#i remember i posted the first one and than realized i forgot the cloak- i was salty

[glitchyartz]

guys i was going thru my art folder and look at one of the first drawings i did of techno-

[thefanficmonster]

Phone Call Anxiety

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: None

Genre: FLUFF, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: When wanting to make quality merch, one needs a quality team there to produce and work on quality ideas. Great minds think alike. Great eyes see alike and great hands make alike - the three keys to the formula of creating a clothing line that will be fashionable and up to his brand. Luckily, Corpse knows just who to call.

Requested by Anon. Hi hun! Thank you so much for your wonderful request, I absolutely loved the idea! Sorry you’ve had to wait for it to be turned into a fic for so long, but I still hope you come across it and give it a read in which case I hope you enjoy it! Love, Vy ❤

He’s not a fan of phone calls. Anyone who knows him even remotely is very well informed on Corpse’s distaste for phone calls and upholding a conversation over the phone. He’d even go as far as to say talking to a person face to face is less stressful for him than that previous option.

But still, seeing as how the person he’s trying to reach lives in a different state and is rather busy all the time, arranging an IRL meeting is basically impossible at the moment, and sending her a text results in running the risk of having the text overlooked or completely lost in the sea of notifications she probably gets on the daily.

Therefore, a phone call was his only proper way of reaching her. And it’s what’s got him pacing the room with his nervousness peaking.  He doesn’t know anything about this girl, nothing concrete at least. He was referred to her by Jack who brought her up in their passing conversation when Corpse mentioned how paranoid he was regarding his upcoming merch project. He specifically stated he doesn’t want anything basic and he wants the clothes to be fashionable, suitable for anyone no matter the age or gender and to be endurable. With all the love he has for his fans, he doesn’t want to give them anything less than what they deserve - the best.

“My friend’s the person you’re looking for.“ Jack said enthusiastically and confidently, “She helped me design the latest merch line I put out and I’ve never been more satisfied with my own merch. I’m planning on offering her a position in Cloak for her birthday. Make sure not to let that one slip out if you give her a call though.“ He warned half-jokingly. 

Bottom line, with that kind of intro, Corpse couldn’t help but let his interest be piqued. And so, he asked for this girl - Y/N’s contact info from Jack before he went to surf through her social media where she thankfully posted plenty of pictures of her creations, never failing to mention specifications in the caption of each picture so the viewers would get the perfect and most detailed idea of how high the standard for her work is.

And so he’s finally managed to talk himself into dialing her number that’s been sitting in his phone for weeks now. As he paces his living room, his nerves chewing him out like a dog would with a toy, listening to the ear piercing ring of the dial waiting to get picked up by the girl he’s trying to reach. 

Just then, Corpse’s head turns so that his eyes meet the glowing red numbers on his digital clock on his desk and he damn near hangs up the call right away - it’s half an hour past midnight. Fast as lightning, he removes the phone from his ear, his thumb flying over to press the red ‘end call’ button. Just then, a faint ‘hello’ reaches his ears, coming from the phone’s speaker. She’s answered the call.

He hurries to put the phone back up to his ear.

“Hey, sorry for taking so long to pick up, I ought to clean my desk eventually cause my phone was literally BURIED under a pile of papers.“ A cheerful sing-song voice rattles his stale and sleep deprived consciousness, as if awakening him from a half-dream state. “You’re either a wrong number caller or a last minute client, aren’t you? Need something done urgently?“

Corpse is taken the hell aback by her strong and downright awing first impression. Not to mention her energy at an hour unsuitable for calls. Lord knows he wouldn’t have picked up if her were in her spot. With the intention of not wasting any more of her time than necessary, he hurries to explain his situation. “Y/N, right? Um no, I’m neither actually. I was told about you by a friend, he said you were a real miracle-doer with fashion design.” He trails off for a second, not completely sure of how to hold this conversation, “Uh, sorry for the odd timed call, I lost track of time. I’ve been meaning to call you for hours now but I...I was nervous.” He cringes the second the word leaves his lips, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He doesn’t know why he wants to leave her with a great, better than realistic impression of himself but he does and as of now he deems his attempts as ultimate failures.

He hears her giggle from her end, rifling through what sounds to be papers, “Yeah, I’m her. And boy is it refreshing to get someone who’s calling with an actual purpose.” She sighs as if a weight’s been lifted off her shoulders, “And don’t worry about the phone call anxiety. Makes two of us, to be honest.”

This catches him off-guard. The last thing he’d expect is for this girl to have phone call anxiety. In fact, she appears to be a natural, God-given talent at carrying conversations and upholding chit-chat with people. Maybe he’s a little too quick to judge - probably, considering he’s ‘known’ her for less than five minutes and knows nothing but her occupation, her name and the state she lives in - but that bubbly persona she greeted him with gave off the impression that it’s immune to any and all kinds of social anxiety - or anxiety in general. To hear such an honest and counter-to-assumptions confession on her part rattles him a tiny bit. In a good way though.

“How does that work for you? Isn’t your whole job depending on your phone conversational skills?“ He doesn’t mind that he didn’t phrase that too perfectly or that he straight up blurted it out. He knows he’ll be understood. She’s obviously a person who understands. Not just something specific, but everything. She simply understands. How he drew this conclusion and how accurate it is, he may not know until further notice.

“Well...“ she sighs as if genuinely looking to give him a proper answer, “You see, after doing it for so long and having been caught off guard quite a few times with some absolutely absurd orders, I’ve grown prepared of literally ANYTHING and I have a line prepared for anything the caller has to say. I just no longer let them catch me off guard and it’s fine. Helps avoid any possible awkward silences.“

Corpse’s eyebrows shoot up, her explanation only raising more questions rather than providing answers. But he’s not gonna be the annoying dumbass asking those questions at close to 1AM and bugging her. After all, if she agrees to this partnership, they’ll be hearing and potentially seeing a lot more of each other soon. “Impressive, honestly. You’re gonna need to teach me sometime.“ He’s unaware he’s smiling until he catches his reflection in the window. However, he doesn’t bother hiding it. This conversation is actually making him feel good, serving as a reminder that he’s not the only one who periodically goes through turmoil over small things. 

She giggles again, this time the sound manages to draw a blush out of him, coating his cheeks, “I’d typically stray for revealing my secrets to professional success, but I’m willing to make an exception for you...” she pauses for a second as though she’s just now remembered something, “Oh shoot, I don’t even know your name.”

He wheezes out a nervous laugh, realizing he never introduced him, “Oh yeah, sorry, that’s my bad. My name’s Corpse, nice to meet ya.”

“Nice to meet you too, Corpse.“ Y/N replies, sounding pleased but teasing simultaneously, “Now tell me, you didn’t call me about my phone call secrets, did you? What may be the real purpose of your call?“

Oh shoot, he himself almost forgot what he was calling for. Luckily, the reference designs displayed on his computer screen remind him. “Right, well, I’ve been thinking of launching a new merch line either this month or the next, depending on how long the procedure will take, and I needed someone great on my team to make some merch actually worth the money people are paying for it. And, as I said, I was told you were in that ‘someone great’ category.”

“Told by who, if you don’t mind me asking?“ She briefly cuts him off, her voice now giving away the fact that she’s half-absent-minded in this conversation, added evidence be the ruffling of more papers on her end.

“Jack. I mean, Sean. You know, Jacksepticeye.“ Corpse explains, contemplating whether he should’ve ratted Jack out like that. Hearing the sound of delight Y/N lets out eases his worries ASAP though.

“Oh Gosh, I haven’t seen that cutie in so long! He’s like a brother to me so a friend of Jack’s is a friend of min-“ this time she cuts herself off so abruptly Corpse thought the line was cut or she hung up on him. She doesn’t let him wonder for long though, “Wait, wait, wait....Merch? And you’re friends with Jack?“ She pauses for a second once again, once again not a long enough second for Corpse to speak up. “You’re a famous YouTuber, aren’t you?“

He was completely unaware of the fact Y/N hadn’t realized he was someone famous yet. In fact, he didn’t think of it because he thought it wouldn’t be a big deal to her considering she’s friends with Jack-fucking-septiceye! In his mind, his ranking is far lower than Jack’s - despite that mindset being absurd - so the last thing he expected was for her to have some sort of impressed reaction to have been talking to him on the phone this whole time. Hell, she doesn’t even know his full YouTube name or what kind of content he produces.

“WAIT!“ She shouts urgently, startling him a tiny bit, “You’re Corpse Husband, aren’t you? Oh my God, yes you are, how didn’t I put it together sooner? Ah crap, I really need more coffee for this.“

“No! No, you need more sleep.“ Corpse hurries to correct her but is very clearly ignored or overlapped with the many sounds that are coming from her end, “What are you doing?“

“You’re getting the first rough sketch of a design by tomorrow morning.“ She says, taking a sip of whatever beverage she’s acquired for the purpose of keeping her awake, “You go ahead and get some sleep, I know exactly what I’m doing. Don’t worry about it.“

“I’m not worried about the design.“ He hurries to say before she, God forbid, hangs up on him, “It’s 1AM, woman, you need sleep! I don’t need those designs done by tomorrow. Hell, I don’t even need them this week!“

“You don’t, but I do.“ Y/N says, sounding almost breathless because of what seems to be overwhelming excitement, “You don’t get it - I’m designing merch for Corpse fucking Husband! You have any idea how crazy that is?“

“I personally would say it’s underwhelming. I mean, I’m no Pewdiepie, after all.“ He says, now sat at his desk with his free hand rubbing his temple as he stares at the designs he’s pulled up on his screen, ones he probably won’t need given that he’s now working with a professional.

“Oh, shut it.“ She chuckles, “Shut it and get some sleep, ok? I’ll talk to you in the morning.“

“Noooo...“ He leisurely stretches the word, “Tell me, Y/N, do you have Discord?” She clicks her tongue instantly, giving him a signal that the question he’s asked is bordering into the territory of ridiculous. He playfully rolls his eyes, “Alright then, lemme find you. If we’re partnering up on this, we’re both staying up.”

“You know you can just straight up tell me you don’t fully trust me with this? Like, I won’t be offended, I get it.“ She murmurs in-thought, the sound of clicking evident on her end. 

“You know you can just straight up tell me you don’t want me bothering you and want me to leave you alone?“ He mimics her statement, smirking to himself as he pulls up Discord, knowing he’s already won.

She huffs and tells him her Discord info, quickly adding a small comment, “...but only because great minds think alike. I know we’ll be getting along on this design pretty nicely.”

“Yeah, yeah, right, sure, whatever you say.“ He laughs, “Accept my friend request and let’s drop this phone call.“

“Hey! - um, before we do that, I just wanna say a quick thank you.“ Y/N murmurs quietly, as if half-hoping he doesn’t hear her.

“For what?“ Corpse asks, his brows furrowing, unsure if they’re on the same page about this gratitude.

“For never once triggering my phone call anxiety.“ She admits, “I mean, I know I said I have lines prepared for every conversation scenario possible, but you totally caught me off-guard.“ She giggles a tiny bit, now sounding dangerously close to nervous, “But, not in a bad way, if that makes sense. Sorry if it doesn’t, I need more coffee.“

“No, no, it does!“ He hurries to reassure her, “It really does. And thank you too. Thank you for, you know, tolerating my BS at this hour. God knows I would’ve ignored your call if our roles were reversed.“

He hears her scoff and can’t help but laugh, “Huh ok, I see.“ She says, sounding greatly triggered and mock-pissed at his confession, “I’ll make sure to think of that next time you call me after midnight. Or at all, ever.“

Laughing his butt off, the only thing Corpse can think of in this moment is:

Damn, this girl and I are gonna get along

@maat-the-prescriptive  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @itsminniekat  @hacker-ghost  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze  @divine-artemis  @waterlilypat  @idontknowwhatthisisfam  @evi-ka  @classyandfabulous00  @redperson58  @lilysdaydreams @solowheein  @mythicalamphitrite  @axen-gers  @luckygirl144  @nj01  @buddyemily   @the-albino-lioness  @stardream14  @gdhdkfnn  @nomadicgypsyy  @preciousskye  @fluffysuicideunicornsworld  @o-kaelin  @manacharlotte  @awkward-youtube-trash  @lolalee24  @bonky-beerns  @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian  @strawbrinkofdeath  @teenloves  @tams0527  @browneyespinkhair  @starstruckllamapuppy  @daisychains012  @y0ulooked  @tinytacosuitcaseflap @supernatural-is-my-only-life  @jula-pauline  @melodykitty  @just-that-bi-girl  @crazybutconfidentaf  @lowellshade @alphakees  @bellero  @weallneednamjesus  @starryhanji  @boiled-onionrings  @husherstan  @fockingwhore  @melaningoddessthings  @prettypastelpetals  @haleypearce  @godwhyamiawkward  @y-napotat  @daisychainyoonmin  @little-miss-rebel3  @free-wheelin-bi-sexual  @redmoon261 @darkacademic2  @wiseflamingoqueen  @into-the-end  @namikhai-i  @nastiablr  @thelittleplantlover  @mirktuan  @dont-hyuck @jjk-bunny  @vintagegothlover  @easygoingtheatre  @itsrandombooklover  @miiaivi  @emmybaybee  @befourgolden  @jjk-is-my-shit  @eternalteaaars  @spacebadgerx  @princesslunalight  @acequinn14  @samm48  @misselsbells06 @simp-lykawa  @fo-love  @marishimomura-blog  @therealglenncoco  @cinnamonbun332  @killtherandomness  @sanshinexxxsan  @fee-btheweeb  @press-lay  @cathleenpotgieter16  @jazzydoesstuff  @moonlxghtbay  @forestrain2000  @hyunjinhugs  @blood-of-fandoms  @lovellylies  @ukiyolixx  @simpforhpcharacters  @chrisdylan17  @parkerjisung  @pedernille  @theodonyous  @wineandionysus  @malfoystilinskii05  @morbid-x  @coryisagee  @jessewa26  @scoobydooluver97 @mindintheskies365  @raeanneinwonderland  @indecisive-empanada  @gluttonypalace  @loriane2503  @btsiguess-kpop  @khaoticbunny  @lucidlycactus  @smiithys  @rottenroyalebooks  @kpopgirlbtssvt  @fangirl-tc27  @fr0z3n-1  @notmesimpingfortechno  @shotarosleftpinky  @kunoi-chan  @idk-whats-wrong-with-me  @yikeroonie  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @poetry-and-tea  @ama-do-writing-stuff  @wishbonewolf  @emeraldxhope  @t0xick1tty  @kusuinko  @speakyourselfloveyourself  @sophia902103  @lo-manburg  @classsykittykat  @dmgama  @depressedpuppythatneedscoffee  @btsiguess-kpop  @akaashi-baby  @gun-jong-simp  @geschichtenfee  @yerapotato-wp  @browneyedgirl365  @thysagclub  @sparklycloudnight  @helloatomicshadow  @queentorresstuff @vtte @val-gal  @lucy-bunny17  @aaliyahh0  @katluckybear  @boyleanti  @straybids  @franchesca-791  @cosmicstorm19  @averyisbackinthetrashcan  @aomi-nabi  @xlanawriter  @allensimpsforcorpse

[ct7567329]

Welcome Back: Fives x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Smut (18+ Please! I'll mark where it starts, so you can still enjoy the first half!)

Words: 2.5k

Corellia was dark as always. You hated this. As you strolled down the crowded street, you held your breath in disgust. The filth of the planet made you gag, but, you felt as if Corellia was the safest place to be. Crowded and disgusting, the opposite of what you liked. During the Clone Wars, post wars plans were frequently discussed among your men. You often found yourself thinking about the plans the men had. Rex wanted to be a farmer, Hardcase an actor for an action packed holovid, Jesse a dad, and Fives, well, Fives didn't care what he did, as long as those plans included you.

Before you could spiral too deep into those thoughts, you shook your head, attempting to clear your mind. Order 66 had ruined all of those plans for everyone, and two years later, you still couldn't fully process that.

As you continued down the street, you constantly glanced around for imperial stormtroopers. It felt as if as more time passed from the Jedi purge, your touch with the force faded. You could no longer simply "sense" people's presence without thinking too hard about it.

Roughly one hundred yards away from you was a small group of stormtroopers. Out of instinct,  you threw your hood over your head and tried to blend in as much as possible. As you got closer to the troopers, you ran your fingers along a soot covered bench and smeared it down your cheek, trying to disguise your facial features. On the rare chance any of those stormtroopers were clones, you could easily be recognized. The empire knew you were alive, and you didn't even want to think of the bounty over your head.

You wondered if any of troopers were clones. With there being only a few meters away from the soldiers, you glanced at them as any Corellian would. You felt one of the troopers eyes meet yours though his helmet momentarily. He watched you as you picked up your pace though the crowd, the slow turning motion of this head indicating this. After a minute or so of your quicken pace, you felt as if you were a good enough distance away from the solider that made eye contact with you. You paused and slid into an alley located only a few blocks from the run down apartment complex you call home. You sat on an empty crate and sighed, pulling your hood down. The last time you felt that stare was two tears ago.

Just like the last locked gaze you shared with Fives.

That last glance.

He was shooting at you. Through his helmet, you could sense his tears. Fives didn't want to hurt you, and you knew that. But, he had no other choice. You remember clenching your jaw, holding back tears. There was no escaping with him. You leapt from the building you were in and ran. You ran as far as you could. Far from Fives. Far from your life. Far from everything. Everything you knew was gone.

All you could ever wish for is that forever lasting nightmare to stop replaying in your head every time you saw a stormtrooper. But, that was a hopeless wish.

You ran your soot covered fingers through your hair and sighed. Just as you were about to stand up, the stormtrooper you locked eyes with was standing at the alley entrance, his blaster held lazily as his side. Figuring it was just a routine check, you began to reach for the identification card in your pocket. It was forged of course, but it always seemed to check out with the troopers. The trooper still hasn't spoken when you extended your arm, showing him your identification. His helmet tilted downwards as he read the name.

He chuckled, "Arilani Forrest? Creative!"

"No one has ever called me creative before," you mumbled, "but I best be on my way. I have a shift at the mining yard soon."

"Oh really?" his voice perked up, "would have never imagined you doing that." He began to walk towards you, forcing you to walk deeper into the alley.

You shrugged, "It was the best work I could get. Anything to better the empire." You HATED saying those words, "I'm honored to work for such a great-"

The trooper took off his hemet, making you stop mid-sentence. No wonder that glance felt familiar. It really was Fives.

Anger and passion fought within you as you stared blankly at him. Then fear hit. Quickly, you took a few steps back.

"Get away from me," you spit out.

Fives' smile turned to a frown, "Cyare, let me explain."

"You tried to kill me! You probably still are! And you just expect me to listen to you? To let my guard down and listen to the man who captured my heart and tear it to shreds?!"

"Don't act like that day was any harder for you as it was for me," he begged, stepping towards you, putting his blaster on the ground. "Remember Tup? I took that stupid chip out after that. That's why I cut my hair. I had to keep that a secret. For my safety, for your safety, for our safety!"

"Why should I trust you?" you murmured, trying to hold back tears.

Fives gave you a sympathetic smile, "Because you always used to tell me that I was the best shot in the 501st. You told me that there wasn't a single target I couldn't miss. If you really meant that, then why did I miss every shot I made at you. I wasn't even close. I was never shooting at you. If I didn't follow the order, I would have been killed right then and there. I knew you were capable of surviving. That's why I followed everyone else, knowing you would escape, hoping one day I could find you!" his smile grew, "it took two, long, excruciating years but you're here!"

You were quivering. As he stared at you, awaiting your response, you closed your eyes and exhaled, channeling the force. You came within arms length of him and placed your hands on the side of his head. Your heart skipped a beat at the touch. As you let the force speak to you, you soon came to realize he wasn't lying. There was no chip in his head. You let your arms fall to his neck as you pulled him close to you, your slow tears making his under armor around his neck wet.

His strong arms wrapped around your waist and pressed your body against his. The crappy armor felt uncomfortable on your cheek but you didn't mind. Fives twirled your hair around one of his fingers, the other hand stroking your back. The only reason why he "stayed loyal to the empire" was for this moment, no matter how long he had to wait for it.

Fives released your hair from his fingers and placed his hand on your chin, angling your face towards his. He took his glove off, exposing a clean hand, which he used to rub the soot off you cheek.

"Still as beautiful as ever," he murmured, studying your face as if he would never see it again.

"Fives, I-"

You were interrupted by his com link. He quickly threw his helmet and answered, explaining that he was simply doing identification checks, and he would report back soon. As soon as he ended the conversation, he took his helmet off and chucked in a nearby dumpster.

"I don't want to be a stormtrooper anymore," he sighed, his hands placed on your upper arms. "Please, get me out of here. They don't need me anymore."

You let out a small laugh, "While it will be a loss to the empire, let's get you, or, us, out of this nightmare."

The dark clouds over the Corellian sky finally began to give way, polluted rain hitting every surface. Rain on Corellia was vile, but in that moment, eyes locked with Fives, it didn't matter. He took off the rest of his armor and put it in the same dumpster as his helmet.

Digging through the trash, you found a battered cloak and threw it over him. "This will help you not stand out. I think the imperial logo on your shirt will give a little too much away. But let's get going. The rain is clearing out the streets."

He nodded in agreement and followed you to your apartment building. As you entered the elevator with him, you noticed he had a look of disgust.

"What?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Fives shook his head, "would have never expected someone like you to live somewhere so disgusting."

"Exactly. That's why I'm here. You don't get options when the empire is out to kill you," you explained as you unlocked the front door.

The apartment was smaller than Fives expected. He thought the 501st barracks were nicer than your apartment, which was clearly saying something.  He glanced to his right and watched you take off your robes, revealing an outfit similar to the one you wore during the Clone Wars. As much as he loved it, he hated it. He hated knowing that every other man in the GAR would stare at the way it hugged your body, making you look far better than any model on the holonet. But, he loved knowing that you were all his.

"Yes?" you laughed, catching Fives staring at you in awe.

Fives swallowed hard, nodding, "Just looking at the most beautiful thing in the galaxy."  He slowly walked towards you and pressed his lips against the side of your ear, "we have two years of catching up to do."

Smirking, you hopped up to sit on your kitchen counter, "723 standard rotations to be exact," you winked, playfully grabbing his hands.

His forehead met yours as he whispered, "I think I forgot how it feels to kiss you and cyar'ika, I've thought about it every day."

SMUT INCOMING

"Then what are you waiting for," you lustfully groaned into his ear.

That was all he needed to hear. Before you had the chance to take another breath, his lips were on yours, filling your body with a euphoria you haven't felt since the order. It felt as if no time passed at all, he still had every square inch of your mouth memorized. Fives put his hands on your ass, pushing your hips into his, you both instantly feeling the heat coming from the other.

"We need to get you off this counter," he groaned, nibbling on your lower lip. You moaned something inaudible in response as he picked you up and shoved your body onto the nearby couch. Straddling over you, he took a moment to stare at the sight. He longed for the day he could see you under him again.

As Fives grinded his hips against yours, you couldn't help but notice the growth in his blacks on the brink of busting open the cheap fabric. Your hands made their way to his waistband, which you didn't hesitate to pull down, exposing a fully erect Fives. The sight alone was enough to push you over the edge.

"Like what you see?" he smirked, taking the rest of his bottoms off and tossing them across the room. But before you could respond, he pressed a finger against your lips, "Now this isn't fair is it?" he wined, tugging at the hem of your shirt. In one swift motion, your shirt and bra was next to his discarded pants. Still straddled over you, fully exposed, he gawked at the sight in front of him. As he was in la la land, you pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the same toned body that made your knees weak when you first met him. You reached up to touch his left peck, running your fingers down his chest.

"Oh my handsome ARC," you whispered, tracing the outline of his abs. Two years later, pulling rank still sent him over the edge.

"That's it," he groaned, pressing his chest against yours and grinding hander into your hips. You were gasping his name with every push, which only made him push harder. Fives slipped his fingers into your pants and softly ran his index finger up your soaked clit. He pulled his finger out, your moan being music to his ears, and licked his finger dry. Fives knew damn well he was driving you up the wall, and had no plans on stopping.

You quivered at Fives' touch, and pulled the rest of your clothes off. Fives collapsed his body onto yours, the sensation of full skin to skin contact making his body tremor. As you both laid there motionless, taking in the moment, his throbbing cock kept poking at your entrance.

"Fives," you groaned, knowing you didn't even need to finish your sentence.

Slowly, he pushed the tip of his cock into you, listening to you moan under the pressure. As Fives pushed in further, his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He steadily thrusted in and out, giving you enough time to adjust to his size. Every next thrust came faster and harder. Your jaw was clenched as you groaned, trying to hold back the orgasm.

"I know you're close cyare," he said between thrusts, "where do you want it?"

Breathing heavily, you put your hands on Fives' lower back, preventing him to pull out for another thrust, "The damn war is over and we can finally live our dreams," you gasped for air, "it's a risk we can now take." You let go of his back and he continued to pump into you. As soon as you felt as if he was on the verge of splitting you right up the middle, you let out a loud moan as your walls clenched around his cock, which was simultaneously, filling you up. Fives laid down on top of you, still inside you, as you both rode out your orgasms.

"Fives," you panted, running your fingers through his hair. He smiled and shut his eyes, placing his head on your chest, listening to your rapid heartbeat.

"Oh maker, I love you," he wined, nuzzling his head into your neck. He slid his softening cock out of you and got up, grabbing a blanket from across the room. You stared at his naked body, shining with the sweat you two just created. It was like staring at an ancient god. He laid the blanket over you and sat down, pulling you onto his chest.

"Welcome back my love," you smiled, tracing your finger on his chest.

"Hope I wasn't gone too long," he winked, watching you fall asleep in his arms.

It took two years, but finally, the post war dreams you shared were finally coming true.

JOIN MY TAGLIST

@ganondorf-has-greasy-balls @lightning-wolffe @jedi-dreea @hannahjessica113 @gryffindorqueensworld @000ayfh @soclonely @peacelandbread @persaloodles @coffeeandtodd @raf-loves-everything @ahsoka-padme @dangerdumpling @callme-eds @808tsuika @ahsokatano-thetogruta @clone-lover501-212-104 @marvel-starwars-nerd @katelynnwrites @skylerrae-solo @youmaynowdothething @pinkiemme @thegirlwhosesilencespeaksloudest @horsegirl4561 @simping-for-fives @lowkeyodinsong @starrdvstkenobi

[liz-tries-to-write]

Sophitz Week: Angst

A/N: This is for this second prompt for Sophitz ship week! I forgot how fun it is to write angst >:)

Pairing: Sophie x Fitz

Word Count: ~1.7k

TW: blood, death

Sophie has had many near-death experiences.

Everyone knows this; she’s constantly throwing herself in the path of danger to help other people, no matter the cost. She’s at the center of it all, which means the outcome of most things depends on her. And she’s all too willing to sacrifice herself.

Fitz has had one or two himself. The one that haunts him the most was the incident with the arthropleura, and it brings back memories of vile tea and dark spiderwebs, and the sensation of being caught between life and death.

Something all these events had in common was that no matter what, everyone was okay. Mind breaks, broken bones, shadowflux; there were so many moments where someone was teetering on the edge of death. Honestly, Sophie flirted with death more than she did Fitz. But at the end of the day, she was always safe— alive.

Looking down at his tunic soaked in Sophie’s blood, Fitz wasn’t sure that this time was going to be like rest. When he had stumbled into the Healing Centre, Sophie in his arms, Bullhorn hadn't even screamed. He had simply laid down next to her, his tiny body almost as motionless as the blonde was.

Fitz remembers Sophie’s hair spread out beneath her like a halo, her eyes closed as though she were asleep, and blood, so much blood. And that’s all he remembers before he collapses and the world fades to black.

---

The next week was a whirlwind of vials and bandages, flashing lights and sleepless nights. Fitz had recovered within a few days. Thanks to Elwin’s care, his injuries hadn’t been too serious.

But Sophie remained unconscious, and Fitz wasn’t sure if she was ever going to wake up.

The thought caused his chest to constrict, his emotions triggering the shadow flux and making it impossible to breathe. Once, Elwin had rushed over, thinking Fitz was injured, but there was nothing the physician could do except offer him a sedative. Everything Fitz was dealing with was happening internally, now that Sophie was on Death’s doorstep.

Sophie was strong, he knew that. And she had fought for her life many times before. But it was different this time, and Fitz wasn’t sure how to explain it, but some part of him knew this wasn’t going to have a happy ending.

Sighing, he stood up, fighting the waves of dizziness as he stood next to Sophie’s cot. She was deathly pale, the dark circles under her eyes more prominent against the ashiness of her skin. She lay almost completely immobile, her body still, her chest rising and falling ever so slightly. Her features were schooled into something neutral, and Fitz couldn't tell if it was an improvement from the shaking and twitching. At least before he had known that some part of her was aware of her body and reacting to the pain.

Fitz dared think she looked peaceful, now that the blood had been cleaned off and various parts of her body were neatly bandaged. Tentatively, he placed a shaking hand to Sophie’s temple, fearing her to be so fragile that she would break under his touch. Taking a deep breath, he opened his mind to hers.

Just like the last time he had entered her mind, it was dark and empty on the surface. He could feel her consciousness lingering, but it was fading day by day. “It’s me,” Fitz thought, tears welling up in his eyes. “Sophie, it’s me.” 

Recently, it had been harder to see inside her head. He repeated it once more, putting a little more force behind his mental voice. With that, he felt her mental walls break down, flooding his mind with images. It was chaos. Fragments of battles, places, and people appeared before being lost in the sea of Sophie’s thoughts. Just like yesterday, the day before, and the day before that, it seemed as though Sophie’s mind was sifting through her life in random order. He saw Silveny and the twins, Lady Gisela in the blizzard, the Neverseen symbol on the arm of a cloak. More than once, he saw himself. In the past few days, he had seen his eyes staring back at him, through Sophie, more than he had in his lifetime of reflections in a mirror. Her mind was disorganized, and despite Sophie’s photographic memory, all of it was blurry. Everything sounded muffled, and it was hard to make out the words of conversations.

A few days ago, when Fitz had first checked her mind, Sophie had appeared to be replaying recent events. As the hours passed, more events were brought up, blending with fragments of images and memories. Faster than Fitz would like to have admitted, Sophie’s mind descended into confusion. After that, things had started to become quieter and out of focus. Now, Fitz felt helpless as he felt Sophie fade away from him, like grains of sand slipping through his fingers. Though he had tried, there was nothing he could do except watch as Sophie disappeared in front of him physically and mentally.

A voice startled his consciousness back to the real world, and Fitz turned around to see Elwin with fresh bandages in his hands. His hair was messier than usual, and instead of the usual fun ties he wore, this one was green. It was the same rich hue of the grass, of emeralds. The same rich hue elves wore in mourning.

“She’s still alive,” Fitz rasped, voice crackling from disuse. “She’s still in there.”

Elwin sighed. “I know, Fitz, I know. But barely.” He helped Fitz back to the chair before taking his place next to Sophie. Carefully, he unwrapped the old bandages. Fitz caught sight of burnt flesh and red welts before he had to look away. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Elwin disposing of the bloodied bandages. Despite his best efforts, Fitz felt tears forming in the corner of his eyes and blinked them back.

“She’s gonna be okay,” he whispered. “She has to be.” He didn't know who he was convincing more, Elwin or himself.

---

“No, Sophie, no no no.” Fitz knew he was crying, but he didn’t bother to try and hide it. “Please, Sophie. You’re stronger than this.” His voice was barely a whisper, but it was all too loud in the quiet of Sophie’s fading heartbeat.

Two more weeks had passed, and Sophie hadn’t gotten better. Fitz had finally become well enough to return home, but he spent most of his time at the Healing Centre by Sophie’s side.

Inside Sophie’s head, one memory was on replay. It was dark and out of focus, and the sound was so distorted Fitz couldn’t make out the audio. But he knew the memory Sophie had latched on to. It was that day in the San Diego Natural History Museum, when Fitz had discovered Sophie for the first time. Through Sophie’s eyes he could see himself pointing at the newspaper and gesturing towards her. He saw his face when Sophie had used telekinesis on the lamp post, when he had grabbed her hand and teleported her to the Lost Cities, and when he promised to return the next day.

