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odyssean-flower · 1 year

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The Chief Justice and the Worst Painter in Fontaine Chapter 4 - The Chief Justice, the Painter, and the Lovely Picnic

Summary: It was supposed to be your time to relax and get in touch with your (extremely) buried creative side…but then your boss showed up. A/N: 4th and final chapter! tbh i feel like that title doesn't apply to the work that well, but i like the sound of it so i'm not changing it! Word count: 6.3k Masterpost here

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 (Bonus Scenes) || Chapter 4

The hot and sultry summer changed into a cool and crisp autumn. Unlike the seasons, your relationship with Neuvillette didn't change so drastically, but it did change.

For one thing, you two finally stopped apologizing to each other every other sentence. After your friendship was "officially" decided, the tense and polite formality between you two had dissipated. Of course, you weren't hugging him or anything like that, but you felt at ease enough to put your hand on his shoulder or touch his arm. Although, you noticed that he would only reciprocate if you touched him first.

And another thing-you two were conversing more. Well, it was mostly you talking and him listening. Neuvillette seemed to be the type who didn't mind staying silent for long periods of time until someone talked to him, and he was a good listener. You talked to him about trivial things like what you've been reading lately, or a new dessert you've tried. You tried to avoid talking about your personal life or work-related things. He was still your boss, after all, and your friendship with him was so delicate and fragile, like a glass orb, that sharing too much felt like it would strain it.

With the cost of buying canvas and paints hurting your wallet, you decided to switch to a more affordable art-related hobby: sketching. Now you no longer had to lug around your easel and canvas. With just a sketchpad and pencil, you had more freedom to move around than before. You took to it like a fish in water, sketching little animals, flowers, and buildings. You didn't want to brag, but you felt like you were much better at this than at painting. Or maybe you improved your art skills in general through painting?

When he heard about your money troubles, Neuvillette offered to buy the supplies for you, but you adamantly refused. You didn't want him to spend money on you when he had already done so much, and painting was always just a means to an end anyway.

Neuvillette still took you around to various scenic places. He would tell you about the historical events that occurred there like he had been there in person (though he never talked about his own past), and point out all the interesting but unseen things about them. But more than learning, you loved listening to him talk and watching his face as he did so. The elusive, nearly imperceptible curving of his lips or the way his eyes would soften whenever they landed on a water creature was fascinating to study. How can anyone think he's cold and unfeeling? You wondered.

But sometimes you felt a painful tug on your heart, though you didn't know why. You felt it when you looked at his tall, broad back as he walked in front of you, or in the silences that followed after you finished chattering about something. You had an inkling as to the source of these feelings, but the fear of exactly what you would find there made you deliberately not think about it.

However, it was easy to push such things to the back of your mind when you walked with Neuvillette under the warm sun or sketched something that caught your eye while he waited patiently for you. It was your secret, fervent wish that such golden days would last forever.

On a certain autumn day, you and Neuvillette were on the slopes of Mont Automnequi, admiring the changing colors of the leaves. From a distance, it looked as though the slopes were covered in flickering red and orange flames. You had brought colored pencils for the occasion and couldn't wait to use them.

The two of you settled down in a spot that had a good view of the trees but was also within a short distance of the water. It was almost an instinctual thing by now, how you two would always gravitate to the sea.

As you were getting out your sketchpad, a cool breeze suddenly blew through you, causing you to shiver. You were wearing a sweater, but it seemed that it wasn't thick enough.

"You should be dressing warmer for the weather. You'd catch a terrible cold," Neuvillette scolded you.

"Yeah," you agreed. "But it's fine. I don't get sick easily."

It was true. You could count on one hand the number of times you've ever gotten sick.

But Neuvillette didn't seem convinced. To your amazement, he took off his outer jacket-or rather, jackets, you didn't even know he was wearing two-and placed them over your shoulders. They were voluminous and heavy, practically drowning you in their fine fabrics.

"Y-You can't, sir!" you spluttered. Without his two coats, Neuvillette was only in his vest and white shirt. "What if you get cold?"

"I am made of much sturdier stuff than that. There's no need to worry about me. Humans are such fragile creatures, you must take good care of yourself."

You tried to protest some more, but he wasn't having it. You eventually stopped as the warmth from his jackets seeped into you. They held a scent that inexplicably reminded you of clear waterfalls and the pavement after it rained. It was a pleasant, refreshing scent...wait...

Your face turned bright red when you realized what you were doing. Not only were you surrounding yourself with the Chief Justice's body heat, but you were smelling his clothes as well.

Don't be weird, don't be weird... You chanted in your head. You snuck a peek at Neuvillette to see if he noticed how flustered you got and turned even redder.

Without his customary--dare you say, trademark--deep blue coats, Neuvillette almost looked like a completely different person. Less imposing and grand. You would even go so far as to say that he looked vulnerable, but he had a sturdy, virile build--

Stop thinking and start sketching, the tiny part of your brain that remained your voice of reason commanded.

Your hands moved on their own, moving across the paper with the pencil. In order to distract yourself further, you spoke as you sketched.

"Monsieur Neuvillette, I heard that you're going to be presiding over an important case next weekend."

It was a complicated case of fraud that involved a great many people, so it was necessary to question them all. This wasn't the first time Neuvillette had to miss a weekend. You were surprised that it didn't happen more often.

"Yes. I truly regret that I can't come here with you again next week. That is when the leaves are at their most beautiful."

"Well, I think they look incredible right now. I wish I'd brought a picnic basket. It's the perfect weather for baked treats like pies and brownies."

"A picnic, huh..." Neuvillette stroked his chin. "A fine idea."

"We can have one after next week. What kind of foods do you enjoy eating, sir? I can try making them." Come to think of it, you had never seen Neuvillette eat. Sometimes, you would bring sandwiches and offer one to him, but he would always decline. Maybe he didn't need to eat?

"Hmm...I suppose I do enjoy bacon. Stews as well."

"Bacon?" That was unexpected. You thought it would be something fancier. Maybe you could make bacon sandwiches or something.

You switched your pencil for a colored one and started coloring idly. The red and yellow leaves fluttered this way and that, sometimes landing in the water. The contrast between the colors of the leaves and the water was very pretty. You should sketch that too...

You looked down at your drawing and choked back a gasp. There wasn't a single drawing of trees in sight. Instead, the paper held a sketch of Neuvillette's face.

It was a surprisingly nice sketch. In fact, you would call it one of your best works yet. It was Neuvillette's head in profile, his eyes fixed on some distant point, his hair a waterfall down his back. You had been coloring the blue streaks in his hair.

How did this happen! You wanted to scream. Luckily, Neuvillette wasn't facing you then, but he would want to see what you drew. You quickly tore the sketch out and stuffed it in your pocket.

Neuvillette heard the tearing sound and turned around. "Was there something wrong with your drawing?"

"Um, y-yes! Something very wrong! It's not fit to be seen! At all!" you stammered.

"I highly doubt that. Every one of your works is a treat for the eyes."

You laughed shakily. "You really do know how to encourage someone, sir. Have you considered coming around more to the Maison Gestion? I think just a few of your words will be able to boost the morale there for a whole week."

"Really? If you say so, then I shall try doing that."

"Oh, no, that was a joke--" Just then, a red leaf twirled and fluttered, landing in Neuvillette's hair. Reflexively, you leaned forward and picked it out. Your fingers brushed against the silky white strands. He was taller than you, so you had to stand on your tip toes and lean close to him in order to reach the leaf. Too close, in fact. Your noses were practically touching.

For a heartbeat, neither of you said anything. You saw yourself reflected in his eyes. Did he also see himself in yours? His throat bobbed. You were probably making him uncomfortable. You should step back now. The sun was beating down on you harshly. How strange. It was supposed to be cooler today. You really should move back--

Neuvillette made the first move and took a few steps back. The leaf spiraled down from your hand.

"T-There was a leaf in your hair, sir," you said weakly.

He simply nodded.

You turned away to hide your flushed face. Your heart was pounding wildly. What happened back there? Where were all these feelings coming from?

"[Name]," you heard him call out to you and turned around. "It may be presumptuous of me to ask this of you, but I would very much like for you to--"

There was the loud blaring of a ship's foghorn. It drowned out the rest of Neuvillette's sentence.

"What were you saying, sir? I couldn't hear you."

Neuvillette stared at you for a few seconds, then shook his head. "...No, it is nothing. Please forget about it."

You spend the rest of your time together in companionable, albeit somewhat tense, silence. When you got home, you reached into your pocket for the sketch of Neuvillette's face but discovered that it wasn't there. Where had it gone?

"Hey, do you want to go watch the trial tomorrow? They say that it's going to be a real spectacle."

Your roommate asked you on Friday night. She was referring to the fraud case. It was all over the newspapers and all that your coworkers were talking about this week. It was rumored that the tickets had sold out within ten minutes.

"How did you get tickets for that?"

"I have my ways," your roommate said mysteriously. "So, do you want to go?"

You thought about it for a moment. Normally, you would have said no. You had never really found trials entertaining, and ever since you became friends with Neuvillette, it felt even weirder to go to a trial. It felt like you were crossing some invisible line, even though you couldn't think of any reason why it would be inappropriate.

You won't lie, you were kind of interested in the outcome. And besides, it wasn't like you had anything to do tomorrow.

"Sure, I'll go," you nodded.

Your roommate raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Really? I thought you'd turn me down, considering how you're always out doing art stuff on the weekends."

"Well...it's good to change things up once in a while. Plus, it always rains after a trial, right?"

"Yeah. Although there hadn't been any trials scheduled on the weekend lately."

"Really?" You didn't pay attention to that kind of thing.

"Yep," your roommate gave you a sly look. "I heard that the Chief Justice himself specifically arranged things like that.

"Huh..." you said, trying your best to sound nonchalant. You were sure that you never gave anyone any hint of your relationship with Neuvillette.

Your roommate gave you another meaningful look. "Alright, then, let's get up early tomorrow so we can get there on time."

The trial was as dramatic and intense as you had expected, but you found that your mind wasn't focused on it, despite--or because of--how loud the whole performance was, you caught yourself longing for the clear air of the outdoors, the sounds of the waves and birds.

The one thing that did keep your attention was Neuvillette himself. Though this wasn't your first time seeing him presiding over a trial, you were struck by just how different he was at work. He questioned the witnesses thoroughly, and his reprimands for the rowdy audience descended like a towering wave crashing down into the seats. He was seated high above the audience's seats, but you could feel his apprising gaze distinctly.

If it weren't for the times you spent together, you would have never imagined him capable of speaking to anyone warmly with that voice. Or be a water connoisseur. Or compliment your amateurish paintings so sincerely that even you began to wonder if they weren't as bad as you thought.

You briefly wondered if he, like you, longed to be in the wilds of Fontaine. It was an impertinent thought. Neuvillette was a man who took his job with the utmost seriousness.

You were sitting near the back row, which was more elevated compared to the front rows, but you still had to crane your neck just to see that blue and white figure. You wondered if he could see you down here. Probably not. You were just one small speck among many.

You felt that painful tug on your heart again.

The trial eventually ended with the accused being pronounced guilty and sentenced to prison. As you got up from your seat to join the masses of people leaving the opera house, but your roommate tugged at your sleeve and said, "Hey, mind staying behind? I want to talk to you about something."

