock-n-roll @stesierra @guessillcallitart @sparrow-orion-writes @ashwithapen @cat-esper @jasperygrace @sam-glade @alnaperera @amaiguri @akiwitch

I'm curious to learn more about you and your characters!

Are you named after anyone?

Aelfraed: I was named after my grandfather... though I was almost named after my father. Very glad that didn't happen its bad enough sharing a lastname. Arnvaldr: Dunno, never met my folks and never bothered to ask my sister Vigdis. Don't really care they were all probably shitty.

Magician: That's actually pretty hard to answer when I don't remember what it was. Night: Wouldn't you like to know human. You can't trick what is mine so easily. You are not that clever. Though the attempt is amusing.

When was the last time you cried?

Aelfraed: A couple of weeks ago now, its been a good thing to have gotten away from the university in the long run despite everything else that happened. Arnvaldr: pft, poor detective. Dunno the last time I did.

Magician: After Night threw me in the deep end. They left me to trick some fae into believing I wasn't human by myself, specifically one that I'm sure was planning to kill me. Night: I apologized for that Magician, you seemed to be fine at the time. You had them convinced. Magician: You called that an apology? Ugh you make absolutely no sense. Do fae even cry? You thought I was ill. Night: Correction, I thought you were ill because you kept sleeping for more time than you were awake. Fae do cry, I have cried. Magician: When? Night: I would rather not talk about it Magician.

Do you have kids?

Aelfraed: I've never really considered it. Arnvaldr: Never, nope. Not happening.

Do you use sarcasm?

Aelfraed: Its not really something I use, I would rather state things clearly. Arnvaldr: Figured you'd pick the boring answer Detective. Life's more fun with a good dose of sarcasm.

Night: Me? Never, I only ever say exactly what I mean. Magician: Uh-huh, sure you do Night. There has to be some sarcasm in all that cryptic stuff you end up saying. Wait... stop laughing its not my fault you manage to say that with a completely straight face!

What’s the first thing you notice about others?

Aelfraed: Their mood probably. The expression on their face. Arnvaldr: Really, doesn't the au... never mind. I guess we have something in common Detective, well sort of.

What’s your eye color?

Aelfraed: They're gray the same as my father's, not a nice kind. They always seem so cold and judging. Arnvaldr: Huh I thought they were darker than that, probably just the lighting. Running across rooftops at night isn't the best way to get a good look at someone. Mine are green in case you missed it. Aelfraed: Are you trying to make finding you easier? Arnvaldr: I'll say again, catch me if you can Detective.

Magician: Mine are a redish brown... Night? What did you do to my eyes! Why are they more red! Night: Pft, you didn't notice Magician? I thought you would have noticed before now. You didn't really think you'd fit in with such ordinary eyes, you've seen mine. I am sure humans do not have this shade of purple. Magician: I was a bit distracted with the ears. Also that's more than just purple.

Scary stories or happy endings?

Aelfraed: I would rather see a happy ending, life is bad enough without adding horror stories to it. Arnvaldr: Wuss, give me horror any day. Happy endings just aren't realistic.

Night: Horror, without a doubt. The more disturbing the better. Magician: That tracks, living with you is like being in a horror story and I've had enough of that. Happy endings please, hopefully I'll get one.

Any special talents?

Arnvaldr: Does thievery count, or maybe my nack for escaping. Aelfraed: I would say no. With what you steal I'm rather surprised you're still alive.

Magician: I'm pretty good with my magic tricks by this point, as long as I have my gear there is a lot I can pull off. Night's is probably being terrifying. Night: ah haha, funny. You are just easy to scare Magician.

Where were you born?

Aelfraed: A smaller town outside of Edinburgh. Arnvaldr: I don't really know, don't really care.

Magician: I was technically born in the city. Mum had to go to the hospital and we didn't have one nearer but I grew up in a small town that's practically countryside. Night: One of the many fae realm pockets. I believe the mirror to Magician's small town though according to Magician the two are quite different.

What are your hobbies?

Aelfraed: Reading, give me a good book and I'll be happy for hours. Even better if I'm learning something. Arnvaldr please don't say theft, please tell me you have something else to do. Arnvaldr: Oh come on, the theft is fun! But if you insist, running... specifically over rooftops.

Magician: Magic tricks, cycling and video games. Night: For me gardening, my blue roses are quite well kept. Though also the stars and my experiments. Magician: Don't give them any ideas, you don't want to be one of their experiments. Its a nightmare. Night: Shhh, you're scaring them away.

Do you have any pets?

Arnvaldr: Hmm I'd like one, not really able to look after one though. Don't tell the Detective I feed the strays when I can, I don't want him getting the wrong idea.