In Fitz’s mind, he remembered seeing Sophie for the first time. She was surrounded by classmates, though she lingered near the back of the group. Her head was down, and he could see the cords of her earbuds through the blonde hair covering half of her face. When she looked up and met his eyes, Fitz was taken aback by her eyes. They were a warm brown, and even from a distance he could see the flecks of gold in them. They were captivating and secretive, reflecting something Fitz couldn’t quite name. He realized at that moment that if this was the girl he was looking for, he was screwed. So screwed. Because she was beautiful.

And that girl, that beautiful girl, was dying right in front of him.

With every passing second, the memory in Sophie’s mind dimmed, matching the quieting of her breaths. Her chest was rising and falling so softly Fitz could barely tell she was breathing at all. Fitz sat there, watching every one of her inhales and exhales, grasping for thin threads of hope that danced just out of his reach.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

A beat, in which Sophie missed a breath and Fitz’s heart caught in his throat. Tears were falling freely now, and he intertwined his fingers with Sophie’s cold ones.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

…

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

“No,” Fitz whispered. “No, no no!” His voice rose to a shout. “Elwin! Elwin!” He was yelling now, the desperation in his throat so thick he almost choked on it. “Elwin!”

Elwin came rushing into the room, his glasses askew. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Sophie,” was all Fitz managed to say.

Elwin went pale. He placed a finger on Sophie’s wrist, feeling for her pulse. He shook his head back and forth, muttering under his breath. He snapped his fingers, creating orbs of light and examining Sophie’s motionless body, his eyes glassy. Finally, he looked up, meeting Fitz’ gaze. “She’s gone,” Elwin whispered, his voice cracking on the last word.

Fitz couldn’t breathe. He felt as though someone had a hand around his ribs, crushing them. He could hear his heartbeat in his chest, its pounding filling his ears and drowning out the sounds of Elwin’s crying. Tears blurred his vision, and feeling his legs give out under him, he collapsed on the chair next to Sophie’s cot.

For a second, he was angry, angry at himself and the Neverseen and the world. She didn’t deserve what she had been through, and she didn’t deserve this ending. He felt the anger flare, threatening to consume him, but it quickly died down again, overtaken by the aching, stinging, agonizing pain and sorrow he was drowning in.

In that moment, all he wanted to hear was Sophie’s voice. He wanted to see her golden-brown eyes gazing back at him, wanted to feel the heat beneath her blushing cheeks, wanted to see her smile. But he couldn't, and he wouldn't, ever again. That girl he had fallen in love with, with her flushed cheeks and incredible mind, was gone.

Sophie Foster was gone.

tag list: @sophitz-week @steppingonshatteredglass @dragonwinnie-kotlc @enbies-and-felonies (lemme know if you wanna be added or removed <3)

[acryptidcreates]

Drowning

A Northern Passage fic.

MLea/FHunter

WC: 1445

Rating: Teen

I slouched, leaning one hip on the heavy wooden table that dominated the small room. Exhaustion lined every fiber of my being, and it was all I could do to keep a smile plastered on my face. The profuse thanks from the villagers would ordinarily have warmed my cold soul, better than being run out of town by an angry mob at any rate. Still, today I was too tired to be appropriately appreciative.

Lea leaning against the wall, face like thunder, wasn’t helping either.

He was furious with me.

I understood why; I really did. Even if I’d had a good reason to go hunting on my own, I couldn’t expect him to be happy about being left behind. I had hoped to take care of the creature and be back before he’d healed enough to know I was gone, but without Lea’s potions, the hunt had taken several days, and I had had to get creative, luring it out with a dead goat wrapped in my cloak.

I’d not had a choice. If I had waited till Lea was back on his feet, the monster would have gained full strength, and we might not have been able to defeat it.

I hadn’t been willing to risk our lives or the lives of the villagers.

Lea hadn’t spoken to me since I got back to the village. I’d run into him, almost literally, as soon as I had come through the gates. He had just stared at me, emotions flicking over his face too fast for my exhausted brain to keep up, anger for the most part. He’d turned on his heel and stalked away, posture so stiff I thought he might shatter if struck, the rage radiating off him so palpable I could feel it.

I followed, of course. What else was I to do?

We’d gone back to the inn, into a small private room to meet with the man who hired us. Lea took up post by the door, lingering there like a stationary storm cloud, letting me deal with the thankful townspeople.

The villagers trickled out, one by one until it was just Lea and me and an extremely uncomfortable silence. I fidgeted with the heavy purse we’d been given, not knowing what to say to my handler. Apologies, excuses, nothing I could say would ease things between us. It had been partially my fault he’d been hurt in the first place, and I’d had such high expectations of myself, I’d not even left him a note before leaving him with the healer.

I glanced up at him, only to find him staring at me. It felt like a fist around my heart, squeezing out every little bit of life I had. It was an old, familiar ache. I disappointed him often enough to recognize it, though I refused to examine why it hurt so much. I’d never seen him this angry before, though, and there was something else, something right beneath the anger that I couldn’t put my finger on. His eyes were brighter than they should have been, and a muscle fluttered in his cheek as he clenched and unclenched his jaw.

His gaze pinned me to the spot. For a moment, I understood what it was like to be a mouse right before a snake struck.

I opened my mouth, then shut it again, guilt and anger of my own welling in my chest, clogging my throat, choking me. There were so many things I hadn’t told him, dreams, nightmares, worries, what was one more unspoken thing between us.

With a little scoff, Lea looked away from me, shaking his head. He shoved off the wall, turning to leave. The fist around my heart constricted a little more, the ache nearly unbearable. I couldn’t let him go, not like this. With a certainty that surprised me, I knew that if he left right now, if I let him go without saying anything, it would be the breaking of us and everything we’d been so carefully building.

I pushed off the table, halfway reaching for him. “Lea. Wait. I-”

He froze, back ramrod straight, hands fisted at his sides. I slowed my steps, unsure if I could approach.

“I woke up, and you were gone.” Lea’s voice was flat, no emotion at all. “You were gone, and no one knew where you were. No one could tell me anything.” He hissed the last word, fury finally making itself known in his voice.

He turned on me, dark eyes glittering. I gulped, nearly taking a step back.

“The healer wouldn’t let me go look for you. For two days,” he stalked toward me, “Two days, Mercy, she wouldn’t let me leave the damn room.”

He stopped a foot away from me. Too close, far too close. I retreated a step, running into the table.

Still too close, he towered over me. Short as I was, his height didn’t usually make me feel small, but here, under the force of his anger, I felt tiny.

“Lea,” I tried.

He interrupted, “I went looking for you,” his throat bobbed as he swallowed, and with a sudden jolt, I realized that he was shaking.

“I went looking, and all I found was this.” He brandished something at me, a large scrap of fabric- bloody fabric.

The ache in my chest came rushing back, and I suddenly understood his reactions.

It was my cloak. Or what was left of my cloak, anyway.

His voice sounded suspiciously choked when he continued, “I only stuck around to try and find you.” The “What was left of you” went unspoken.

I couldn’t meet his eyes. I wasn’t sure I could handle what I might see in his face.

“Oh, Lea, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” I reached for the scrap of my cloak, fingering it lightly.

“What were you thinking?” His voice was agony.

“I had to. There was no choice.” I forced myself to look up at him, to meet his eyes, “You know that.”

He nodded slightly, slumping as some of the tension drained out of him. “I know, I know. I just-“He ran a hand over his face, “I’m sorry.”

Before I could think better of it, I reached out and put a hand on his arm, an attempt to comfort, though I wasn’t sure if it was to comfort him or myself. Lea tensed under my fingers; I could feel the warm strength of him through his sleeve, steely muscle beneath rough fabric. I forgot how strong he was, sometimes. Something unreadable crossed his face as he looked from me to the hand laying on his arm.

Realization of what I had done hit me, heat creeping into my face. I let my hand drop away. I shouldn’t have touched him, not now. It felt like I had crossed some sort of unspoken line, revealed one of those secrets I held close to my chest. Heart beating fast, I shuffled sideways a little, trying to get more distance between us before I fucked this up any worse.

The next thing I knew, Lea had his arms around me, pulling me close, burying his face in my hair. Shock froze me in place. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. Embarrassingly enough, my eyes burned as though I had smoke in them. I had to squeeze them shut and bury my face in his chest to stop them from overflowing. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had hugged me. I felt too much, the emotion too big, like I had been empty for so long I had forgotten what it was like to be whole.

I could not have made myself step away from him if I had tried.

I did the only thing I could think to do. I wrapped my arms around him and hung on for dear life. He chuckled softly when I squeezed him back.

“You smell like shit,” he murmured into my hair, though he did not let me go.

“Spending several days trying to disguise your scent will do that to a girl,” I snarked back, earning another little chuckle.

His arms tightened around me, and I felt him take a deep breath. “I thought I’d lost you,” the admission was nearly a whisper.

“Can’t get rid of me that easy,” I said. Then, with a little grin, “Next time, I’ll leave a note.”

Lea pushed me roughly away, hands clamped on my shoulders, and he glared down at me, “There had better not be a next time,” he practically growled.

I smiled sweetly up at him, “I promise, but only if you can find me a bath.”

[agentrouka-blog]

@ ygritte hate post. In broad strokes, we agree Jon and Sansa are on parallel journeys, there is also plenty of parallels between Hound's sexual assault night with Jon and Ygritte (steel kiss, hand on face, and so on). (1/3)

Then Jon gets into it at the water pool, that is his "unkiss", no doubt. Notice though, the details about him getting riled up by sex red hair, she saying she is half-fish, debating fucking your own sister. I'm forgetting stuff of course. I'm sure that chapter is rife with that. (2/3)

Jonsa fans have speculated over Unkiss being a cover for another kiss (always with the cousins, the blood and fire cloak, and so forth). It could be that cave means much the same for him. Like said they are on parallel journeys and there's all those throwbacks to each other. (3/3)

So like Sansa, Jon is repressing something there. Something that happened in the winterfell pools. Bran remembers bathing with his sisters, but unlike Bran (who did saw OSHA getting out of one in that segment), Jon saw something that was a revelation. Like Florian when he saw Jonquil bathing with her sisters. Something red and then wanted to kiss, not downstairs but upstairs. Maybe he did... and maybe Ned caught him at it, because he later dreams of being caught there being innapropriate. (4/3)

In the dream he screams he will never father a abstard, he hates being one for they are lustful creatures born of lust and lies. Like lusting after their sisters. Its not like he is a Targaryen! Distraught, Jon decides to prove his nature wrong. He is not a deviant because he is a bastard lusting after his sister! So he decides to go to the Nights Watch, where he'll be chaste ever. Maybe. Kind of creepy but funny. It all comes together too, all those tidbits that are otherwise scattered. (5/3)

PS: Six maidens in the pool... Six Stark children. Not seven for once either way. And so Jon says in the show "we should have never left Winterfell" because it echoes the We shouldn't have left the cave. And Jon says they'll go back and Yggrite yaps You Know Nothing, but he was right. Jon will go back with the real redhead Sansa, back to Winterfell real pools. (6/3)

Thank you!! This ask really sent my brain whirring.

I already like the idea of the Unkiss drawing from a repressed memory, but I hadn’t noticed how the Ygritte memory-edit might interlock with that. 

We have this confirmation that they were fairly natural and relaxed about nudity among children:

"Might be there isn't." She grinned. "What are you staring at, boy? Never seen a woman before?"

"I have so." Bran had bathed with his sisters hundreds of times and he'd seen serving women in the hot pools too. Osha looked different, though, hard and sharp instead of soft and curvy. Her legs were all sinew, her breasts flat as two empty purses. "You've got a lot of scars." (ACOK, Bran II) 

Hundreds of times. We know Sansa associated hot water in a bath with Winterfell. 

The hot water made her think of Winterfell, and she took strength from that. She had not washed since the day her father died, and she was startled at how filthy the water became. (AGOT, Sansa VI)

So does Jon:

It was short walk to the bathhouse, where he took a cold plunge to wash the sweat off and soaked in a hot stone tub. The warmth took some of the ache from his muscles and made him think of Winterfell's muddy pools, steaming and bubbling in the godswood. Winterfell, he thought. (ASOS, Jon XII)

Then we have the image of the Water Gardens.

It was Daenerys who filled the gardens with laughing children. Her own children at the start, but later the sons and daughters of lords and landed knights were brought in to be companions to the boys and girls of princely blood. And one summer's day when it was scorching hot, she took pity on the children of her grooms and cooks and serving men and invited them to use the pools and fountains too, a tradition that has endured till this day." (…) 

As the children splashed in the pools, Daenerys watched from amongst the orange trees, and a realization came to her. She could not tell the highborn from the low. Naked, they were only children. All innocent, all vulnerable, all deserving of long life, love, protection. 

(ADWD, The Watcher)

And we know that the children of all ranks played together in the godswood, too. 

He had watched wistfully while the Walders contested with Turnip the cook's boy and Joseth's girls Bandy and Shyra. The Walders had decreed that Bran should be the judge and decide whether or not people had said "Mayhaps," but as soon as they started playing they forgot all about him.

The shouts and splashes soon drew others: Palla the kennel girl, Cayn's boy Calon, TomToo whose father Fat Tom had died with Bran's father at King's Landing. Before very long, every one of them was soaked and muddy. Palla was brown from head to heel, with moss in her hair, breathless from laughter. Bran had not heard so much laughing since the night the bloody raven came. (ACOK, Bran I)

It’s fair to conclude that the Jon and the Starklings may indeed have not just played but also bathed together in the godswood. 

There is an interesting association with Maidenpool, which is tied to the romance of Florian and Jonquil.

At Maidenpool, Lord Mooton's red salmon still flew above the castle on its hill, but the town walls were deserted, the gates smashed, half the homes and shops burned or plundered. They saw nothing living but a few feral dogs that went slinking away at the sound of their approach. The pool from which the town took its name, where legend said that Florian the Fool had first glimpsed Jonquil bathing with her sisters, was so choked with rotting corpses that the water had turned into a murky grey-green soup.

Jaime took one look and burst into song. "Six maids there were in a spring-fed pool . . ."

"What are you doing?" Brienne demanded.

"Singing. 'Six Maids in a Pool,' I'm sure you've heard it. And shy little maids they were, too. Rather like you. Though somewhat prettier, I'll warrant."

(ASOS, Jaime III)

Jonquil bathed with ther sisters, when Florian first glimpsed her.

The pool becomes filthy and spoiled. Like Sansa’s bathwater, but also like the muddy Winterfell pools. Choked with corpses?

When the dreams took him, he found himself back home once more, splashing in the hot pools beneath a huge white weirwood that had his father's face. Ygritte was with him, laughing at him, shedding her skins till she was naked as her name day, trying to kiss him, but he couldn't, not with his father watching. He was the blood of Winterfell, a man of the Night's Watch. I will not father a bastard, he told her. I will not. I will not. "You know nothing, Jon Snow," she whispered, her skin dissolving in the hot water, the flesh beneath sloughing off her bones until only skull and skeleton remained, and the pool bubbled thick and red.  (ASOS, Jon VI)

The memory edit and the switch toward “love” in the cave is mirrored in this rather defiant dream, that recalls the pools at home, his father’s watching face, but also the laughter at home in the godswood. A pool in a sacred place spoiled with death. 

A memory spoiled by trauma.

Dany, who I would argue is a character strongly foreshadowed in Ygritte, has her own association with sacred pools.

They rode to the lake the Dothraki called the Womb of the World, surrounded by a fringe of reeds, its water still and calm. A thousand thousand years ago, Jhiqui told her, the first man had emerged from its depths, riding upon the back of the first horse.

The procession waited on the grassy shore as Dany stripped and let her soiled clothing fall to the ground. Naked, she stepped gingerly into the water. Irri said the lake had no bottom, but Dany felt soft mud squishing between her toes as she pushed through the tall reeds. The moon floated on the still black waters, shattering and re-forming as her ripples washed over it. Goose pimples rose on her pale skin as the coldness crept up her thighs and kissed her lower lips. The stallion's blood had dried on her hands and around her mouth. Dany cupped her fingers and lifted the sacred waters over her head, cleansing herself and the child inside her while the khal and the others looked on.  (AGOT, Daenerys V)

This recalls Ygritte in the pools and Sansa in her filthy bath. But the presence of the blood of a horse slaughtered for her to eat its heart, the presence of the Stallion that Mounts the World, the prophecy and the things we know comes after... all that is ominous and the kiss of the cold is unlikely to be tender. 

"When you find yourself in bed with an ugly woman, the best thing to do is close your eyes and get on with it," he declared. "Waiting won't make the maid any prettier. Kiss her and be done with it."

"Kiss her?" Ser Barristan repeated, aghast.

"A steel kiss," said Littlefinger. (AGOT, Eddard VIII)

or..

But the Dornishman's blade had a song of its own,

and a bite sharp and cold as a leech. (ASOS, Jon I)

or...

Then the steel was at her throat, and its bite was red and cold. (ASOS, Catelyn VII)

The layers in this… 

Anyway, there’s foreshadowing to Dany in the Ygritte mess, but it’s not exactly happy, while the Sansa connections in there tend to be positive. Sweet and foul all mixed up.

Sansa “remembering” the Unkiss in relation to kissing children (Margaery’s Girls, Sweetrobin) and with “awful” memories (Myranda’s wedding night)  has that same air of mixing something rotten with something that had been perhaps sweet but confusing. I.e. covering a traumatic event with something else. 

Then there’s another interesting association with the incest peach.

As she sat in the common room in her stupid girl clothes, Arya remembered what Syrio Forel had told her, the trick of looking and seeing what was there. When she looked, she saw more serving wenches than any inn could want, and most of them young and comely. And come evenfall, lots of men started coming and going at the Peach. They did not linger long in the common room, not even when Tom took out his woodharp and began to sing "Six Maids in a Pool." The wooden steps were old and steep, and creaked something fierce whenever one of the men took a girl upstairs. "I bet this is a brothel," she whispered to Gendry.

 (ASOS, Arya V)

Right after this they meet Gendry’s half-sister Bella, a “peach” at the Peach.

“I’m named Bella,” the girl told Gendry. “For the battle. I bet I could ring your bell, too. You want to?”

“No,” he said gruffly.

“I bet you do.” She ran a hand along his arm. “I don’t cost nothing to friends of Thoros and the lightning lord.”

“No, I said.” Gendry rose abruptly and stalked away from the table out into the night. 

Bella turned to Arya. “Don’t he like girls?”

While the bell recalls Dany, we should remember that 

Sansa plays “the high harp and the bells” (AGOT, Arya I) 

“Bella” translates to Beauty 

this scene is an unsubtle shout-out to Jon stalking out of the welcoming feast after Benjen teased him about fathering bastards and knowing a woman. After calling Sansa radiant. (AGOT, Jon I) 

So the Dany hints are joined by the Sansa hints. The Dany hints are negative (bells = battle), the Sansa ones positive (bells = music). Why are the Sansa hints there at all?

Before anyone goes “Jonrya!”, remember:

For half a heartbeat she forgot who she was supposed to be. She wasn't any peach, but she couldn't be Arya Stark either, not here with some smelly drunk she did not know. "I'm . . ."

"She's my sister." Gendry put a heavy hand on the old man's shoulder, and squeezed. "Leave her be." (ASOS, Arya V)

Arya is not a peach, she is a sister. Little sister. 

And there’s this:

He liked the deep, sweet ache it left in the muscles afterward. He liked the way the air tasted way up high, sweet and cold as a winter peach. He liked the birds: the crows in the broken tower, the tiny little sparrows that nested in cracks between the stones, the ancient owl that slept in the dusty loft above the old armory. Bran knew them all.  (AGOT, Bran II)

Jon only tastes the cold when silver-haired Val tastes sweetness in the air, but way up high the winter peach makes the air taste sweet, too. 

"Sweet smells are sometimes used to cover foul ones." (ACOK, Daenerys II)

But foul smells might cover sweet ones, too. The Unkiss covers a bitter trauma, but perhaps it was drawn from a more innocent kiss in the past.

The naked red-haired girl by the water might trigger a rewrite of Jon’s perception of Ygritte, but it might draw that from a different kind of confusion, surrounding the same memories that feed Sansa’s editing.

The godswood is certainly a stage for kissing:

As she stood there, all the memories came flooding back to her. Her father had taught her to ride amongst these trees, and that was the elm that Edmure had fallen from when he broke his arm, and over there, beneath that bower, she and Lysa had played at kissing with Petyr.

She had not thought of that in years. How young they all had been — she no older than Sansa, Lysa younger than Arya, and Petyr younger still, yet eager. The girls had traded him between them, serious and giggling by turns. (…)

Robb got to his feet slowly and sheathed his sword, and Catelyn found herself wondering whether her son had ever kissed a girl in the godswood. Surely he must have.  (AGOT, Catelyn XI)

Memories that flood back, young children, innocent games that have consequences much later on, a specific Connection drawn to the Starklings and the Winterfell godswood.

More kissing:

 "I won't! I saw you kissing in the snow. She's just like her mother. Catelyn kissed you in the godswood, but she never meant it, she never wanted you. (ASOS, Sansa VII)

and yet more...

Theon Greyjoy was no stranger to this godswood. He had played here as a boy, skipping stones across the cold black pool beneath the weirwood, hiding his treasures in the bole of an ancient oak, stalking squirrels with a bow he made himself. Later, older, he had soaked his bruises in the hot springs after many a session in the yard with Robb and Jory and Jon Snow. In amongst these chestnuts and elms and soldier pines he had found secret places where he could hide when he wanted to be alone. The first time he had ever kissed a girl had been here. Later, a different girl had made a man of him upon a ragged quilt in the shade of that tall grey-green sentinel. (ADWD, The Prince of Winterfell)

Starklings, kissing and the hot springs all in a paragraph.

I would say there is material here. If GRRM wants to write about Sansa and Jon sharing a memory that involves the hot springs, kissing and references to Florian and Jonquil, he will have planted the hints. It would certainly be a bit poetic if both of them used the same memory soup to create their trauma responses.

**

Before anyone tries to accuse me of hypocrisy when it comes to age gaps, abuse etc. I do not think this was a case of Jon perving on his young sister. Cat was 12 when she played kissing games with a much younger Petyr and Lysa, and I don’t think we are supposed to consider this a threesome. It’s child’s play. That’s my angle here. 

[heyyyharry]

Last chapter: Heavy Is The Crown

(from ‘The Conman and the Maid’ Series)

…in which the end is a new beginning.

Warning: SMUT

Word count: 6.1k

AU: princess!y/n, conman!harry, prisoner!harry.

Series description: Y/N is a princess and Harry is a prisoner in her castle. With his help, she escapes from her arranged marriage in search of a happy ending, if there is one.

Wattpad link (Reyna as Y/N)

The epilogue and synopsis of the sequel is at the end of this chapter :) Enjoy and let me know your thoughts!

.

.

.

Kenny started at the sound of the door creaking open and whipped her head around to find Stefan peering in. The fire cast an eerie shadow of her upon the wall, making him look more like a small and helpless child than the master of his own house.

“Sorry, I should have knocked,” he said.

“It’s okay.” She sat up straight and folded her hands on top of her knees. Stefan still idled at the door. She nodded her head toward the other seat in front of the fire, trying to suppress a smile. “Come sit with me. This is your house, Stef.”

“It is, yeah,” he chuckled, kicked the door close and shook his head as if he hadn’t meant to forget this was his house. She watched as he dropped heavily into the chair facing hers. They both started talking at the same time and both looked away. It had been a long time since they’d seen each other in person. She stifled a laugh as he rubbed the back of his neck and said, “Y-You first.”

She pressed her lips into a smile. “I was just going to say thank you for letting me stay.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” His eyes disappeared into two lovely curves, but as soon as he leaned back into the chair, his face shadowed grimly. “I was going to say,” he added, “that I’m so sorry for what you had to go through.”

Kenny’s smile wavered a little. “It’s all right now. I’m safe here with you.”

She could never tell poor Stefan that every time she closed her eyes, she saw the dead bodies of her husband and the man in the black cloak lying at her feet. She’d murdered someone and seen Harry murder someone. Those two deaths would stick with her forever, and maybe she deserved that punishment for having broken her vows and married someone else, or maybe it was for her jealousy and the wicked thoughts she’d had about the Princess of the North without even knowing the girl.

She waited for Stefan to say something, and when he didn’t, she broke the silence. “Where do you think Harry is now?”

Stefan drew a breath. “Probably at the North castle, or close.” And regarded with her curious eyes. “So are you two…”

“No, not anymore.” She cleared her throat. “I wish him happiness with whoever he falls in love with.”

“He must get over the Princess first,” Stefan said.

“Yes,” Kenny sadly agreed. “He must. But I don’t think he can.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I wish he’d stayed with us,” Stefan said regretfully. “He could be happy here.”

Instead of telling her friend she also missed Harry and wished that he’d never left, Kenny let the silence descend. The dancing flame hypnotized her, and she allowed herself to get lost in it for a moment until she heard Stefan shifting in his chair. When she cast a glance at him, he was holding out something shiny.

“I almost forgot. Harry left this for you.”

It was the gold hairpin, which she had already given back to him on the night she’d asked him to run away and he’d turned her down.

Reluctantly, she took it with both hands and held it like it was made of glass. The gems and the gold flickered like stars in the firelight. For a second, she dared to imagine herself as a little girl and tried to recall the happiness she’d felt when she’d received it. The very first gift from her very first love.

“He told me,” Stefan went on, “that he couldn’t keep it. Because when he gave it to you and you accepted it, it was yours and yours forever. You could either sell it and open your own sewing business here, or you could keep it and remember him.”

Kenny closed her fingers around the jewellery and pressed it against her heart. Her eyes found Stefan’s face, and she realized she was looking at him through the tears. “Oh, I hope he’s safe and warm now, Stefan. I hope he’s not hurt.”

Stefan reached for her hand and held it tight. “He’s Harry. Nothing and no one could hurt him.”

.

.

.

“That hurts, Peach! Why would you do that?!” Harry cried out as he leapt away from the bed. The left side of his face still stung from the force of Y/N’s hand.

The Princess flung right at him and shoved him so hard his armour clanged as he stumbled backwards and caught the bed-post to keep himself standing. She took another step then stalled at the dagger pointed at her.

Maybe this wasn’t his princess. Did she have a twin? It would be so fucked up if she had a twin. No, she couldn’t have a twin. It was she who’d shouted his name in the garden.

Her eyes gleamed with rage as her voice lowered dangerously. “Give me the dagger, Harry.”

She knew his name! She was his Peach!

Half of Harry was relieved, while the other half trembled at the black look she was giving him. She advanced and he immediately stepped back, holding up his free hand. “I will, if you promise not to attack me.”

Her jaw dropped. “You snuck up on me! You attacked me!”

“You attacked me first! I wanted to surprise you and you almost stabbed me! What the fuck was that?”

“You pinned me to the bed and held my weapon at my throat!”

“That was self-defence!” he retorted, but when he saw tears welling up in her eyes, he dropped the dagger and flew right toward her. She didn’t scream or kick or punch him as he tugged her into him and locked his arms tightly around her shoulders. She hugged him back, and he hated that this armour kept him from feeling her warmth.

They stayed like that until she pulled away and blinked up at him, tears still hanging on her long lashes. “Did I really hurt you?” she asked.

He bared his teeth. “Do I still have perfect teeth?”

“Yes,” she replied, amused.

“Then no. You didn’t really hurt me.”

“Would you have hurt me?”

“I can’t believe you asked me that. Of course not.”

“Really?” Her eyebrow rose. “Not even if I’d called the guards.”

“You’ve got no guard here. Your prince had sent all the guards to the ballroom to protect you. Except for this one.” He gestured smugly at the armour and shushed her before she scolded him. “Don’t worry. I didn’t kill him. He was drunk and I knocked him out. He’ll wake up naked in a random room somewhere.”

“My prince?”

“I don’t know.” He mimicked her tentative expression. “You tell me. You let him hold you and cried on his shoulder. He’s also very princely, which is irritating.”

“Princely,” she echoed with a soft laugh. The sound was as sweet as honey. Until this very moment, Harry hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her. His heart swelled as he laced their fingers together and took half a step back to take in her new look. She smiled when she noticed his expression; he supposed it wasn’t what she’d expected.

“What?” She smirked.

“You,” he said, still eyeing her up and down.

“Me what?”

Instead of answering the question, Harry moved closer. Their eyes locked as he reached behind her to untie her braids. She didn’t protest as he freed her hair which fell messily down to her back. He tousled it and dipped his fingers underneath her chin, observing.

“There.” He grinned. “That’s my girl.”

With an unreadable expression, she asked, “You don’t like how I looked before?”

He was taken aback. She seemed to notice the slight change in his expression because her smile faded as well.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “You looked beautiful. But so...untouchable.”

“What does that mean?” she whispered.

He worked his jaw for a moment, trying to come up with the right words, but the ones that came out could not sound more wrong. “You looked like you belonged to that Prince.”

Y/N tossed his hand away, and before he could speak, she had marched across the room to the window, facing away from him. He clasped his hands together at the nape of his neck while the voices in his head started cursing at him. Since the moment he’d got here, he’d made the girl he loved cry twice, held a knife at her throat, got slapped, and insulted her. This night had gone quite far from those romantic fantasies of his.

He strode toward her, reaching out to touch her shoulder but then he faltered and hid both hands behind his back. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m sorry if I offended you. That wasn’t what I meant.”

“What did you mean, Harry?” Her hair lashed the air as she spun to face him. “And why are you here? If you, just like everyone else, assume that I’m betrothed to Lance now, what is the point of showing up in my bed-chamber?”

He gulped and squeezed his hands into fists. His gaze fell to the floor. “Because I had to see you once before I go.”

She stood rigid in front of him. When his eyes found her face again, she was pale with shock. “Going away?” Her voice trembled like it was going to break. “To where?”

“I don’t know.” He lifted a shoulder, his mouth twitched. “I can’t stay. But if I disappeared without saying goodbye to you, I would regret it for the rest of my life.”

Tears shone in Y/N’s eyes as she moved closer and caught his face between her hands. “You are not leaving. I forbid you. You are not going anywhere!”

“Peach–”

“You’re staying here with me. I’m never letting you go again.”

Seeing her like this made him regret coming here. He should have known better, that once he’d seen her cry, he could never leave; he would spend the rest of his life going back to this moment and this room.

He held both of her wrists and his thumbs found her violent pulse. “You’re...a queen, my love. Even saying that hurts me. You can’t be with me. I’m not worried about me, but your people would turn against you if they found out about us.”

Y/N’s lashes fluttered as she blinked back her tears. He knew that she knew he was right. Her coronation was in a week. She’d be a monarch. But even with all the power in the world, she could not bend the rules to her own advantage without losing her people’s loyalty. It was either him or Isolde, and he did not want it to be him.

“You can stay here in my court,” she said, hopefully. “I’ll make you a guard. You’re better than most of them anyway. Then...then we can be together in secret. No one has to know.”

‘No one has to know.’ That reality stabbed him like a knife, and he hated himself for allowing a tiny spark of joy before it occurred to him that her idea would ruin him if not both of them.

“I’d have to watch you marry a prince.”

He hadn’t realized he’d said it aloud until she shook her head and retorted, “I won’t. I’ll never marry. I can’t–” Her voice suddenly dropped. Her expression dimmed. “I can’t carry a child, so a marriage would be pointless.”

Something stirred uneasily within Harry as he pondered over the words she’d just said. He thought he’d misheard it, and when he realized that they were real, he released a shaky breath and brought their foreheads together.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her cool cheek. “I’m so sorry, my love.”

A bitter laugh caught in her throat. “You’re not going to ask me how I know that?”

“You would have already told me if you wanted to talk about it,” he sighed.

She didn’t say it wasn’t true. Instead, she fisted his shirt and buried her face into his neck. “Just don’t go. I can’t do this alone.”

“Peach–” he began, but instead of pushing her away, he held her tighter. She started kissing his neck, her fingers tugging roughly at his hair, and soon their lips found each other and he could taste the salt in that fiery kiss. Her arms bound around his neck as he pushed her against the wall and tilted her head back with his fingers wrapped gently around her throat. She let out a soft sigh as he licked and nibbled at her flushed skin.

“Will you stay?” she murmured.

“Yes.” His reply sounded like a promise he would regret later on, but right now, it was what they both wanted.