You blinked in confusion but shrugged and sat back down. However, she didn't speak right away. It seemed that she was waiting for everyone to leave. You had a bad feeling about this.

When the last stragglers finally left, your roommate took a deep breath and turned to you.

"Are you dating Monsieur Neuvillette?"

You stared at her. Her eyes were completely serious. "W-What? No, of course not! Why would you even think that?" you splutter. Stay calm, stay calm. It's the truth, I'm not d-dating him!

"Well, I don't have any concrete evidence," your roommate admitted. "But there are some things that don't add up. For instance, you know how I mentioned that the Chief Justice personally arranged his schedule so that he wouldn't have any trials on the weekends. Well, that all started happening around the time you took up your painting."

"So? It's just a coincidence."

"I also noticed that the weekends where you don't go outside the city match up with the weekends where there are trials."

"Because it rains on those days!"

"Hmm, makes sense," your roommate nodded to herself. "Oh, another thing. The Melusines have been getting really friendly with you lately."

It was more like the other way around. The Melusines you ran into the streets or at work would all run up to you and greet you happily. Some of them even offered to help you carry your bags or give you little gifts, like wildflowers. It was a bit embarrassing for you.

"Aren't they always like that with everyone?"

"Sure, but not to this extent. And like I mentioned before, it only started happening when you started painting."

"That doesn't mean anything! Maybe I just befriended them while I was out."

Your roommate sighed, like she was fed up. "[Name], I saw the note in your drawer. It mentioned Monsieur Neuvillette."

"...Huh?" What note? You retraced your memories until you finally remembered. The note you left in your drawer before you left to go underwater with Neuvillette. Looking back now, you were extremely paranoid. "Oh, that note!"

Yeah, you weren't explaining your way out of this one. "Okay, fine. Yes, Monsieur Neuvillette and I are...acquainted. He takes me around to different drawing spots on the weekends. But we're not dating each other! We're just f-friends!"

"Friends, huh... Okay, I won't pry into what you do on the weekends. But I just wish you told me about it."

"It's not something I can just tell someone."

"Is it?" your roommate raised her eyebrows. "Even though you're just friends? You know me, I'm not the kind of person who will sell you out to the tabloids or anything. I just...felt a bit sad. We haven't been hanging out together on the weekends lately."

"..." You looked down. You and your roommate both worked at the Palais Mermonia and came home pretty late at night, so you usually relaxed together on the weekends by going shopping together or going to cafes. You haven't done that at all recently, though.

I'm such a terrible friend, you thought to yourself.

"Hey...I'm not blaming you. If I could spend alone time with the Chief Justice himself gazing at the beautiful scenery, I'd also ditch you in a heartbeat," your friend laughed, which only made you feel worse.

"I'm sorry...I swear I'll make it up to you! Next week!" you remembered the picnic. "No, the week after that!"

"Oh, not next week? You've got some special plans with Monsieur Neuvillette?" your friend teased.

"No...not really..." you mumbled.

"Now that I know who you're hanging out with these days, it makes sense to me why you turned that person down when they asked to grab a coffee with you last Saturday, even though they've been your obsession ever since you started working at the Palais."

"Oh, them," Your friend was referring to a coworker who worked in a different department. You have had a huge crush on them, but strangely, you haven't been thinking about them at all recently. "I already had plans that day to go see the autumn leaves."

"And Monsieur Neuvillette, too, right?" your friend grinned. "Ah, I feel sorry for that guy. If only he knew who he was up against."

"I told you it's not like that!" you punched your friend's arm lightly, but your mood had considerably lightened. As you looked at your friend's laughing face, you made a promise to yourself that you would definitely spoil her the week after the next.

The two of you finally decided to leave the opera house. However, as soon as you went outside, you were met with slate-gray skies and torrential rain. "Huh, that's weird," your friend muttered. "It hadn't rained like this in a while."

Neither of you noticed the flutter of stately blue robes, or the wearer of said robes gripping a piece of sketch paper in his hand.

The rain continued without ceasing that day, or the week after.

People were getting worried, and some were even whispering that the prophecy was beginning in full force. The streets were grey and sloshing with water, and the sky was always covered in thick clouds.

You must have been the only person in Fontaine who wished for the rain to continue on forever.

On the Monday after the trial, you received a note from a strangely desolate-looking Sedene.

You soon found out why she had that look on her face.

"I am writing to inform you that we will no longer be meeting each other on the weekends as before. I sincerely apologize for any inconvenience I have caused you."

That was all that was written.

It felt like the world had crashed down around you. You read and reread the note over and over, wondering if you had read something wrong, or if you missed something. But the words didn't change. You even asked Sedene if Neuvillette had said anything, but she told you that he didn't.

Neuvillette no longer wanted to see you.

You didn't really remember how you got through the day after that. It felt like a blur. The rest of the week went by in the same way. You spent the weekend in bed, crying.

The next week was no better, both in terms of the weather and your mood. It felt like something vital had been taken from you. All you could think was, Why? Was it because you went to the trial? Was it because you were taking up too much of his time? Yes, that must be it. Your roommate had said that he rearranged his schedule to make his weekends free. Everyone knew that the Chief Justice was swamped with work. You should consider it a miracle that he was able to spare so much time for you. And now everything was going back to how they were before. That was how it should be.

Yeah, you knew that this couldn't last forever.

Telling yourself that, you threw yourself into work. Just because your boss didn't want to see you anymore, it didn't mean that work was over. You couldn't quit, since you were no good at anything else. You even took on extra work, staying late at night in the office. Your worried coworkers and friends kept trying to get you to rest, but you brushed them off. It might seem counterintuitive to spend so much time in a place so closely linked to Neuvillette, but anything was better than being alone with your thoughts.

Your roommate, unable to just watch you work yourself to the bone anymore, forced you to take a day off.

"You need to talk to him," she said after you told her what happened.

"...I can't do that," you mumbled. You were lying in bed. It was so warm and comfortable here. You wished you could stay under the covers forever and never go out.

Your roommate sighed and put her hands on her hips. "Why?"

You looked at her incredulously. "Because he's the Chief Justice of Fontaine? I can't just barge into his office and demand answers from him!"

"I didn't say that. Although, I wouldn't blame you if you did. My point is, what does his being the Chief Justice have to do with this? You two are friends, aren't you? Friends are supposed to be equals. Yeah, you're in a lower position than him, but that doesn't mean you don't deserve respect!"

"But this is different..." you insisted feebly. "He'd done so much for me, and all I've done is take advantage of his kindness."

"From what you've told me, it doesn't sound like that's the case at all. He was the one who kept offering to take you to places, and he never asked for anything back, right? He never used his authority over you. You know what I think? I think you do mean something to him, or else he would have stopped bothering with you a long time ago. Something unexpected must have happened to cause him to break it off with you."

"..." You turned over.

You heard a sigh. "Listen, [Name]. I've seen your face when you get back from painting. You looked happier than I had ever seen you. Do you really want to give all that up without a fight? Or even just closure?"

The sound of footsteps exiting your room eventually faded, but your friend's words remained in your mind.

The second offensive was far more blunt and overt.

"I'm being mobbed," you said to no one in particular.

You were surrounded by a gaggle of Melusines. Their heads only reached up to your thigh, so you could probably get out if you tried, but it was their tear-filled eyes that stopped you.

"Please make up with Monsieur Neuvillette!" they cried out in unison.

"...Huh?"

"He's miserable without you, can't you see?" one of the Melusines, Everallin, said, gesturing at the sky. You looked up. It was raining as always.

"See what?" you said, confused.

The Melusines looked at each other for a moment, then said, "Never mind."

Another Melusine named Menthe spoke up. "Anyways, please go talk to him!"

"But...he was the one who told me not to see him anymore!" And besides, you heard that he hadn't been in his office for the past two weeks.

"Our Father isn't the best at expressing himself to humans," a third Melusine, Liath, piped up. "Especially the ones he really likes."

"Wait," you suddenly felt dizzy. "He likes me?"

"Yeah," Everallin nodded. "You always talk to him, and you treat him like a normal person! He always asks us for advice on how to act around you. He's so busy all the time, so you're like...his sanctuary!"

You didn't really know how to deal with this information. "He talks about me to you all?"

The Melusines looked at each other again. "Uh, Everallin, you weren't supposed to tell them that," Menthe whispered.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, you felt like laughing. Maybe, just maybe, your roommate was right. "Okay, everyone. I'll try."

The crimson leaves had mostly turned brown and rotted off of the branches, leaving them bare. The ground was somewhat damp, although you brought a thick blanket with you that blocked the moisture from seeping through. It was no scenery for a picnic, but there was nothing you could do about it.

At least it wasn't raining anymore. However, the sky was still overcast, still threatening to rain at any moment.

You put down your picnic basket and sat down, gazing off into the distance. Today, you would find out once and for all if your relationship with Neuvillette was truly over.

After the meeting with the Melusines, you decided to confront Neuvillette once and for all, if only to put your own mind at ease.

First, you wrote a note for Neuvillette. It read as follows:

Monsieur Neuvillette,

I hope this finds you well. I have received your previous note, and I respect your decision. However, I would very much like to have that picnic with you, one last time. Though I can't possibly imagine your thoughts and reasons, I do know one thing for certain: our relationship deserves to end on a good note.

I will be waiting for you at the spot where we viewed the autumn leaves together. Please feel free to come or disregard this note entirely. I am fine with either choice and wish you the best.

You entrusted it to Sedene, who eagerly assured you that she would get it to Neuvillette no matter what. Did all the Melusines in the city know about you two?

Next, you and your roommate worked together to make the picnic. You also asked the Melusines for advice on what to make, and they were only too happy to help. You made a promise to yourself that no matter what happened (and the big dent it would make in your savings), you would treat your roommate and the Melusines to a big meal in the future.

You had been hesitant about the picnic at first since it felt foolish to do all that work without even knowing if Neuvillette would show up. But your friend reasoned that "at least you'll have a nice meal to comfort yourself with," and you agreed.

And now the day had arrived.

You weren't sure where you should be looking. You didn't think you could handle looking at him approaching you directly, but you had no idea which direction he would be coming from. You adjusted your seated position several times. Should you sit cross-legged or with your legs stretched out for a more casual, nonchalant feel? Your stomach was making little flips, and your palms were clammy despite the cool temperature. You tried not to think about anything, especially the possibility that he wouldn't show up.

The clouds threatened to rain at any moment. They loomed so closely that it felt like you could practically touch them.

Inexplicably, you recalled that old legend of the hydro dragon and how it rained when it cried. You wondered what it was so sad about these days.

"Hey, hydro dragon!" you shout up at the sky, mostly to relieve your own tension. "I'm going to need you to hold back those tears for today! Or else I'll never forgive you!" Man, yelling does feel really good.

You glare at the clouds, which, to your astonishment, parted a little before your eyes. Oh Archons...is the hydro dragon listening to me?

"The hydro dragon would not deserve your forgiveness," a familiar and, as you realized now, dearly missed voice sounded from behind you.

Why does he keep showing up at the worst times? You resisted the urge to jump into the sea and turned around.

Neuvillette looked as stately and elegant as he always did, but you thought that his eyes held a hint of melancholy that wasn't there before.