Night: I have Nyx, he's a crow I found near the lake portal. Magician: Wait so Nyx looks like a normal crow because he is?

What sports do you play/have played?

Magician: A little football with my friends, its fun but I'm not serious about it like some of them. Night: I would explain but we would be here for some time, I doubt humans have fae sports.

How tall are you?

Aelfraed: Quite tall, I think I got most of the height in the family. Only my father is taller and that's not by much. Arnvaldr: 5ft 3, less height really helps with the whole thief thing.

Night: You think I am constrained to a specific height? No, though I do prefer to remain on the taller end of things. Magician: A little jealous that you can just choose. I'm 5ft I'm hoping to get a bit more as I get older.

Favorite subject in school?

Aelfraed: Everything, I missed the variety of subjects once I started at University.

Magician: Science, it gave me so many ideas for tricks. Its not really school but I really like the theatre club at the community theatre across town too.

Dream job?

Aelfraed: I don't know right now, I've left university and haven't worked out what I want to do now. What about you Arnvaldr? If you didn't need to steal what would you do? Arnvaldr: Come on, I'd probably still pocket things. Maybe a Focus Engineer or Archeologist. Aelfraed: I didn't know you were interested in history. Arnvaldr: I'm not, but that's where the interesting treasures come from so where better to pocket them. Aelfraed: There's no changing you is there.

Magician: I want to be a magician but I think that's obvious, maybe a stage actor too.

Woooo! Thank you for reading to the end! If you're curious about the projects I'm going to be working on both during NaNoWriMo next month and will be posting more about them!

[lazuli-writes]

Alone

summary: Hongjoong has an epiphany after a call from a sick Jongho.

pairing: Kim Hongjoong & Choi Jongho

genre: angst

part 2

estimated word count: 500 words

a/n: Remember folks, copying other people’s works is plagiarism and that’s illegal. Don’t be that kind of person. Anyways, hope you all enjoy it :)

©little-lazuli. Do not copy, repost, or translate without permission

“Hyung, where are you? Did one of you guys stop by the dorm?” 

Jongho inquired, slightly annoyed that whoever stopped by didn’t even come to check in on him. As if he wasn’t alone, sick and on bed rest for the night, forcibly prescribed by Dr. Matz.

Jongho was irked that whoever it was, was loud enough to wake him up. He thought a gorilla was tearing through the place, doors slamming, things being thrown and/or dropped. A complete ruckus if he ever knew one. The worst part, he could still hear them.

The maknae had a thought to come out of his room and see what the big deal was. But seeing as he could barely move without his fever swallowing his sense of direction and dizziness invading his consciousness, Jongho remained planted in his bed. 

Even shouting was out of the question, with the way the back of his throat was on fire and scratchy. Everything just hurt and he just wanted to sleep. And maybe some attention and cuddles from his hyungs, but they didn’t need to know that.

“What? No. We’re all still here at the meeting discussing the coming schedules for next month. We’re all taking a quick intermission before continuing.”

Jongho head spun a bit, the sudden stinging only adding irritation to his confusion. He figured his Hongjoong-hyung must have been left out of the loop again. It was a tiny game Jongho played with San and Wooyoung where they would “forget” to mention something to their leader, but tell everyone else. 

Jongho would have let it slide, but the banging and sounds of rummaging was only getting more consistent. Almost as if whoever this was, was digging through every damn cabinet, drawer, closet and room. 

The maknae’s head continued to throb. He couldn’t get any rest with the stupid noise, and as such, didn’t have the patience to play along with any games San or Woo had going. 

“Well obviously someone is here hyung. They’re making such loud noise hyung, my head is killing me.”

Had Jongho been at his physical best, he probably would not have missed the way his leader’s breath hitched on the other side of the call.

“Jongho-ah… is somebody in the dorm with you right now still?”

Jongho wanted to roll his eyes but he didn’t have the energy. He hated being so agitated but drained, which only agitated him even more. 

“Yes hyung. Whoever it is, they’re being really loud. It sounds like they’re trashing the dorm. I just want to sleep hyung.”

Jongho sighed out, hoping to exhale some of the stress his body was undergoing.

All the while, Hongjoong held the phone to his ear as he signaled for someone to call the police. 

For there was no way anybody other than Jongho should be at the dorm. The rest of his members were sitting around the same table as him and the three managers with keys into the dorm sat alongside them. 

Hongjoong didn’t want his mind to wander into deeper and darker designs, but he couldn’t stop the thorns encasing his heart at the epiphany that hit him only seconds ago.

Someone was in their dorm. 

An intruder was in their dorm… 

Alone with a sick and weak Jongho.

And the realization only served to raise his adrenaline tenfold as he moved.