He kissed her, again and again, to make up for their lost time, and when he forced her away, she almost shouted, “What?!”

Breathless, he knocked on the breastplate of his armour. “Do you know how to take this thing off?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, hard, and shoved him back. Before he could utter a single word, she dragged him toward the bed, pushed him down and sank to the floor. He propped himself up to stare owl-eyed at her aggressively tearing off each piece and tossing it aside.

“How do you know this? Did you fight in the army, too?”

She shot him a glare. “No, I helped undress my father every time he came back wounded from a battle.”

Once she’d opened the buckles and released the breastplate, she bunched up her skirt, pinned him down and mounted him as easily as she did Thunder. He swept his palms up and down her back, feeling the soft and expensive fabric that he’d never thought he’d get to touch. He’d never dreamed of kissing a Queen either, yet here he was.

“If you don’t know how to wear armour, you probably don’t deserve it,” she said, a smirk peaking at the corner of her lips. Then she kissed him again. He pushed himself up to feel her as much as he could, but her dress was too big, it was swallowing them both.

He broke the kiss to say, “Can you also demonstrate how to take off your dress?”

She scowled at him, their mouths just a feather apart. “I don’t know how. The maids helped me put it on.”

“Do you love it?”

His question startled her a bit. She tilted her head and looked at him funny. “Well, not really. It’s quite uncomf–Ah!” A shriek escaped her when he flipped them over and slipped off the bed. She propped herself up on her elbows just in time he picked up her dagger from the floor.

Realization seemed to dawn on her as she opened her mouth, yet Harry did not wait. He ripped the first layer of her skirt and yanked it right off. She gasped, her eyes flying to his face, wide with shock yet darkened with lust. He waited for her to kick him off, but she just gazed up at him, her chest rising and falling with each struggled breath. And so he tore off another layer until her thighs were exposed. She was about to say something when one flick of the blade slid precisely down her bodice, cutting through the fabric and laces of the corset and her breasts sprung free, bouncing beneath his wild eyes.

She gaped at him, half angry, half impressed, then forestalled his speech by pulling his mouth back upon hers. He palmed her breast, trying not to think about her bruises and the freshly healed wound on her bicep. He hated to imagine the torture and grief she’d gone through.

“I might regret this later,” she said into his mouth, and he smiled.

“One who doesn’t know how to take off her own dress probably doesn’t deserve it.”

Y/N threw her head back and laughed for the first time tonight. As Harry sat back to discard his shirt, she stared at him thoughtfully.

“What?” He leaned back down, arms cradling her head, their noses touching.

Her mouth curved lightly. “Not fair. I was looking forward to destroying your shirt.”

“Life’s not fair,” he said before locking his lips to hers again.

The warmth of her ruined dress enveloped them as she worked quickly at his belt, and soon his trousers were off and there was nothing else keeping them apart. She curled her fingers into his hair as he kissed his way down her scarred body until he nosed along her hip bone and pressed his lips to her skin. She angled her hips up for him. She was already dripping as he took his time licking a line from her thigh to her pussy, before he sucked on her clit and pushed two fingers into her.

She moaned, holding his head firmly between her legs. His cock hardened at the sounds she made and the squish of her pussy around his fingers. He sucked and slurped at her, pushing her legs farther apart until she had one calf over his shoulder. She surprised him by grabbing her other knee, opening up for him.

He slid his free hand along the curves of her body and gripped at her breast, brushing his thumb over her hard nipple as he tried to press his tongue between his fingers, his nose rubbing around her clit. She dug her heel into his back and pulled him in tighter until all he smelled and tasted and heard was her.

He fucked her slow and slurped up her wetness for a moment before withdrawing his fingers and sucking them clean. She was gaping at him, eyes a little wet, a flush spreading across her chest, up to her ears.

“You did miss me,” she murmured.

“So much,” he told her and moved forward between her legs, pushing her knees up to her breasts and sank into her easily. She half-sighed, half-moaned and craned her neck to kiss him. Her hands were on the back of his neck and his hands found her breasts between them. As they kissed, she moved her hips up to fuck up into him while he thrust down into her, trying to be as careful as possible for her wound might still hurt.

“I’ll love you forever,” she whispered into his ear before he caught her lips again and sucked at them. He knew she'd have to be able to taste herself on his mouth as her arousal was slick around him. He leaned down to suck at her nipples, biting lightly at her breasts.

“I’ll love you forever, too. Forever and always,” he said between thrusts, grinding his cock as deep into her as it could go as she encouraged him with her moans and nails scratching down his back. He slid his hand down to her pussy and rubbed along her clit, joining her fingers there. She thrust back against him immediately, fucking herself harder on his dick, her arse pushing against his groin.

He was mouthing along the side of her neck when she came. Her hips shook and her clutch tightened around him, and then he fucked her a while longer, just a little more, knowing this would ruin his only attempt to move on and leave her to the life he didn’t belong to. He came, muffling his embarrassing groans in her shoulder as he spilled into her and fucked his release deeper with every thrust, until he only jerked with the little aftershocks and eventually slipped out.

The room quieted. The North wind blowing through the window gap cooled their damp skin. He threw the cover over them, still on top of her because she refused to let him go. He didn’t want to go, either. What would happen to them in the morning? He did not want to wonder.

He was nosing at her throat when a knock on the door sounded, making them jump.

“Y/N,” spoke a female voice, “Are you all right? Prince Charming told me you didn’t feel well.”

Y/N raised her head and shouted at the door, “I’m fine! Don’t come in. I’m going to bed.”

Harry could hear the violent rhythm of her heart as she waited for a response.

“Goodnight then,” said the voice, “I’ll come back in the morning with your breakfast.” Her shadow wavered under the door before disappearing.

Harry chuckled and kissed Y/N’s jaw as she placed a hand on her chest and heaved a sigh of relief.

“Was that your lady in waiting?” he asked.

“And my best friend,” she replied.

“Well, your friend sounded like she hated the Prince. Maybe we could be great friends.”

Y/N giggled and shook her head. “If she hates the Prince, she’d probably hate you, too.”

Harry wondered why; it seemed like there was more she’d like to add, but he supposed she was too weary for stories so he didn’t question.

“Stay until morning,” she demanded, twirling one of his curls around her index finger. “You can put the armour back on before my maid comes back. I’ll take care of the rest. Please don’t let me sleep alone. I’ll have nightmares again.”

Harry raised his head to peer down at her face as he brushed his thumb over her half-closed eyelids. “Don’t you worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

He flipped over onto his back and gathered her to his chest. Y/N didn’t sleep right away. She began to tell him everything that had happened since they’d parted. Some details he’d already known from the gossip spreading among her people, like the duel and Egon’s death and how a witch had brought Jo back to life. Some other details shocked him, like the bargain she’d made with the witch, and the Prince, who had murdered his half-brother, asking for her hand in marriage to secure their alliance.

With a troubled heart, he watched her face in the fire glow until her tale came to an end and her breathing steadied. Eventually, the whistling of the wind and the crackling of fire lulled Harry to sleep.

.

.

.

Y/N awoke when a spiteful winter gust slammed the window violently. She’d had a dreamless sleep for the first time in so long, but as she woke up beside her ruined ball gown to a grey morning and an empty bed, she wished she could just go back to sleep.

Her eyes flicked frantically around her bed-chamber. Where was he? Where was Harry? The armour was there, while every trace of him was gone.

Fear filled her up like a bubble as she rolled out of bed, put on her nightgown and a heavy fur coat, shoved her feet into her riding boots and ran out into the long corridor, terrified. She hadn’t been terrified since Jo’s death, then Harry came back and now she had too much to lose. 

Maybe she’d already lost it.

A small part of her hoped that he hadn’t gone for long and that she could still catch up with him at the gate. This time, she would at least knock him unconscious for lying to her face and playing with her heart.

As she swept past the throne room, loud familiar voices pulled her to a halt. The guards bowed as they saw her and opened the door for her to enter. This was the worst situation she’d ever walked into. Lance was standing beside her throne accompanied by only two of his guards. He was wearing his fancy black suit and black fur coat with a sword strapped to his right hip. His shiny raven hair was uncombed yet as perfect as it could be, and his stern gaze was fixed upon the man kneeling before him.

Harry.

His was the first pair of eyes in the room to catch Y/N’s, and his shocked expression got three other heads turning to the door.

“There you are, Your Majesty,” Lance spoke, his voice rough and echoey as if he was presenting a show. “I wasn’t sure if I should send a servant to wake you but I was going to anyway.”

“What is happening here?” she asked and strode up the steps to her throne.

Lance eyed her up and down, making her conscious of the fact that she wasn’t properly dressed. The humour was etched on his face, yet he made no snarky remark and motioned to Harry. “That happened.”

“Let this man go. He’s my servant,” Y/N commanded the two guards behind Harry, only to realize they weren’t holding him down; he was kneeling on his own. He didn’t even seem scared or worried. Maybe a bit guilty, but it was because of her presence.

What was happening?

“Actually,” Lance said, “he came to me on his own. Showed up in my room at dawn. Can you believe it?”

“What?!” she cried out, her eyes pinned on Harry.

He did not speak.

“Yes,” Lance answered on her lover’s behalf, one elbow resting casually on the side of the throne. “Did you say he was your servant?”

She cast a tentative glare at him. “Yes?”

“Then why did he ask to join my army?”

Y/N started, and then her head burnt with rage. She was angrier than she was confused for she had no idea what was happening and why Harry had snuck into Lance’s chamber and asked to join his army. Harry had not said a word to her about this plan (if this was a plan). If she didn’t love him, she’d probably let Lance’s guards beat him up.

“He did not know what he was talking about,” she said, glaring at Harry.

She did not expect him to speak, but then he rose to his feet and told the Prince, “I do know what I’m talking about. I wish to join your army if your men still want to fight for my Queen and Isolde.” Then his gaze flicked to Y/N for a brief second. “I knew Her Majesty wouldn’t allow me to join her army so I came to you, Your Grace. Once again, I apologize for the chaos.”

Chaos?

“Yeah, right, I forgot to tell you.” Lance nudged Y/N slightly with his knuckles. “Your servant somehow managed to disarm ten of my guards to get into my chamber. I could have killed him myself, but only a fool would let such talent go to waste.”

Y/N clenched her fists while Harry refused to look at her. It made her blood boil. She would kill him once this was over, only if Lance hadn’t done it first.

“He is my personal guard. He is not joining your army.”

Harry arched an eyebrow slightly at Y/N, and she realized she sounded like an angry mother when her child asked to go play in the snow. Better safe than sorry, she thought. She did not get him back to lose him again.

Lance held his hands behind his back and stepped closer to whisper to her. “My army will fight with yours, Y/N. He’ll still be by your side.”

That was the moment she realized, Lance knew. She had no idea how, but he knew who Harry was and how much he meant to her. But could she actually believe that this prince was doing this for her, so that she and Harry could be close without her people’s prejudices?

Her eyes searched for Harry’s again. This time, he didn’t avoid them. He stared right back and she knew that look; she’d seen it too often during their journey to the South. It said, ‘You’ve got to trust me.’

And she really wanted to.

“Won’t you have to take him with you to Attwell?” she asked Lance, not breaking eye contact with Harry.

“Once you’ve accepted my proposal, one thousand Attwell soldiers will come to Isolde and serve in your court, and this man can join them.”

Harry seemed indifferent to the mention of the proposal. He knew that in order to keep him she would have to marry Lance. She told herself to just give him up and turn Lance down, but she was also well aware that her own army could not last an hour in battle with the South. She’d be outnumbered and the Isolde soldiers weren’t well trained compared to Theros. Not to mention the fact that she’d already lost a handful of alliances after the massacre in this throne room. Suddenly, she understood why Harry was doing this, and still, it didn’t make her hate him any less.

She bit her lip and sucked in a deep breath. Harry and Lance seemed to be holding their breath while waiting for her final decision.

“Very well,” she said forcefully. “But I want two thousand men with fleets and strong horses.”

“Deal.” Lance flashed a smug grin and offered his hand in a businesslike manner. She didn’t take it. Amused, he stepped closer. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see Harry flinch as if he was about to attack the Prince right there. She fought the urge to roll her eyes. If he still managed to get jealous maybe he should not have manipulated her into marrying the Prince.

Lance got so close that she could smell the winter from his coat. When he lowered his head, her heart jerked at the thought that he would kiss her in front of Harry, but then his mouth was at her ear, and he whispered, “You really thought you could make him your personal guard and people wouldn’t talk? Grow up, Y/N. Let me help you.”

“I could just take your sword and gut you right here for talking to me like that.”

She could feel a ghost of a smile on his face in response to the threat.

“You can protect him. But I can protect you, Y/N.”

Lance drew back and their eyes locked for a second. His expression remained cold as ice, yet there was rare tenderness to it, or she was really hallucinating.

She didn’t say another word to him. “Harry, come.”

And shoved Lance away before she stormed out of the room.

She kept on walking as Harry’s hurried footsteps echoed behind her. Once they had returned to her bed-chamber, she slammed the door shut and crossed her arms over her chest. The look she was giving him said, ‘Go on. Explain before I kill you.’

“If I stay,” he began, fingering his own belt out of nervousness, “you’ve got to let me help you.”

“You could help me by not offering your head to the enemy on the battlefield.”

“Are you really telling me you would sit behind these walls while your men fight to the death, Y/N?” She blinked at her real name, yet he didn’t notice her reaction or he didn’t care. “I know you’d be on the battlefield and I’m not going to stay here knowing I could lose you any minute.”

“Then you could have talked to me first! You didn’t have to manipulate me into marrying him! You made me feel bad for even considering it and then you went behind my back and–”

He closed the distance between them with two long strides, and she backed against the door with a thump as he cupped her face and kissed her like he had the night before. She didn’t resist him. The kiss warmed their cold lips with one another, and her heartbeats gradually slowed though her anger hadn’t subsided.

He pulled back just enough to look her in the eye. “I do not want you to marry anyone but me. Especially him. But you cannot stand a chance against Calanthe, and the last time she came to see me, she made it clear that she wanted you dead.”

Y/N was taken aback. “She came to you? Did she–”

“My family is safe,” he sighed, “for now, but I don’t think your people will be.” The words made Y/N shudder. Harry went on, “On my way here, I’ve heard so many whispers about how you are illegitimate to the throne. Your people didn’t like Egon but at least it made sense to them that he was the true heir and not you. Their faith is already fragile. Calanthe could easily turn them against you, and you keeping me as your guard will not help.” He thrust his fingers into his hair. “I didn’t only come to say goodbye but also to warn you about Calanthe. I thought I could just move on, but I couldn’t leave you to fight on your own. So please help me and help yourself. But you also knew that, didn’t you? When you agreed to the deal with the Prince, you thought you did it for me, but it was also for your kingdom, love. You know your people need this.”

“I don’t trust Lance,” she whispered, shutting her eyes. “And what were you thinking sneaking into his chamber? He could have killed you. I saw him kill–”

“I know him.”

Y/N’s eyes shot open and widened. “You what?”

Harry pursed his lips, looking rather indifferent, yet she knew he was not. “Well, actually, I know of him. He used to captain a ship and his crew went from kingdom to kingdom to free slaves and recruit them for his own army. He was as much a prince as you are a princess, and therefore, he’s got as much to lose.”

Y/N ground her jaw and threw her arms in the air. “Great. I don’t even know my betrothed used to be a pirate.”

“Don’t call him your betrothed,” Harry said bitterly. “The marriage would be fake.”

She stabbed a finger at his chest. “You should have thought of that before you made me accept his fake proposal.”

Harry opened his mouth, though it seemed like he was out of arguments.

“So you’re saying he can be trusted?” she asked.

He lifted his shoulders. “Honestly, I don’t know. But he could have just killed you and Egon if he wanted Isolde, right? Why bother to go along with a riskier plan unless he’s just as desperate? No offence.”

“None taken.” She rolled her eyes and folded her arms over her chest.

Harry curled his lips as he nudged her cheek with the tip of his nose like a horse. “Also, I don’t want to be mean but from what I’ve heard, he’s kind of a player. Just so you know. I’m the safe bet here.”

“You’re the least safe thing I’ve done and I’ve duelled my own brother to the death.”

He gasped at her remark and she couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, his arms around her waist.

“More than myself,” she answered.

“Good. Because as long as we’re together, I’ll never let anything bad happen to you.”

Y/N touched his face as she returned the smile. He could promise her the world, but heavy was the head that wore the crown. The royal court was her battlefield, and she would have to make sure nothing bad would ever happen to him.

.

.

.

EPILOGUE

One year later

It was late-fall in a village deep in the northern forest. The air grew colder and the grey landscape wearier. Kennedy Rowley sat in her house beside the fireplace, holding her first-born in her arms as she hummed a lullaby and began the story of four princes and one hundred kingdoms. She hadn’t got any farther than ‘Once upon a time’ when she heard a knock on the front door. Her husband rushed out from the kitchen, waving his hands about his head to get rid of the smoke of burned food.

The knocking sounded again, more urgently this time. Then came a gruff masculine voice, “I’m here on the command of the Queen of Isolde.”

“Y/N?” Stefan Russo cast his wife a glance. “But the royal wedding is a month away. Why are they here?”

Kenny was just as clueless as he was. She hurried him to open the door, and an Isolde guard heavily stepped in. He was so large he had to duck his head to fit through the door.

“My apology, I didn't mean to disturb you,” he said as soon as he saw the half-asleep child, “but the Queen has arranged a carriage to bring your family to Isolde tonight.”

“Tonight?!” cried Kenny. “It’s so urgent. Is everything all right?”

The soldier’s expression remained stiff although there was a glimpse of worry which he’d done his best to conceal. “I’m afraid not. It’s about the Commander.”

“Harry,” Stefan muttered, exchanging looks of concern with his wife.

“Get your things,” the soldier said. “The horses are waiting outside. I’ll explain everything on the road.”

(END OF BOOK 1)

.

.

.

Book 2: THE WINTER AND THE CROWN (release date announced soon)

Synopsis:

Winter. A wedding. A war.

Y/N has to protect her kingdom from the enemy from the South and also the love of her life from the ruthlessness of the royal courts. But her destiny is paved with blood and revenge. And as she and Harry set off on another adventure to find the cure for an ancient curse, what they find is much more than they have anticipated.

Meanwhile, Calanthe is scheming to take away everything that Peach holds dear, and with the help of other dark forces, this time she might succeed.

Blood will shed. And the seasons will turn.

[kth1]

Atmosphere [Namjoon x Reader]

Atmosphere [Namjoon x Reader] ⟶ Credits: @kimtaehyunq​ ⟶ Genre: Smut | 21+ | Celebrity/Boyfriend AU | One Shot ⟶ Warnings: strong/mature theme, adult content, language, titty play, we remembered the condom this time, slight angst, slight dom elements, more fluff, a bit of overstimulation, soft and cute ending, etc ⟶ WC: 8.2k+ ⟶ Summary: Namjoon and you have been dating for a few years now, fully aware of the worries a relationship with a celebrity would be like. One night you spoke up, showing a bit of jealously after him coming back home from a promotional trip across seas. You didn’t mean to slip up, you didn’t want to taint the air with insecurities, but you lost your composure. Don’t worry, you guys figure it out. ⟶ Teaser: “Namjoon can read you like a book, knew exactly what to do when to do it. He fully enjoyed the way your body reacted to him, how simple of a task for him to pleasure you in this way. Your cries from pleasure giving him excitement that he was treating you the way you deserve.” ⟶ Author’s note: Finally, I didn’t write a story in first-person. I caught myself several times having to fix my context of wording, but I did it for you! I had this story in mind for a while, but it felt difficult to tie together. It came out softer, cuter than I anticipated. Please let me know for any grammar mistakes! Enjoy! 🐾

You ran into your bedroom and slammed the door behind you, locking it immediately. Namjoon’s footsteps were sounding nearer, quickly making their way towards the room. You slumped your body against the door, pushing your back up against it to create more of a barricade and prevent Joon from entering. He tried jiggling the doorknob, noting that it resisted the turn. Leaning up against the carved piece of mahogany wood that separated the both of you he spoke, “Babe?”

He groans, hearing silence from the other end but knowing you were obviously holding yourself captive inside the shared room. Your eyes were watery, hands in fists and completely vibrating with rage. You were livid, mad at every negative thought that crossed your mind and… more upset with yourself more than anything. You overreacted and didn’t know how to handle yourself.

“Y/n… Just open the door. Talk to me.” He sighed. Namjoon’s knuckles tapping at the door slowly, the sound echoing thought the silence between the two of you. The agonizing noise banging against the labored wood filling your eardrums. Tears slowly escaping the crease of your eyes, you sniffled as you plucked at pieces of the carpet below you.

“Baaaabe!” he repeated, drawing out the sound of the vowels. You can hear the annoyance in the tone of his voice, he was one to maintain his calm and collect himself well especially during intense situations. But he’s still human. There are times where he really can’t handle all the stress and he cracks.

“Joon, leave me alone!” you choked out, voice cracking. You couldn’t help your voice from shaking, the emotions packing into your body were too overwhelming for you to contain.

“Just open the door, please.” There was no light to his voice. Joon’s patience running terribly thin. He’s trying to confront the situation. Trying to figure out what got you so riled up and darting away from the kitchen table. Sharing a delicious meal between the two of you, was it something he said?

Water filled up the clear glass before you, swishing the three single ice cubes as the cup filled up with liquid. Namjoon’s soft features content as he placed the pitcher off to the side, out of the way of the rest of the silverware. You smiled, showing gratitude and nodding a quick ‘thank you’ with a subtle gesture.

“Thank you for making dinner, it looks great!” You beamed a grin to him. Scanning over at the plates in front, figuring out what portions and pieces you want to grab. Joon nodded, dimple creasing in the side of his face as he stares at you in adoration.

He’s been away for a few weeks, taking care of business and working hard. Attending events all over the world to promote his new album. He’s a solo artist, expressing his thoughts and feelings through lyrics and various tunes. Emotions tied to each word that overflowed each song and every song. You were proud of him, releasing his 4th mixtape tilted ‘No Atmosphere’.

He was a hard worker, so dedicated to projects and assignments. There’s nothing wrong with that at all, this is what he loves. What he was made to do. Such a wise, humble, and reliable soul he has. He takes responsibility very seriously – which is a blessing and a burden. Picky, he gets frustrated with himself, overthinking every little detail. He strives to please everyone around him, putting them first, always.

A series of topics spread over the course of your meal, filling each other up with what you’ve missed, sharing news and making plans for future dates. He expressed how much he enjoyed visiting Spain, London, Ireland. Quoting ‘I wish you were there to see this!’ as he scrolled through photos and videos he snapped on his endeavors.

Meanwhile, you were stuck there. In your shared two-story apartment. A place that was generously too large for just the two of you. And much too big for one single person while the other was gone for long trips, multiple times a year. You had your part-time work, your full-time classes for your master’s degree, a few social gatherings from your small friend group. But you always came home to an empty apartment when Joon was gone.

“Hey Joon?” you disrupted his rant. One he didn’t realize he trailed on and on, boasting about how happy he was when visiting a party that honored his album.

He blinked, losing his train of thought and focused his eyes on yours. A soft smile curving up on his lips from hearing your light voice. “Hmm?”

What he didn’t notice was how you stopped eating the food, fiddling with your fork against your plate as you used one of the prongs to kick a small pea around. Scraps of leftovers and uneaten pieces still lay across your plate and you hesitantly spoke up, “What happened back in London?”

Namjoon’s eyebrows raised in worry, his eyes curious and confused at what you were asking. “What about London? I did a lot there?” You could tell Joon went into deep thought, retracing everything he had already mentioned to you and seeing if he possibly forgot anything.

I did a lot there. You shook your head trying to remove that sentence. But it played over and over, like a broken record. Shouldn’t he phrase that answer differently, you thought. Of course, it rolled off his tongue in innocence, but it held weight on to your chest. Your mind circled that sentence because you kept remembering something you had seen, something that was exposed on the internet.

“There was a video, Joon.” You mumbled under your breath, placing the fork down on top of the napkin.

This wasn’t the place to confront Namjoon, not after him prepping this dinner for you. Not when you finally had relaxing time ever since he came back from his promotion trip. Countless interviews and media articles which talked the anticipation of the album. You kept up to date with most of them, following him as he remained contact with you through your personal phones. Confrontation during this time shouldn’t been optimal, but you muttered the sentence. Your curiosity perked up – and there’s no way of brushing it off now.

You assumed Namjoon knew exactly what you were referencing by the way his face slightly dropped. A video. That video. From a bystander from the album release party… seeking social attention, posting a damn video about the continuously rising artist in attempt to cause disturbance and tainting his image. A fucking video that was pixelated, rendered, a copy of a copy, uploaded on twitter; showing what seems to be Namjoon being close, being in an ‘intimate embrace’ with another female. A female that was not you.

It was blurry, the video couldn’t hold much value to the normal eye because it was difficult to make out faces. But anyone with an expert eye, anyone that knew Namjoon, or was a big fan of him, knew that was him in the video. The slicked back hairstyle, the long dark coat that should be considered as a cloak draping over his body, the mask held over his chin and hooked over each ear. Blurry or not, you knew the figure in the video all too well.  

“Y/n, it’s not what it looks like.”

“They wrote a lot of stories about that video.” You scoffed. You don’t believe Namjoon would be unfaithful at all, you knew him to be extremely loyal. A lot of stories indeed. And guess what, you read every single one of them. Each wrenching your heart just a bit more, coming up more and more theories inside your head. You swallowed down the tang, the hurtful stories, holding them in the pit of your stomach until you completely word vomit all over Joon. Spilling your insecure thoughts.

“What is it then?”

Joon copied your action, placing his fork down and now reaching across the table to grab your hand. You removed it fast, Joon grabbing at the ghost of your palm as you start to shy yourself away. Staring at him as he let go a sigh.

“It’s nothing. It was taken at an angle –“

“Nothing?!” Your eyebrows shot up, gulping down the buildup of saliva that horded in your mouth. “That ‘nothing’ seemed pretty comfortable to you by the looks of it.” Your snarky remark officially ripped open a wave of hostility between the both of you.

“She was the party director!” He raised his voice in defense, baffled that you two were even having this conversation in the first place. Stunned that you didn’t bring it up earlier. “She scooted closer to me in a group photo – I’m sure you’ve seen the photo online.”

“The video was after the picture was taken, Joon!”

“I didn’t do anything, Y/n. Nothing happened before or after that. Her arm was around me. She was on me. Not the other way around.”

Namjoon sounded more dismissive now. It was clear he was getting fed up with the subject, doesn’t believe he has to prove his clean hands to you. Because he’s done everything for you, you were his girlfriend. His love.

Now – you sit here against the bedroom door. Holding back as many tears as possible as Namjoon desperately tried to enter. The emptied and unoccupied space between you two caused unnerving feelings for you. You got worried, it wasn’t your intention but for some reason you really felt that pang of hurtfulness when you came to the realization that Namjoon could have someone better.

“Y/n!” He shouted.

“You’re mad at me…” You whispered to yourself. How dare you bring something so silly up at the table. Ruining a great meal, the one he planned and set up, you ruined it with your insecurities. You were curious, but the curiosity shot you back in the face. Coming off more anxious and fearful, questioning the loyalty of your boyfriend. You were upset with yourself more than anything. Letting stupid rumored scandals corrupt your mind.

He knocked again. You, being aggravated and worked up at his constant need to get you to open up, hit back at the door in frustration. A sob leaving your mouth.

A loud thump nailed into the other side of the wood you were leaning against, Joon kicking at it and proceeded to yell, “Why are you crying?! Open the fucking door Y/n!”

He sounded scary, something you weren’t used to coming from him. Picturing him with clenched teeth, fists with white knuckles, eyebrows furrowed together. Again, he kicked at the door. The shutter sound making you crawl away from the frame, “Unlock it now!” he spat out.

“Joon, stop! You’re freaking me out,” your breath hitching once the pounding stopped. Silence filling the void of the air. Standing up with trembling hands, taking a slow step towards the door. Joon rested his head against it, hand still around the knob. Exhaling he responded, “Please.”

Your hand froze over the lock, pinching it between your two digits. You gathered yourself together, mustered up the courage to twist the metal piece. Right away Namjoon turned the knob and pushed the door in, forcing you to take a few steps back into your room.

Holding your arms to yourself your head fell, looking at the ground. Namjoon walked up, closing the space between the two of you and wrapped his arms around your body, tight. Taking you in his embrace. Your arms remained crossed, trying to wiggle around in his arms to break free.

“Stop, Y/n.” Namjoon grabbed your head and shoved it against his chest. His hold too sturdy to break away from. He noted that your breathing was erratic, unstable. He was bothered, the conversation struck a nerve but also disturbed you.

Your tears flowed, dripping down your cheeks. “You’re mad at me,” you muffled into his chest. Namjoon swayed back and forth with you in his hold, trying to calm you down. Shushing you and rubbing his large hands on your back. Putting your face into your hands, you cried realizing that what you said, what you were accusing under hidden messages, was a mistake.

“I’m not mad, Y/n. I’m concerned.”

“What are you talking about? You are mad!” You prosecuted Namjoon, hysterical. “You were shouting! You hit the door!” You screamed out, sniffling into your hands.

Joon shuffled the both of you back to the bed, helping you sit down on the edge and he took his place besides you. He stared at your beating red face as he took his thumb and wiped away the stained trails that seeped from the brims of your eyes. “Breathe for a second.”

You leaned your head back and avoided eye contact. Your breathing did calm down after giving yourself time, feeling the warmth of Namjoon’s palm that rested on your cheek. His eyes darted back and forth with yours, pleading to be looked at and trying to read your thoughts from the mannerisms that played across your face.

“I’m just jealous.” Your hands found their way back across your body, acting as a shield, protecting yourself from anymore harm. But the harm you were receiving was from deep within your body. An overbearing ache in your chest.

Namjoon tilted his head after your statement, as if he didn’t understand. He weaved his eyebrows together, frustrated at the thoughts he drew up in his mind. “What? Jealous of what?”

“You go around everywhere. You get to meet and partake in actions with a lot of people… girls… very pretty girls. All these women saying they’re going out with you, or you have models cooing over you.” You continued to rant on. All those rumors and gossip getting to you. Even though Namjoon gave you continuous attention regardless of where he was in the world, you somehow manage to believe in the filthy tabloids.

Joon closed his eyes at your nonsense and shook his head. “Shut up!” He covered your mouth with a quick kiss. A comforting warm kiss, one you craved for after a long day with your nose in the books, hours spent at the part-time job. A greeting kiss, but it was more than just a greeting to you. It welcomed you to another side of Joon. A sensitive side that you only get to see because… well, you’re his girlfriend. You’re special to him.

He slowly pulled away and caught your gaze, “I’m just an ordinary guy, Y/n, nothing is going to change that. Nobody is going to make me different from who I already am. I love you. I don’t love them.” His hand held your chin up to make sure you stayed in view. “I have you and I’m happy with that. Why can’t you see that?”

Doubts portrayed in your thoughts for a few moments. Thinking that he’s just saying these things to make you feel better. Your mind was so clouded with these dirty lies, that you felt self-conscious about yourself. Were you even good enough for Kim Namjoon?

“I-I’m sorry” snuck out of your mouth.

“No. I’m sorry.”

You gave Joon a puzzled look, why is he saying he’s sorry? He wasn’t in the wrong.

“If I was giving you the proper treatment of what a boyfriend should do, you wouldn’t feel this way. Right here, right now.” He leaned in once again and kissed you softly. Hands outlining your face. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him across you and onto the bed. The kiss deepened and his tongue glazed over your slightly parted lips.

“You shouldn’t be sorry at all.” You whispered against his lips, heated breath fanning across his flesh. “You do plenty for me, you’re really generous to me Namjoon. And… I’m so sorry for doubting you for a second.”

Of course, you had an idea of what it’d be like to date someone famous. He’d be much busier than a typical boyfriend, he’d travel further, and gone for periods of time. You were well aware of this, and for a good amount of time it really didn’t bother you. Namjoon always felt like he was holding you back, but he loves you too much to let you go. Far too many conversations like this have come up in the past between the two of you. Between the ‘talking’ stages to the ‘dating’ stages, and now officially together, you two have chatted about the toll of a full on relationship may cost.