"Monsieur Neuvillette!" your voice cracked, and you cleared your throat. "You really came! I'm so happy to see you...haha..."

Neuvillette didn't say anything but simply stared at you. He was probably thinking he made a huge mistake coming here. You decided that you would simply barrel on without thinking about anything. That could all come later.

"Sit, sir!" you patted the blanket. "Now, I know that you said that you no longer want to see me, but I think it's a shame to end things on such an abrupt note. Even though the weather isn't cooperating with us right now, I do want to enjoy this lovely picnic with you. It's made by me, my roommate, and the Melusines."

You smiled with what you hoped was a reassuring smile, but it seemed to backfire once again, as Neuvillette seemed to clench his jaw and step back. Maybe he thought you poisoned the food.

You opened the basket and took out the food to show him that it was completely safe. "See, I've got bacon and mushroom sandwiches, apple pie, Poissonchant pie, and a nice warm carrot stew made from the purest waters in Fontaine. Oh, and I also have bottles of that water if you prefer that. The Melusines helped me get it from the mountains up north."

Neuvillette was still standing, looking down at you with an indescribable expression. Act cool, [Name], you told yourself and bit into a sandwich. It really was good. You tried your best to act unbothered and nonchalant.

Finally, Neuvillette sat down and reached for one of the bottles of water. He brought it to his mouth and drank it, then slowly closed his eyes. Success! But now you suddenly realized how small this blanket was. Your knees were practically touching his. You turned your head to the side to avoid staring at him but felt a gaze on the back of your head as you did so.

The two of you ate and drank in silence. It was awkward, to say the least. You kept thinking about how to bring up the main topic. Should you subtly lead up to it or ask him outright? The picnic was diminishing; soon it would be finished, and he would have no reason to stay here any longer. You imagined him his tall back walking away from you. Maybe that would be the last you'd ever see of it. Your heart clenched. You didn't want that to happen, not while you still had the power to stop it.

"Um..." you ventured, but before you could say anything, Neuvillette spoke first.

"...You shouldn't have wasted your time and efforts on me. I'm unworthy of it after how I treated you." His voice was quiet, so much so that you had to lean closer to hear him.

"Well, it was a pretty cold move to suddenly tell someone you're not going to see them anymore through a note, without even giving them a reason," you admitted. A raindrop landed on your nose. "But I don't think we're past the point of no return yet. After all, I decided to do this, and you agreed to meet with me."

Neuvillette didn't say anything. You decided to take this as a good sign.

"So...why did you send me that note? Was it something I did?"

"No, of course not. You've never been anything less than delightful," the speed with which he said that was surprising. "The fault lies with me. I completely forgot my position in regard to you."

You tilted your head, not understanding.

There was a brief pause before he continued. "I was very pleased when you agreed to join me on the second weekend, and the subsequent weekends after. I believed that you...enjoyed my company, just as much as I did yours. I wanted to take you to as many places as I could, just so I could see your reactions to them. And yet, I failed to consider the fact that you might not want to go on these trips, or that you might have felt an obligation to accompany me because I am your superior. And then I learned that because of me, your personal life has been affected negatively."

"Huh? What do you mean by my personal life?"

Neuvillette's expression didn't really change, but you thought that he looked a bit embarrassed. "...I overheard your conversation with your friend in the opera house. Because of my willfulness, you have been neglecting your friends and...unable to pursue romantic relationships."

Your mind was whirling with all this new information. "Wait, wait, hold on. You overheard that conversation? Does that mean you saw me in the audience that day?"

"Yes."

"Oh...if you were close enough to hear us, does that mean...you wanted to talk to me after the trial?"

"Yes. I wanted to compliment you on your sketch."

"Sketch?" At your quizzical look, Neuvillette slowly pulled out a well-thumbed piece of paper from his pocket. It looked like it had been opened and closed many times. He handed it to you, and you opened it.

It was the sketch of Neuvillette you had unconsciously done all those weeks ago. It felt like an eternity had passed since then.

You looked up to see him staring at you intently, his eyes filled with naked hope and self-loathing. It was like you were looking at yourself in the mirror.

You were also somewhat reminded of those otters you saw underwater, but you weren't about to tell him that.

Laughter bubbled up within you. Your roommate was right. When you got right down to it, the two of you were the same.

You carefully placed the sketch back in his hand and closed his fingers over it. Then, you looked right into his eyes. "Monsieur Neuvillette...you are a great fool."

He blinked, then nodded. "Yes."

"At first, it might have been as you said. I went to the places you told me to be because I was so scared of offending you. But as I got to know you more, I learned that you were nothing like what I was expecting, and I began to look forward to our time together eagerly every week. Because of you, I saw and learned things that I would have never encountered. I��chose to spend time with you because I like you," Realizing that could cause misunderstandings, you added, somewhat weakly, "As a very, very dear friend to me. If anything, I'm the one who should be feeling guilty for forcing you to rearrange your schedule just to make time for me or making you feel obliged to take me to places."

"It's no great matter. I can simply make up that work during the week. And thinking of places to invite you to has never been a chore."

"Don't overwork yourself," you couldn't help but scold. "So, you see, we're both chronic worriers who constantly overthink everything, not realizing that everything can be solved by just talking to each other."

Neuvillette smiled. It was a small smile, but your breath caught. "Yes, I suppose we are."

"Next time, I'll be the one inviting you somewhere. I actually know some pretty niche spots in the city. Oh, but you might already know them, though."

"Please don't worry about that. I'll be happy to follow you to wherever you may take me."

"So, that means there will be a next time, then?" you said.

"But of course. We need to make up for lost time, after all."

"Great! Oh, maybe we can invite my friend or the Melusines on some outings, too?"

"As long as it makes you happy, I will never say no to it."

You turned red. Sometimes, Neuvillette would say the strangest things that made your heart beat faster and your legs feel restless.

"But, there is one thing I want to ask of you," Neuvillette said. He sounded serious.

"What is it?"

"As we are friends...I believe it is improper for only one party to address the other with their title, so..." he trailed off. Was Neuvillette nervous?"

"Oh!" You got what he wanted to say. "Do you want me to call you by just your name?"

"Yes, very much so."

"Okay...Neuvillette."

The sun broke through the clouds at that moment. You saw slivers of blue sky for the first time in weeks. It looked like this bad weather was finally ending.

"Wow, look at that," you breathe. "Do you think the hydro dragon is happy now?"

You could hear Neuvillette's smile in his voice as he said, "Yes, I think he is."

#genshin impact x reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette #painter series #my works

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justherefornothing1 · 11 months

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@chillingxy Here's your secret spooky gift! Sorry it wasn't available earlier, the research for this was...a lot. Definitely a challange, and opened up my eyes a lot. So I hope you enjoy, and have a Happy Halloween, y ¡Feliz Dia De Los Muertos!

also @mcyt-halloween

On the 1st of October, Xisuma woke up, put on his helmet, and immediately sent a message in chat.

[xisumavoid]: Everyone ready for the meeting?

[FalseSymmetry]: yup

[Keralis]: Born Ready!

{TangoTek joined the game}

[xisumavoid]: Meet at spawn

He snapped on his elytra, marveling at how the gauzy purple fabric solidified into a harder substance before taking off into the afternoon sky. He planned the meeting to start the meeting as the sun set, so the spooky decorations (appropriate for the season) would really shine through. He chuckled to himself. Get it, shine? ‘Cause the lights…would…shine?

Nevermind.

He ignored the extremely bad pun, instead choosing to focus on not crashing into Grian, who had somehow gotten to the meeting spot before him. Grian turned towards Xisuma as he landed, stumbled and finally managed to plant both feet on the ground a mere block away from Grian.

“Hello Xisuma! How are you doing on this lovely day?” Grian leaned in closer, rocking on the balls of his feet. Xisuma brushed himself off before facing the avian.

“I’m doing good. How about you?”

“Oh, I’m doing ghoul-d” Grian giggled after he said the last part. Xisuma sighed.

“I really hope you’re not doing this until Halloween.”

“Oh, of course not! Once we get past Halloween I’ll start on my winter jokes.”

“Winter jokes? Grian…” Grian simply laughed before walking towards the prepared seats and plopping down on the nearest one.

“Don’t worry, you’ll love them!” He turned his attention to an approaching flier. “Hey Mumbo! Do you want to hear a joke?” As soon as Mumbo landed, Grian bombarded him with his next joke. Xisuma left the two laughing as he started to take inventory of his surroundings.

They were in a forest close by to spawn. The trees not felled by the Hermits held themselves high, against both player and sky. Their boughs were decorated with soul lanterns and jack o’ lanterns, combining with the setting sun to cast an eerie light over the rows of chairs laid out in a clearing. He was quite proud of his setup. In fact, he was so busy admiring it that he didn’t notice Scar until he was blocking his view of the trees.

“Helloo, Xisuma, are you still with us?” Scar snapped his fingers a few times as Xisuma blinked.

“Yes, I’m still here Scar, not AFK.” Xisuma scanned the clearing, suddenly noticing that seats were filled with antsy hermits. “Is everyone here?”

“Yes sir!” Scar mock saluted. “We’re all ready.”

“Excellent, let’s get this show on the road!” He rubbed his hands together before walking onto the stage in front of the chairs. He tapped the microphone twice, causing all the hermits to cease conversation. “Hello everyone, welcome to the monthly meeting! As you know, it’s October, so we’ll be covering possible Halloween events as well as housekeeping. But first, does anyone have announcements to make?” Immediately Tango raised his hand, waving it frantically before bounding onto the stage. His fiery hair whipped and flashes as he excitedly launched into a spiel about the next phase of Decked Out 2. Everyone pays rapt attention to his rant, because of course no one wants to miss out on Decked Out info. Then, after he finishes, another hermit takes the stage. Surprisingly, it’s Joe Hills. Xisuma briefly wonders if it’s about Deep Field, Joe’s massive pinball machine/main base. Considering the outer space theme, it seems unlikely to be updated for Halloween, but not impossible…

Joe placed both hands on the microphones before speaking. “Howdy y’all!” The crowd echoes with brief “Howdy”s and “Hello Joe”s before lapsing back into silence. Joe gives a small smile, then continues. “As y’all know, it’s been about a year since our dear friend TFC passed away.” Now the area is truly silent. Even the wind seems to have dropped dead in its path. “And…I think it’s safe to say that we all miss him. So recently, I wanted to find a way to honor both his memory and his legacy.”

He began to walk across the stage, but at a slow, meandering pace. “I found a tradition, mostly observed in Mexico. It’s called “el Dia de Los Muertos”, or the Day of the Dead in English. It’s a collection of days in early November where the dead are honored, but overall it’s meant to be a celebration, not a wake. Now obviously, it would be hard to replicate the tradition exactly in Minecraft, but I have a plan to stitch together something like it. So if you can help out, please let me know after the meeting, and for everyone else, keep your ears open for an exact date!”

Joe nods once, smiles again, then exits down the steps towards Xisuma. His eyes are focused on the floor, and his arms have migrated to a crossed position. As Joe walks past him, Xisuma grabs his shoulder as gently as he can. “Joe, are you good?”