But this didn’t stop either of you. Even when you tried taking things slow, seeing how things felt and figuring out if you were suited for this sort of lifestyle, you two gradually connected back to another. Namjoon couldn’t stay away from you for too long, and you were always welcoming him back with open arms. He was loyal to you. You understood him the most and when there were times he couldn’t express himself properly, you were there to help.

Laying down, Joon rested his head on your shoulder and wrapped an arm around your stomach lazily. One of your hands mindlessly toyed around with the strands of his hair as the other found place over his forearm.

“I understand why you felt the way you did; I really do.” He spoke in a sotto voce. “Y/n, I get curious too.”

Joon was referencing that he, himself, thinks about the possibilities of you being influenced by other men. Especially if he’s away, he puts all trust into you, but it doesn’t stop his overthinking mind to wonder. Maybe he wasn’t good enough for you, maybe he was holding you back. He was afraid of tying you down if you weren’t happy with the situation you were in. Namjoon always swallowed his negative thoughts, dismissing them because he rather focus on the future and being happy.

Your grip tightened around him, not knowing what to really say back to him. Feeling guilty in more than one way now. “Joon –“

“I love you, Y/n.”

He remained resting his head on your shoulder with his eyes closed. He casted a soothing and calm aura with how relaxed he became. He doesn’t like a hostile environment and the tiniest of squabbles are typically unnecessary and overreacted. He preferred to just talk it out, communicate with another to know what is really going on.

You kissed the top of his head, sniffing his hair and intaking a fresh vanilla scent. The wisps of hair folding under your fingers as you slightly groomed him. “I love you too, Joon. I really am sorry.”

Joon was happy having you, honestly. You gave him energy, satisfaction and your undivided attention. He never expected you to be as good to him that you already were. He couldn’t ask for more from you, he’s already taking up so much of your commitments and he tries hard to always make it up. Dinners, dates, cute surprise visits, facetime and random texts in the middle of the day when he’s thinking about you. He knew effort and communication were strong keys to hold the two of you together and he always tried his hardest to maintain these.

Again, you had a strong idea on how your relationship with Joon would be like. And you accepted it. You want it because you want him, and that was enough for you to say yes to him after the seventh date together at the aquarium two summers ago. His hands were in the touch tanks, searching around for cute little critters and lightly petting against their various skins. Spotting some fascinating crabs and he described to you how you reminded him of them.

It was playful, he was joking around trying to get you to smile even more that day. But the best thing about that day was when he turned to you, with salted wet hands from the tank he grabbed yours in return and stared deeply into your eyes. Asking if you’d like to take the relationship in seriousness, wanting to be official. At that moment you could care less that your hand was drenched with cold water, you only cared about the tall, handsome man that was holding that hand.

You were content, laying with Joon on your shared bed. Feeling enveloped with love and adoration. Suddenly he leaned up, hobbling himself over you and pecked your nose. He had a spark in his eye, something he tucked away in his mind but now lit up momentarily. He smiled down at you, listening to you giggle, “What?” you questioned.

“Hold on, I have to grab something. Wait right here.” He pointed at you with a finger, warning you to stay put. His grin had a hint of mischievous humor behind it as he got up off the bed, walking out the room and down the stairs towards the kitchen area. You can hear Namjoon rummaging through bags, drawers, you name it. You thought to yourself, what is he even doing out there?

“Joonie?” Your voice rang out loud enough to stretch the area of the house. You sat up, looking around the room but your hearing zoned in on the muffled sounds that were coming from downstairs.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” he vocalized with a honeyed tone.

You can hear the patter of his feet, trailing up the steps and patting back into the bedroom. He smiled fondly at you as he entered, walking back over and sitting besides you. He claimed that he was grabbing something, but you didn’t recognize anything being carried in when he returned. You were perplexed to say the least as your eyes searched around.

Namjoon noticed your gaze that scanned in all directions, amusing him on how easily curious you were. His dimple shining bright he raised an eyebrow, “Lookin’ for something?”

Slightly offended, because that question had an obvious answer to it, and you didn’t understand what was going on. You cocked your head to the side, quirking a frown, “Well yeah, you said you were grabbing something?”

He smirked, holding your hand in his as his other hand shoved into his pocket to pull out a Prussian blue box, handing it over to you. He nodded, edging you to open the top.

You swore right then and there your heart stopped beating. You thought your holy spirit drained your body and elevated up to the heavens at the sight of this small thinned cardboard box. Completely unaware of what the contents that lay within it, but your mind went racing straight to one thing. Holy shit, holy shit. This can’t be happening? Like this? It’s so sudden and random? This didn’t feel right.

Your eyebrows raised practically to your hairline, eyes wide and mouth frozen. You hesitantly held the box between your digits, glancing up at Namjoon with a tiny bit of unsettlement in your eyes. You felt your heart in your throat, pounding loudly over the nerves that coursed in your skin.

“Open it.”

The saliva that accumulated in your mouth was swallowed thickly with a gulp, flipping over the lid to the box and seeing a shiny silver object inside. It took you seconds to register the thingamajig, observing that it was some sort of flat, circled charm that had your name, address, and number engraved onto it. You were processing the information in your mind, a small sigh of relief exhaled through your nostrils that it wasn’t something extreme like a ring or anything.

“A… tag?”

“Mhm! I was going to give it to you after dinner, but we never finished our meal.” He chimed in with a playful banter.

“Why a tag?” The gift was random and completely out of the blue. But the gift itself was even more unusual than expected. Not once in your life has someone gifted you a tag with your contact information on it, were you supposed to wear this around a necklace, a keychain perhaps?

Joon takes the charm with the pads of two of his fingers, flipping it over to the other side. “So you can fill out this side with its name!”

Then… it clicked. Oh my. A tag. A dog tag. You two were getting a dog?! You gasped; emotions ran ecstatic through you as you jumped up with joy. “A dog?!”

Delighted that he brought jubilation to you, he stood up holding your arms to help you stop springing off the floor. He chuckled, “Yes! I figured you needed someone to keep you company during the times that I’m not here for you. I know how much you love animals too, so I wanted to ask if you’d like to get one.”

You locked lips with Joon. Throwing your arms around his neck, dropping the box in the process, and pulled him closer to your body. Eagerness racing through your muscles as you leaped yourself off the floor and linking your legs around his waist. He caught you under your thighs, laughing into the kiss as he brought you back to the bed.

He cradled your body, supporting himself on top of you has you leaned back down on the fabric below. Running your hands up and down his arms, he deepened the kiss. Both of you captivated with another and riveting another’s attention to a now quickly heated session.

You tugged on his bottom lip that was more dominate than the top, grazing your teeth on the tinted pink flesh. He inhaled sharply, feeling his heartbeat fasten as his body anticipates upcoming actions. And yours did the same. Namjoon was tender handling you, a more amorous side taking over his persona.

His smooth chap-stick covered lips butterflied across your dried-up cheeks. Stamping warm kisses to your flesh as he trailed down to your jaw and peppering along the column of your neck. This wasn’t some sort of hot n’ heavy, steamy romantic session. He was gentle, he took his time, he was intimate with you. You can feel it in the air, in your bones and most importantly you felt it in your swelling heart.

It was sweet, the warmhearted feeling that took over your body because of Namjoon. Hushed giggles and bashful laughter crowded the room. A fun-loving atmosphere. And you were completely smitten by it all.

“May I take this off?” Hands curled around the material of your shirt slightly lifting it up to the underside of your breasts. Rubbing his thumbs along the bare skin below your bra.

Biting down on your bottom lip, you flashed an excited smile in reply, “As long as I can take yours off.”

Joon looked smug, lifting your shirt up and off your torso. He went to lean down to connect his lips back onto your skin, but you caught him before he could fully commit. Yanking his shirt high up his chest until you couldn’t hoist it any further since his arms where in the way. He laughed at your antic, how cute it was and enthusiastic you were. But he obliged and lifted his arms up for you.

There was no time to waste, Joon sloped back down on you. Pecking his plump lips on your collarbone and down towards the valley between your boobs. Feeling how soft your skin was, lightly nibbling at it. You hummed through your nose, arching your back into Joon’s face, urging him to continue.

One of his manly hands cuffed your left breast as his mouth connected to your right, open mouth kisses and softly sucking at it. You released a tiny moan, enjoying the sensation that was being stimulated on your breasts.

And boy, you were so sensitive on your boobs. Especially when he toyed with your nipples, moistening them up with his mouth and rolling the buds between his fingers. It wired you, Namjoon played with you like an etch-a-sketch. It feels fantastic. Waves of goosebumps cycling across your skin as he continued running his tongue across your aroused nipples, making sure to give the other boob the same attention. You mewed for him; the blush drawn on your upper cheeks as your body grew hotter under his touches.

He reached behind you with a hand, unclasping the hook of the bra and allowing the fabric to relieve your delicate girls. Turning you on was Joon’s pleasure, he cared about pleasing you more than being pleased. He could spend all day groping your tits if that means you’ll be satisfied.

You were easily wet; the games Joon played with your boobs sparking your nerves and arousal. Prepping your body for more, aching for more of his gentle touch.

Daringly you reached your hand between the two of you, palming at whatever you made contact with until you found a stiffening bulged that stuck out with the fabric of his pants. You can feel the warmth radiating through his region, heated up and you knew very well he wants to reintroduce his member to you.

“Joon – take off your pants.” You ordered in a hushed tone. Squeezing at his dick. “My body really wants you right now.”

As your sweet voice compelled his ears, he listened. Shuffling his pants off with a smirk and a light shake of his head. “I wanted to touch you a bit more.” Giving you a small pout.

“Aww.” You smiled, seeing the little kid of him. “You can touch me with this big boy instead.” You tried sounding a bit sexy, almost kitten-like as you eyed his member.

Willingly you unbuttoned your own jeans, tugging them down your thighs and letting Joon help you with the rest. His fingers ran up to your undies that remained on your frame, seeing the cute little ocean doodled pattern on them with a dampened and darker spot that was clung to the outline of your lady-lips. He was turned on and completely in awe of how cute you are.

“Why do you do this to me?” he laughed, feeling happy with you and hooking his fingers around the thin waistband of your undies. Towing them down your legs with a fit of giggles.

You blushed; a bit embarrassed at your attire but not even self-conscious being completely nude in front of him. “I don’t know – I just thought they were cute!” You retorted back fast.

“They are cute. You’re even cuter for wearing them.” He chirped.

Namjoon swooped back down, placing his hand over your mound and letting a finger dip in between your folds. Sliding your natural lubrication all over he glided it over your clit, making you moan in the process. Your hands found their way into his hair, fluffing it up even more while Joon teased at your entrance.

“Your body really does want me, huh? I don’t think I even need to use my fingers.”

Nodding, you bucked your hips up chasing his floating fingers. Wishing he’d do something more with them than just shifting between all your lady bits. “Let me get a condom.”

You reached over to the bedside table, pulling out a drawer to frantically search for the magical package that contained the secure rubber. Swiftly you ripped it open, offering to help apply it along his length. You pinched the tip of the latex, rolling the rest down his long shaft and giving his dick a few teasing tugs.

Joon groaned at your touch, flexing his dick in the process of your pumps. He was more than ready to take you in, ready to share the closeness with you once again.

With that, Joon pushed you back down on the bed. Lifting one of your legs over his hip as he centered himself at your core. Your slick allowing him to slide between your folds effortlessly as he prodded his tip in your hole.

You held your breath, anticipating Joon to fill you up all the way to the hilt. You want to feel him inside you, widening your walls and your body vibrating around him. He locked eyes with you, smiling as he leaned down to plant another kiss on your lips. In sync he inched himself further into you, a grunt escaping his chest as you disconnected yourself from the kiss to breathe. You tossed your head to the side, latched your hands around his shoulders as Joon set a pace with his thrusts.

Your body missed Joon so much, you didn’t even have control over how your cunt clenched tightly around his dick. Your walls compressed in a series of movements; your cunt thirsty for him. Breathy gasps leaving your mouth once Namjoon whispers to the skin between your neck, “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful like this. Ah – Y/n, you’re so wet.”

Earlier you felt a deep ache within your chest from the persistent pain of worry and hurt. But now, all of that washed over. You feel something deep, but not from pain. Not from the obvious penetration from Joon’s lengthy cock kissing the doorway of your cervix. You feel deep feelings, words and actions not able to compare to the affection and fondness between the two of you.

You felt warm, completely at ease even though you’re sweating, catching your breath, sensitive nerves awakening to the sexual stimulation between your legs. A heavy body on top of you, pounding his dick into your sweet succulent juices. His hips banging into you, his head stuck in the crane of your neck.

This warm feeling overruled all physical activities and all auditable sounds. But what it couldn’t stop was the twisting of your lower abdomen muscles, the stiffening of your walls and tense grip over Joon’s shoulders. Your body reacting on its own agenda. Your throat feeling dry from the open mouth breathing, you tried speaking but only moans were formed.

Namjoon can read you like a book, knew exactly what to do when to do it. He fully enjoyed the way your body reacted to him, how simple of a task for him to pleasure you in this way. Your cries from pleasure giving him excitement that he was treating you the way you deserve.

“Joon I’m – I’m close!” you panted, feeling that orgasm rolling closer and closer to a release.

As much as both Joon and you wanted you to spasm all around him, he stalled it. Delaying you from the contractions of your pelvic muscles that would send electrifying waves all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes. He stopped all actions, halting himself deep inside you and slowly rocked his hips to continue a small force of friction between the two of you.

Your body was frustrated, your cunt was soaked, and you were vexed. “Joonie?” you whined out, bucking your hips up into him. Feeling that build up in the pit of your stomach slowly fade away.

Joon leaned up, kissing your cheek. He hummed to himself, satisfied with the state the both of you were in. “I would love to stay like this forever. Do you feel this?”

Do you feel this, Y/n? The sensation filling the room, the air, your heart. The thrill that frenzied in your veins and muscles. Flushed, excited, ecstatic, blissed out of your mind. The feeling Joon raptures you with, sending your body to a state of euphoria. It was wild. You didn’t feel normal, but it was the best feeling you could ever experience with another. And this is what Namjoon wanted to continuously feel.

Without notice, tears fell from your eyes as you nodded to his statement. You weren’t sad or upset, but in complete awe over Joon. How could someone be this perfectly imperfect? How could someone be so sweet for you. And you still question yourself if you were even good enough for Kim Namjoon.

He whipped away the tears that shed onto your skin, hushing you. “You don’t need to cry, Y/n. Believe me, I already know the way you feel.” Because… he feels it too.

With the little room you were given, you wrapped your arms around Joon as much as possible. He smiled down at you, returning the hug and rolling the two of you over with him still pivoted inside. You now lay above him, peering down into his eyes you went to speak. The movement of your body caused your pelvis to rub against his, squishing your swollen clit against him and bursting a shriek out of your mouth when you snapped back into reality.

The heightened arousal between your legs was still on edge and ready to burst. Joon bit down on his bottom lip once he felt your pussy clench around him. The experience between the both of you was riveting but was soon going to vanish because of the greediness your bodies had. Your mouth dropped open, “I love you” spilled out without wavering.

Namjoon’s hands rested on your sides, holding your waist as you slowly grinded yourself against him. Allowing his dick to swirl inside of you while your sensitive bud rubbed against his pelvic bone. You couldn’t help yourself; your body had a mind of its own when it rushed itself back up the stairs to orgasm. And you got there, fast.

Your body jerked; your hands planted on Joon’s chest to hold yourself upright as you released yourself all over him. Unfolding all the pent-up energy and feelings. Your hair cascaded over your face with labored breathing, groans ascending out of your mouth. “Joon, I – I, I going to – Joon – Ahh!” you squeaked out once the second wave coursed through your cunt, expanding a pulsating vibration through your body.

“So beautiful. Fuck – Y/n, you’re so damn beautiful!” Joon watched every second of you coming undone on him, seeing how you squirmed around him, using his body for your own pleasure, moaning his name. In a selfish way, Namjoon felt fulfillment seeing you like this – all displayed for him to treasure and praise. It turned him on, hearing your voice singing into his ears as he jutted himself up further into your moisten cunt. Over stimulating your nether region, he was determined to make you go one last time before he spills into the condom.

You’re barely holding yourself up straight, hunched over with your palms placed on his torso. Sweat formed along your hairline and between the contact of your skin with his. The mixture of your sweet n’ salty juices shining along your lady-lips and Joon’s cock. Before you could call out his name in another breathless voice, he has your mounds in each of his hands, squeezing them tight and pinching at your perked nipples.

You gripped at his wrists, letting out a shocked plea for him to stop because the sensation was so good that you couldn’t handle it. “Joon!”, you choked out, gasping for air as you tried to lift your body off his. He refused.

He flipped you back over, Joon locking your hands above your head with one hand around your wrists. He didn’t care for the mess on the bed, the tossed pillows and taunted comforter beneath the two of you. Your attempt of wiggling out of his grasp was a failure after he pinned you down with his body. Dick hovering over your delicate pussy.

“One more time, for me.” His voice was stern and serious while he murmured into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“I – I can’t!” Your chest heaved erratically, feeling your legs already shake and stomach contracting from the multiple orgasms you’ve already encountered. You felt weak.

“You will, love.”

Your request was again, hushed. Namjoon tilting his hips for his dick to dip back into your entrance, he placed kisses on the crook of your neck. Your breath hitched, throwing your head back into the bed, feeling Joon slam himself deep inside you, causing your nerves to shudder.

You struggled for air, body completely trembling uncontrollably as you cried out for Namjoon. You swore your vision went blurry while you received this mind-blowing orgasm. Joon held onto you tight, allowing you to ride out your high. Slowly pulling himself out of you once he knew you were finished.

Namjoon and you laid close to another, exhausted from the physical activity and especially from the toll your body took. Your eyes shut, not able to lift your body off the bed. Joon smirked, giving you another peck on the cheek before leaning up to discard the used condom, knotting it and tossing it in the trash bin. “You’re so beautiful, Y/n.”

You laughed, shaking your head to yourself. “I heard you the first time, Joon.”

“I know.” He chuckled, laying back down and wrapping his arm back around you. “I mean it every time.”

You hummed in response. Tracing sluggish patterns on his forearm with your index finger. You slowly drifted further into your tiredness. “We’re still getting a dog, right?” You drowsily asked.

You felt a soft pair of warm lips contact your forehead; the sensation was comforting. “Of course, babe.”

About a week later you were staring out the window, watching the scenic views pass by. Acres of landscape in the countryside took up the area. The environment felt fresh and calm. Much different from the inner-city area with nonstop traffic and busy streets. You turned your gaze at Namjoon who was driving the car, his eyes remained on the dirt road ahead, but he could sense your stare.

As if he knew what you were thinking, he spoke up “Almost Y/n, the farm is about 2 miles up.”

You smirked to yourself, looking down at the palm of your hand that held the shiny silver dog tag. You fiddled with the metal, twisting the item back and forth between your digits. Anticipating the new addition to the house, a furry companion, hopefully the cutest puppy in the world.

The two of you slowly pulled up an extended driveway, parking in front of an old tiny brown snug farmhouse. A large red barn hidden behind the home, attached was a large fence that enclosed a few goats and pigs. A pack of stray chickens roaming around the grounds. Shutting the car doors, the smell of the plantation entered your nostrils, “Definitely a farm.”

You were greeted by an elder couple, warm smiles dressing their wrinkly faces. They were dressed as if they were in the middle of housework, tall muk boots, overalls and plaid shirts. “Hello there! You’re here for one of the pups?”

Joon reached out to lace his hand with yours, walking over towards the sweet couple. Charming and innocent eyes beamed back at you two. “Hey there! I’m Namjoon, and this is Y/n! We spoke over the phone!” Joon perked up, pulling you along with his strides.

The older couple waved Joon and you on, walking the both of you towards the barn in the back. Having small talk in between the short distance, hearing cute comments about the various animals you passed on the way.

“That’s Molly over there, Mama of the litter.” The older man pointed out a dog laying down in the pasture, her coat was a dark golden tone and it shined in the sunlight. She was watching over at your area, observing the new persons that entered her home. She sniffed the air as the breeze picked up, letting her head lay back down on the ground, but her eyes never left yours.

A loud creaking sound snapped your head towards the barn, watching the woman open up the doors wide for you to enter. Joon and you followed in after the couple, stopping short at a stall on the left. You heard little yips and yaps from the other side of the wall that fenced in the young pups.

You peaked over the edge, instantly widening your eyes when you see six little furry golden retriever puppies playing around with another. All varying in different shades of gold and creams. Your excitement caused you to clutch Joon’s hand tight.

“Oh my god! They’re so cute!”

“You want to go inside? Sometimes it’s easier for you to choose once you spend some time with them.” The older gentleman gestured, unlocking the latch to the wooden door and popping it slightly open, making sure he doesn’t allow any of the pups escape the corridor.

You glanced at Joon quickly, getting reassurance from him before eagerly nodding your head and walking into the pit. Immediately you fell to your knees, allowing any of the puppies to come running on over and jumping up on you. Their fur was so soft, angel-like and had that sweet puppy smell to them. You giggled with the six rambunctious babies. Grabbing a few chew toys and loose rope to play around with. You were happy, completely lucky to be blessed with these cute little ones in front of you.

You took your time with each of the pups, feeling out which one would be yours. Of course, you were tickled pink with glee, and wanted each of them. You joked with Joon briefly, giving him puppy-dog eyes and asked him if you could adopt them all. But unfortunately, you could only choose one. You were so indulged with playing with the puppies you didn’t realize how much time you spent with them. It’s been over twenty minutes before you heard a voice directed towards you.

“Did you find a new friend?” Joon spoke softly towards you. He leaned over the gate, smiling down at how cute you looked with a pile of puppies flooding your space. But he noticed that there was one puppy curled up in your lap, tuckered out and resting itself.

You looked up at Joon, trying to hold back your smile. “I think one found me!”

Then it was decided. The small, dark golden fur ball that laid across your thighs was going to be the newest addition to your world. You exited the stall, carefully holding the puppy in your arms. Joon giving it a small pet on its head before turning back to the cute elders.

“Thank you so much, you were so kind to us. Thank you for allowing us to adopt.” He flashed a smile to them. You thanked them as well, nodding your appreciation while trying not to disturb the sleeping pup.

Joon handed you the keys to head back to the car as he fished through his back pocket for his wallet to pay the man. You walked through the frame of the barn, turning your head back to the older dog named Molly. There was a slight ache in your heart, feeling bad that you were taking away one of her babies. Your smiled towards the animal, thinking that it would settle the upsetting feeling inside your chest.

“Excuse me, Miss?” A deep modulated voice, coming from what seemed to be the elder man, rang through your ears.

Questionably, you turned on your heels, facing back towards the inside of the barn. But you were caught completely off guard when there was a body before you. Down on one knee, with a box raised up between his hand, Namjoon smiled up at you. The black velvet box cracked open, flashing a sparkly stone.

“Y/n.”

You froze, feelings swelling your heart up. You felt your heartbeat in your throat when your jaw dropped. If it wasn’t for the exhausted puppy in your arms you’d probably fall straight down to the floor. This is happening. Holy shit.

Namjoon cleared his throat, realizing he has your full attention. “Y/n… words, actions, even music, cannot express the feelings I have for you. The amount of love I have towards you is unexplainable. I want you to know that I appreciate every waking moment with you, from the very first day you entered my life. Thank you for always being there, for always making me happier, for supporting everything. You are the greatest woman I know, and selfishly I wish to ask you for your hand in marriage because I want you all to myself for the rest of my life.” He spoke confidently, glistening in his eyes he smiled with each word that he admitted.

“Y/n, will you marry me?”

Tears fell down your cheeks, your eyes flickering back and forth between Joon and the ring that was bestowed in front of you. Your hand came up to your mouth as your sobbed out loud, shaking your head in reply.

“Yes! – Yes, oh my god yes I will!” You choked on your words, but they were clear enough for Joon to hear.

You rushed yourself towards Joon, wanting to hold him. Joon catches you by your arms, not allowing you to crash yourself into him because of the puppy that you were holding. He held you around your back, pecking your cheek as he held your hand still as he linked the jewelry to your ring-finger. He snuggled against your head while he back hugged you tightly. The puppy, now fully awake from all the commotion, was wiggling around and licking at your crying face.

You heard camera clicks, the sound alerting you to look up at the older couple who each were recording and snapping photos of the scene in front of them. You smiled, half embarrassed but also filled with joy.

Sniffling, your eyes met Joon’s, “You paid them for this?”

“I had offered, but they said that a time like this is priceless.”

One last picture was taken of a smiling newly engaged couple with a brand-new puppy in their arms.

© All rights reserved under @kimtaehyunq​ - do not copy, repost, modify, edit, or translate any of my work without my direct consent. This tumblr is the ONLY place my fics are posted.

[snow-leopard-777]

In The Darkest Hour

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was not, despite what most would claim, a normal girl, nor did she lead a normal life. Chloè had once claimed that the bakers' daughter held more secrets than Fort Knox, whatever that was. Though she wasn't entirely wrong. Marinette did hold many secrets. Family, friend, random stranger, it didn't matter who talked to her. Unless you were a member of the conversation, not a peep was to be heard about it from Marinette.

As much as it occasionally annoyed them to be unable to get gossip from the girl, the entire class greatly appreciated the girl's talent for secrets. When Chloè, Kim, Max, Alix, Nathaniel, and Juleka needed someone to talk to about being LGBT, Marinette was their only pick. The group quickly became close, Marinette asking their permission to tell the other LGBT classmates to talk to them about it. None of their other classmates could figure out why the group was so close, for which they were extremely greatful. 

Kitty Section was created under Marinette's careful selection, the girl gathering those that had shyly admitted to their preferred method of making music and introducing them, one on one, to Luka and Juleka for consideration of the band they wanted to create.

The one thing the entire class knew about the rest of their classmates was one thing that were in perfect agreement with: Marinette Dupain-Cheng was an odd individual, and no one wanted her to snap. Especially after the appearance of le Papillion. Many of her classmates worried about their secrets, as so very little was known about the girl. Though the class didn't realize it, the only students that did not fear Marinette's akumazation revealing their secrets were the LGBT kids, as Marinette had not only admitted to possibly being either ace or demi due to her lack of attraction to anyone, but they also knew she was keeping secrets before she knew how to talk.

As they gave the girl more and more secrets, she became more and more isolated. No one was willing to give up their confidant, but those that she didn't trust with a secret of her own began to avoid her unless they needed a conversation kept quiet. Marinette simply smiled a small non-committal smile every time they spoke to her while Madame Bustier nodded approvingly at the girl.

A delicate peace existed in the class. Marinette's friends were all extremely protective of her, especially after they learned just why the girl was so secretive. Everything came to a head when Alya suspected Marinette knew the identity of at least one of Paris's heroes after seeing Chat Noir enter a room at the end of his timer- and Marinette walk out seconds later.

In retrospect, Alya could have chosen a better place to confront Marinette than in the school classroom, interrupting Bustier's lesson so that the girl couldn't run away.

The bluenette, of course, denied knowing who Chat Noir was. Alya, however, refused to let up- her blog was at stake, after all.

"C'mon, Mari!" Alya whinned, ignoring the classroom's collective flinch. No one was allowed to call Marinette Mari, new girl or not. "Be a good friend! Do you know what you could do for my blog?"

Marinette glared at the girl. "It's always about what I can do for you, isn't it?"

"Marinette! That was too harsh," Caline scolded her student. "You're supposed to be the example, not the problem starter! She just wants a little help with her career!"

Marinette glared at the teacher. "I said that I don't know the identity of Chat Noir. She kept pushing, insistent that I did even though all she knows is that he entered a room shortly before I exited it. I remained in front of the door until Chat Noir let me know he was properly recharged and left. She wishes to know a secret he would die to protect despite his and his cousin's protests against her stalking them."

"That is highly uncalled for!" Caline scolded. "One should never be judged for curiosity."

"And one should never be judged for the keeping of ones secrets, so be they keeping their own or others'. She's lucky that they haven't filed restraining orders or complaints against her. She could easily be sued for invasion of privacy, charged with jail time for stalking, or have charges brought against her for posting un-consented photos, of minors no less, on a public forum without any kind of authorization- not to mention some of her theories could be considered slander and defamation of character." Marinette retorted, the majority of the class shocked by her sass. The quiet girl usually refused to speak when challenged about her secrets; she had never fought back before (Sabrina was surprised, but more because of Marinette's legal jargon. Perhaps she should attempt a friendship with the girl instead of fearing her closed-off mannerisms). Only a select few that remembered her as a child with no filter (Chloè, Kim, Alix, and Nino) or visibly held no regard to authority figures (Juleka) remembered the old Marinette. The Marinette from before her aunt and uncle's deaths. The Marinette that allowed people to call her Mari.

Irina Karasuma, neè Dupain-Jelevac, adoptive daughter of Gina, had disappeared off the face of the planet when Marinette was eight years old. Six months after her disappearance, the Russian woman was presumed dead- along with her husband. Karasuma Tadaomi was Marinette's favorite out of her adoptive relatives, and everyone knew it. He was the one that taught her how to fight, how to defend herself. He also taught her how to cuss someone out, in French or Japanese, and make them thank her for it. He was the one that taught her just how important secrets were from the moment she was born. Irina taught her, very reluctant, niece how to use her looks to her advantage, the art of flirting, and about seven different languages (plus how to flirt or cuss in many others). By the time her favorite family members vanished (not dead, never dead, they couldn't be dead), Marinette was able to speak nine different languages, not including her mother tongue, plus sing beautifully.

Two weeks after Bustier assigned her detention for standing up to Alya, Marinette found a strange box on her desk, a fox tail amulet and a strange little pocket fox contained inside.

🍯

Adrien Agreste hit record on his phone the second Alya interupted class. He didn't plan on being defended, had only hoped to get a good laugh to share with Felix, until Marinette spoke up. If he weren't so good at acting, Adrien wouldn't have been able to keep the tears from falling. He knew, without a doubt, that Marinette knew his identity- and Ladybug's as well. She hadn't quite managed to close her eyes in time when he detransformed in front of her. The girl had simply pulled out her lunchbox when Plagg mentioned Adrien forgetting his Camembert at home, offering the kwami her own.

"Let me know when your good to go." Was all the girl said before walking out of the room, the sound of fabric sliding against the door letting him know she was leaning against it. Several nerve-racking minutes passed before Adrien announced that he was transformed. He watched the door slightly shift forward as she got off it, though the door never opened. 

He had waited days for the girl to spill. Yes, he was well aware of her reputation. However, he was almost positive that his was too big of a secret to keep. After seventy-two hours of nothing happening, Adrien tracked down his cousin and visited Master Fu.

Master Fu had frowned at him. "We will watch her and see how the situation pans out. If she proves herself enough, I may give her a Miraculous of her own."

The next day, Adrien walked into the massage parlor with the recording of an absolutely unaware Marinette verbally attacking a classmate for trying to pressure her into spilling the secret.

The Guardian had watched the video contemplatively, analyzing the girl. "I think I know the perfect match." He finally said once the video was over. "But I am unsure… it has been several centuries since a true match for her surfaced."

Adrien left more confused than ever, though forgot about the strange encounter once his cousin saw the video. All of Adrien's being was suddenly focused on keeping Felix from taking legal action as Ladybug against the blogger.

🍯

Marinette stared at the small goddess. The fox stared back, then smirked.

"Most kits freak out when they see me." The fox commented.

Marinette smirked back, "I'm not most kits."

"Hmm. We'll see. My name's Trixx, I'm the Kwami of Illusion. My main power is Mirage, we'll be able to see if you can use any other power after we work together for a time. You have five minutes after using my power before you transform… until your an adult."

"Okay. Does this come with a catch? Do I have to fight akumas?"

Trixx grinned ferally. "Nope. All you have to do is not use my Miraculous for evil."

"Good. I think Kitsune would prefer to take out human criminals and night akuma over missing school."

Trixx nearly purred at her newest holder's words, eyes sparkling with pride, "That sounds perfect." It was brilliant for her kit, this one might even grow to be a full fox, to use a name of different origin to mislead people. Who would think a half-Chinese girl would use a Japanese name?

🍯

Marinette transformed with Trixx for the first time that night, fiddling with her weapon before ever leaving her room. She had a flute, the mouth piece pulling out to reveal a sharpened blade on the end, barbs set strategically down the blade so that it would catch without letting go. She slowly pulled the rest of it apart, each one leading to a blade of some sort. The middle had two blades, one on each end, while the others only had one- lengths varying. 

It didn't take more than a second to find the phone-like use, the girl calling Chat Noir to meet her at the Trodacero with Ladybug.

The two heroes beat her to the meeting spot, Huli Jinn joining them after learning how to move around as a Miraculous user. Her dark silver cloak settled around her, shifting and blending with the shadows.

Ladybug eyed her suspiciously. "Who are you and what do you want?" The blond demanded.

Kitsune smirked at him. "Call me Kitsune. I'm the holder of the Fox Miraculous. I thought it best to let you know I was active before you mistook me for an akuma." She lowered her hood and pushed the cloak back, revealing her appearance. Her dress was silver with blue ribbons and sleeves. The skirt had slits up both sides to prevent it impeding movement and the skirt and sleeves were removable- not that the boys knew that. A pair of loose silver pants and black combat boots hid under what most assumed to be a dress. Her Miraculous stayed tucked under her outfit, her mask matching her silver theme- excepting the orange curled fox tails on either side of her mask.

Chat visibly brightened. "So you're here to help us?"

"Not exactly. You two are heroes. You fight akuma no matter when or where they occur. I'm a vigilante- I'm focusing more on keeping the average Parisian safe. If an akuma occurs at night, I'll help you out. But you're on your own during the day. I have school, and I know you do too, but I'm already on thin ice with my teacher, and I have work I have to do. You guys can sleep at night while I keep an eye on things."

Felix eyed her. "Why is your name in Japanese?"

Marinette blinked at him. "My favorite uncle was Japanese. He taught me many things before he vanished a few years ago. I don't know if he's dead or not, I hope not, but I wish to honor his memory and all he taught me."

Chat grinned even brighter at her. "Are you a Honeypot?" He demanded. He only knew one of those, and if she was… "Master Fu said he might give you a Miraculous!"

The other two heroes eyed the cat. "How do you know who I am?" Marinette demanded.

Felix stared at the two. "You're the girl that knows who we are." He dumbly stated.

Marinette huffed. "Yes, I know who you are. Not that anyone would ever learn that for sure."

"What are you going to do about sleep?" Felix demanded. He refused to be the cause of another person being irresponsible about school. 

Kitsune waved her hand through the air. "I can exsist perfectly well by sleeping on the weekends and taking naps throughout the week. Foxes are at their peak at night anyways."

"Didn't you just say you're on thin ice with your teacher?" Ladybug demanded. Chat Noir simply looked highly concerned.

Marinette raised an eyebrow, though Adrien beat her to speaking. "Our teacher doesn't like her right now because she defended my hero persona against a classmate. Our teacher is all for Mar- sorry, Kitsune keeping secrets until those secrets could make someone else rise to the top. She got detention for protecting my identity and defending herself against the girl pestering her."

Felix narrowed his eyes. "So the teacher punishes victims for defending themselves against a bully harrassing them?"

"I wouldn't say that-"

"Yes." Kitsune interupted. "The teacher shows no care for the emotional state of a person being attacked, only for the well-being of the more agressive person. She has had several complaints filed against her, though no action has been taken. My allies and I are getting ready to go to the school board if nothing changes soon."

Felix nodded once in acknowledgement. "Good. I shall retire for the night, Chat, you should do the same. We miss enough sleep as it is." He turned around and muttered under his breath, knowing his cousin could hear him, "And you need to explain to me what a Honeypot is."

Marinette bit back her laugh, fully aware that Felix didn't know her Miraculous also came with heightened senses. "Goodnight, boys."

🍯

Adrien landed in Felix's bedroom, having laughed at the boy the entire way there. Their transformations fell even as Adrien teased his cousin. "Need me to explain what a Honeypot is? Didn't you say that I was the one who was sheltered? That I don't know anything if it's not in an anime?" Felix glared at his cousin. "Okay, fine! A Honeypot is someone who can lure their prey in by their looks and actions, and once they catch what their after, they can make their move. Marinette's aunt taught her how to be a Honeypot when she was little."

Felix eyed his cousin. "What anime did you learn it from?"

Adrien made several insulted noises before Plagg finally outed him.

🍯

Nearly a month later, Caline Bustier and Damoclès were told to pack their bags. The head of the school board called in a favor from an old friend in Japan. The principal had demanded to be allowed to bring one of his teachers with him. She quickly agreed. François-DuPont suffered a hit with the removal of the principal and a teacher for negligence. Hopefully their replacements would help nullify that hit. 

Asano Gakushuu laid his phone on his desk before buzzing for Nagisa. He started speaking before Nagisa could even properly shut the door. "I know you were planning on moving to Paris with Akabane when he got shipped off as an ambassador. I'm not going to try to change your mind." The again went unspoken. They both knew exactly who his best teacher was. 

Gakushuu was always surprised when Nagisa spoke to him- the boy had always been so silent. He hadn't learned until after they started working together exactly why Nagisa was the way he was. "Why did you call me?"

Gakushuu huffed. "Here's the deal. An old acquantence of mine called in a favor I owed her. She recently fired her principal and one of her teachers, and needs a suitable replacement for both. She asked me to take over, I agreed on the stipulation that I got to bring one of my teachers with me."

"Where at?"

"François-DuPont. It's a school in Paris. Instead of struggling to find a new teaching position in a country you are unfamiliar with, you can join me at this school. It's not far from the embassy, so you would still be able to meet Akabane for lunch or whatever."

Nagisa raised his eyebrow at his friend. "You do know that Karma prefers his first name for a reason. We're twenty-six, and have been friends since the end of cram school. Your rivalry should be dead by now." Gakushuu shrugged. Nagisa let out a heavy sigh. "What's my class like? How did the teacher I'm replacing run it?"

"I don't know how accurate my information is, all I have is what the superintendent knew. But the teacher and principal were terminated due to neglecting the students"

Nagisa facepalmed. "End Class bad? Paradise High bad? Or relatively alright?"

Gakushuu shrugged. "Possibly some combination of the first two. They did have one competent teacher for science and math. The terminated teacher was supposed to teach them almost everything else. We won't really know until we get there and assess the situation. They want us there ASAP."

"Of course. I'll tell Karma. Get me the school's address so that we can plan housing."

"I'll forward you all the information by the end of today. Use today to tell your students the news and pack. I'll begin the transfer paperwork. Do you have tickets to Paris already booked?"

Nagisa gave Gakushuu a bland look. "Karma and I leave for Paris this coming Monday. You need to focus more on your own paperwork, mine should be nearly completed."

Asano would never admit that he had been putting off Nagisa's paperwork for as long as possible in hopes that he would stay. Nope, not at all.

🍯

Marinette kept an eye on the new teacher as soon as he arrived. They had been stuck with different substitutes for nearly two weeks while waiting on him to arrive and all the paperwork to go through. The name Shiota Nagisa rung a distant bell in her mind, though she struggled a little with remembering where, exactly, she had heard his name.

"Greetings, everyone." His French was passable enough, though he had a noticable Japanese accent to Marinette's trained ear. "My name is Shiota Nagisa, though you can all call me by my given name. I hope we have a good year together." He offered them a small bow.

Marinette rose to her feet. "Greetings, Nagisa-sensei. I am Marinette Dupain-Cheng, class representative. Thank you for coming to teach us." She offered him a bow in return.

Nagisa gave her an approving grin even as Rose hesitantly spoke up. "Didn't he ask us to call him by his given name?"

Kim explained before Nagisa could. "His name's switched around, like mine! Last name is first and first name is last!" Kim boasted. "The new teach is like me!"

Nagisa hummed appreciatively. Le Chein Kim understood the basics, but not the proper terminology. "A little rough, but basically correct. Though I do not appreciate the interruptions. In Japan, a person's family name is given first and their given name second. It is considered rude to address someone by their given name or a nickname without permission. Dupain-Cheng-chan, please stay after school so that we can discuss the class."

"Yes, Sensei." Marinette acknowledged. 

"Now, in Japan, different honorifics are used to address someone. Here you use madame, mademoidemoiselle, and monsieur. It's a bit more complex in Japan. If you were to speak to an adult, you call them by their family name followed by -san. For example, a friend of mine also lives here. You would address him as Akabane-san. You would address females your age or younger by adding -chan to their surname, males with -kun. People in the grades above you would be addressed as -senpai, which can also be used for someone with more experience. A teacher, doctor, someone in a roll ment to educate someone is addressed as -sensei." Nagisa spent the first day explaining to them the cultural differences between Japan and France, flashing back to Bitch-sensei's less than conventional methods proving their usefulness. Several of his new students seemed to understand the different cultures very well while others seemed to let everything fly over their heads. 

The day finally ended, Nagisa ushering the students out so that he could finally learn just what he was dealing with. "Dupain-Cheng-chan, would you please explain to me how the class was run prior to my arrival? The principal and I were given minimal information about why we were being brought in."

Marinette slightly inclined her head. " Please, call me Marinette. My surname is a mouthful. Caline Bustier was our former teacher. She let bullies run rampant and punished the victims if they stood up for themselves. One of my classmates is obsessed with uncovering the identities of Paris's heroes. The teacher never warned her of all the legal action that could be taken against her for basically stalking underaged people. Césaire was convinced that I knew one of their identities and interupted the class to hound me about it. I denied any knowledge of who they were. She pressured me, insisting I knew and called me by a nickname I do not use. I told her off, the teacher scolded me and gave me detention.

"The former principal wasn't any better. He was easily controlled by people in a place of power, allowing bullies to rule the school even as he brushed an complaints about his teachers under the rug. I was chosen as class representative because my classmates trusted me to know better than anyone just what they wanted or needed without airing their secrets to the world. I am also one of the only students who was not afraid to tell Bustier and Damoclès that they were acting like imbeciles. My class is accustomed to not being able to rely on an adult in charge to handle a situation for them- especially if that situation is hostile. Now days they either handle it themselves or come to me."

Nagisa nodded. "If you wouldn't mind, I would like to began taking some of that responsibility off of you. It will take time for us to learn how to work together, but I assure you that I am not like Caline Bustier."

Marinette eyed the new teacher. "Anything my classmates tell me in confidence will stay with me. But I will attempt to speak with you about the class when needed."

Nagisa inclined his head. "That's fair. I would expect nothing less. What can you tell me about the class? I can't move at mach twenty, nor am I a verifiable genius, but I would like to be able to give all of my students what they need. I was under the impression that I am in charge of everything except mathematics and science?"

Marinette nodded. "Juleka, Mylène, and Nathaniel are all very reserved and shy. Juleka and Nathaniel prefer to hide in the background and let others shine. Mylène is okay as long as there's someone she's comfortable with nearby. Ivan is quiet and has a few anger issues, though he's pretty good at controlling himself as long as le Papillion is inactive. Kim has trouble focusing on class and retaining the information, he does better when he has something to do. I've been making him study with me, letting him practice sports, parkour, that sort of thing while I call out information and question him on the materials. He's not at the top of the class, but he is usually in the top ten. Alix can focus better than Kim, but also learns better when she has something to do. Césaire has a tendency to ignore the materials when the teacher is covering them in favor of working on her blog. She expects someone from the class to share their notes with her later on so she can pass. Sabrina takes care of helping Chloè study, since Chloè learns better with technical terms. Every now and then Sabrina calls me in for help for a particularly difficult subject because, where French sometimes fails, making Chloè learn the material in a different language works every time. Nino learns through music. Everyone else learns relatively well in the class and can mostly interact with new people. Adrien said his cousin's considering transferring in, he's asocial, not big on people, but smart."

"Thank you. I'll see what I can do about helping Le Chein-kun and Kubdel-chan have something interactive during class to help them. Do any of your classmates find music distracting?" Marinette shook her head. "Then I'll ask one of my former classmates for help with making a playlist to help Lahiffe-kun learn the material. What would you suggest to stop Césaire-chan from being on her blog during class?"

Marinette hummed contemplatively. "As long as she has an electronic, she's going to check it. Especially since she knows a few of our classmates will give her the notes."

Nagisa nodded. "I'll have her give me her phone before class. Would you do me a favor?"

Marinette eyed the teacher. "That depends on the favor, Sensei."

"It's nothing bad." Nagisa promised. "I'm just used to students being unwilling to help. I feel your classmates are more likely to listen to you right now than me. You have their trust, I do not. Would you be willing to ask them to stop giving Césaire-chan their notes? It would be different if she were missing class, but she's just not paying attention. She needs to learn that there isn't always going to be someone to cover for her."

Marinette blinked, surprised. "Of course, Sensei."

Nagisa considered the girl. "You have a Chinese and French heritage, yes?"

"I do."

"Where does the grasp on Japanese culture come from?" Nagisa questioned, deeply curious.

Marinette offered a small smile. "My family is very complex. My grandmother is the equivalent of an Italian gypsy and has a penchance for adopting people. My adopted aunt, Irina Dupain-Jelevac, married Karasuma Tadaomi. He taught me many things, including Japanese culture, before they went missing a few years ago."

Nagisa's mouth fell open. "You're related to Bitch-sensei? And Karasuma-sensei?"

Marinette snapped her fingers. "I knew your name sounded familiar! My aunt told me about her attempt at being a teacher and how much she struggled with it. She had a lot of pride in your class. Tadomi-oji-san did too, he was just better at hiding it."

Nagisa stared at the small girl. "They told you about us?"

Marinette shrugged. "A little, yeah. Is that all you needed, Sensei? I need to get to work."

"Y-yes, thank you. Have a nice evening, Marinette-chan."

"You too, Sensei." Marinette called as she walked out the door. She found something in her relaxing slightly with knowing that the new teacher was taught by her uncle. Though she did wonder how Adrien, and possibly Felix if he transfered in, would escape to fight daytime akumas.

🍯

Nagsia flopped on the couch once he got home, startling his husband. "Sup, Nagisa?" Karma asked. Nagisa smiled, even after over a decade his husband hadn't changed from the time they were at Kunikagawa. He even continued elongating his name.

"Guess who my class rep. is related to?"

Karma raised an eyebrow. "I literally have no idea."

"Karasuma-sensei and Bitch-sensei."

"What the fuck?" Karma lost all attempt at feignig disinterest, bolting straight up.

"She's French-Chinese, Italian grandmother. The grandmother adopted Bitch-sensei before she married Karasuma."

"How the hell did you figure all this out?"

"I had her stay after class to get a feel for the class. I was called in to replace a negligent teacher, so I wanted to know exactly what I was working with. After we were officially done, I asked her where she learned so much about Japanese culture, as she seemed to already know what I was teaching today. I was already thinking about Bitch-sensei and her teaching methods before she explained how she was adopted by Karasuma-sensei- as a niece. Apparently they talked about us."

"Holy fucking shit, talk about a full circle. How much does she know?"

"That's the problem, I have no idea. Nor do I know what they taught her." That was more worrying than how much she knew about their past.

🍯

Marinette texted Chloè as she walked. *Césaire's notes privileges have been revoked until further notice, excluding absences.*

*I was waiting on you to snap on her. 🙃*

*New teacher's rules for her. Former Class 3E- 🗡️*

*😮 …………… Trust?*

*With caution.* Marinette pocketed her phone as she walked in the bakery. She could give a good two hours in the bakery, design while cooking supper, and then take a quick nap before patrol.

[marilynsweet]

WITCH AU: The Witch's House

Didn't realize I forgot to post this! So I bring you this, part 1 of 3 for the history between Asriel and Frostbite in the Witch AU.

I'm putting it under a read more because it's long--

Feedback is very much appreciated!!

Asriel woke to a splitting headache and a fuzzy vision.

A groan escaped his lips, and he reached a hand up to grip his head. He ached, why did he ache?

He was suddenly aware of something tied around his neck and wrists, making his heart sink into his stomach.

Was he..?

Asriel shot upright, holding his wrists before him.

Bandages. They were just bandages.

He let out a sigh of relief, though dizziness from sitting up much too fast made him lie back down.

The air smelled of warm cinnamon and a campfire, with the sound of clattering glass coming from the other room.

Asriel stared up at the ceiling, eyes narrowed as he tried to remember where he was. Was he home? No… that ceiling wasn’t the color of his bedroom. He didn’t have herbs hanging from the ceiling…

Wait… why were there herbs hanging from the ceiling?

He finally took a moment to draw in his surroundings.

Upon shelves were crammed books, jars, and small ornate boxes. Shelves lined the walls like support beams. Plants hung from the ceiling in bowls, tied carefully into roped hangers. A thin sheet was pinned above the doorway, blocking his view into the other room. He lied on a bed, handcrafted, and covered with heavy fur blankets. Candles were lit around the room, an assortment of colors. A window was uncovered next to him, allowing a soft autumn breeze into the warm room. A book lie closed on a table against the wall, in front of a small, closed ornate box. Surrounding the book was an assortment of colored candles, and a small statue of what looked to be a woman with a staff. In front of that table was a pillow on the floor.

He could hear humming.

Asriel slowly slid off the bed, feeling a rug beneath his feet. He took a few steps towards the door, off of the rug and onto cold floorboards.

They creaked loudly under his weight, and the humming stopped.

“I wouldn’t recommend doing that if I were you. It’d be in your best interest to lie back down before you irritate your head more; wouldn’t want your neck to break, would we?”

He froze at the voice that came from behind the sheet, eyes narrowing. Where had he heard that voice before? It was so familiar...

“I didn’t stutter.”

Asriel took a few steps back, eyes narrowed, towards the bed.

Once he was away from the door, a figure stepped through, brushing the sheet aside. Asriel gasped when he recognized the small figure that stepped through.

“You!”

The woman, shorter than he - only about as tall as his waist - had stepped past the sheet and into the room. Granted, he was tall in the first place, but still. She had long hair the color of autumn leaves, with eyes of amber to match. Her cheeks were freckled. She was a Fox-monster, with a long, fluffy tail that brushed against the ground. Her fur was white, save for some black markings along her shoulders, and some orange on her ears and tail.. She wore a piece of fabric, crafted into some form of necklace, around her neck, in the center of which was tied a gemstone. Another gem was tied around her neck by a long black string. She wore a long, sleeved white shirt, which ruffled at the bottom, and a black cloak, the shoulders of which were missing. She wore a leather corset around her waist, black pants, and long, leather boots. One of her arms was gloved.

“Yes, me.”

“What do you want with me?”

“I saved your life, or have you forgotten?”

Asriel’s eyes narrowed at the woman.

“I still recommend you sit, Asriel.”

“You… I know you! You’re from the village!”

“I’m not from the village, per se,but I have been there for the last few months. When you hear rumors of people impersonating you and being hung for crimes they didn’t commit, you’re bound to investigate.”

The woman walked towards one of the shelves, investigating a plant that sat upon it. Her tail flickered under her long, black cloak. Asriel absorbed her words for a moment.

He’d seen her around before, usually petting an animal along a farm gate, or sitting in a church pew. He’d seen her buying things from the merchant, feeding wandering chickens, and speaking with other shop owners. He had never seen her on a farm of her own. Rumor had it that she lived on the edge of town. She had never dressed like this, either.

“Impersonation… nobody’s…”

Then, it clicked.

“YOU’RE A WITCH!” He cried out, almost angrily.

“I am,” the woman answered coolly, not turning to look at him.

“A worshiper— no, a whore of the Devil! You’ve come to sacrifice me! Or— make me sign his book-!”

A sudden thud made Asriel stop. The woman had turned to face him with a fury in her eyes he hadn’t seen on anyone before, not to him. In her hand, the hilt of an ornate dagger. The blade was stuck into the shelf she had been standing at just moments before.

“I don’t whore over any Devil,” she hissed, fangs bared into a snarl. Her voice was low as she approached him. Asriel stepped backwards, tripping back and falling onto the bed.

“I worship the Earth I walk upon, and the deity who provided us with it. Mother’s remedies saved your life, Dreemurr. Your lot simply cries witchcraft and Devil worship for things you don’t understand, like the remedies of plants provided to us and the magic that is our surroundings. Religious zealots like yourself have torn Mother’s roots up and replaced them with pastures and more land than you will ever need. You burn her trees and ruin her hills with nothing in return, instead putting your false idol before she who gave you everything.

How fair is it that your greed, your people, have begun to ruin the land of Mother? For what? Divine intervention? Someone must claim these lands as their own, someone must show off the grandeur that is the new order, who escaped persecution, yet made their own in the process? Persecuting what you don’t understand, and shrieking that those who are different are witches, sentenced to die for refusing confession? You’ve just been using it to be rid of the neighbors you dislike! Not to mention how flawed your religion is! What, you’re superior to others because of how much gold lines your pockets, and what lies between your legs? Mother cares not for damned minerals like gold and silver. Mother doesn’t care your sex, who you love, or what wealth you have.

I may be a witch, but not in your terms. I may dance around fires, may practice spells and potions, but never in the name of any Devil. I’m not scared of you, Dreemurr, not what you claim to be able to do. I’m not scared of your God, nor his wrath. Men simply created this ‘God’ to make others bow to them. Show me any real proof that your God exists! That he wrote those ‘sacred texts’ in that book you love so much!

Did your God ever help you when you were swinging from that damned rope? Did his followers give you any mercy? Did he save an innocent man from the shrieks of attention-seeking little girls? No. You’re appalled by my laughter at your prayer, but how can I not? It’s ridiculous!”

Asriel was speechless, mouth agape. She was practically on top of him, now, having moved closer in her fury. Their noses could have touched, and he could see the fire behind her eyes. Her teeth remained bared; sharp fangs that could tear flesh like paper.

She suddenly huffed, sitting upright and walking over to the shelf. She brushed off her front, ears twitching on top of her head. She yanked the knife from the shelf, turning it in her hands.

“Mother told me to save your life,” she stated. “She told me: This one has potential. There’s goodness in him. I’m inclined to believe her. But boy, you do not make it easy.”

Turning back to him, she pointed the knife at his chin.

“Should you try anything, should you try to harm this house or that which I worship, Mother gives permission for me to defend her with my life. There’s a reason I’m the Guardian of this forest.

I’m setting some ground rules. There is to be no more accusations of Devil worship. You will not berate me for what I practice, and you will not under any circumstances reveal my location to any member of the village. Do you understand me?”

The flat side of the knife pressed against his chin, lifting his head. Asriel nodded, eyes narrowing.

The woman removed the blade from his chin, tucking it into a sheath inside her corset.

“Good. Then, let’s start, shall we?”

She reached out a hand to him.

“My name is Frostbite. I’ll be taking care of you from now on.”

Asriel took her hand and shook it, watching as she stepped away from him.

“Your neck and wrists are still healing, I wouldn’t recommend moving much. Be easy if you do.”

“Why’d you pull me down?”

Frostbite perked up, turning back to face him.

“Excuse me?”

“Why’d you pull me down, if you despise me so?” Asriel asked, shifting so his legs were tucked on the bed.

Frostbite was silent for a few moments before shaking her head.

“I don’t despise you,” she muttered. “You were the only one who wasn’t killed; what was I to do? Leave you up there, suffocating?”

With that, she walked back into the other room, the sheet fluttering with her absence.

Asriel bit the inside of his cheek, watching her leave. She was… strange. She dressed so differently than he was used to, and she had such a demeanor about her that he hadn’t seen on a woman in years.

Confidence. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind.

Part of him admired her for that. And, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was now in her debt. He’d have suffocated to death if he hadn’t been cut down. The hangman’s rope didn’t break his neck, as it was supposed to.

“Guess I should be grateful for that…” he muttered, tucking his hands into his arms.

But where was he to go, alive? The village despised him, sentenced him to death as a witch, and likely wouldn’t be happy upon his return. Frostbite was probably the only person in miles who knew where anything was.

Thinking of the village… it brought up pain in him.

I wonder if Mother is alright…

Toriel, his mother, had fought tooth and nail against the townsfolk and the judges who had sentenced him. When he was taken to the noose, he hadn’t seen her among the crowd. He fully expected to hear she had fled to another town. He could only imagine the pain she was in.

I wish I could tell her I’m alive…

He glanced back to the door, swinging his legs off the bed. With as much silence as he could, he knelt onto the floor beside his bed.

He clasped his hands together in prayer, and lowered his head. He winced at the pain in his neck.

Let her know for me, please. Tell my mother I’m alive. Some way, somehow… tell her that she didn’t lose her son.

“I thought I told you not to move?”

Asriel was shaken from his prayer by the now-known voice of Frostbite. She was standing in the doorway.

“You’re not as good as you think you are at being sneaky,” she stated, walking back over to him and taking his hands. One of her hands was bandaged, he noticed. The other hand was smooth-skinned, and gentle. “I’m making food, you’ll be able to sit at the table then.”

“I want my mother to know I’m alive,” Asriel said, standing as she helped him up. “I—“

“Toriel?”

“You-?”

Frostbite let go of his hands.

“I know of her. She lent me cloth when I was in town,” she replied. “She wasn’t at the hanging.”

Asriel subconsciously rubbed the bandages around his neck.

“I don’t know what happened to her. I think she left.”

“She did. Something about being disappointed in the world she thought she knew. I can seek her out once you can be on your own,” Frostbite replied. “I have a good idea of where she went.”

“How..?”

“I’m much more observant than you think. All that time you saw me in the village, I was learning as much as I could about the accused and their families. Seeing what you deem as witchcraft. Your lot claims Devil worship and heresy as witchcraft; which makes sense, I guess, not much of what I believe in would be ‘Biblical.’”

Asriel shifted backwards onto the bed, leaning back against the wall.

“I’m making soup. Hope you don’t hate chicken,” Frostbite added. Asriel noticed her pick at the bandages on her hand.

“What’d you do to your hand?” He asked.

She was silent, and she stopped touching her bandages.

“...I’ll come get you when it’s ready.”

With that, she quickly left the room.

After a short while and reading the countless book spines that lined the walls, he heard the thud of something on wood. Asriel perked up, looking over to the doorway. After a few moments, the sheet shifted, and Frostbite walked through.

“You didn’t move, good. I’ll get you some books or something; sorry it took so long,” she said, quickly walking over and offering him her hands. Again, he noticed the bandages when he took them.

“You’ve got an interesting selection here,” he said.

“No Bibles, sorry,” she said with the threatening of a smile. He rolled his eyes as she helped him to his feet.

When she led him into the next room, he was somehow not surprised at the contents. Plants, again, hung from the ceiling, either potted and flowering or hung to dry. A small wooden table sat to the right, while the kitchen was to the left. She had a small wood stove providing warmth to the room, with cabinets lining the walls around it with counters to match. On the table, a heavy-looking pot sat in the center, with two bowls laid out on either side of it. The front door had a small window in it, covered with a curtain.

Frostbite led Asriel to the table, encouraging him to sit. She took a ladle from one of the counter drawers, and set it next to the pot. When she took the lid off, Asriel was immediately wrapped in the delicious smell. It made his mouth water, and it was only then that he realized just how hungry he was. When was the last time he had a full meal?

“Help yourself,” Frostbite said, likely noticing the look on his face. She walked back over to the stove, pulling open the door in the front. From under it, she pulled out a piece of wood, and placed it into the small fire.

“I’ve got bread, too, and butter. I’m hoping you’re not sick of it,” she said, closing the oven as Asriel ladled soup into his bowl.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” He asked, watching her move about the kitchen.

“I will, in a minute. Don’t choke.”

She went outside, a cold draft permeating the room when the front door opened. It was quickly doused, though, when it shut.

It was quiet, save for the soft crackle of the wood stove, and he took the time to look up at the stairs. Wood, like everything else, and crafted delicately. Part of him wondered where she got all of these supplies. The other part wondered what was upstairs.

He shrugged, though winced when he moved his neck. While she was gone, he folded his hands in his lap, taking a small bow of his head.

“Usually, I say my prayers when I gather the ingredients. Your God didn’t make that soup.”

He was practically thrown out of his skin when he heard her voice again.

“Stop doing that!” He cried, watching Frostbite as she placed a dish on the counter. He could see the risen loaf inside, which she dropped onto a wooden board.

“Pay attention,” she replied coolly, taking a knife from a small chest on the counter. “Just because I’m quiet doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be observant.”

Asriel, again, rolled his eyes.

“And be careful with your neck,” she added, cutting a few slices of the bread and setting them aside on the board. “Still healing. It’s only been two days.”

“I was out for two days?” Asriel asked incredulously, perked up. “How..?”

“I induced you into sleep. That way, you’d heal a bit faster.”

Frostbite approached the table and placed the small board onto the surface, next to the pot. Upon it were three slices of bread, and a small bowl with butter in it. By the look of it, it was churned recently.

“Did you make all of this yourself?” Asriel asked, watching as she sat across from him.

“Of course.”

“Alone?”

“Who else would be helping me? Eat. Your soup’s getting cold.”

Asriel took the spoon he was given in his hand, and took a bit from his bowl. Upon tasting it, he could practically feel the warmth running through him.

“This is delicious!” He exclaimed, and he noticed a small smile on Frostbite’s face.

“Thanks,” she said a bit sheepishly, and he could spot a flush of pink on her cheeks.

“So… you do everything yourself around here, huh?”

A small nod, and he noticed her stir her bowl with her spoon, not yet taking a bite.

“...You haven’t poisoned me, have you?” Asriel asked, and she snorted.

“And why would I do that?” She asked, lifting her head. “Poisoning you does you no good, and does me no favors. Why save your life just to poison you later?”

“Good point.”

He took another spoonful, watching as she finally did the same.

“So… what did you do to your hand?” He asked, noticing she had tucked it under the table. “The bandaged one?”

“...Burned it. Long time ago,” she murmured. “I don’t like to see the scars.”

“Oh…”

Of all the things he was expecting, that wasn’t it.

“I’m sorry.”

She shook her head.

“Not your fault,” she said, lifting her gaze from the tabletop. “Just… not used to talking about it. Don’t have many visitors. Just the goats and the chickens.”

“You have chickens?”

“They wander about, and I take their eggs. I don’t like to take too much of Mother’s land, but we’ve got to eat somehow. I’m told I take too little.”

“What’s upstairs?” Asriel asked, taking a slice of bread from the board.

“My room. Nothing much. Just a bed, some books. Some storage, I have a shelf with feed in it. It’s nothing special.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he added, to which she shrugged.

“I don’t like to live lavishly,” she muttered, again returning to stirring her soup. “It feels selfish of me.”

“If it’s laid out for you, why don’t you take advantage of it?” Asriel asked, moving to tilt his head. However, he was met with pain, and stopped.

Frostbite lifted her head, narrowing her visible eye.

“I’m not going to destroy the very forest I protect for the sake of material possessions,” she hissed.

Asriel raised his hands as a sign of peace.

“I’m just saying! If it’s there, why not?”

“Because I’m not selfish! I’m not going to take every bit of land I can get my hands on, and take more than I need!” Frostbite snapped, slamming her spoon on the table. “I have what I need to survive, and what wants I can spare. I don’t need acres of land for one person.”

“Okay- Okay! Fine!” Asriel huffed, lowering his hands to take another spoonful of soup. “I get it. Point taken.”

Frostbite’s ears twitched, and she continued to watch him. There was an uncomfortable silence between the two of them for a long time. Asriel eventually took a piece of bread from the board.

“Butter?” Frostbite asked, sliding him the small bowl. “Promise, it’s not poisoned.”

Asriel snorted. At least she was trying to be humorous. “Sure, why not?”

The rest of dinner went by without incident. Frostbite wasn’t exactly the best at conversation, but Asriel was willing to excuse it. It didn’t seem she had many companions out here. She was amusing, and she smiled often, so he gave her that.

However, he lay awake that night, staring at the plants hanging from the ceiling. A stack of books lie on the nightstand next to him, an assortment Frostbite had given him as reading material. She had told him to lie on his back, neck propped up on pillows to irritate it less. Progress with the healing was being made; it wasn’t raw, anymore, at least. It still hurt to move his head too much, though.

He couldn’t stop thinking. It was so much different here than home. It felt like his worries could just melt away with the candle wax. Not to mention, he had a full meal. Something other than bread and water, and a filthy jail cell. Though, despite this, Asriel was still thinking of home.