Joe turned to face him, and X noticed that his eyes were a bit watery. Joe sighed before whispering, “I just…hope it’s enough. I miss him, you know?” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “I hope we can pull it off.”

Xisuma patted Joe on the shoulder. “I know we can pull it off. And I’m more than willing to help with your plan. Just tell me what’s needed, alright?”

Joe gave X a side hug. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” He turned to look X in the eye. “Now, what are the chances we can get marigolds on the server?”

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

The chances, as Xisuma found out, were none.

See, marigolds were only available via mods, and the Aztec marigolds Joe had in mind had no mods to their name. So, as a substitute, Stress had provided orange tulips, and was scattering the petals around TFC’s old base. Keralis was sweeping away the dust and cobwebs that had accumulated since the hermits had been there. All the hermits were chipping in to clear and decorate the surrounding area.

Except for Grian, who had made the excuse to wait for Scar’s “surprise delivery”. Xisuma doubted the truth of that claim, but whenever he brought it up to Joe, the man smiled conspiratorially and shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a surprise, X. You’ll have to see for yourself.”

Suddenly, Grian chirped and screamed, “Scar, be careful!!!” Xisuma looked up to see Scar barreling towards the group at…concerning speeds, to say the least. Scar yelled back, “I’m always careful!!” before proceeding to crash head first into a wall.

{GoodTimesWithScar experienced kinetic energy}

[GeminiTay]: LOL

[Grian]: WHAT PART OF BE CAREFUL DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND

{GoodTimesWithScar]: sorry guys!!! is the surprise ok?

Grian walked over to the place where Scar had splatted and gingerly picked up a plain white box. He peeked inside, and let out a sigh of relief. “Good, they’re still intact.”

X wandered over. “What’s intact?”

Joe, who had come over during the ruckus, reached into the box and pulled out a small skull-shaped object. “In Day of the Dead traditions, these are called calaveras,” he explained. “They’re treats for the dead, but we can also enjoy them. Look at the details I asked Scar to do!” X leaned closer, and saw that this particular skull was dyed bright blue on one side, but stayed white on the other. “Is that Jevin, by any chance?” Joe nodded enthusiastically. “I thought it would be cool if they looked like the hermits, even though it’s not traditional.” “It’s a really cool idea Joe! Really cool,” Xisuma said.

They turned their attention to the rest of the base, which looked ready for a celebration. “X, do you have the photo?” Joe questioned. “Yup, got it right here.” X pulled a picture frame out of his backpack, walked over to the front wall of TFC’s base, and hung it on a conveniently placed hook. It was a picture of TFC, in all his black-and-white glory. Xisuma stepped back and admire both the photo and its surroundings. The golden petals, the soft glow of candles, and the last remains of a setting sun gave the whole base a warm light, the same that radiates from a small campfire. He breathes in, then out. Then he turns to the small crowd that has quietly gathered behind him. “Let’s have a good time, shall we?” Cheers erupted from the group. It will be a night of celebration.

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

The party is incredible. Food is passed around, glasses are filled with bubbly potions, and everyone all around has a good time. Toasts are made to TFC, friends recall fond memories, and the light surrounding his ofrenda only grows brighter through the night. It’s a night of remembrance and reverence and love.

Eventually, the celebration winds down to a close, as most of the hermits decide to head home when Bdubs begins to loudly snore on Etho’s shoulder (don’t worry, the laughter woke him up). They choose to keep the candles lit overnight and snuff them out in the morning. The crowd slowly exits the base, pulling out elytras and rockets as they go. Eventually, the crowd is down to just Xisuma and Joe. The two decide to walk around TFC’s home one last time before leaving for the night, and that’s when they hear it.

Somewhere off in the distance, the duo hears a soft clink, clink, clink. Joe looks over at Xisuma with a quizzical look. Xisuma shrugs his shoulders. He didn’t have a clue as to where the sound came from.

There it was again, clink, clink, clink. This time Joe pointed over to a small hole leading downwards. It was TFC’s stripmine, located a few blocks away from his base. Xisuma motioned for Joe to follow him as he walked towards the entrance.

Down they went, past stone and more stone and a few leftover coal ores. They reached an area where the clinking got loud. “Is someone strip-mining down here?” Joe asked. Xisuma scanned the area, but saw nobody, and no torches. “Well, I don’t think anyone’s down here. Should we head back up?” Joe nods once before making a beeline for the exit. They make it all the way to the top before Joe holds a hand out a block him. “Look over there.” He points over to where the hermits had gathered earlier.

The petals, previously scattered, were now arranged in a pattern. “Thank you,” both hermits mouthed the word silently before turning to each other.

“Do you believe in spirits?” Xisuma asked Joe. Joe thought about that for a moment then said, “Well, depends. What are the chances that Grian, Scar, or somebody else with a mischief streak snuck back to do this?” “Possible, but not likely,” X replied. “Then,” Joe concluded, “for tonight, yes. I believe in spirits.”

The two stood in silence for a bit, before Joe suddenly said, “Well, I’m exhausted. I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow?” The hermits had agreed to push back the next monthly meeting until after the Day of the Dead. “Yeah, see you tomorrow Joe.” Xisuma waved to Joe before heading off towards home.

Xisuma walked away, satisfied yet tired. Tomorrow was another meeting, another month, another day forward into the future. Yes, he missed TFC, but he knew that he and the other hermits would carry the man’s spirit with him until he too, faded away.

Somewhere in the background, a wind picked up, swirled the orange petals, and carried them off into a twinkling sky.

#mcyt-halloween #mcyt halloween #gift exchange #i'll figure out what to tag my writing later #why is this 1925 words long that's twice the minimum #anyways i'm tired and have a headache gonna go sleep now #EDIT: more tags!#Joe Hills #hermitcraft #xisuma #hermitblr #justhereforwriting

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aeide-thea · 10 months

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i feel like fairly regularly i make posts on here that are like 'huh, turns out that actually this Cut-For-Women garment i thought was fairly neutral and would be unremarkable makes me dysphoric!!' and then like. learn nothing from that realization and make an identical post about a different garment some months later—

like it's complicated because as a short king* i do frequently enjoy eg short shorts. are they masc? no. is my (inaccurate but gratifying) self-concept one of those, like, vintage dudes in short shorts when i wear them? yes, so it's fine. and there are some other things like that, where like, if i do the right mental gymnastics they can work for me (i started to specify but like. does anyone really care, lol. apply within in the unlikely event that you Must Know, i guess!).

however i think negative ease is like. more and more consistently a problem for me. like it just feels to me like such a vestige of womenswear training—

[here i'd originally typed out and then redacted a whole excursus on like, all the transmasc fashion blogs you used to see years ago where people would put together these legitimately masc outfits and then on the bottom they'd do these incredibly clingy skinny jeans, bc like, who am i to police that, maybe they were into the deliberate juxtaposition of it! but i did always wonder at the time whether it was just, like, a leftover womenswear habit they hadn't yet actively scrutinized, although probably it was unenlightened of me to be noticing it at all…]

—and the more i move away from that training, the more i find that things i've bought which don't have actively positive ease just strike me as, like, weirdly shrunken and constricting?? which is frustrating when they're things whose material, color, &c i otherwise still quite like!

anyway really this is a post abt how i currently have one (1) hoodie i like, and in theory it would be nice to have a second one both for more color combination possibilities and also because i hear you're like. supposed to take things off and wash them ever, even if merino is magic or whatever. however (a) there aren't any other interesting colors in that particular model, really, and the people who do make interesting colors (icebreaker) really want you to be taller than i am, especially for menswear; and (b) the whole problem is extremely irritating because i do have another older hoodie in a colorway i still quite like! there's nothing wrong with it except that stupidly i bought it too form-fitting at the time and now even though by womenswear standards it does in fact still 'fit' the way it clings through my shoulders/arms is making me insane!

in conclusion, grr, argh, &c.

⸻ * 'king' isn't really the right language for me but like. in a totally inexplicable turn of events (it's very explicable. we can do a whole sidebar on how binary gender is a pillar of the kyriarchy or whatever.) most noble titles i'm aware of are very binarily gendered. maybe we'll go with 'marquess' bc like. it's a man's title but also looks feminine by ordinary english standards and like. what am i if not the ruler of a border area.

#sartorial #mundanities #(i do realize these are not like. externally interesting posts but sometimes you just have to braindump.)#(also a lot of the time talking about clothes is how i emotionally come to terms with not purchasing them‚ tbh.)#(so it's like. an important budgetary coping mechanism or whatever‚ lol.)

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silvfyre-writings · 2 years

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Don't Hurt the Bird Pt. 6 (MHA Fanfic)

I appreciate every single one of you that reads these fics and I hope you enjoy the next part!

Tokoyami was nervous; extremely nervous. Not that he would ever outwardly show it, not with Dabi sitting a few feet away from him. He didn’t want to be nervous, but considering how the past few days had gone, he had every reason to be. And none of them were good.

So far, he’d been with the League for two days, listening to the news every morning and watching his and Dabi’s faces get plastered all over Japan; the media demanding anyone that knew of their location to come forward. It was terrifying to know how fast he’d been branded a villain; not even a day had gone by before the original report had dropped, and it left Tokoyami feeling uneasy about what would happen to him when he could finally go back to UA—to his classmates.

The League had been kind to him despite knowing he was going to become a hero, most of them leaving him be, or sitting with him quietly when Dabi had to leave for who knew what. He was loathsome to say he had a ‘favorite’ villain, but Compress and Spinner were definitely his preferred company; both would just quietly sit beside him, unlike Toga and Twice who asked more questions than they ever got answers for.

Tokoyami never saw Shigaraki or Kurogiri.

Dark Shadow still hadn’t come back to him, and Tokoyami was getting very concerned that his quirk might be gone forever, like that third year Midoriya hung around occasionally. Dabi had told him not to worry, and that quirks were finicky things that would just stop working sometimes after stressful events. It had sounded like the villain had been talking from personal experience then, but Tokoyami was never a person who pried into the secrets of others, so he kept quiet, just accepting that his lifelong companion would return when it was ready to.

He just hoped it was soon.

Dabi had come to him that evening after being gone the entire day while Compress had been checking over his arm—which was less painful, but still very much broken—and had thrown a bundle of dark clothing at him, telling him to get dressed and that they were going out that night. Tokoyami had opened his mouth to question where exactly they were going, but the villain had stormed up the stairs, boots slamming into the poor flooring. Tokoyami had wondered what the floor had done to offend Dabi. Compress had told him that Dabi was simply stressed over not knowing how Hawks was doing.

Knowing that Dabi and his mentor were an item still came as a surprise whenever it was brought up, which wasn’t all that often, but often enough for Tokoyami to be surprised by it every time.

“Oi, kid. Stop thinking so hard.” Tokoyami blinked, returning to the present as Dabi spoke to him. Right, they weren’t at the falling down house that the League called home right now; instead, he and Dabi were hiding in a tunnel that went under a bridge, the only light being a tiny blue flame that danced along Dabi’s fingertips. Their hiding spot reeked of sewerage and other things Tokoyami did not know the origin of—nor did he want to—and was pitch black, which meant that no one would notice them unless they literally walked into the tunnel.