Would Chara, Frisk, and his father be mourning him? The lack of a body to bury? Did the townsfolk still think him a witch? They must’ve; he had been hung for it. Still, he missed them. Would they pray for him? Would they aim to find his mother, and try to reconcile?

He thought about what to do. When he left here, he’d have to go back. Where else could he go? It wasn’t like he could stay here forever. Would they be shocked? Would they try him as a witch again? Would they hang him properly?

He shut his eyes tight, resisting the want to turn over onto his side. Frostbite had told him to lie back, so lie back he did.

He let his mind wander, losing himself to the dreams that began to lull him. Soon, he fell into sleep, the first peaceful one in a while.

[bush-viper-cutie]

Green Lace and Peonies

(Part 2 of The Crystal Ball)

Pairing: Snape x fem!reader

Word Count: 4,276

Rating: M for Mature

Plot:  Severus Snape goes on a date with the girl his crystal ball paired him with. The date does not go as he thought it would, but he comes to realize how perfect she really is for him.

Warnings: It gets steamy :o

A/N: Back by popular demand! I hope this is a good continuation (wasn’t exactly sure how or where to take it) and that it wasn’t too “steamy” (or idk maybe it should have been more) and still just as fluffy but here it is. I’d love any thoughts on it :)

Posted: 4/26/20

Masterlist

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

Severus’s heart was pounding as loud as his footsteps on the kitchen tile, clutching a gentle note in his trembling hand. He had paced away the dust in his living room floor already and would have to move on to his bedroom soon.

“What do I write?” his whispers carried throughout his empty home, bouncing off the torn wallpaper and echoed in his ears.

He hadn’t stopped thinking about the beautiful girl he’d met a few days ago, who had given him this note as well as herself all to him. She had said she’d be expecting his owl, but that felt like an eternity ago. Maybe she forgot about me already.

That was partly why he couldn’t bring himself to finish a single letter he started. Everything he wrote seemed idiotic. ‘Hello’ ‘Morning’ ‘You wanted to go on a date?’ ‘Go on a date with me?’ Everything seems so… he sighed and rubbed his eyes. Pathetic.

He pressed his hands on the edge of the sink and leaned forward, staring into the rusty drain. The only reason he was even still fretting about her was the effect her words had on his very being. She had called him her soulmate, given herself to him, and kissed his cheek with the softest lips in all of existence. A kiss he hadn’t stopped thinking about for a second. A kiss he recreated in his head, in his dreams... he blushed and turned away.

If there was any chance she was still waiting for him, he had to take it. Severus sat back down at the small round table in the corner of the kitchen and picked up the quill for the hundredth time that day. He looked at the note she’d attached to the flower she’d given him and placed it next to the picture of himself in his seventh year with three red hearts floating beside his face.

The sun was setting so he could no longer start it off with ‘Good morning,’ unless he sent it tomorrow – though he doubted he’d want this letter in his home for longer than it took to write it. He started with her name and a comma. Good… the bare minimum, he mocked himself.

He sighed and leaned back, letting his head hang off his shoulder, drawing all his hair to fall back and sweep the dusty counter behind him. He ran his hand through it, untangling knots as he went. He closed his tired eyes and shook his head. Just do it. Just write anything and send it off. She won’t even respond anyways.

He huffed and started scrawling as fast as he could, writing the first thing that popped into his head – it was like words were pinned to a board and he was throwing darts at random with every sentence.

I’d like to see you again if you have the time. Anywhere you’d like. I understand if you don’t, though. Don’t bother responding to this letter if that’s the case. I’ll be waiting your owl or lack thereof. I’ll get the message either way.

Severus Snape

He groaned. Just send it. He walked over to the opposite corner where a small owl slept in a large metal cage. He’d rented the owl from the post office for a few days before coming back to his house, though he’d have to return to London soon to give it back or face the past-due charges.

“Here,” he folded up the letter and shoved it into the little pocket tied to the owl’s leg.

The owl hooted, relieved to finally be able to stretch his wings, and hopped down onto Severus’ pale outstretched finger. The owl shook his wings open and waited for him to fling open the window, flying out into the evening sky ready to complete its duties.

That night Severus could do nothing but cringe at what he remembered writing, hoping he was exaggerating his words in his memories. He shook his sheets and slipped inside, tucking his nightshirt down and punching his pillow a few times before dropping his head onto it. He closed his eyes and ran a finger over the warm sensation on his cheek, remembering the way her nose brushed his skin.

. . .

There was a clicking sound, like pebbles hitting a window. Severus slowly opened his eyes and looked towards the light shining onto the floor. A weirdly shaped shadow moved around from one corner of the square of light to the other.

Severus sat up and flattened his hair, yawning wide and wiping his nose on his sleeve. He could feel the second his brain clicked on, because the lumpy shadow very quickly turned into the silhouette of a small owl.

He leapt off the bed and forced the bedroom window up, letting the tiny bird in. The owl flew to the top of his dresser and extended his leg. Severus’ heart stopped beating and his lungs ceased to function. He was dead by all accounts except for the quiet words ringing in his head: She responded. Merlin, she responded.

He quickly slid the letter out and turned on the light, moving the paper up close to his eyes as he read her writing.

Severus,

I want to see you soon. You’ve said anywhere I like, so let’s make it your place. Since you’re hosting, I’ll bring the food. Respond with any day or time. Be warned, if you don’t respond I’ll arrive at your doorstep next Friday. And if you think I won’t follow an owl, I will. Though I prefer your Floo location.

Severus chuckled. “‘All yours,’” she’d written it at the bottom just like the note. He had to admit he liked her humor as much as her lovely words. Wait… Severus held the letter closer suddenly. “‘your place.’”

He bit down his tongue in anger and rushed downstairs, looking around at the hole-ridden rug in the foyer, the piles and piles of books in his living room, and chipped paint and torn wallpaper in his kitchen.

“Damn it!” He hadn’t expected she’d want to come over. A restaurant or pub, sure, but his house? Why! He quickly scribbled his Floo location on a piece of spare parchment and sent the owl out again. “At least I don’t have to worry about cooking,” he pinched the bridge of his nose.

He spent the rest of the week doing what little he could to make the place look more like it had before… before he had left. He remembered the state of the house the last time he had seen it before leaving (running away more like) his house. The foyer had a working light that illuminated the beige wallpaper walls and light grey rug that covered the wooden floor from the welcome mat to the back-patio door.

The living room had a television set and a recliner chair with dust-free shelves full of souvenirs from his father’s schooling years and cans of empty beer. The kitchen was full of dirty dishes but the handles on every cabinet were polished and every surface was spotless. The walls were covered in a disgusting pastel yellow flower pattern from the previous owners… And now after four years the place looked abandoned – though it had been left to rot for almost two years before he moved back in.

He took out his wand and got to repairing the rug and removing the horrid wallpaper. The next day he fixed the handles and doorknobs of the only bathroom – which was upstairs – and cabinets. The rest of the days were spent trying to find space on the shelves for all his books. He shoved them through every space he could find above the book rows any way they would fit. And if they didn’t fit, then into his room they would go.

“Finally,” he shook his dusty hair and stepped back. The bookcase now looked like a solid wall of book spines but there were none out, which made the place look roomier.

The place looked… well she shouldn’t be surprised by any of it. The house now looked more like how he kept his potions classrooms – in some sort of organized mess. He’d spent the week cleaning in his night shirt because the only other thing he owned was his teaching clothes – though of course he couldn’t wear the cloak – and would settle on wearing his frock coat only.

Severus sat in his chair in the corner of the living room and closed his eyes. All that was left to do was wait for Friday to arrive.

. . .

The clock ticked five and Severus stared into the mirror, yet to button up his coat. He pressed down his hair and looked over his dark circled eyes and crooked nose. Sighing, he began the ritual of buttoning up starting from his collar – tucking his cravat in first – and making his way down to his waist, breathing slowly.

It was now six as he stood in the living room and turned towards the fireplace. He fidgeted with his hands behind his back and tried hard not to bite his bottom lip, fearing it would bruise like it always did. The fireplace lit with roaring flames and turned bright green. Severus straightened and heard his heart thumping loudly as the seconds went on, feeling like eternities just waiting for her to cross the fire.

A smooth leg in elegant heels stepped through, followed by soft-looking flowing hair as she ducked out from the fire and stepped into the dismal room. Her kind smile instantly lit up the place and he wanted very badly to look away and hide himself in his bedroom.

Her smile widened as she caught his eyes. “Severus,” she came closer.

He breathed in and was reminded of crushed peony powder. He noticed the basket she carried and took it, walking out of the room she was in and into the solitude of the kitchen where he set it down. He wiped his hands on his coat and let out a rugged breath. Calm down, for fuck’s sake.

“Severus? Are you alright?”

Severus turned to see her leaning on the door frame. His eyes betrayed him and scanned over her summer dress. The thin straps over her shoulders, the buttons down her chest, the flowery pattern of the skirt…

“Yes,” he cleared his throat and stepped aside, letting her go through the basket while he watched.

She pulled out several boxes, a jar of cut up fruit, and a green checkered blanket. She turned around and looked him over, licking her bottom lip as if tasting something sweet, “I thought we could have a type of picnic indoors. And it looks,” she glanced into the living room, “like you have room. Is that ok?”

Severus tore his eyes away from hers and nodded stiffly. He picked up the blanket and laid it out over the living room rug. She placed his own plates and glasses on the blanket and waved her wand, summoning the rest of the things.

“Why don’t you sit down,” she smiled and took a seat, folding her legs to the side and smoothing out her skirt.

Severus did as she said and crossed his legs. She leaned over and poured out the food carefully onto their plates – sautéed salmon and vegetables with a savory-looking glaze he couldn’t wait to try. At this point he wasn’t sure what was making his mouth water more, the food or the way her eyes drifted down to his lips as they talked.

The sun was now setting, changing the mood of the room. Her laughter turned into giggles and her eye gleamed with mischief every time she touched his arm. His heart leapt out of his chest and into his throat every time he felt her hand on him. He had counted at least five times he smiled stupidly during the meal and now, looking down at her hand on his arm again, made six.

“It’s getting late,” Severus cleared his throat, noticing the darkness looming outside the kitchen window. “What time did you need to be home?”

“No specific time, though I have an interview tomorrow morning,” she waved her wand and cleared the blanket of the dishes, glasses, and napkins. “You still have time tonight though, don’t you?” She whispered, inching closer to him.

He looked down at her and nodded, unable to help himself from leaning in further. She sat up on her knees and moved closer still, stopping right in front of him. Severus could feel his heart begin to beat faster and his hands becoming moist with a nervous sweat. He clenched his fists and kept them on his knees. It had only been a few hours since her arrival and yet he felt like he was coming undone. He was so used to keeping his composure so easily, it was frightening how fast he lost it.

“Thank you,” he breathed, “for the meal.”

“You’re welcome.” She lifted her hand and tucked a black strand of hair behind his ear, “May I kiss you, Severus?”

He looked at her intently, trying hard to distinguish the look she was giving him. He hadn’t expected everything to be going so well, let alone to be receiving another kiss that could melt him on the spot. He nodded and silently begged for her to kiss him like she’d done before. “Yes.”

He closed his eyes, waiting for a warm sensation on his cheek and felt instead her hand on his neck, pulling him in closer. He leaned forward, more than willing, and felt his lips go warm. He opened his eyes, shocked, and saw she was tilting her head, eyes closed as she kissed his lips.

He followed her motions and let out a deep and unexpected moan, pulling back quickly, “Sorry, I – ”

She pulled him back in and this time he felt her tongue slip into his mouth. Merlin, please don’t let this stop. Every fiber of his being was on fire. She ran her tongue over his and took his trembling hands in hers. He let her guide his hands to her hips, making him moan again, except this time she wasn’t letting him pull away.

He gripped her hips instinctively and closed his eyes, picturing her as she was now, leaning over him in her summer dress and heels. He could feel his wet lips being pulled on by hers and shivered with anticipation. His hand moved up her back and pushed her closer, although he could have never expected her reaction.

She sat up off her heels and moved closer, lifting her right leg over his and then her left, now sitting on his crossed-leg lap, her skirt spread over them as she pressed her lips deeper into his. He moaned again and Merlin only knows what possessed him to press her down deeper into his lap but feeling the pressure it caused made him moan louder.

He felt a smile pull at her lips as he pressed her down. She dug her fingers in his hair and start pulling. The air around them was starting to feel very hot, even for a summer night. She wrapped her arms around his shoulder and pulled herself away, trailing kisses along his jaw and up to his ear.

“Severus,” she moaned.

Please don’t stop. Please, he turned away, giving her his ear for full attention and sighed as she whispered and teased him further. His hands slowly trailed down to the edge of her skirt, playing with the hem, letting her know he wanted to go further. Just then she leaned back and pulled him with her as she laid down on the green checkered blanket.

“I’m yours, Severus. From the moment you sent me that message,” she pulled his cravat loose slowly and let it drop beside them, “You’re my soulmate.”

He propped himself on his elbows and bit his lip as the words reached his ears like a blessed melody. He trailed his eyes away from hers and down to where his black hair rested on the small buttons of her dress.

“I want to be all yours,” he whispered, feeling her heels slide up along the blanket, her thighs press against his torso, and her knees lock him in place. All yours.

He climbed further up her body and pressed his lips into hers, needing to feel her sweet tongue inside his mouth once more. Make me yours. I’ll do anything. He kicked off his dress shoes and let her take his left hand and place it on her knee behind him. He felt her gentle fingers press on his hand and guide him down her thigh and under her skirt but letting him finish the movement on his own.

He stretched out his fingers and slid them slowly deeper under her skirt until they felt a textured cloth by her hips. He let out another moan and noticed she gave another smile as they kissed. He followed the cloth down towards her lower back and wedged his fingers between the ground and her warm skin, feeling how smooth and soft she was.

“Squeeze me,” she whispered into his lips.

“Merlin… you tease too much,” he laughed.

“I’m not teasing,” her smile grew as she watched his eyes widen.

He slid his hand down from the cloth and traced a small circle on her plump curves. He squeezed, feeling his thoughts cease as he focused on the moment. He found himself pushing his hips down on her harder and moaning at the mounding pressure. He could feel his ears and cheeks going red and heard a small giggle escape her lips. He looked away and pressed his forehead down in the crook of her neck and kissed her collarbone gently, trying to reel his thoughts back in place.

“Can we go to your room?”

“M-my room?” He knew his bedroom was a complete mess. He had shoved anything out of place in there, practically throwing it in. The only thing he knew he organized neatly were his newly acquired jars of eastern specimens from Knockturn Alley. Would the alphabetical labeling impress her?

“Severus?” She pulled his chin up to look at her pleading eyes. She pressed him closer to her with her legs, begging him to give in.

“Alright,” the word came out as a trembling breath. He did not want the night to ever end, even if it meant facing more embarrassment. She already had him sweating and thinking things he dared not repeat but he didn’t let himself imagine what would happen in his bedroom lest he lose himself completely.

He stood up and helped her to her feet. She jumped up and kissed his cheek roughly like he’d seen girls do to their partners a million times back in school. It made him blush and so he quickly turned, hiding his face behind his hair and lead the way up. He pulled on the sleeves of his coat down further over his hands as they ascended the stairs to the second floor and walked the few steps to his bedroom door.

He opened it and stepped aside, letting her in first, unable to watch her reaction to the old highly-likely-to-creek-loudly bed, torn sheets, piles of books, pots, and cauldrons littered in the corners. Please don’t be disgusted.

She stepped into the room and turned, pulling him into a teasing kiss and lead him to his bed. Not uncomfortable about the mess? She is my soulmate, he smiled.

“Excited?” she pushed him down on the bed.

“I’m happy you came over,” he was glad the lights weren’t bright in here either as he was sure his face was more than just hot to the touch.

She curled her index finger under his chin and stepped between his legs, lifted her leg over his thigh and rested her knee on the bed next to him. His hands automatically moved to her waist, but she pushed them away, winking.

“I have something for you,” she kissed his lips lightly. “Lean back.”

He did as he was told and watched with a parted mouth as she began unbuttoning her dress, pulling the strands over her shoulders, and letting the dress drop to the floor. She trailed her hand from her neck and down her body. His eyes followed her hand, admiring the matching lace underwear set she had on. He recognized the cloth was a Slytherin-green color, along with two silver bows on either side of her hips, ready to be pulled apart. He licked his lips and closed his mouth, remaining as composed as possible.

“I wasn’t sure what your favorite color was, so I thought your Slytherin colors would do,” she winked and leaned forward, placing her other knee beside him and sat down on his lap again. “What do you think?”

“You’re perfect.” The words jumped out of his mouth before he could even process his thoughts, “I mean – t-the – Green and silver look really nice.” He could tell by the way she was smiling his face had probably gone full red. I can’t believe she is actually wearing this for me. She thought of me... She wanted to impress me. At this point his house could catch on fire, burning every book he own, and it would still be the greatest night of his life.

He turned his head as she leaned forward, kissing his ear and sending another shiver down his body.

“You’re everything I want,” she whispered, “You’re all I’ll ever want.”

Severus closed his eyes, listening intently at every word she spoke like a spell she was putting him under. She wants me as much as I want her. Only me… Only ever me. His hands trailed up her thigh and pulled her closer, “I’m yours. I’m all yours.” He pressed into her kiss and took in every sensation, wanting to remember everything about tonight for the rest of his life.

She pulled away slightly, “Even while you keep teaching at Hogwarts… And I work elsewhere?” Her words were nothing more than a murmur.

Severus opened his eyes and turned to look at her. She was hiding something. He could tell by the way her closed-mouth smile didn’t reach her eyes this time.

“Of course. You’re…” he paused to look deep into her eyes. “My soulmate…” he could feel the weighty truth of his words.

“Promise?”

He gently nudged her off and sat up beside her on the bed, “I promise.” His tone was stern, hoping to convey how deeply he meant it.

She smiled genuinely once more. She undid the straps of her heels and slid them off. She pulled the sheets up and slipped inside, “Join me?”

He nodded and unbuttoned his coat all the way, sliding it off and throwing it over the footboard. She reached up and slid her finger under his waistcoat and pulled him down under the sheets with her. Unsure how to position himself he laid on his back and looked over at her.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

She giggled and kissed his jaw lightly, pulling herself towards him and laid her head on his chest. She draped an arm over him and held him tight. This was also a moment he would not forget, having often wished he had someone to hold or anyone who even wanted to hold him. He rested his arm over her body and played with another silver ribbon he found on the green lace. His eyelids started drooping and he wished she could stay the night.

“I wish I didn’t have to, but I have to leave soon,” she sighed.

He didn’t want this perfect night to end. She was wonderful, soft, kind, and liked him despite all the terrible things wrong with what he could barely call his home. He cleared his throat, “I understand… Good luck in your interview.”

She smiled and kissed him one last time before standing up to dress. He watched her sit and slide her heels back on and stand. She surprised him when she reached for his hand and held it as they walked down the stairs and back into the living room together.

She grabbed the basket and threw Floo powder into the fireplace. Green fire roared to life and he pulled her in for a hug. Her arms wrapped around him and he felt like never pulling away from her embrace, wanting to hold her like that for the rest of his life.

She pulled away and picked up his cravat from the floor, he reached to take it from her, but she pulled it back. She laughed and reached behind her back and then reached into her dress, pulling on the green lace and offered it up to him, “Do you accept an exchange?”

He smiled wide, loving the constant teasing, “If I must.” He chuckled.

“Dream of me tonight,” she kissed his cheek and winked, a sparkle of mischief present in her eyes once more, “And I’ll see you soon, Severus.”

He felt that stupid smile of his creep up onto his face once more and nodded, watching her disappear in the fire. He looked around embarrassed, as if he weren’t alone in his home, and ran upstairs. He quickly changed into his night shirt and crawled into bed, pulling the sheets up to his nose and breathed in. It still smelled like crushed peony powder. He opened his drawer and placed the green lace inside, still amazed she had worn it just for him. She would definitely haunt his dreams tonight.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

Masterlist

Request: 

Thank you

@wow-life-love4​

@x-avantgarde-x​

and a few others (not sure if you wanted to be tagged but thank you for requesting a second part)

and for all the lovely comments on part one!

[the-last-ghost]

As promised, Chapter 1 of my new story, The Woodsman. I hope that you all enjoy it. Please, like, share, or comment away; I appreciate it all and my inbox is always open if you ever have any questions, comments, concerns, or requests. Thank you all for the support and putting up with my hectic posting!

The Woodsman

 Introduction:

            Many stories usually begin when two strangers meet, lost family is reunited, true love is found, or best friends join together, all to set out on some epic quest… And just like any fairytale, it always ends with them living happily ever after.

           But what of those for whom the story wasn’t the focus? What about their happy ending? Is their story any less important? The Prince may find his true love, but what about his trusted guard who protected him along the way? The shepherds daughter runs away to a life of wonder at sea with a Captain who promised her adventure, but what of her dearest friend back home who helped her get away?

           The tragic part is that you will never really hear their stories. It is often assumed that they go back to what they did before, or they found some measure of peace and contentment with how the story ends. But sometimes… Sometimes they are not happy with how things end; perhaps their story is not quite over, not yet. So, they set out again to try and find that little something in life that they have been searching for. Maybe, no matter how thrilling their life is after setting out again, just maybe there is no happy ending for them… Maybe their story does not get told because, who wants to hear about a tragedy after finding their own happily ever after?

           Still… The story goes on anyway…

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

Chapter 1: Farewell

           The tavern sat alone but proud at the last true crossroad along the Eastern edge of the Fanisa Forrest. Lights illuminated every window, their warm glow flickering out beneath the door, casting shadows and silhouettes everywhere one looked. The horses snorted and seemed to sway faintly as the sounds of music reached them. The sign by the door read, “The Hero’s Den” in fresh, red paint; but if you knew the area like me, you’d know that the true name is and has always been, “The Roads End.” For this is where many stories always seem to end…

           I make my way inside and am greeted warmly by my dear friends and have a full mug given to me by Sally, the serving girl who I know has been here for more years than I can count. At the long table in the center of the room, I hear hearty laughter bellowing out from Derrin, Viti, Greda, and the rest of the crew of the Horizons End as old jokes and new stories are traded around. As I take a seat at an empty table near the back, I watch as Sally runs drinks while dancing through the crowd, a smile filling her lips and a rosy glow filling her face as she locked eyes with Viti. Across from their table, Old Vern tells stories of his time before, “the wee lad” sought him out, asking for his help. I don’t even have to listen to know that Dahla is scolding him about how, “the wee lad” is finally back where he should be, as the true King, and that he should be shown respect… Before they both burst out laughing; no doubt going on about how crazy fate must be for their old friend to now be a king. All around me, I see friends, old and new alike, sitting side by side as they drink and make merry, telling the tallest tales as they simply enjoy being alive…

           Finally, my eyes drift up to the place of honor, the two “thrones” set nearest the hearth; clearly as a joke for they are still the most basic of the tavern’s chairs. Yet my eyes are drawn to those sitting there, my dear friend, the Lady Sasha, now my Queen. Next to the love of her life, Zain, the new and rightful King laughs as Captain Derrin goes on about how he had to rescue the King long ago from being pulled of his ship while fishing. This night is for them, friends and comrades all, drawn together from all across the land; for now their fight is over, and peace can finally be restored to the land. Tonight they make merry, for tomorrow they will be drawn into the trappings of court and all the other duties life will demand and many will all go their separate ways, but tonight, none of it matters for they are together and nothing can hurt them.

           I sit in my little corner of the room, watching and listening to the stories as the night goes on. Occasionally I share a respectful nod with some of the soldiers, a silent raised mug with a sailor, and a friendly wave across the room; but I hold back, for tonight is for them and I’ve no wish to ruin it… Eventually I watch as Captain Derrin makes his stumbling way atop his table as he rouses his crew into song after song, all while dancing drunkenly, much to everyone’s delight. They sing songs of old, songs of new, songs of the deeds that have been done and of the glory they have found; soon the songs mellow down, and the candles start burning low. The room is quiet for a while before I hear Viti’s voice signing slowly cut through the quiet of the night and I realize that it is their old farewell song for those they have lost at sea. I forgot that her voice could be so hauntingly beautiful…

 “Here we gather now,

In some far and distant town,

As we raise a mug of ale,

To those who’ve set sail…

 For tonight we live and laugh,

And wish you the very best,

For the sea, she’s come to claim you,

And may the stars guide your way.

 The Horizon, she is calling,

So my friend, be not afraid,

For though now you may be leaving,

We shall meet again someday.

 I will see you when it’s over,

On the Horizons End,

It may still yet be a long time,

For we never can know when…

 But we’ll drink ale by the barrel,

And catch up on all the tales!

So it’s goodbye for now, farewell,

Now hoist the flag and set sail!”

             As she sings, the crew all joins in and I see old friends share solemn looks, comrades raise their mugs, lovers hold each other closer… Sasha takes hold of the King’s hand…

           I finish off my drink and make my way for the door while they are distracted by the song and lost in their own thoughts. No one seems to notice as I don my cloak and rest my hat upon my head; I take a last look inside at them all, happy and together, before turning away into the night. I make my slow and quiet way to the stable and saddle up my horse, Vira, before guiding her toward the road and climbing into the saddle. It’s best that I leave now, lest I ruin this happiness I’ve helped them find.

           I’ve only been on the road for a brief moment when I hear a sign-song voice echoing faintly from the trees around me. “And just where do you think you are sneaking off to, hmm?” I sigh heavily and reign in Vira to a halt before saying softly, “Alara…” Suddenly behind me, I look over my shoulder to see her sitting daintily on the back half of my saddle, regal as if she were in some castle and not on horseback in the woods. “Of course you would be the one to see me leave. You can’t stop me, you know that. Not this time.” Without even looking my way, she replies, “You know that they are going to ask questions, right? They are all going to want to know why the ‘Savior of Lathuia’ just left without even saying goodbye…” Even as she says this, I can tell that that’s not really her concern. “Oh please,” I say, more spitefully than I intended, “We both know that they’ll understand why I left. And don’t call me ‘Savior’ because I know you remember what I had to do…” I trail off as I look away from her. “Fine then,” she says forcefully, and gently grabs my face, making me look into her piercing, amber eyes. “You are right. I know what you did, but I also know why too. Anyone who loves someone that much, is more than worthy of a second chance at happiness. So I ask you, what will She think about you leaving her now? After everything the two of you have been through together, you just decide to walk away?” I refuse to speak for a while, even as I feel a tear start to well up. “What is it you want, Fairy?” I know their kind well enough these days; they always want something from you… “Now, now,” she says, with mock offence, “There is no need for that. I am here because it seems that you are the only one not enjoying this little happily ever after… I want to know why.” I pull away from her grip, breaking free from her paralyzing gaze. “You know that I’m happy; thrilled even, with how things turned out. Sasha found her true love and is finally happy, actually happy, for the first time in a long time. And now she’s the Queen, no less! What, are you upset that I’ve forgotten to thank you for helping us? I apologize; thank you for everything, truly. Now please, let me be on my way.” I turn back forward and nudge Vira into a slow canter. As I do, Alara floats around in front of me, still sitting while in the air. “You love her, really love her… Don’t you? Of course… You hardly looked at them, but her… You couldn’t take your eyes from her all night.” Blasted fairies, you can’t get anything by them. “So what? You love her and now you are going to run away from it all? Is that your plan?” Refusing to even look at her, I continue on. “Fine! Yes, yes Alara, I do love her! I have since the moment we first met.” I bark out harshly, annoyed that she of all people is delving into my feelings like this. “And you know my story. You know it doesn’t have a happy ending; at least not anything like what they have now… But no, I’m not simply running away. The kingdom may be theirs and the people love them, but there are still many things out there that can end it; there are still many outside the kingdom that would gladly see them both gone.” I glance up at her briefly, and for a moment the look on her face was almost as if she came to a decision, but it’s so hard to tell with their kind.

           “So, you love her and are choosing to leaver her… All because you wish to set out and make sure that she stays safe and the lands are protected… That’s very noble of you…” She says the last, almost to herself. “If that is truly the case, then you know that this path with take you far and wide, through many long, difficult years.” I look her in the eyes and mockingly joke, “Well then, it would appear that the Seer was right after all. How was it that the prophecy went again?” I ask the last but continue on before she can say anything.

 “A warrior alone without a cause,

A sailor adrift without a ship,

A traveler lost with no stars to guide him,

A man destined to love that which cannot love him.

 You will climb to the heavens,

Descend into the darkest depths,

No land too wide or ocean to vast,

To travel forever to protect what you have lost.”

             We are both silent for a moment, remembering that night from long ago… “That sounds right too me; and you know just how far I would go for her… Besides, I would simply drive a wedge between the two of them if I remained behind. I’ll not ruin their chance at happiness; not after everything I went through to make it happen.”

           Alara watches me, her eyes glowing faintly. “You truly would protect this land from anything out of your love for her, wouldn’t you?” Though she says this aloud, I can tell she doesn’t need an answer. “Wonderful, then that is all that I needed to hear. For I am going to help you; or rather… She is…” Alara then nods to something behind me and as I turn to see, I watch as a woman steps gracefully from the trees; in the sudden fog that I never noticed roll in, it appears as if she is almost literally coming out of the trees… Her skin glows with the light of the moon itself, small, blooming flowers are entwined in her hair, and her gown is as vibrant a green as a springtime forest. “You’re…” My voice comes out shaking, slightly above a whisper. “I have gone by many names over the years, my son. For now though, you can call me Gianna.”

[kimamanitranslate]

Filled It With My Feelings Text Translation

Sorry it took so long, but I finished the text translation of Filled It With My Feelings, the Senyuu 10th anniversary book! I didn’t translate the Season 1 Episode 1 redraw though because I’m sure we can all recite what happens in there by heart at this point. 

As it’s an illustration book, the translation is meant to be read along with the pictures - you can purchase the digital PDF of the book at hiaruron.booth.pm/items/2329424. You should be able to purchase it through PayPal or some international credit cards.

I’ve included the text under the cut, but you can also read it on the Google Docs here. 

Please note I do not give permission to anyone to use this translation for scanlations. There’s a reason why I’m posting this as a text translation rather than as a scanlation - it reads perfectly fine along with the raw book.

However, feel free to use this for text-only translations to different languages, just send me a message about it.

Page 1

Title: Filled It With My Feelings 10th. senyu.

Page 2

<no text>

Page 3

[Panel 1] SFX (Slime): *squeak* SFX (sword): *slam*

[Text Paragraph]

The story of Senyu first arrived on Tuesday, February 23rd, 2010 at 12:39 PM. Naturally, at that point, the name “Senyu” didn’t yet exist - a email was sent to my inbox entitled “A discussion about a new project.”

It was a rather vague email with few details, but at the time, I  was working as a day labourer in a certain distribution centre in Tokyo’s Ota Ward. As I hauled around boxes, my days were filled with uneasy thoughts of my future- I gave up on becoming a mangaka, I started work at an anime company but I quit there too, what am I going to do from now on? So I pounced on that vague email- Maybe this will shine some clarity into my life!

Senyu. was the product borne out of that email, and to my great appreciation, it really did shine clarity into my life. My future, which had been dark and uneasy, was illuminated bright by the light of Senyu. I would like to say that was why I made the protagonist’s name “Alba” - which means dawn - but unfortunately, that isn’t the case. I only learned the meaning of Alba’s name later - it was a total coincidence. 

Anyways, a lot has happened, but it’s now Senyu’s tenth anniversary.

Thank you very much. I never thought that I could continue for this long. This is all thanks to all of you, for supporting me all this way. 

Senyu. is a part of my life at this point - I don’t plan to end it any time soon, so I will be counting on everyone for their continued support.

Haruhara Robinson.

Page 4

Alba

While this may be obvious, the character I’ve spent the most time with in this work no longer feels like a mere “character” to me. 

He had a beta design with bangs. But since I thought he might seem more cheerful with his forehead showing, I settled on his current design. I intended to give him a haircut that was similar to characters like Kirimaru, but my lack of artistic skills at the time ended up giving him a hairstyle with a bizarre composition. 

I struggle now with how to draw his hair well.

Hero Symbol

I’ve always liked the idea of accessories that had the symbol of a hero, so wanting to have the same concept in my own work, I did my best to think up a design. I was really happy when it came out as merch.

Page 5

Ros

His backstory is really something!