Tokoyami realized he hadn’t responded to the villain and huffed. “I’m allowed to think, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, well, I can see your brain melting inside that skull of yours, so stop.” Dabi shrugged, switching the flame from his left to his right; the scent of scorched flesh lingered behind, not that Dabi seemed to notice, or care.

“Stop thinking?” Tokoyami blinked. “Thinking is not something that can be stopped.”

“Sure it is. You just aren’t trying hard enough.”

He could feel his feathers ruffling at Dabi’s teasing. It was no wonder that people got mad at the flame villain; the way he spoke and the words he chose to use, were all skilfully said to piss people off. I will not give him the satisfaction. Tokoyami pointedly looked away. “How much longer should we wait?”

Dabi wisely went along with Tokoyami’s change in conversation and let out a sigh. Tokoyami was yet to understand what the sigh meant, considering Dabi sighed at just about anything. “We’ll wait all night if we have to. Just because you don’t believe that Eraser will come, doesn’t mean that I don’t.”

“I didn’t say that.” Tokoyami argued, annoyed that Dabi was putting words into his mouth. He wanted to believe that his teacher would come, he really wanted to, but he also couldn’t forget how his teacher had hesitated when the nurse had thrown accusations around. It left him conflicted, both wanting the protection Aizawa offered, and not wanting the man around him at all. Did that make Tokoyami a bad student? He didn’t know. But what he did know was that he was a teenager in a situation that most normal teenagers would never find themselves in; and that terrified him.

“Kid.”

“I’m not thinking that hard.”

A raised eyebrow told him that Dabi didn’t believe a single word of what he’d said, but thankfully, the villain said nothing. That was fine by Tokoyami, since he didn’t really feel up to talking all that much. That and there wasn’t really much he could say to Dabi that he hadn’t already; the villain wasn’t much for sharing, and neither was Tokoyami—the fact that they were hero and villain was irrelevant at this point in time.

Loud footsteps echoed against wet concrete, the sound being one of the most unpleasant things Tokoyami’s ears had been subjected to—and he’d been subjected to a lot of strange sounds since becoming a high school student. Tokoyami quickly rose to his feet, moving to stand behind Dabi; he hated having to rely on the man for protection, but with no quirk, and an injured body, he didn’t have much choice but to do so.

Dabi extinguished the flame, sending both of them into a murky darkness, a precaution just in case the person approaching wasn’t the one they were hoping to see. Tokoyami perked up though; he’d recognize those footsteps anywhere, having heard them more times than he could count when his teacher would catch him in the common room after curfew. “Sensei.” He breathed the word out, heart pounding as Dabi tentatively brought back the light and illuminated his teacher’s face. He came.

Aizawa stopped several feet away, body coiled like a spring ready to release any moment, his eyes red and fixated on Dabi and Dabi alone. Dabi stared back, the blue flame illuminating his face; making his eyes appear as if they were glowing. Red and blue; two colours that were always portrayed as opposites, yet were actually closer than they appeared. Why Tokoyami found himself thinking about colours in that moment, he didn’t know, but he certainly wouldn’t have been surprised if something purple showed up.

“Eraserhead.” Dabi said in that raspy voice of his; Tokoyami noticed that the scratching sound was stronger whenever Dabi tried to speak loudly. He wondered if it hurt the villain to speak at times.

“Dabi.” Aizawa’s voice on the other hand was cold and firm; an indication to how angry the man actually was. It wasn’t a tone Tokoyami had ever heard his teacher use before, and he’d seen Aizawa get mad at his classmates.

Tokoyami stayed silent, dropping his head to avoid making eye contact. Despite knowing that his teacher had come and was actually standing there, only a few feet away, Tokoyami wasn’t ready to face him. He wasn’t ready to see what expression his teacher wore on his face, wasn’t ready to see the disappointment, the disbelief and uneasiness that he’d witnessed back at the hospital.

“Tokoyami.” Aizawa called out to him. Tokoyami stiffened, but couldn’t stop himself from raising his eyes to meet his teacher’s own; no longer glowing red. His teacher’s eyes softened immediately upon meeting Tokoyami’s own. “Are you okay?”

Tokoyami let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding at the question. It was the first time someone had asked him if he was okay since everything had gone down, and he hadn’t realized how much he’d needed to be asked that. Tokoyami opened his mouth to respond, but the words died before they could even form. In the end, he just gave a single nod.

The relief on Aizawa’s face allowed some of the tension to leave Tokoyami’s body. “I’m sorry, kid. I’m sorry that when you need protection, I was unable to give it to you.”

It took several seconds for Tokoyami to be able to speak. “It’s okay, Sensei—”

“He had protection.” Dabi interrupted, having moved from protecting Tokoyami to leaning against the tunnel wall. The villain appeared to be uninterested in what was going on around him, yet Tokoyami could feel Dabi’s eyes on him; ready to leap to his defence should he need it.

Aizawa’s eye twitched at the interruption, the man turning to glare at Dabi. “Protection from the villain that attacked his classmates doesn’t exactly reassure me all that much.”

“Better than protection from the teacher that chose to protect his student’s attacker instead of his student.” Dabi spat back, venom filling his voice. The villain clearly wasn’t all that impressed with Aizawa’s actions back at the hospital.

Aizawa flinched as if the words had physically hurt him, taking a single step back. And while the lack of words from his teacher should’ve hurt, Tokoyami took one look at the pain on Aizawa’s face and couldn’t bring himself to harbor any anger towards his teacher for what had happened. Tokoyami stepped forward, meeting Aizawa’s eyes with determination. “I am alright, Sensei. I was hurt you didn’t let me explain, but it was a complicated situation. But regardless of who is protecting me right now, there is someone who needs that protection more.”

“Hawks.” It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a statement, but a fact. Aizawa knew exactly what Tokoyami was talking about without him having to say it. “You’ve confirmed the foul play you told me about then?”

Tokoyami nodded but it was Dabi who spoke. “We’ve confirmed that the Hero Commission are the ones that tried to kill Hawks in that villain attack, and then later tried to silence your student for questioning the story he’d been fed. Which means that anyone he’s told may also be in danger now.”

“And he told me.” Aizawa frowned, thinking over what he’d been told. “You have proof that the Hero Commission is behind the incident?”

“Oh? You’re quick to believe a villain, Eraser.”

“I have never agreed with the Commission and how they operate.” Aizawa shrugged. “Being an underground hero, you hear things, so I’ve heard plenty over the years, but never enough to do something.”

“Do something legally, you mean?” Dabi grinned, coming up to stand beside Tokoyami. “Your precious student has already agreed to do what needs to be done to save his mentor, but can you do the same?”

Aizawa scoffed; Dabi’s words nothing more than a buzzing insect in his ear. “I will do what needs to be done. That’s what being a hero is.”

Hero and villain stared at each other, neither of them willing to back down, knowing that the moment they gave a centimetre, the other would take an inch. And Tokoyami was caught in the crossover; in that moment, he didn’t know which side he belonged to. It shouldn’t have even been a question—to most, it wouldn’t’ve—but Tokoyami’s entire world had been turned upside down to the point he didn’t know what was right and what was wrong anymore. The Hero Commission—people who were supposed to be there to protect the heroes and help them—were no more than villains, waiting for some poor hero to make a mistake that would get them killed, or worse.

And Hawks’ mistake had been that he’d fallen in love.

It was obvious now that he looked back on it. Hawks had been tasked with infiltrating the League to bring them down from the inside, yet he’d fallen in love instead. He didn’t know what had happened between Hawks and Dabi for that to happen, or how it had happened, but it had happened, and that was enough for his mentor to be condemned by the very people who were supposed help Hawks.

Tokoyami found himself wondering, that is Hawks had fallen in love with a hero instead of a villain, would the Commission have still tried to kill him?

“How is Hawks?” Tokoyami asked, breaking the stare off that had still been going until he spoke. “Is he well?”

Aizawa stared at him for a moment before nodding. “He is well. After you were taken from the hospital, and the police came and left, I went to Hawks. He was awake and stressed, but unharmed. I told him what had happened to you, and he looked… relieved.” His teacher threw a glance at Dabi. “I remembered what you’d told me earlier, and have personally made sure that he wasn’t left alone.”

“Then who is with him now?” Dabi asked, trying to sound like he didn’t care, but failing miserably. If Tokoyami could hear the concern in the villain’s voice, he had no doubt that his teacher could too.

“Midnight is with him.” Aizawa said. “Her quirk is the most useful after mine, so she agreed to watch Hawks while I came here. The Hero Commission has tried to interfere, but the doctors refuse to release Hawks into their custody until they remove the tube in his chest.”

“Do you know when that’s happening?”

“Tomorrow.”

Dabi huffed and kicked at a loose stone, the sound loud in the silence. “So we have a limited window to rescue him.”

“But we can rescue him, right?” Tokoyami asked. Surely we can still rescue him?

“We can, but it won’t be easy.” Dabi said. “Hawks will be unconscious from the surgery and I doubt the Commission is going to let him wake up before they try to take him. An awake Hawks is harder to kill than a drugged Hawks.”

“Unfortunately, I agree.” Aizawa scratched the side of his face, deep in thought. “As much as I’d like to offer UA’s assistance, there isn’t much we can do without the Commission interfering in the lives of our students. And while I can act alone, I can only do so to a certain extent, which is why I’ve gotten away with staying by Hawks for these past days—the news article about the two of you helped.”

“How?” Tokoyami asked, finding it hard to believe that such a report could ever be helpful.

“The public is blaming UA for having a ‘traitor’, so in response, we made a statement saying that we teachers, would personally guard Hawks from further threats.”

“Smart. I didn’t think heroes ever used their brains.” Dabi mocked in that inappropriate way of his. At Aizawa’s unimpressed stare, the villain raised his hands. “I’m not saying we don’t appreciate it. Just that it was unexpected.”

Aizawa continued to look unimpressed with Dabi’s words, staring the villain down like he might with an unruly student. It was amusing to watch. In the end, it was Dabi that looked away first, the villain muttering under his breath about something Tokoyami couldn’t quite hear.

“Tell me something though.” Aizawa said, expression unreadable. “What’s your connection with Hawks? Why is his wellbeing so important to you?”

Dabi froze, panic flitting across his face.

Tokoyami wasn’t the only one to notice it either. Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. “I will find out sooner or later, Dabi. Might as well tell me now.”

“Has Hawks told you anything?” Dabi questioned.

“No.”

“Then I’m not saying anything.”

Tokoyami interrupted just as Aizawa opened his mouth to press the issue, understanding the need to keep the relationship hidden, even though Tokoyami didn’t approve of hiding it from his teacher. “Sensei, it’s alright. We should focus on Hawks for now. You can ask questions later.”

His teacher stared at him with wide eyes, that slowly morphed into a look of pride. “Alright, kid. I do expect answers, but I can wait. Should I expect a message when you are going to attempt a rescue?”

Dabi hummed, striding up so that his face was up close and personal with Aizawa’s own, the underground hero looking mildly uncomfortable with the proximity. “Oh absolutely. I’ll text you the details, but for now, we’ve accomplished what we came here to do.”

A portal opened up behind Dabi, which had Tokoyami blinking. He hadn’t even seen the villain contact Kurogiri to get them. A sharp intake of breath had Tokoyami looking back to his teacher, who was staring at him with a pain-filled expression. Tokoyami looked towards Dabi, silently pleading with the villain.

Dabi stared at him for a moment before sighing. “Oh, alright. Come through when you’re done.” And then the villain was gone, stepping through the portal and disappearing back to the hideout.

And now it was just Tokoyami and his teacher, alone in the dark. The words Tokoyami so desperately wanted to say were stuck in his throat, fighting to free themselves but instead dragging each other back into the safety of Tokoyami’s mind. Aizawa stood there, only a metre away, staring at him with all the patience in the world.

“You… you believe me?” The words finally allowed themselves to be said, coming slowly and hesitantly. Tokoyami’s shoulders slowly rose as he ducked his head to avoid making eye contact. He wanted to hear the words from his teacher without Dabi there, wanted his teacher to tell him that everything would be okay; even if it wasn’t. Tokoyami had never felt more like a child than he did in that moment.

“Of course I do.” Aizawa said, stepping forward to cover the remaining distance and reaching out to draw Tokoyami into a hug, being mindful of his student’s injuries. “I’ll always believe you kids, no matter how outrageous the truth is.”

The embrace was warm—different to Dabi’s warmth—and very much welcome. It was also the last straw in the emotions that Tokoyami had been holding back for days, and he wasn’t able to stop the tears from coming. He buried his face into his teacher’s shirt, shoulders shaking, sobs strong enough to shake the earth escaping him. It was embarrassing. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried and here he was, clutching at his teacher and wetting his shirt with tears.

Yet it didn’t seem to bother Aizawa, the man holding him ever so gently, yet firmly. He didn’t say anything as Tokoyami cried, content to be the pillar that Tokoyami needed in that moment.

“Tokoyami.” Aizawa said as the sobs eased off, although Tokoyami’s body still trembled. Tokoyami looked up at his teacher. “You’ve found yourself in a terrible situation, but you’ve done what you could to survive and persevere. You tried to tell the truth and the people who should’ve protected you, decided you needed to die instead, and that’s a failure on our part.”

Tokoyami let out a sigh. “Why would the Commission do this?”

“I don’t know, kid. But once your mentor is safe, we’ll find out. I promise you that.”

A pause. And then a tentative question. “Will I still be able to become a hero? Despite all this?”

Aizawa pulled back, a soft smile on his face. “The fact that you still want to become a hero despite this says everything.”

Those words nearly reduced Tokoyami to tears once again, but he refused to let himself cry again. He nodded and pulled away from his teacher, stepping towards the portal. Aizawa didn’t stop him, instead just looking at him with an understanding expression. That look took some of the weight from his shoulders; he hadn’t realized how worried he’d been that his teacher would judge him for accepting the protection of a villain. So knowing that Aizawa wasn’t going to stop him, reassured him, even though they both knew that Tokoyami would rather be back at UA with his classmates.

The portal swallowed Tokoyami, the last thing that he saw being Aizawa reaching out for him.

I’m sorry, Sensei.

“Hawks’ surgery is happening right now.” Dabi announced all of a sudden, the next day, coming down the stairs with clothes thrown on haphazardly. Tokoyami noticed a distinct fog to the villain’s eyes, and the way his hair was a mess was an indication that the villain had been disturbed from sleep.

“Now?” Tokoyami echoed. It was early morning; so early that not even the sun was up. Not that he’d slept. He’d always struggled to sleep through the night back at UA, and here at the hideout was no different. If anything, it was even worse, being surrounded by villains.

Specifically, Spinner and Shigaraki who were sitting in front of the couch Tokoyami was camped upon, playing video games.

It was both strangely domestic and very weird to witness.

At Dabi’s words, the two villains paused their game, simultaneously turning to look at their fellow villain. “You’re sure?” Spinner asked.

Dabi nodded. “Eraser told me. He says there are some Commission agents there waiting for it to be over. Eraser’s with another teacher to make sure they can’t.”

“Do we have coordinates?” Shigaraki asked this time.

“Yes.”

“Then go. Take Twice with you. Don’t come back without that idiotic bird.”

Dabi mock saluted and disappeared back up the stairs, reappearing moments later with a disgruntled Twice—Kurogiri was awaiting them in the kitchen already, a portal ready and waiting to take them to the coordinates Aizawa had sent through. Tokoyami was almost certain that the villain didn’t actually sleep for he’d never actually seen Kurogiri sleep, or go upstairs to sleep.

“Let’s go rescue Hawks! I say we leave him there!” Twice shouted, almost loud enough to wake the dead. Almost.

“I’m coming with you.” Tokoyami said, rushing to stand. There was no way he would allow himself to be left behind while Dabi and Twice went to save his mentor. Hawks had saved him, now it was time to save Hawks.

“No.” Dabi looked at him like he was a child, like he couldn’t believe that Tokoyami actually wanted to be useful instead of sitting on his ass all day. “You’re injured and can’t use your quirk. It’s too dangerous.”

“Hawks is my mentor.” Tokoyami argued. “He saved me. I want to help save him. Injuries and no quirk aren’t going to stop me.”

Dabi stared at him for a moment, Twice tapping his foot impatiently just behind him. They were running out of time just standing around, yet Dabi continued to stare, the silence growing. Tokoyami couldn’t help but let out a huff of impatience.

Finally, Dabi answered. “Fine. But you stay with me and do what I say.”

Tokoyami could live with that, and nodded, coming to stand beside Dabi. Together, the three of them stepped into the portal, the mist swallowing them whole. Words of encouragement from the others in the room weren’t offered, but he did catch the determined looks on the Shigaraki and Spinner’s faces, encouraging in their own way. As they travelled back to the hospital, Tokoyami clung to Dabi’s sleeve. While he was used to the method of transportation by now, it was still disconcerting to use, and not something he wanted to experience in the future.

They emerged in the middle of the operating room, doctors and nurses staring at the three of them in horror. Tokoyami made sure that he was behind Dabi just in case quirks started getting thrown around. “Don’t kill anyone.” He begged. Tokoyami may have agreed to do whatever was necessary to help, but he didn’t want to have to kill anyone. He didn’t think he’d be able to return to hero life if that happened.

The only inclination that his quiet words were heard was a slight head tilt, but that was all that needed to be said. The tension in the room broke at the movement, one of the nurses slamming their hand against a button that sent an alarm blaring. Dabi shot a wave of flames as a response, the flames lacking their usual heat. Twice dropped a couple of clones; one of Compress, the other of Spinner, the two members of the League that were the least harmful. Which… was a weird thing to think about.

The hospital staff backed away from Hawks the moment they saw the flames, giving the three of them the chance to swoop in. Dabi rushed over to Hawks’ side, Tokoyami following close behind while Twice made more clones to keep people at bay. The door to the operating room slammed open, three people in suits that must’ve been the Commission agents bursting into the room, Aizawa and Midnight following behind. More clones covered his view of the people, although Tokoyami could hear quirks going off, and he noticed that clones of Toga had appeared, and that there was one of Shigaraki as well.

“Kid, focus.” Dabi hissed at him, drawing Tokoyami back to the main part of the mission which was getting Hawks through the portal and to safety.

“Sorry.” Tokoyami watched as Dabi placed a flaming hand to Hawks’ side where there was an open wound, the flesh hissing as it was burnt shut. It was a horrible thing to witness, but necessary to making sure Hawks didn’t get an infection. The rest of his mentor’s injuries were still wrapped in bandages which was a blessing in disguise, since they would be able to easily navigate around them. “What can I do?”

“Help me get him on my back.” Dabi said, ripping off the wires and anything else that was attached to Hawks. Once that was done, the villain quickly shed his coat, covering Hawks body with it. “Then we leave.”

Tokoyami nodded, coming around to the side Dabi was on and helping to pull Hawks into an upright position, his mentor unresponsive to the rough treatment. Probably for the best right now. Tokoyami thought. Dabi crouched, ready to support Hawks’ weight, and Tokoyami carefully pulled his mentor forward. It was hard with one arm, but together, he and Dabi soon had the hero situated on Dabi’s back. Tokoyami made sure that Dabi’s coat was secure, and in a split second, decided to snag the sheet that had been covering his mentor during surgery, tucking it in as best he could.

“Twice, come on! Let’s get out of here!” Dabi shouted over the cacophony of noise, quickly walking to the portal and stepping through it. Tokoyami followed, hesitating momentarily to make sure that Twice was alright, only to have the villain fly past him. Twice’s hand wrapped around Tokoyami’s own and dragged him through the portal, leaving the sounds of conflict behind them.

The trip back to the hideout was much faster, or so it seemed, because one second, they were in the mist, and the next, the hideout was there in front of them. Tokoyami blinked, a little disoriented from the rapid teleportation. He shook his head to clear his mind, his eyes searching for Hawks. His mentor was secure against Dabi’s back, looking like he was sleeping peacefully instead of being under anaesthesia. The rest of the League, Toga included, were all in the living room, staring at his mentor with various expressions of relief and joy, some more obvious than others. Yet none of them dared to approach.

Dabi turned towards him. “Kid, come.”

The villain didn’t wait for him to respond, marching up the stairs. Tokoyami rushed after the man, following him as Dabi led him to a room at the end of the hall; Dabi’s room. Tokoyami didn’t know what he was expecting when he walked into the villain’s room, but he was surprised when there was nothing at all. For some reason, he’d pictured the League decorating their rooms, especially since he’d witnessed how domestic they could be. So to see the room undecorated with the bare essentials in it, he was surprised.

Tokoyami didn’t move as Dabi carefully placed Hawks against the bed in the room, shifting the hero until he was under the blankets; still wearing Dabi’s coat. To be expected, since it was either the coat or nakedness, and Tokoyami had no desire to see his mentor without clothes. But he knew some people would pay to see it.

“We did it.” Tokoyami whispered, the words loud in the otherwise quiet room.

Dabi’s head swung to him so fast, he swore he heard the villain’s neck crack. The man gave a nod and sighed. “We did. Hawks is safe.”

“Now what?” What did they do, now that they’d rescued Hawks from the people that had tried to have him killed in the first place? How did they bring down the Commission or stop them from trying again?

And for once, Dabi looked like he didn’t have the answers. “I’ll let Eraser know we got him. And well, I guess we wait for Hawks to wake up and go from there.”

Tokoyami nodded. He slowly moved to where Dabi sat on the edge of the bed, and tentatively sat down beside the villain. Here they were, two people joined together in a mission to protect the one person they both held closest to them. For Dabi, it was out of love, and for Tokoyami, it was out of loyalty. He’d once heard Hawks lament about not having friends like some of the other Pro Hero’s did; a conversation he wasn’t meant to overhear but had anyway. And in that moment, Tokoyami knew that Hawks was wrong. Sure he may not have had friends, or people he was close to, in the hero circuit, but he’d somehow managed to worm his way into the hearts of Japan’s most notorious villains, enough so that they’d stage a rescue mission to save him.

Hawks was something else, and Tokoyami was proud to be his student.

#dabihawks #dadzawa #mha #bnha #my hero academia #tokoyami #dabi #league of villains #hawks #hurt/comfort #writing #fanfiction #mha fanfic #aizawa shouta

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hermholland · 2 years

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This is going to be a little bit of a mish-mash of things but there is a point to it…

Lately I've been realising that I need additional help and support with my Depression than I'm currently getting. Despite the fact that since October I've had decent reasons to be upset or sad, I've recently acknowledged that I've not actually come back out of my misery for months, I've just found new reasons to explain it. It's clear that Things Are Getting Bad Again.