I feel like he carried the entirety of Senyu’s serious plotlines on his back. I thought of Senyu. as like a story that uses the protagonist Alba to give the completed story of Hero Sion a happy ending? 

There were times when I was drawing things out that I thought, He feels kinda pitiful? But then in the story, Ros says, “Don’t judge people as pitiful by your own standards,” so then I thought, I-I’m sorry.

His equipment at the start was supposed to be like a machine that let him whip around his heavy sword like it was nothing, but everything ended before I explained any of that.

Page 6

Rchi

At the start, I just thought of her as a cute little girl. But gradually, she grew darker and darker, and by now, the dark aspects of her personality are a part of what makes her unique as a character.

Her hair accessory often disappears. Near the start, there was the explanation that it was confiscated when they were arrested, but beyond that it’s just because I forgot to draw it.

There was an explanation for why she was naked under her cloak during her first appearance, but I’ve forgotten it. I believe it was because since she was camping outside, she washed herself outside as well but her clothes were blown away by the wind - so she wrapped an old cloth around herself…?

Page 7

Foyfoy

The name “Foyfoy” was decided by an audience poll. At first, I was planning to make him Chinese-inspired, but before I realized it that concept had disappeared. His mark is leftover from that original idea.

Foyfoy’s hairstyle is one I drew often when I was a student. I often gave rivals or secondary main characters this hairstyle. 

I’m glad I could draw a design like this in an official work.

Page 8

Alles

A character drawn specifically with boobs that a Haruhara who was too embarrassed to draw boobs drew because “I can’t run from boobs!” The reason why I stopped drawing her midway through isn’t because of my embarrassment, but because I wasn’t used to drawing them, so since I never practiced it, I forgot how to.

Princess-chan

TL: This is written with the kanji for “Princess” rather than the katakana for “Hime” as her name is usually written.

She was meant to be a cute, elegant girl, so it shocked me when she immediately ended up as a violent character from her first appearance.

Since I hadn’t decided on a name for her, in the anime her name was listed as ???. I caused trouble for the anime staff.

Page 9

Rudolf

I can’t help but feel that eldery soldiers are cool. When I was doodling for fun, I often drew eldery soldiers.

Himendam

I thought of a development where a cute girl pops out from a nice big suit of armour, so I created the Himendam.

At the time, I thought, “This is a pretty unusual development, it’s great!” but now that I think back on it, it’s actually pretty common.

Slime

The first monster to appear. The first monster you fight should be a slime! Slimes should be blue! I’ve been influenced by Dragon Quest in that way.

I had this child of mine show up as your standard old monster in order to increase the impact of the panda who would show up right after.

Page 10

Minister

While I honestly have no idea why the minister is always standing next to the king, usually that’s the case in RPGs, right? 

So I had him stand next to the king in the same way. I feel as though his overall image is influenced by Magical Circle Guru Guru’s Kaya. While I hadn’t realized it while designing him, Kaya’s design affected me unconsciously.

The King

His whole thing was “a super serious old man that makes a stupid face during funny scenes,” but before I realized it, his stupid face became his default expression.

He just may be the nastiest character in the series, considering he wrapped up the entire world in his schemes for his own personal desires.

Mob Characters

The mob characters in my work tend to have this face. I like how they tend to make cutting comments while having non-descript faces.

Page 11

Suit

When Ros’ design went from complicated equipment to this thing, I was shocked at how much easier it was to draw.

I think this thing was what triggered me striving for easiness in my work. Can I blame everything on this thing instead of me? 

Just kidding, it’s all my fault.

Fake Foyfoy

If you don’t make careful enough observations, you can’t make a perfect disguise, and you end up in an idiotic costumed-character-like disguise. I wanted to use this plot device a few times more after this, but I didn’t have any chance to use it at all.

Mii-chan

Haruhara happens to have had a stuffed animal for as long as he can remember, and he still has it since he’s never been able to throw it away. I feel as though that stuffed animal served as the model for Mii-chan. In terms of his colour and overall atmosphere.

But my stuffed animal isn’t a pervert like him!

Page 12

Samejima

A delinquent overflowing with manliness. What’s with his hairstyle, I wonder. It’s actually pretty easy to draw. 

He just might never lose against anyone so long as he thinks, “There’s no way I can lose.”

Januar

I stuffed in everything my little sister likes into his appearance. “Straight-cut bangs, black-haired, one-eyed, droopy eyes.” But it isn’t as though I went and got her feedback directly so she might just tell me, “He’s not my type at all.”

I chose his personality based on my tastes- “A kind idiot.”

Page 13

Teufel

I thought of a “butler who doesn’t obey orders” around the same time as a “soldier who doesn’t listen to what you say.”

I wanted to have him appear at some point in the future, but then I saw a book called The After-Dinner Mysteries in a book store, which made me think- “M-m-m-m-maybe this book has a butler who doesn’t obey orders as well?!” So I panicked, ran back home, and drew out the head butler’s story. 

That’s why the head butler’s story was shoved in out of nowhere.

I read The After-Dinner Mysteries after I wrote in all the butler plot devices I wanted to use, and it was interesting.

At the start, Ros had his three burrs hairstyle so his design was differentiated from Teufel’s, but from Season 2 forwards I struggled with differentiating them. 

So Teuf-kun has been going through some small design changes, a bit at a time.

Page 14

Nisepanda

Before Dwango reached out to me, there was a manga I thought up with the plot “a zoo with an easily deceived curator.”

I planned to have a nisepanda appear in that work. The plot device was, “They thought it was a panda, but they were given a mysterious lifeform instead.”

Death Hot Dog-kun

A character that was born during the enthusiastic atmosphere during a meeting with my editor.

We happened to be eating hot dogs during the meeting.

I barely ever have these meetings for my other works, but for Senyu, I’ve been having meetings like this for years. So through sheer enthusiasm and cheer, things like mysterious characters and plot devices end up being created during the meetings.

Page 15

<no text>

Page 16

Dezember

Mysterious characters in manga often show up with their face cast in shadows. Dezember was born because I thought, “Why not make those shadows real?” But he ended up as a cooler character than I expected, using his shadows to attack and such.

I wanted to base him off of a toy for future plot developments, but I’m really glad I decided to based him off of dice. He became a really good character.

August

I think he’s actually a really nice person.

My editor for Main Quest really liked August, so whenever they got the chance they tried to push for more August.

Avril

A character that’s rather rare for Senyuu - one that just genuinely does bad things for bad reasons. I planned to draw her as really evil so you could tell she was a bad person, but she ended up just casually munching on bread - it really surprised me.

Neun

Back when his only appearance was a silhouette, I just wanted to make people think of that character at first. But now that I really think about the design I thought up for him after - isn’t he pretty cute?

Juli

Just like Foyfoy, I often drew characters with this hairstyle back when I was a student. I usually gave it to trustworthy ally characters. I like his design and personality quite a bit - sorry I haven’t used you much…

Page 17

The Shadows

It’s super cool to be able to split your body for each die face. I also feel like it’s a great character setting that each split has his own personality. A thought just crossed my mind - couldn’t I draw a manga just based around the Dezembers’ home life? 

...I guess it would end up like Osomatsu-san...? 

Page 18

Zwei

I wanted to use the concept that she was old despite her looks because she was a demon, so I had her dentures fly out - but now that I think about it, there’s other old demon characters, including some characters older than Zwei. So that would make her dentures a result of her own problematic lifestyle, not because of her old age…

Wanna Stab~

A mob among mobs, who ranked high in a popularity poll. I shall now grant him a name - “Phoenix the Rich”.

Mortmome

The stuff on his shoulder does some mysterious things, preventing his body from turning as well when the drill turns.

Page 19

The Great Mage

The cape he wears is very warm. His research assistants gifted him the cape as a present for his birthday sometime in his later years of life, as they were worried about his health. That’s why Alba always wears the cape.

Elf

He’s meant to be someone who knows the secrets of the world - but I can’t count the number of times I considered whether it would be better to just make him a regular old funny character. Good on you for surviving through all that, Elf!

Alf

While I did want there to be a “Elf’s best friend” character, I hadn’t thought about his name at all. So when it came time for him to appear, I really struggled with it. I wanted to make his name like Alba and Ros (Albatross) or Salt and Lake (Salt Lake)…

I may have struggled the most with Alf’s name among all my characters, considering I usually just pick names on instinct. 

Page 20

Salt and Lake and Lym

The Hero Academy trio. At first, I planned for Salt to become the Demon Lord, but when I sat down to draw everything out, Lake ended up in that role - it really shocked me.

I had always planned for the story to shift from the adventure setting of Seasons 1 and 2 to the school setting of Season 3. Though the end result is completely different from what I imagined. 

Season 3 was really fun to draw since it defied my expectations at every turn.

Page 21

Lyman

I wanted to draw a pathetic older man. I also want his scar to be because of some pathetic reason like “He tripped at a bar.”

Elmer

I reused the soldier design I thought up prior to thinking up Alba and Ros. He’s a little older than Rchi.

Justice

Justice is her ally. In other words, I wanted to make a character where no matter what she does, “I’m doing it, so it’s just!”

But it was too difficult to figure out how to deal with a character like that, so I ended up just making a regular old hotheaded reckless character. 

In the end though, she ended up as a character I quite like.

Page 22

Grandpa

A character who loves money. Since I love characters who love money, he’s a character that’s fun to use. It doesn’t actually have to be money, I like characters true to their own desires in general.

Hasegawara-kun

He was originally meant to be a silent character, but I got the urge to make him talk right before I was going to send in the manuscript. Since I wouldn’t make it if I typesetted his speech, I wrote his lines myself. By writing his lines in a way that can only be expressed through handwriting, I made it seem like I planned that from the start.

I made his speech typesetted again after I did that plot where he speaks super eloquently. 

Rib Man

He requires no explanation! 

It was funny when he moved in the anime.

Page 23

Sochi and Co.

There’s a game called Medabots - in that game, a character called Samantha leads a three-person team called the Screws. I’ve always liked that team since I was a kid. And then, I learned that my editor for Senyu was close with people who were involved with creating the original Medabots. So I had my editor tell them, “I want to put in characters I respect! Please leave it be!” 

Please google the Screws that I respect, I respect them.

Lucop

I had vaguely thought up what was going to happen until the end of season 4 of Senyu. But since I’ve done everything I originally thought up, F5 - which I’m drawing now - is all based on plot developments I thought up in +. 

-I’ve been saying that for a while now. Lucop as well was just a throwaway joke at first. But as I started moving him around, amazing developments like “Huh? No way… you had a past like this…?” burst out of him, and so he became the current Lucop.

Page 24

Midnight

A travelling doctor. As he treats his patients, he’s also searching for a cure to Mom’s mysterious disease. He’s a completely normal person with no special powers. He wanted Alba to become strong through his own power, not through familial connections.

Cecily

A mother who adores her children. I think it’s pretty amazing that she managed to raise Lake up herself and send him off to school despite being blown off to a mysterious place out of nowhere.

Page 25

Rchimedes the Second and his wife

Rchimedes the Second and his wife. (T/N: Yes, it’s written twice.)

Daromeon-san, who’s currently illustrating Kengan Ashura, was the one to draw the ridiculously beautiful backgrounds in the flashback arc in Season 2 when the Second was imprisoned. When I complained that I couldn’t draw it, he drew me amazingly beautiful.backgrounds. 

The Second’s design is based off of a mysterious preconception I have that “Demon Lords should wear raggedy capes.” Mama’s design is based on those soothing, kind moms you often see in anime.

The Mana Maker that he holds in this picture isn’t any particular Mana Maker. I just wanted to let a Mana Maker show up in a group picture.

Page 26

Rchimedes

While he’s tremendously evil, he ended up being quite loved. The Senyu characters I designed near the start wear clothes that I would never design now - I really think it’s amazing. Why did I dress him up in a jumpsuit when I decided to draw a Demon Lord?

On a side note, I imagined that the white part of his clothes peels off smoothly like tape if you pull at it from his neck. 

Crea

Since he took back his body from Rchimedes, his height shouldn’t have changed, but for some reason he mysteriously shrunk. 

Page 27

<no text>

Page 28

Originia

In a way, the story of these three marks the start of Senyu. Originia comes from me messing around with the the word “Original”. 

Rchimedes' scariest era just might be when he was living alone with Sion in Originia. Even though at first glance, it seems like he was living a peaceful, cheerful life with Sion, though occasionally getting beat up by him. But in reality, just what was he thinking deep inside, as he lived out his life, watching Crea and Sion?

Since I’m the author, I can generally imagine what my characters think just by thinking about it. But when it comes to Rchimedes during this time, all that comes to mind is “Scary scary scary”, and I can’t really think any further in detail.

I’m often asked “What’s Rchimedes’ original eye colour?”, but I think it was probably blue. I feel like I drew his eyes as blue somewhere, but I can’t remember…

Crea’s clothes slung around his shoulders that don’t fall off for whatever reason are actually sewn on - that’s why they don’t fall off. Crea sewed it on himself. While his threadwork is rough, it’s very sturdy. I think it’s wild and cool.

I showed a bit of what Sion did in the main story, but he generally did things like hauling supplies for hunting, looking far in the distance since his eyes are good, and going shopping in far-off cities for the village. Things like that.

Page 29

The two from Season 4 Episode 0

The two from Elf and Alf’s universe. Since Rchimedes’ magic research hasn’t progressed that much, they mostly fight with brute force. Since Crea never had his body stolen, he’s doing well. (He’s not doing well at all.)

Page 30

Creasion

When I was a kid, I read in a manga, “‘Hero’ isn’t something you call yourself - it’s a title you’re granted by others.” I remember thinking, “I see, that certainly makes sense,” and agreeing with it. I also thought, “While you generally think of heroes as being brave and splendid, the person who’s actually adventuring might not be able to stand expectations like that sometimes.”

Creasion may be a character borne out of those feelings of mine.

Ros, please have tons of sweets and smile tons as well.

Page 31

<no text>

Page 32

Sleepiez

When I thought of the name “Sleepiez” in Senyu+, I didn’t think much of it except “There’s an anti-Alba organization”. I also planned for Boss to be a new character. But after I took the time to think about it properly, the Sleepiez in their current form were born.

Thanks to the current Sleepiez being created, F5 was able to start even though I thought before “I’ve already done everything I want to do with Senyu, I can’t make another proper season.”

If there was no Sleepiez, I feel like + would’ve lazily continued, then at some good cut-off point, I feel like I would’ve been told, “Do you think it’s about time to end it?”

A tenth anniversary for example… it would’ve been a good cut-off point… how scary!

Boss

I can’t write about most of the Sleepiez members just yet, so I’ll be talking about Boss as their representative. 

Boss is an alternate universe’s Alba, so despite being Boss, he’s still Alba, and so I want to make him feel like Alba still. But since he’s Boss he can’t retort or make jokes, since it would ruin his dignity. So at the very least, I gave him Alba’s fashion sense to keep his Alba feel. Since his heart stained black and he became evil, his fashion sense naturally became eviller as well, but he’s still Alba, the base is still Alba. He’s wearing clothes that kinda feel like a middle schooler who just discovered fashion for the first time, like he hasn’t managed to go full evil in terms of clothes just yet.

Now I can keep Boss as Boss while still giving him an Alba feel! ...is what I thought, but… does he actually still have that feel…?

Page 33

Alba with Mana 

It made me happy that my wish for my protagonist to become the strongest at the end was granted. I thought up a lot of reasons for why only one of his eyes is red, like how it’s because his awakening is still incomplete, etc., but the number one reason is “it’s cool.” 

A single red eye is cool, right?! It’s cool right?!

Now that he can use his mana to some extent, he controls his overwhelming mana to hold it back, so his eyes are both back to black now.

Page 34

<no text>

Page 35

SQ Senyuu.

I had this conversation once-

Y-san from Dwango told me, “I want to take Senyu to a magazine to have it serialized!” 

I thought it would be awesome if it actually happened, so I approved it. Then I was like, “If you do take it to a magazine, where would you take it?”

Then Y-san responded, “Well, if you say ‘magazine’, you think Jump.”

And I was like, “Nah nah, Jump would be impossible, ahahaha.”

I never thought that Y-san would actually bring me an offer for serialization in Jump - Y-san was way too capable. Since my personal experience with Jump all started from there, I’m really grateful!

Pages 36-43

<Season 1 Episode 1 redraw>

Page 44

Afterword

Since I’ve remade Senyu Episode 1 many times before, I thought that I would never remake it again. But then I thought- why don’t I remake Episode 1 at the exact time it was originally released ten years ago, as celebration! So I ended up remaking it again.

But I think it may be my first time remaking it without changing any of the jokes or content.

[rosedavid]

Ooh ... Childhood toy for the Merthur prompt please

Thank you for the prompt!!! I got too carried away on this one so I posted it on AO3

Here’s the link

however, in case someone wants to read it on tumblr, I’ll post it here too :)

...

Merlin heaves up the final crateful of his stuff. He looks over the tiny, ramshackle room fondly, a smile gracing his lips. It’s strange seeing it completely bare again, just like the day he first arrived in Camelot. Things were so different back then. Merlin never would have expected to be where he is today in his wildest dreams, yet here he is moving into the King’s bedchambers not as a servant, but as a companion. Despite his happiness about officially moving in with Arthur, leaving his old room is bittersweet. So many memories were made in this little room, from trying to turn a stone dog into a real one to clumsily trying to hide his spell book when Arthur came rampaging in unannounced. With one last glance and a deep breath, Merlin closes the door for the last time.

Merlin runs into Gwen on his way to Arthur’s (or, he supposes, his and Arthur’s) chambers. She’s long been promoted as a key advisor to the King, a position well deserved. Her affections have been stolen by Lancelot once again, and the two have been courting for quite some time. It’s obvious to everyone how besotted they are for each other.

“Finished moving in yet?” Gwen asks.

“Last crate,” Merlin responds. “Shouldn’t you still be in the council meeting?”

“Shouldn’t you?”

Technically, Merlin is supposed to be at the meeting. As Court Sorcerer, attending all meetings and royal functions is in his job descriptions. However, he skives off enough so that when a meeting is particularly boring, Arthur doesn’t even nag him into going realizing it’s a futile effort. Not to mention, today’s meeting was supposed to be especially dull. Arthur constantly reprimands him about his complaints, saying that “All meetings are equally important to the King.” Of course, they both know that’s not true, especially when Arthur continuously sends looks at Merlin throughout the meeting.

“Well, you know me,” Merlin shrugs. “But I actually have permission from the Royal Prat today. I’ve been so busy recently with these new magic laws that I’ve hardly had time for a break, let alone to move all my things into Arthur’s chambers.”

“Are you nervous?”

A few months ago, Merlin may have said yes. Despite him and Arthur being as close as they were for so long, a romantic relationship brought with it a lot more awkwardness and learning than either of them expected. It took some trial and error before they got back into a rhythm again and felt completely comfortable around each other. Now, though, Merlin can safely say that he’s not nervous about moving in with Arthur officially. It just feels…right.

“No, I’m not,” Merlin replies. “Although, I’m not looking forward to Arthur’s inevitable complaints about my stuff sharing his space.”

Gwen stifles a laugh. “He’ll get used to it, but he’ll never stop complaining.”

“Exactly. But you still haven’t answered my question. Did you leave because the council meeting is over?”

“Just about. I made an excuse of having a headache, which was about to be true if I stayed in there for any longer.”

“I bet Lancelot tried to carry you down to Gaius himself,” Merlin teases.

“I had to swear to him that I would go straight there multiple times before he let me out of his sight.”

They laugh together. Merlin adjusts his grip on the crate as it begins to slip out of his arms.

“Oh! I’m sorry. I totally forgot that you were still carrying that.”

“I’m strong Gwen, remember?” Merlin jokes. “Don’t worry about it. I always like talking to you. We need to catch up soon.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

They part ways. Merlin finishes his trek, a trek that he’s taken so many times before. Still, this time feels different. This time, he’s entering his room as well. He doesn’t have to worry about knocking or barging in unexpectedly (not that he ever worried about that before). Merlin kicks open the door with his foot, nodding at the guard that’s stationed outside.

He drops the crate with a thud next to the bed and looks around. Arthur’s chambers don’t look much different even with Merlin moved in. Merlin never had much stuff to begin with. In fact, most of his things came from Arthur eventually. A new wardrobe, nicer blankets and pillows, and even a magic book he came across while traveling. Still, his stuff is nothing compared to the grandeur of Arthur’s possessions. Of course, it doesn’t bother Merlin. He has everything he needs as long as they’re together.

Merlin finishes unpacking the crate, storing some books away and folding some cloaks. Then, suddenly, that’s it; he’s all moved in. He lives with Arthur. He gets to go to sleep and wake up every morning at Arthur’s side. They can eat breakfast together without Merlin having to walk across the castle and meet him every morning.

The door opens behind him. He turns and sees Arthur dressed regally, cape flowing behind him. He looks brave and fearless and powerful, as any King should. When he looks at Merlin, though, his expression melts into one of softness and adoration.

“Is that the last of it?” Arthur asks.

“Yup. I’m officially moved in! You’re stuck with me,” Merlin says, poking his side.

“Hmm,” Arthur contemplates. “Are you sure it’s too late?”

“Too late.”

“Well, then, I guess I’ll just have to make the most of it.”

With that, Arthur swoops in and kisses Merlin. A gloved hand cups Merlin’s face, while Arthur’s other hand sneaks down to the dip in his spine, tracing over it. Merlin’s hands fly up to Arthur’s hair, knotting his fingers in the tresses. Arthur’s mouth tastes like the watered down wine the castle staff serves during most meetings. Soon, Arthur starts backing Merlin toward the bed, and Merlin giggles when the back of his knees hit the frame. Arthur starts trailing kisses down his neck, just about to push Merlin down onto the bed when he suddenly stops, staring at something behind Merlin.

“Arthur? What’s wrong?”

“What is that thing?” Arthur asks incredulously, pointing toward their bed.  Merlin cranes his neck behind him to see what Arthur is pointing at.

It’s Merlin’s stuffed bear. Beary, to be precise. Merlin has had him since he was a baby. According to his mum, the stuffed bear was always Merlin’s favorite toy. He remembers toting it around with him everywhere, especially before he met Will. It was a comfort object, something to keep him company when he felt most lonely. It helped him through a lot of dark times. Many nights, he remembers crying himself to sleep after being constantly rejected by the rest of the village. He would hold the bear tight to his chest all night long, refusing to let go. Now, it’s more of a comfort just to have it near. He brought it to Camelot with hardly any hesitation, as it was something familiar in a completely new place. He’s never thought to get rid of it, despite it being completely worn down and falling apart He’s had to resew Beary numerous times, yet the stuffing inside of him always seems to come out, and the button eyes always seem to be missing.

“That’s Beary, my childhood toy,” Merlin says simply.

“And why pray tell is it on our bed?”

“He is on our bed because he that’s where he belongs.”

Arthur stares at him. “You’re kidding, right? Why do you even have that thing, anyway?”

“He was my favorite toy when I was a child, Arthur,” Merlin explains, picking Beary up gently. “He always brought me comfort when I most needed it. I don’t know if you knew this, but I didn’t really have friends growing up besides Will. I was pretty much ostracized from the rest of the village. I guess you could say he was a friend of sorts.”

“And you brought him to Camelot.”

Merlin shrugs. “He still brings me comfort, when I look of him, and he reminds me of Ealdor and my mum. Plenty of people still have their childhood toys.”

“Girls, maybe.”

“Hey! Toys are for everyone. Didn’t you have a favorite toy when you were little?”

Merlin sits down on the bed and puts his bear back in the center against the pillows. Arthur sits down next to Merlin, so close that their shoulders and thighs touch.

“I did have a toy sword,” Arthur muses. “Father wanted me to start training to be a knight as early as possible.”

Merlin’s eyebrow furrows. “You didn’t have any stuffed animals? Or blocks? Or puppets?”

“I had books on Camelot and royal etiquette.”

Suddenly, Merlin feels a bit guilty. Although he knows Arthur’s life has been anything but easy, oftentimes he forgets some of the struggles he’s had to deal with. Merlin’s childhood was nothing to boast about, but he was relatively happy. He had his mother by his side, a loving and caring figure. He had his needs taken care of, as well as they could be for a peasant. He eventually came to have Will, his best friend. Back then, Merlin knew nothing about his destiny. Arthur, on the other hand, has known about his destiny to become King since the day he was born. And Uther was anything but a sweet, loving father. Arthur has told him stories before about leading raids as a teenager, killing while he himself was still a boy. Yet somehow, Merlin never considered that he didn’t ever have a childhood even though it makes sense.

“Well, since you’re sharing your chambers with me, I can share Beary,” Merlin offers with a grin.

“I’ll pass,” Arthur says dryly.

“Come on! He’ll be your beary best friend!”

“You’re ridiculous,” Arthur laughs.

“I’m sorry, Arthur, but Beary and I are a package deal. You can’t have one without the other.”

Arthur suddenly tackles Merlin against the bed, playfighting with him as they laugh. It doesn’t take long for them to eventually tire, though, leaving Arthur to collapse beside Merlin as they lean up against the pillows.

“I think the bear is more appealing at this point,” Arthur jokes.

Merlin mock frowns, reaching over Arthur to pick Beary back up. He nuzzles the bear’s face against Arthur’s neck, pouting at Arthur’s previous expression.

“Well I think you’re unbearable,” Merlin huffs, unable to keep a straight face for long. Arthur snorts, grinning with him.

Beary is then taken carefully from his hands and brought under Arthur’s scrutinizing gaze. “Why in the world would you name him Beary? That’s the worst possible name I could think of!”

“I can think of one worse name.”

“You’re just so funny, Merlin.”

Arthur then takes the bear in his hands and places it face down on his nightstand. He pulls Merlin’s body flush against his own. Thankfully, Arthur has forgone his armor for the afternoon, making it much more comfortable.

“Why did you do that?” Merlin asks, referring to his bear.

“Because I don’t want him to see this next part,” Arthur grins, causing Merlin to blush. He joins lips with Merlin again breathily, but Merlin pulls back before they can do much else.

“Does that mean Beary can stay?” Merlin asks smugly.

Arthur rolls his eyes, but it’s followed with a smile.

[doriwrites]

okayo so continuation of the excerpt i posted wayyy back about bendis and nasar, IF YOU HAVEN’T READ IT YOU WILL UNDERSTAND NOTHING NADA RIEN DU TOUT (find it under the where stories go to die tag) (+completely IGNORE  the shitty worldbuilding you’re just here for the feels) (++ this is still somewhat relevant since even though the story has drastically changed, the characters are still the same so i guess i could almost call that a AU) (+++ it gets violent at the beginning)

One day, when she’s practicing touch, she notices the scars. There’s one on her stomach and one on her chest. There’s one on her cheek and one on her ankle. She’s happy— no, at peace with them. Because they’re a reminder. Of what she lost and what she gained. They’re a reminder that she survived. A reminder that she lived and that she will keep living. They’re a goal. They’re a promise. 

   One day, when she’s practicing sound, she hears something she doesn't like. At all.  Nasar left this morning and she’s alone in the forest where everything but the trees and the birds is quiet. He told her to stay put but. She hears it and she can’t unhear it. 

 “...from the institute… bad shape but good batch.”

 “Boss will be pleased… the Bel kid and his…”

 “...magic users? Damn, kids these days.”

 “Right? Look at all the good it does them.”

  There’s something like a struggle, a harsh sound and a whimper. And she knows. She just— she knows. But Nasar is not here and she can barely walk ten minutes without falling face first on the ground. And this is a forest with trees and roots and— and there’s nothing she can do and it’s been a while since she last felt so helpless she almost forgot the hows and the whys. 

 The footsteps and the voices get clearer and— and she does something stupidstupidstupid but she can’t. She can’t help it. She hopes Nasar will get there before they get close enough but he doesn’t. She thumbs at the little blade he gave her (“To protect yourself.”) and wonders how he’ll feel when he finds her dead body. When they pass by the trees she’s hiding behind, she lunges. Her war cry is cut short when a foot hits her in the chest and she hits a trunk. It hurts but she gets up and focuses on the sounds. There’s a harsh laugh, nothing like Nasar’s and she doesn’t have time to separate and analyse and compartmentalize because there’s a hand in her hair and it yanks. She’s dangling from the ground and trashing and snarling and— and maybe she’s crying, too, because her scalp is burning and it hurts. 

 “There’s a wild one. Look at that. Very… feral,” someone says in her face and she doesn’t think and just— She doesn’t know how because she’s a kid and they’re a grown adult but. She didn’t let go of the blade and they don’t seem to care and. She plunges it in flesh. Again and again and again and for as long as it takes for them to let her go. “Fucking… hell. What— What the fuck,” the voice says, and then, seething, “What the fuck.” 

 The threads— she thinks there might be four people. She’s not sure. She  doesn't now because there’s a fist in her gut and she falls to her knees. Someone is laughing and it’s mean. She wants Nasar. She wants. She wants. But there’s a fist in her face. Again and again and again. And she can’t hear anything but the blood in her ears and her bones breaking and. And she thinks about Nasar and how he will find her dead body. 

 But then. Then. The voice without a voice, the presence. Greedy, with its grudges. The magic. Hers. 

 did you forget that you were born in blood

 did you forget that you were born in war 

 did you forget that you must live

 Her threads. They feel alive and she forgot about them like one  forget about one’s body. It’s here, always, but. One only remembers when it hurts. 

 And so, they lunge, too. Wrap themselves around the toxic ones and yank, too. They slither around a hand and two. They slither up, up, up an arm and two. And they crush. They crush and she thinks she can hear the bones breaking. They crush and she thinks she can hear the screams. They crush hard, unforgiving and she feels the how dare you. There’s a bundle of them crawling up a leg, a torso and then a neck. The snake-like threads yank and the crack echoes through her bones. She wants to throw up and she wants to black out but there’s another one. 

 did you forget that you were born for blood

 did you forget that you were born for war

 did you forget that you must live

 They weave their way to a foot, they yank at an ankle, at a knee, they yank at a whole damn pelvis and for good measure, they wrap themselves around a neck and crushcrushcrush until there’s nothing left to crush but blood and bones. 

  She throws up. She throws up and she’s shaking and crying and she can’t hear anything but the headache pounding in her ears. Her body hurts. Everything smells like blood. Her threads smell— feel like blood as they wrap around her with nothing of the vicious killing intent from before. From a moment ago. They wrap around her limbs gently, like a caress. They wrap around her body and she throws up again. They wrap, wrap, wrap until they’re a mockery of the cocoon she likes to make with Nasar’s. 

 She doesn’t know how long she stays like that. She doesn’t know. But something touches her and she lashes out like an animal with no escape route. She trashes and trashes and trashes until she notices everything still hurts. She trashes because she can’t hear and she can’t see and she doesn’t— Hands take a hold of her own and bring them to a face.

  There’s a long nose and lots of eyebrows. There’s a beard and some wrinkles. She realizes there’s threads, too. Sharp but somehow soft. She sobs and goes limp in Nasar’s arms. Her own threads are still wrapped around her and she knows they’re healing her. She wishes they wouldn’t. Because she doesn’t like them. She doesn’t. She doesn’t. She doesn’t. She doesn’t. She— She shudders as she remembers what they did (what she did?). 

 She doesn’t know how long she stays like that. Wrapped in her threads and his arms. She’s being spoon fed and drinks greedily from a flask. She sleeps a lot but does not dream. She moves only if she’s moved and can’t think much. When she wakes, however briefly, she hears voices like they’re behind a wall or in a bottle. There’s two. One familiar and one unknown. Sometimes she thinks she can feel something wet but warm nuzzling at her cheek. She wants to reach out. She wants. She wants. She— she sleeps. 

When she wakes up for good and her threads go back to hide in her body, there’s voices. Nasar’s and someone else’s. Her head is pillowed on something warm and. And there’s fur in her mouth and in her nose. She sneezes. And the nuzzling is back. She wants to reach out, so she does. It’s a snout. A tongue licks at her wrist. There’s pointy ears and she’s sure there’s a tail around her middle. It feels like a dog but she can’t be sure. 