I've explained before, I think, about my abandonment issues, Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, and paranoia, and it's been especially bad the last few months: I've struggled to communicate with others, I've questioned whether people I consider my friends would prefer if I wasn't around, I've wondered if they'd notice if I dropped off the face of the Earth, I've been anxious about reconnecting with people, I've been scared to make plans, I've had panic attacks at the prospect of seeing people I've not had any contact with in a long time… The list goes on.

My most recent struggle is that one of my closest friends seemingly not wanting to spend time with me or even really communicate with me if it's remotely out of his convenience. It's felt like if I try to make plans with him to do something other than go to one pub we always go to he either doesn't want to or he'll agree & then cancel last minute ghost me for a day or more. Not all of this is imagined, but it's far more down to his own personal issues than with some resentment towards me. But it's been hard enough reaching out and being rejected or ignored that I've had to decide to just stop reaching out for the time being as a form of self-preservation. The voice that tells me everyone hates me and that they're right to is always much louder and more convincing than reality or truth, and for a while now I've been questioning a lot about my relationships with the people I care about. This has been extremely painful, and I've been getting progressively more closed off and isolated as I've tried to deal with it.

That, and other things, and general demon voices telling me I'm an awful person, have me feeling unwanted, unlikable, and isolated. It's been really horrific.

The thing is, though, and essentially what's become the reason I've actually shared this, is that while all this has been happening, in the last week (and more specifically on Sunday) I've had a few different and entirely unconnected things happen which have done a lot to counter these feelings. Some of these things will seem entirely inconsequential, but in the context of what I've just explained they've all meant the absolute world to me.

A friend of mine couldn't make it to my pirate outing on the 10th of February because he'd broken his clavicle and thus was entirely bedbound. He lives on his own and has not been able to even sit up without great pain and difficulty for several weeks now. I've tried to keep in touch with him, even about mundane things like what I'm looking forward to eating that day, so that he doesn't feel alone and like everyone has forgotten him (I know that feeling and wouldn't wish it on anyone). This is the man that I made my little BlueJay toy for, so that he could come out with us to the pirate event that he'd been looking forward to before the accident. The day after the pirate outing I sent him loads of pictures of everyone who was out posing with the toy of him. He was incredibly grateful, and told me how much the gesture meant to him and that he believed that even thinking of making a stand-in for him so that he could join us was "a sign of true friendship". I was really pleased with this response and it made me feel really good about doing something that didn't feel like much of a big deal to me while I did it.

Fast forward to last Sunday.

As I was getting some stuff sorted on my PC, out of nowhere, I got a message from my friend that I'd had to stop reaching out to, simply talking about how he didn't like his new phone. It was nothing special or important, and was really only a grumble about something inconsequential. I'd been feeling unwanted and like my badgering was the only reason our friendship had persisted, and hearing from him about something so unimportant and conversational was, maybe quite oddly, an extremely affirming gesture about the status of our friendship. If he'd gotten in touch about something that mattered then it'd have been worse, because this was just talking for the sake of talking because we're friends. A tiny thing, but it meant the world to me.

Maybe an hour later I got a message from a friend of mine who I only ever see maybe once or twice a year because he lives far away, but always gives me a shout when he's in the area to hang out. I wasn't able to join him, but it was really nice to get the invitation, especially as he doesn't know any of my other friends, so it was entirely unrelated. Another simple thing but it made me feel wanted, which was wonderful.

Again a little while later I was chatting with another friend of mine who I always chat with on a Sunday, and everything about feeling unwanted and so on had made me worry that I was neglecting this friendship, and I said as much to him. He reassured me that this was not the case at all, and something about that and the way he did it was really comforting.

A little while after that I got a gift from a friend out of nowhere, which was far more meaningful than I think he remotely understood at the time, or even after when I reiterated my gratitude to him for it. He explained his reasoning behind giving me the gift as being quite simple and matter-of-fact, but even that kind of meant more because it wasn't some grand gesture designed to make him look like a saint… it was just "You wanted this, and I wanted to make sure you got it at the right time". I was incredibly flustered to receive the gift at the time (I'm shite at surprises, especially gifting surprises!) and later on when I was by myself I got really quite emotional about it.

All of these separate things happened from unconnected people for entirely different reasons and at similar but obviously not-choreographed times. Even though my Depression voices are extremely convincing and very loud, they can't block out the fact that all of those things happening so close together affirm the collective strength of my friendships with people. It's hard to believe that nobody likes me when all of these people have made gestures proving otherwise.

I'm having a hard time, and that's not changed. I'm not feeling better, as such, but the smallest of gestures from people (as simple as just messaging me out of the blue to say their new phone is annoying them, which just shows they want to share something in their life with me) have been so reassuring and affirming that things don't feel so heck right now. I'm still miserable, but that's helped shut up one of the worst voices telling me I'm awful.

You'll never know how meaningful just saying hi to someone without any purpose or agenda (except just that they're your friend) can be.

#personal #mental health #mental illness #depression #anxiety #me #rejection #rejection sensitive dysphoria #abandonment issues #loneliness #relationships #friendship #isolation #paranoia #reassurance

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yangyuege · 2 years

Text

Flying not Falling

STORY 2 - Zither

When I was 9, my parents took me to one of the largest music stores in the town where we lived. As I browsed through the neatly arranged instruments in the store, I felt them staring at me with eager eyes as if they were waiting for me to "caress" them. I was so dazzled that I didn't know which one to choose until I saw a special one. Unlike those gorgeous pianos carefully placed on the floor, or the delicate guitars elegantly hung on the wall, it was the only one that was left in the corner covered with a black cloth. Even from a distance, I could see a thick layer of dust on it, as if no one had touched it or even noticed it for a long time.

"What is that?"

"A Chinese Guzheng." The seller replied impatiently, probably because I didn't pay attention to those expensive pianos that he had gently wiped with a soft cloth.

" I love it!" I said to my mom. I walked up to it, gently dusted off the ash that had fallen on the cloth, and then carefully lifted the cloth. Suddenly, a gentle woody aroma greets my nostrils. I knew immediately that this would be the instrument that accompany me while I grow up.

From then, every weekend, my mom would drive me for Gushing lessons, 1 hour per lesson, probably the most enjoyable hour of the week for me. After a while of playing, I got better gradually, and also got my first chance to stand on the stage - an instrumental performance competition. When our teacher asked if anyone wanted to volunteer for this event, I could feel my eyes sparkle with excitement so I raised my hand without hesitation.

But I also began to realize that it takes extreme patience and a lot of practice to play this instrument well. I have to admitted that, unfortunately, I was not the musical prodigy that I once thought I was. When those ugly and hard calluses started to appear on my tender hands, when I played the rhythm wrong and broke the strings over and over again, I started to become anxious. I couldn't help but wonder if I had chosen the wrong instrument in the first place, that maybe I shouldn't have gotten caught up in its specialness, that maybe a more widely known instrument like the piano or the guitar would have suited me better.

"No matter how it ends, I'm going to give it a try." I encouraged myself using these innocent words.

UCL: http://image.baidu.com

And here I was, standing on the biggest stage I had ever seen at that time, wearing the gorgeous makeup and in a beautiful white dress with pink flowers lying on it. I took my Guzheng to the stage and my heart pounded. The spotlights that shone on me were getting hotter and hotter, and I could feel the sweat slowly trickling down my cheeks. But I knew that was not out of fear but out of excitement. With all eyes on me, it was as if I suddenly began to get the hang of it, and every time I struck the strings, I could feel myself resonating with it, just as I had when I first saw it in the music store. This wonderful feeling was something I had never felt before, as if my Guzheng and I were made for the stage. From then on, I knew I would never give it up, no matter what the outcome was...

When the host slowly raised the microphone and announced the winners in a rousing tone, my name was not mentioned. But instead of feeling disappointed, I seemed to be inspired and motivated. These emotions are the main reasons that supported me to obtain the Guzheng Grade 10 certificate at the age of 13, as the youngest student in our music school.

I used to be frustrated and upset by the mistakes I made, but in retrospect, those times were just when I started to realize I was an ordinary person. Life is a journey of repeated failures and rejuvenation, and only those who dare to “fall” will have the chance to "fly". Perhaps, from the beginning, being a famous Guzheng player was never my goal, but becoming a brave and determined person is what I ultimately want.

#CRWR 213 Assignment 3

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lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks · 3 years

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OP!Danny x Marvel anon: Oh fuuun! Okay but what if instead of Danny coming out of nowhere (bc where would Loki even FIND him if he's stuck to one town?) the original idea did happen where Fury brought him in like "dw about him he's here to watch YOUR backs", and he does--Danny's proving himself, that these adults don't need to worry bc he can handle it--he's been playing hero far longer than them and he's good at it. he's got them--until he DOESN'T bc Loki's got HIM.

ah god it's been too long since I watched the original avengers I'm struggling here, but mind control as a concept is fascinating, especially the way the sceptre does it, so I'm gonna go into that

but to start, Shield are already buying Fenton weaponry way before the events of the movie, so while in town Nick Fury tracks down Phantom for a chat to have him on standby in case of emergencies and they need him

or what could be MORE interesting, is he happened to call Danny in to check out the tesseract to see if it might have any connection to the ghost zone, just to like, tick some boxes kinda thing, a lot of magic artefacts come out of the ghost zone

I'm trying to remember the beginning of the movie and also Shield's knowledge and history with the tesseract but honestly I'm drawing a blank so I'm only hoping this makes sense, anyone else can feel free to correct me if I've made a continuity error somewhere

anyway, he happens to be there at the time that Loki shows up, but he's in human form, he also has no idea what's happening, but Loki's a frost giant, and Danny has an ice core, so I'm wondering if he like, feels a weird connection and is like, hey hold up lemme talk to this guy and see what's going on

sooo yeah he's talking with Loki who seems to be willing to communicate reasonably (silver tongue and all that he is a trickster), lowering Danny's guard, he gets too close and Loki just goes right in with the sceptre

but at this point, Loki has no idea who Danny is, he's there and he's convenient, he's just a kid, which makes him a great hostage, Loki does notice that they like, vibe on some level too but is kinda too busy dealing with the current situation to think about it too closely

it gets very interesting when Loki commands Danny to shield him, thinking 'stand in front of me because nobody will risk shooting a kid', and instead he gets a bright glowing green shield, and that certainly peaks his attention

he would know something is a little off though because when he controls everyone else they still sort of act normal, like they aren't mindlessly bent to his will they retain their personality and behaviour, their loyalties have just been skewed

but Danny isn't exactly like that, he follows orders quietly and to the letter, and then stands like a statue when he's done, he stares at Loki, with this awful stony expression, like he knows this is wrong, he knows Loki is controlling him and he's obeying with extreme resistance

compare this to Clint, who can still plan and think and be creative, he'll follow orders but he can adapt to a situation using his own knowledge and experience, he's not bound by direct and exact orders, he can follow them with his natural flexibility and intuition