  There's a hand in her hair and she flinches. She flinches so hard and ugly that the creature yelps. "Hey, hey," it's Ringo Nasar, her friend—protector—bounty-huntermurderer— her friend and his voice is soft when he says it's me. It shakes a little when he says you're fine. She grabs his arm and clings so hard and ugly that the man yelps. He yelps and she laughs. It's a small sound full of tears and relief and something like love. It sounds like a thank you and she hopes he hears it. "I'm not going anywhere," he says, soft, gentle, kind— kinder than most things, kinder than she deserves maybe. 

 At once, she remembers what she did, what her threads— what they did. She shudders. Hard and uglyuglyugly— Two lives. She took two lives and she's not sure she can ever forget the sound of breaking bones and the feel of someone else's blood on her threads. She took two lives and Nasar will not have to find her dead body. She took two lives and she lives. 

 She feels like throwing up but has almost nothing in her belly and knows it would be a really bad idea to puke on Nasar's cloak. She prepares for a word vomit instead but— "You don't have to talk about it now," he says and she remembers the dog-creature-familiar and the unknown voice. She reaches for sharp silver threads and it soothes raw wounds. "The dog is Remus," he says, "the kid is Valko." 

 There's some angry sputtering and a he's a wolf and she remembers the two lives she took and the three lives she saved. It’s not very much but it’s hers and the boy’s and his familiar— his familiar. It hurts to even think about and she buries deeper in her friend—protec— her friend’s chest. Her threads are somewhere she can’t see, chastise in a blind spot as she clutches harder at the silver ones. She can see the wolf’s and almost reaches out when she remembers the warm and fuzzy feelings his nuzzling brought but. She’s good where she is and the warm and fuzzy feelings are there, too. 

 Later, when she lets go of her friend but never of his threads, and everyone is settled around a fire, she notices the boy’s. They look like brimming, boiling water made of anger, desperation and sadness. She’s sure they taste like it, too. But they also look drooping and mopping and something like a pout. It’s both funny and miserable to look at them and she wonders if the boy knows they’re green. Instead, she asks, “What is the Institute?”

 The threads quiver. “It’s a school for people like us,” he says and she knows he’s not looking at her, “there’s two in the land alone. A dozen in the country.”

 “Do they— do you—”

 “Thank you,” he says quickly, quietly, like it burns him, like it frees him, “thank you. I— we wouldn’t… There’s things far worse than death out there and— and we would be it if you didn’t— if you hadn’t…” The threads flutter, quaver. The threads say everything he cannot. Then, he huffs a little laugh and his threads say just how fake it is. “Soft magic is a real pain. Not very useful against— against anything.” 

 She waits for a bit or two because these are words she ever only heard in passing. “Soft magic?”

 “Yeah,” he pauses, “have you never— I mean. Ah,” he sighs when Nasar’s threads sharpen in her hands, “they categorize magic. At the Institute. More like, umbrella terms or— whatever. Soft and hard magic at both ends of the spectrum. Intermediate’s in the middle.”

 She doesn’t ask him to demonstrate. She wants to but she doesn’t because it feels like he’s embarrassed or ashamed or both and she doesn’t like it. His threads seem flighty at best and she doesn’t want to scare them— him— away. “What did… what happened? What did it look like?” she asks because there’s no way she can ever know but she wants to so desperately it hurts her brain. 

 He explains. He explains how he saw everything, half-dazed, half-unconscious. He explains the threads (“They were orange.”) and the deaths (“They crushed until— until they didn’t.”). He explains how they came from right in the middle of your chest and how they wrapped themselves around her after. He explains the magic in the air (“I think I still got some stuck in my lungs.”) and how it was so potent it froze him in place. How it was so potent he could do nothing but watch you (kill-destroy-annihi—). Nasar says it was so potent he knew from a mile away how much trouble she was in. 

 When they go to sleep that night, all she can think about are her orange threads and the silver ones and the greens and the familiar’s. Before she falls asleep, she wonders if Paprika’s threads would have felt as kind as her and as brave, too. She wonders if Miss Cyn’s are warm and soft and like a smile. She wonders where the dead threads go. 

 Nasar takes it upon himself to see the boy and his familiar home safely. He surprises her every day and she likes him more each time. They travel far, far away from the forest and the stinky towns and the boy grabs her arm when she trips over roots. He grabs her arm when there’s a tree ahead and he grabs her arm when she stumbles over thin air. His familiar hovers behind and nudges her in the right direction when she wanders off the path. Nasar doesn’t say anything but he guffaws when it ends in flailing limbs and a three bodies pile on the ground. 

 When they stop to rest and Nasar helps her work on her braille, the green threads are curious and they watch over her shoulder as her fingers work the letters. When they stop to rest and Nasar lands her Little Death, the green threads are interested and they watch as she tries and fails to juggle the heavy weapon around. When they stop to rest and Nasar tells her about the smell of ships and seas and ropes, the green threads are thoughtful and they watch as she asks questions she didn’t know she had. The green threads are curious and interested and thoughtful but the boy is distant and aloof and stiff. 

 So she asks him if he knows braille and when he answers with a I don’t need to she hands him her book and gives him directions. She asks him if he knows anything about swords and when he answers with a some she demands he teaches her. She asks him if he ever saw the sea and when he answers with a no she tells him what she thinks it looks like. The green threads are content and the boy slumps a little. 

 They become friends and he tells her about his familiar. He tells how he awakened early and how the wolf didn’t find him for a long while after that. He tells her about the day he did and how it was the best of them all (“Like all the wrongs were righted. Like it made sense.”) and how they never parted from each other since. He tells her how much he loves him (“He’s like a limb. Or— a soul, yeah. Like my soul.”) and how he thinks he would die without him ("If anything were to happen to him…I don't want to think about it."). 

 She listens carefully and wants to tell him how he would live instead. She wants to tell him how he would feel cut in half and how his thoughts would feel lonely sometimes. Instead, she tells him about Ringo. She tells him how much of a good teacher he was to Nasar ("Because he protects.") and how he gave him Little Death even though it was his. She tells him how she thinks he's dead and how much she's sad about it ("Why?", "I would like to thank him.", "...Why?", "Because he gave me Nasar."). She tells him I miss someone I never met and how she will have a sword named after him someday. 

  The familiar— Remus— is always near. His threads are fluffy and she wants to pet them but doesn't ask because threads are special and a familiar even more so. It doesn’t keep her from the cuddle fest and she's grateful. He lets her talk to him and even though he never answers, she knows he is listening. He lets her lay close at night and it keeps the frowns and the nightmares at bay. He lets her pet him and be clingy and laughs in his ears and she feels warm. 

 One day, Valko decides that you can't keep walking into trees every other minute and that he's going to do something about it. He decides she needs a stick or a cane or something and she tells him yes, I do but ends up with a branch instead. He asks why she doesn't have one yet and she says she never really thought about it until now (silver threads tremble with something like shame and she reaches out). She tells him how she doesn’t like crowds much and how towns are difficult to deal with (green threads shake with something like intrigue and she recoils a bit). He tells her oh, so that's why we're in the middle of fucking nowhere and she says mind your language. 

 The day before they reach the Institute, he tells her about his magic. He tells her it's soft and meek and his voice is small and dejected. He tells her about shifters and a dad who wasn't one. He tells her about a boy who was supposed to be a wolf. He tells her about genetics and she's a little confused. At the end of it, he tells her just how funny he thinks it is that his familiar is a wolf but he can never be. He shrugs against her shoulder and tells her he got the sense of smell and hearing and— everything, I have everything but the wolf. 

 "You have the wolf," she says.

His thread feels fond when she grabs one, but there's longing there, where she thumbs at its middle. It's a little bit rough but all kind of soft. "I know." 

  She tells him about his threads. She tells him they're green and how she thinks they're more like moss than leaf but can't be sure because she forgot the little things. She tells him she hopes he looks just like they feel, half-tree, half-child. He tells her I am fourteen, thank you very much and what the hell. She laughs and tells him about birds and nests and he says duh. She tells him how trees can be homes. She tells him how they can be red and gold but she likes them green best. She tells him trees can look old when they're young. She tells him they can be damaged or marked or cracked but can never be moved. He says holy shit, I am a tree and she smiles warm and soft. 

 When the Institute is in front of her, she's surprised. They went around cities on their way but she thought the school for people like her (child—murderer—magic-user) would be in one. She's wrong. She's terribly wrong and they find themselves in the middle of fucking nowhere ("Shut it!") and green threads are restless. There's a pair of them in front of what she thinks are gates. They look muted somehow. Blurry. A not-even-a-color white. 

 She realizes she never asked how Valko found himself in the hands of slavers and why he was so far from home. She realizes he never told her. She realizes she never asked if he was alone before her and why he fakes laugh so often. She realizes she doesn't know him very much and she's sad. 

 They leave him with the muted threads and snot on his jacket. The wolf gets a hug and a lot of thank yous and apologies and petting. They wait until he's let in. They wait until she sees his threads for the last time. 

 That night, when she's settled in Nasar's cocoon and thinking about a boy and a wolf, she says, "The Institute. Didn't it— didn't it feel odd to you?" 

 The silver threads tighten around her, "Wait, do you mean the part where they send children to war or was it more about the titanic fortress?"

"...but. We're not at war."

He sighs like it pains him, "There's always a war somewhere, kid."

 "Is it— is it like a military? Because those were downtown all the time and Miss Cynn always said they were like leeches but I never understood what that means because I don't know what a leech looks like or what it is—" 

"They’re like vampires, they suck blood and happiness out of you."

"—and they were not really nice to the children and women but they were always nice to the drunk men pissing on Madam K’s shoes. I think that one is fair because Madam K was kind of mean sometimes and if they hadn’t pissed on her shoes, I might have—"

"That’s very bold of you."

  "—but. Valko was not like that. I mean… I don’t think he was."

"He was not like that. And yes, like a military," he sighs like it burns him, "Young magic-users are given the one-in-a-lifetime opportunity to learn how to harness, how to control, how to— how to optimize themselves, yeah," he chuckles lowly, "with the best teachers in the world."

 "Do you— do you mean for them?"

"Bendis. This world will take every chance it gets— every last one of them— to walk all over you. And these kids… these kids are running out of luck."

 "Do you mean luck or—"

"I mean luck. Those people... Bravery means death. Recklessness means death. And not in a Greater Good way but in a look-how-wrong-they-were way. The only way out is… deserting. Which is— it’s a terrible idea."

 "Why?"

"Deserters are hunted down. Once you get in, you can’t get out. If you were to leave... ", he sighs like it haunts him, "I— he never asked."

 "...We didn’t, either."

His threads buzz with confusion and regrets and protector-friend-protector-prote— They hum with a sort of disquiet she never felt from him before. "I know."

 "...You know a lot about them."

 "Mh. People seldom differ, kid. Give them power and they will abuse it. It's really that simple." 

 "What does seldom means and how—"

 They stop in a quiet inn, and Nasar leaves in the morning. She decides she has things To Do Today. She takes the branch with her and only runs into thirty two people (to whom she asks directions every time) before she finds the library. The librarian is harder to find still but when she asks her if they have any books in braille, brown threads brighten considerably and she hears a smack and a woman's voice says it's your lucky day! before it leads her to an empty section of the room. There's three books and one of them she already has. She's almost certain another one is about pirates but the last one. The last one says universal spellbook and she reads until she can't. She doesn’t understand everything and when she does it's about rankings and soft-hard-intermediate and category and— she steals the book.  

 When Nasar comes back and his threads are clean but he smells like blood, he tells her good job and helps her decipher the book. He tells her what he knows about magic ("Everyone has it. There's a hereditary thing going on and awakenings rituals everywhere.") and she levels him with an unimpressed look. He tells her what he thinks he knows ("There's something like neutral magic— the one out there, you know? Not inside us. The magic of the trees and the seas. The one we don't incubate until it implodes,  yeah?”) and she goes for his neck. He tells her the spellbook is what we can do with it and she gasps so loud because I didn't know that. Why didn't I kno— "The only way to learn this stuff is through institutes. Or whatever-council approved tutor. This is just a book of spells. Nowhere does it tell you how to— how to cast them. It tells you plenty about their nature but not the way you need to— to work the magic. Universal means for everyone. But everyone is too big a number." 

  "But people must have tried—"

"They do try. All the time. Sometimes they die trying and they're lucky. Sometimes they get caught and— It's ugly."

 She reads the book still. She reads it until she knows the twenty six spells ranked between the letter F and the letter D. She reads it until she knows the difference between soft and intermediate and hard ones. She reads until she knows their categories and common uses and her brain itches. She reads. She reads. She reads. Until the day she doesn’t.

  It's late and she's waiting for Nasar in another smelly inn room. When he comes, she has a pillowcase tied around her head and cotton in her ears. He takes her hands from the book and presents them with a cane. It's long and sturdy and nothing like the branch that broke after fifteen minutes a few days ago. She cries a lot. But mostly, she smiles until she can’t.

 Walking becomes easier but she makes sure to be as good without the cane as she is with it. It's difficult and it takes time but she wants a sword named Ringo. It's difficult and it takes time until she remembers her threads (orange-murderer-magic) and decides they might be useful. It's difficult and it takes time because she remembers the bones and blood and death on them and how it stuck for days. It's difficult and it takes time but they're like eyes who can see everything she can't. 

 At night, she dreams about a boy who was supposed to be a wolf and the wolf who is like a limb. She dreams about a tree  overrun by moss and a sword without a name. She dreams about a woman with a soft smile and calloused hands who is so kind she tells an orphan girl to run, run away before—  and she never remembers how it ends. She dreams about silver threads and spellbooks and institutes and child-soldiers. She dreams about green .

 They leave this town and the next, and she's got a book under an arm and a cane in her hand. She asks Ringo Nasar for more books about magic and his threads are not very happy but he asks when's your birthday? and she gets a book about bloodlines. She asks Ringo Nasar when's your birthday? and when he says I'm not sure she decides to give him one like Miss Cyn had for her. She realizes she doesn't know what to get him because Ringo Nasar does not like many things but Little Death and Bendis. But he gets a knife she found under a mattress and a stolen book about pirates. He gets hugs and kisses on the face and his laugh is so loud it echoes in her heart. 

  They lull themselves to sleep with whispered stories of a girl and her sword. She tells him how the sword saves the girl every single time and he tells her how the girl saves herself. He tells her how the girl becomes sword in the end and she tells him how the sword becomes him.

 The fire crackles at the night and her threads reach out. Tentative. Hesitant. They reach out. And there's no violence in the way orange wraps around silver. And there's no wrath where it weaves its way up, up, up. But Nasar stiffens and she thinks she might have done something wrong even if she didn't mean— But then his threads answer. They answer. They— she doesn’t know how he's doing it, if he's doing it, but his threads intertwine with hers and she thinks. She thinks she might be feeling his soul. 

 It feels like his threads and his sword and his leg. It feels like rainy days in shitty inn rooms and cold nights in the woods. It feels like it's known too many ends and not nearly enough beginnings. It feels like both the wielder and the weapon and how sometimes they're the same. But it feels like cocoons and  laughter and comfort. It feels like all the pieces that make Ringo Nasar and more. 

 “You feel like the sea,” he says quietly. And she thinks she understands. 

   She wakes with the sun and notices a new thread. It’s a little odd looking but she doesn’t mind. She doesn’t mind because it starts in her chest and  ends in his. And it feels like chosen birthdays and hushed voices.

[artnerd1123]

A Familiar World

Observations ——————————————-

Journal, still wary of his roommates, realizes he’s been spending too much time hiding and not enough time seeing what they’re up to. He needs more insight to see what they’re really like. Just how does one go about that, anyways? By sitting in the living room? 

The masterpost for AFW can be found here. The chapter post for AFW can be found here.

——————————————-

back here with another chapter i can actually post! some more journ n aiden interactions. this time, we get to see the ice finally break. enjoy!!!

A walk down the hall had never felt so odd. Well, that was a lie. Journal had walked down halls and felt strange before. But today was different. Especially considering the events of yesterday morning. The apartment hadn’t exactly felt friendly, just… like temporary housing. Until now, that is. There was just a smidgen of something different in the atmosphere. He wasn’t sure what to think. The sorcerer slipped quickly inside his room, doing his best not to spill his coffee as he yanked the door shut. He stood in silence for a moment. Hesitantly, he glanced down at his cup. His second coffee of the day, it was still warm, a little cloud of steam rising from it. It was a second cup he shouldn’t have been able to hold. He hadn’t had this much coffee left two days ago. He carefully lifted the mug to his lips, taking a long sip. Yep. It tasted exactly the way it should. They really did get the brand right… he mused to himself, a little impressed. Despite his best efforts, his roommates had managed to catch a detail as small as his coffee preference. He didn’t know how what to think about that either. Feelings muddled or clear, the sorcerer still had one morning task left.   Taking a breath, Journal strode over to his desk. He set his coffee on his right, pulling up a chair. He flopped into it with an unceremonious “thunk.” His hands moved on autopilot, pulling over an inkwell with his favorite quill, and sliding a leatherbound book out of a desk drawer. He set the book before him, flipping to a blank page. A few fumbling snaps and whispered words managed to light a nearby candle. The firelight danced across smooth yellow pages. He took his quill carefully. Dipping his quill in ink, he started to write. First, he scrawled out the day’s date. Then, the time. Lastly, he marked it as “record one.” It was important to keep things organized. Especially his daily record book. He considered his next words, then let the quill scratch across the page again.

Yesterday my roommates refilled my coffee. I’ve had some more this morning. I’m still not sure what to make of it. I did not request a refill, nor am I entirely sure how my roommates figured out what coffee brand I like. I did not consciously try to hint that I was running out, either. They simply bought me more out of nowhere. It was…

Here, his brows furrowed. His quill hovered above the page. It was… what? Strange? Out of the blue? It felt that way, but neither of those phrases really fit. Aiden smiled at him gently every morning. Roo- since the time Journal learned he could speak- had been nothing but quietly pleasant. Every time he’d ventured out, they’d given him space. They never made him feel like he had to stay or speak if he didn’t want to. Sure, they looked a little disappointed when he left, but they didn’t seem… malicious. So maybe the coffee thing wasn’t as unwarranted as he thought. But he didn’t… know these people. Why were they helping him out? His gaze wandered aimlessly across his desk as he thought. The wood was still new and polished. Despite his tendency to spill ink, there weren’t any stains or scratches yet. It was just a desk. The only familiar objects on it besides the writing utensil, ink pot, and book before him were a small group of papers to his left. His eyes drifted lazily over them, taking in the familiar handwriting. They were the letters he and Nettles exchanged. He’d written to her yesterday, actually. Revaew, he wished she was here now. Nettles’ words faded in from memory as he stared at her letters. “... There’s a piece of advice you forgot about: give your roommate a chance.” He snorted softly, leaning back in his chair. Give him a “chance.” What had other people in his life done with a chance? Nothing good. Even the people who were supposed to be his family threw it back in his face. Taking a “chance” with them got him kicked out. Not that the place he was thrown out from was ever really somewhere he belonged, anyway. “... Seems like they’re trying to make you feel more at home…” He raised a brow at that. Make him feel more at home? Well… they did give him coffee. That was something the folks in his old stomping grounds didn’t do. His brows furrowed as he considered it. These two didn’t demand he keep his door open, either. Or berate him for staying in here so long. Or complain about how he only came out for coffee. Or… or even try to poke their heads in his room. They let him be. They were friendly when he did see them. They never seemed to push at him for spending time together or for conversations. … What were they getting out of this? They had to be getting something out of this, right? “... I understand your concern. However, you can’t let it trap you. You’re not gonna get anywhere if you just stay in your comfort zone...” Well, yeah, I get that, he grumbled to himself. But did he? What had he done here besides sit in his room, read, and drink coffee? … ok, maybe she had a point. Nettles did say this town was a lot better than his previous one. At least on the magic acceptance front. And- before meeting Aiden- he’d never seen anyone with such bright colored hair besides Nettles and that travelling magician. Maybe that meant something. Not to mention the talking cat. He’d never seen that before in his life. It all had to count for something, right? Being here was already a bit out of his comfort zone, but… well. Maybe he ought to try another step out. At least Aiden wouldn’t get after him for practicing magic. At least the two were more consistent about greeting him warmly than anyone else in his old town. “...You gotta get used to your roomies sometime. I’d say with their latest gesture that it’s more than enough reason to start…” He heaved a sigh, setting his head in his hands. Right again, Nettles, he thought dully. It wasn’t like he could move out. The whole room-and-board fiasco hadn’t left him with much gold. It wasn’t like he wanted to try settling anywhere else, either. Nettles hand-picked this place for him. He didn’t trust himself to pick somewhere better. He was stuck. And he hadn’t… really had any reason to doubt his roommates. Yet. “...  If this fellow turns out to be an asshole, just write me another letter. I’ll take care of em.” A small smirk flitted across Journal’s face. There was that, too. If he ever found a reason to doubt their good intentions, all he had to do was write a letter. Nettles had his back. He was sure of it. Straightening up, he grabbed his quill again. He scanned his writing for a second- just to remember what he’d said- before eyeing the unfinished sentence. 

They simply bought me more. It was… 

Hesitantly, he bent over the paper. His quill scratched out the rest of his entry, the quiet clink of the feather’s rachis against the inkpot forming his own little song.

It was a kind gesture. I’m still not sure what I think of these two. I think I need some more observations. I will attempt to obtain some today, and in the days following. Discoveries and mutual respects aren’t made by those who stay hidden in their rooms. I hope this excursion will be beneficial. ~ Journal Drapht

~~~ Journal waited until Aiden and Roo returned to their room before exiting his own. He had a few spellbooks jammed under his right arm, his record book and writing utensils crammed under the other. Years of practice let him handle the load easily. But he had to move quick. The last thing he wanted to do was get caught in the middle of his plan. Kicking the door shut, he jogged stiffly down the hall. His observation location of choice was the living room. He heard his roommates fussing around in there a lot. He figured there was as good a place as any to watch them. Plus, it’s the living room. What’s wrong about hanging around in the living room? I mean, it’s my living room too, he reassured himself, it’s not like i’m breaking and entering or anything. He winced a bit as he reached the end of the hall. Better hope these two can’t read minds… The living room was empty- just as it should be. The couch was deserted. The coffee table had some sort of box set on it- based on the stains, Journal guessed it was full of paint. Across the room was the coat rack and a pair of armchairs. Aiden’s purple cloak was draped over the back of one armchair. The indigo paint stains on its cushions gave away Roo’s presence, too. And made it clear that Roo shed. At least, in some weird goopy cat way. Ok. So. He wouldn’t sit in that chair. But the other looked clear enough. He hurried to set his books on the small table between the chairs, curling up and laying his legs over the armchair’s side. He got his record book settled on his lap carefully. He still had yesterday’s spell goals to meet, so he figured he could get a start on it out here. After all, practice makes perfect. He didn’t have time for anything less. Journal tensed a bit when he heard boots in the hall. The sorcerer hurriedly grabbed a spellbook to bury his nose in, hoping desperately he hadn’t been seen sneaking to the living room. He flipped to a random page- water spells? What? That wasn’t what I was going for at all- but there was no time to search around. A silhouette filled the entrance to the hall, and he dared not raise his gaze from the book. For a moment, the room was silent. Journal did his best not to react. Was he too tense? He felt like he was too tense. He wanted to drum his fingers on the book cover, but what if that annoyed Aiden? Playing with his hair was out of the question- he couldn’t do that with someone else in the room. Not when his parents told him he’d need to quit it or cut it every time they caught him. The moment passed, though, and so did the man in the doorway. When Journal peeked up from his book, he saw Aiden going for his box of paints. Aiden glanced over his shoulder, and Journal yanked his book back into his face. He was sure there’d be another long awkward pause. But Aiden suddenly spoke. “It’s nice to see you out here,” Aiden said hesitantly. Journal didn’t reply. He tried to focus on the spellbook. Water spells… something about using a river for power… all stuff he wasn’t ready to work with yet. He just didn’t want to talk more than he had to. He didn’t know how to react to what Aiden said, either. “... There’s some snacks in the kitchen if you want any,” Aiden offered, speaking up again. “You’re welcome to anything you find.” Now that caught Journal’s ear. “... thanks. I’ll uh. Keep it in mind,” Journal mumbled, risking a peek up at him. Aiden was just giving him the usual warm smile. Though Journal didn’t miss the confusion in the older man’s eyes. He fixed his gaze on the book again when Aiden opened his mouth.   “Is it ok if I paint out here?” Aiden asked. “... whatever… just… don’t be loud… i guess…” Journal grumbled. “Of course,” Aiden nodded. “You won’t even realize I’m here.” We’ll see about that.

As Aiden set up his workspace, Journal followed suit. Where Aiden unfolded an easel, Journal swapped his spellbook for a more relevant title. While Aiden got out a canvas and picked a starting palette, Journal marked his record book for spell studies and found a chapter on light manipulation. Aiden dipped his brush in some green paint. Journal stuck his quill in his inkwell. For a little while, the only sounds were smooth brushstrokes, jerky quill scratching, and the clearing of throats. Quiet. Just like Journal wanted. Of course, that all changed when Journal glanced up to see Aiden’s palette floating in a small cloud of blue fog. Floating! His surprised squeak made red rise to his cheeks. He shoved his face back into his book before Aiden could look at him. He waited until the shuffle of feet told him Aiden turned back around. Slowly, he peeked over the top of his book. Yeah. The paint palette was floating. Just. Suspended in the air all casual like. He stared at it for a good minute before something else caught his gaze. Apparently, the palette wasn’t the only thing held by blue mist. A mug of dirty water and a cup of paintbrushes were hovering by Aiden’s side. Brows furrowed, Journal looked Aiden up and down. He was just standing there! Painting! Like maintaining several levitation spells at once was nothing! He had to write this down. Scribbling a quick line through an empty spell record, the young sorcerer hurried to write what was going on.

Aiden Observations, Day 1: 

Offered snacks

Respects my space

Painting in the living room

Quiet, well mannered

Using three levitation spells at once while painting

Appears not to mind the exertion- as if holding a single feather aloft on a breeze

Notes: his casual use of magic suggests he’s been using it for quite awhile. It’s possible I’m roomed with an experienced sorcerer. One could argue the matching eye and hair color was a dead giveaway, but I don’t have enough experience with sorcerers to confirm the link between hair/eye color and level of magic. Investigation may be needed on the subject.

Records updated for the time being, Journal set his quill back down. He needed to get back to his studies. Only, the words on the page were suddenly much less interesting. He found his gaze drifting around the paper in front of him aimlessly. It kept wandering off the pages and towards the painter at the coffee table. No matter how many times he shook his head or squinted at his spellbook, he couldn’t focus. With a quiet huff, he plopped the spellbook onto the end table. Fine. I’ll investigate some stuff now, he sighed. When he looked up, Aiden was still painting. From what he could see of the canvas, some sort of landscape was taking shape. The colors were pretty blocky looking… though… the more he watched, he could see blades of grass taking shape under Aiden’s brush. It was honestly pretty impressive. Journal shifted nervously in his armchair, putting his feet on the ground and sitting up straight. Gotta be presentable to speak to a stranger. He drummed his fingers on the chair’s arm as he gathered his resolve. “... uh. Hey, Aiden?” Journal ventured hesitantly. AIden paused his painting, a look of surprise briefly flitting across his face. He turned to look at Journal, lowering his brush. A curious expression was in place, one brow raised. “Hm-? Yep? What’s up?” Aiden replied. “So… you’re a sorcerer...?” Journal asked. The second the words left his mouth, he smiled awkwardly to cover a wince. Could he have asked that in a more cumbersome manner??? Aiden simply smiled, a hint of laughter in his gaze. His palette and cups drifted lazily down to the coffee table. “Oh. Yeah, I am. What gave it away?” Aiden joked. “S-sorry- uh- that was probably a weird question-” Journal stammered nervously, wringing his hands. “Not at all, Journal,” Aiden reassured him, “it’s quite alright.” He paused to look the younger sorcerer up and down. Journal tried his best to sit still. Revaew, he was tense. “Was there something else you wanted to ask...?” Aiden encouraged gently. “... um… yeah, actually…” Journal forced his gaze up to Aiden’s. The man’s tone was nothing but gentle, and his gaze inviting. It was… different. But it was nice.  C’mon, Drapht. It’s just a question or two. You’ve got this. “I was sorta wondering how long you’ve been doing magic…? I- I mean, since you had three levitation spells going at once without breaking a sweat. Seems sort of tricky to me.” “Ahh, that…” Aiden nodded thoughtfully. As he spoke, he took a seat on the couch. “That took me plenty of practice for sure. But I started pretty young. My parents practically had me working with spells from the moment I could speak,” Aiden chuckled to himself, a nostalgic smile on his face. “It was better to get a good grasp on magic quick than to wait.” “Oh. Huh. That’s… that’s really neat,” Journal hummed, eyes sparkling. Ok, so, not only had he managed to score a sorcerer roommate, he managed to snag one who’d been practicing magic his whole life. Just the thought of that made Journal giddy. So giddy, in fact, he nearly missed Aiden’s return question. “How about you? Have you been doing magic for awhile?” “Uh- well- um-” Journal tried his best to keep his composure, clearing his throat. That was a… simple enough question. At least. From Aiden, he imagined it was. The town’s good with magic users, don’t worry about it, Nettles had said. Get out of your shell a bit. I’ll come around if you run into any trouble. … deep breath, Drapht, he steadied himself. You’re alright. “I… um… I started being serious about magic training when I was fourteen,” Journal replied. “It’s, uh, a bit of a passion of mine…” “Ahhh, so that’s what all those spellbooks were for. Fair enough,” Aiden nodded. Head tilted, he gestured to the stack of books next to Journal. “Is there an area you like to study?” Journal’s entire face lit up, and words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Yeah! Er- no- i-i mean- it’s- uh- sort of all over the place,” he stuttered, face flushing. Taking a breath, he tried again. “I like to study magic in general. But. Um. I’ve got a big interest in show sorcerer magics.” “That’s an interesting one for sure,” Aiden encouraged, leaning forward. “I don’t think I’ve looked into that much… what kinda spell range does that cover?” “Oh, a huge one,” Journal replied, waving a hand. “There’s a huge variety in show sorcerers in general. Everyone’s got their own style. It really depends on what they want to do in their shows, and what sort of magic they specialize in.” He paused, realizing he’d just been rambling. He glanced warily at Aiden, expecting to see a bored or annoyed look. But he didn’t. Aiden was just… sitting there. Not only was he paying rapt attention, he actually looked interested. When he saw Journal looking at him, he inclined his head, a gentle look of “go on” in his expression. … well… if I haven’t weirded him out by now… I… might as well keep going. “... so… er… show sorcerers are sort of split into a few different categories. Like I said before, it all depends on what sorta show they’re putting on,” Journal continued. “For example, Folklorales are a kind of show sorcerer who focuses on telling or reenacting legends and stories, and they use all kinds of magic to bring them to life…”

~~~

That afternoon, Journal’s quill was once again scratching across a page in his record book. He was seated at his desk, a half eaten brownie in his free hand. As he wrote, he took another bite. The candlelight cast a soft light on his face. A look of quiet contentment had made itself at home. When his quill scratched to a stop, he looked over his entry.

My investigation of Aiden’s habits turned out differently than I expected. Instead of using the time to quietly observe and work on my studies, I ended up giving him a crash course on show sorcerers. He seemed very interested in what I had to say, and asked many good questions. He never once looked annoyed with me, though I did go on for what felt like hours. The only time he stopped me was for lunch. He’s invited me to continue speaking on show sorcerers and my studies if I wish. I may just take him up on that. After lunch, though. He offered me a brownie, which I took, but I retreated to my room to eat the rest of my lunch. He seems a nice enough man, I just need some space. Also, Aiden said his familiar may be out and about after I come back out. Maybe I’ll try and make his acquaintance. He seems like an interesting little cat. At least, from what I’ve seen. Perhaps this apartment isn’t so bad after all. ~Journal Drapht

The end of the entry got a satisfied nod from Journal. Yeah. That covered it. Shoving the remains of his brownie into his mouth, he shut the record book. The prospect of talking more magic was more of a priority than savoring his favorite sweets. Tucking the record book under his arm, he blew out the candles on his desk. When he exited his room, the walk down the hall felt different once again. It was a good kind of different. One he’d felt before, walking through the forest to see Nettles. He couldn’t wait to write her about this later. For now, though, he had roommates to talk with. The place was feeling a bit more like a home.