Danny can't, or more so he won't, because unlike the others who don't consciously realise they're being controlled, Danny has experience with this bullshit and he knows full well what's going on, and his natural behaviour in this situation would be defiance

Loki has to keep his control over Danny incredibly direct and very tight, otherwise Danny can loophole a way out of an order, Loki forces Danny to show him what he's capable of and Danny nearly knocks Loki's head off with an ecto-blast

which means as powerful an asset as Danny is, Loki has to be very very careful about letting him out of his sight, Danny can't be a remote agent like Clint, he has to be a body guard, close by so Loki can make sure he's not finagling out of a command, fortunately Loki is good with words and excellent at manipulation so he gets quite good at tailoring his orders to be as specific as possible and to cover any alternative interpretations that Danny may use

the more powers Loki discovers that Danny has, the more nervous he gets about asking Danny to use them, because if he isn't extremely careful Danny will take any opportunity given to use them on Loki, he has to give a lot of blanket orders about never using his powers to hurt Loki directly, to never use them to cause their surroundings to hurt Loki, and to never use them in such a way as to knowingly cause harm to Loki

he has to give his orders with specifics like this every fucking time, ordering Danny around is like writing an extensive and highly detailed contract

#op danny marvel edition #asks #danny phantom #overpowered danny #marvel #mcu #loki #lula's aus

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hansolmates · 4 years

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busted in busan

summary; you’re snowbound at the airport, when the only thing you want is to be homebound. your anxieties heighten as the snow rises, worried that you won’t make it in time for christmas where your fiancé and his parents expect you—picture perfect. when all flights are cancelled due to a massive storm, you have to turn to the hands of an unlikely, hard-headed hero who knows the fastest way out of busan (and into your heart) pairing; jungkook x (f) reader genre/warnings; a christmas detour!au, fluff, angst, slice of life, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, pining, this is a total romcom, hallmark movie galore! tw–microcheating (or not however you look at it) mentions of sex, making out, profanity w/c; 10k a/n; for @suhdays holiday hallmark event! this event was totally up my lane, i couldn’t wait to post it! a huge thank u for @eerieedits for making this wonderful fic banner! this is totally unedited, i’ll to go back to it tonight but pls enjoy! for those of u who need a little more christmas charm this year, this is for u

if you loved this icy couple, please consider giving it a like n’share!⛄⛄⛄

“The Korean Air 1102 flight from Gimhae International Airport to Incheon International Airport will be delayed six hours due to the intense weather conditions. Please be on standby for any further updates.”

You’re twitching, fighting the urge to nibble on your nails because you’ve just got them done for Christmas. They’re a sleek champagne gold, because your fiancé insisted that they’re far more mature than your usual red and brown reindeer art. This is awful, and is only going to get progressively worse as the snow builds and builds. Right now the weather isn’t that bad, the snow isn’t even sticking to the ground and—oh.

Gnawing at your lip, your fingers brush over the cold window, a clear view of the landing strip you should currently be boarding. The touch is icy, and the pads of your fingers are enveloped in little rings of fog at the sudden warmth nudging the glass. Upon closer inspection and a squint of your eyes reveal that in fact, the snow is now sticking to the ground. Big, fat clumps are covering the freeway and destroying your Christmas plans.

Your fiancé will understand if you’re a little late for their Christmas Eve party, but you’re not sure if his parents will. You’ve been on livewire all week, wanting to at least spend the morning of Christmas Eve with your family back home. Knowing that your fiancé’s Christmas Eve party would run until very late, you booked a noon flight with enough time to get ready and impress his parents. Evidently, it was an ill-prepared idea.

Immediately falling into your terminal’s line, you hope that you can talk with the receptionist in hopes they could put you at ease.

“How soon will you announce our flight’s departure?” A sad smile.

“Is there any way you can put me on the next possible flight?” A shake of the head.

“Will the weather let up?” A frown.

Every bit of rejection weighs you down, and you’ve run out of questions to ask. For a receptionist, she’s not very receptive.

“C’mon lady, you’re holding up the line,” a voice tugs you from behind, “you’re not the only one who’s gotta get down to the city on Christmas.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, wanting to slap the rudeness off this man’s face. Instead of falling back in line, you move to the side to glare at him. He’s unfortunately attractive, albeit in a rugged sort-of way—nothing like your fiancé. The leather jacket that he carries tall is worn and crackly at the collar. Wavy dark hair he constantly has to hold back, a gesture that looks flirtatious and to your chagrin the receptionist is definitely recepting to him.

“Your refund should be processed in about two to four business days, Mr. Jeon,” the receptionist murmurs, the simultaneously sultry and chirpy voice making you twitch in your spot. Maybe if you drank a cup of tall, dark and handsome you’d be getting the same kind of treatment.

“Thanks,” he replies shortly, and it’s then you notice the extremely large luggage next to him. It’s the size of you, and despite the broad shoulders under the baggy jacket, he lugs it with careful force, making sure not to bump into anyone as he wheels it away from the counter.

It seems that your trainers have a mind of your own as you follow him down the terminal. He side eyes you as your feet pick up the pace to match his long legs, but he waits for you to say something first.

“Why did you ask for a refund?” you ask, frowning at him, “the flight is only delayed.”

He scoffs, “Do you see the snow? They’re just saying it’s delayed so they can hold onto your money a little longer. Besides, it’s a win-win. I get my refund sooner and some other poor sap can take the ticket and wait until five in the morning.”

“Five A.M.,” you exhale to yourself, slowing down.

It would be too late by then, far too late. Your shoulders slump, people start to bump into you without a care.

“Besides,” you hear his voice say from your stricken form, “I had a backup plan.”

That’s when your feet start to burn up, and you whip around to pump your legs, catching up with the man who’s already far down the hall. “What kind of backup plan?” you blurt, raising your voice because the crowds are starting to get noisier and deeper the further you follow him.

He hooks his lips into a confused frown, “You’re awfully nosy.”

“I’m in a pinch, my fiancé’s parents will kill me if I don’t show up to their party tonight.”

“Your fiancé’s parents… will kill you?”

“That’s an exaggeration,” you cough, immediately feeling self-conscious, “they’d kill me with their eyes. They’re really big, really pretty corporate people. They have high expectations for their future in-law.”

“Ah, and you're the country pumpkin who managed to sweep the rich guy off his feet?”

“Something like that,” you reply, rocking on your heels, “my dad was his dad’s former secretary, and we grew up together.”

The stranger with a plan stops in front of a long line. It’s so long that you’re not entirely sure where it leads to. People are piling out the door two at a time, and you can see they’re trying to get through the process as fast as possible. The window leading outside is blurry and caked in white ice. He hooks one leg over his luggage, the metal and plastic case is so high that his feet barely touch the ground. Like a kid with a flat scooter, he wheels himself through the line.

“These lines are for busses going in the direction of our flight,” he jabs a finger out the door, “if the flight got cancelled I was just going to ride one of these,” out of his pocket he pulls out two tickets, flicking it in front of your face.

“Are there any tickets left?” your eyes bug, and you immediately pull out your phone to reserve a spot.

“Nah, been booked since last month.”

It’s then that your eyes zero in on the second ticket he has in hand. Both tickets are addressed to the same name. You lower your phone in your pocket, narrowing your eyes. “Why do you have two for yourself?”

He pats his luggage as a response.

“That’s not fair!”

“It is when you buy it, sweetheart.”

“A literal human could be in that spot, wanting to go home for Christmas!”

“You’re just salty you don’t have a ticket, don’t take it out on my luggage,” he feigns a pout, rubbing the handle of the heavy container, “you’re hurting it’s feelings.”

It doesn’t take long for you and the stranger to reach the end of the line. To others in line the two of you look like two companions bickering good-naturedly, but in reality the only thing you want to do is slap that smug smile off his face.

“You want my ticket,” he states.

“I want your luggage’s ticket,” you bite back, staring petulantly at where he sits comfortably between the handle.

Unbeknownst to you, the man’s face morphs into a teasing grin upon seeing you glare a little too hard at the silver and black case. It just so happens that your eyes gravitate to the middle of the luggage, at the apex between his long legs leading up to a pair of black sweats. Despite the soft, baggy fabric you can see how the bulge of his thighs outline the thin cotton, looking large and inviting which—

Fuck. You’re engaged. Why are you checking out some stranger’s thighs? Your fiancé also has nice thighs, think about those!

“How much do you want for it?” you cough, crossing your arms and turning to the side to hide your flaming cheeks.

“Who said I was offering?”

“I’ll pay that and then some.”

“With your rich-boy’s money?”

If your hands were not digging into your elbows and you weren’t so concerned about your gold-foiled manicure, you’d deck him. Do the holidays normally make this person so snappy? He simply flips his hair, and you catch the shaved ends of his sides.

“Three-hundred,” he says easily, and if he notices you staring he doesn’t say anything, “including any extra fees for my luggage.”

“Done,” you hold out your hand for him to shake.

“I’m Jungkook, if you care,” the man named Jungkook adds wryly, practically swallowing your small hand with his larger one. You shortly reply with your name, and he merely nods, “a thank you would suffice.”

“Thanks,” and it’s then that you manage a scarily pretty smile, one that Jungkook finds both alarming and amusing. It’s a catered smile, one that you’ve trained yourself to accomplish after hours in the mirror in fear of your fiancé’s parents seeing right through you. It’s the smile you give during work when you don’t give a shit but you need to suck it up. It’s a 9/10 success rate.

“Scary,” he shivers, and then you realize he’s the 1/10.

The only bus for you two to pile on is one of the smallest. Probably half the size of a regular coach bus, but at this rate you don’t care. You’ll fly by hot air balloon if the weather wasn’t so crappy.

“Taehyung!” you startle at Jungkook’s sudden belt, and he does a big, beefy-chested bro-hug to the driver. Ah, so he has connections. You watch the two interact from your corner, pulling up your hood to stop the rapidfire snowflakes from pelting your eyes.

The driver is a classically handsome thing, dark eyes and dark fluffy hair. His paperbag pants look absolutely frigid however, and his teeth are chattering as he regards Jungkook with annoyed eyes.

“Listen, so plans have changed—”

“As always, Kook.”

“—and I need you to do me another solid. Do you have room in the compartment for my babies?”

“The answer is, and always no. That’s why you bought two tickets.”

“I know but,” he gestures to you with a jab of his thumb, “like I said, plans have changed.”

“Jungkook,” Taehyung frowns, “trying to do some Christmas miracles? In this snowstorm?” Taehyung shakes his head, eyes flickering to the running bus. Most of the ticket holders are already on it. “I can save you two a three-seater, but there’s no room in the compartment. It’ll be a tight fight but—”

“It’s perfect. You’re dynamite, Tae,” Jungkook even has the audacity to reach his hands out and squish the driver’s cheeks, much to his distain.

The two of you are ushered quickly into the bus, leaving you in the very front diagonal to where Taehyung is sitting. The three seats are tiny, it probably barely fits Jungkook’s thighs with the large luggage nestled in the other two seats. The two of you suggest to put the luggage out in the aisle and take turns holding it, but Taehyung interjects that the luggage is a fire hazard.

“But not a human,” Jungkook decides, and he gestures for you to sit down in the available seat. You’re practically shoved against the window as Jungkook manages to squeeze his gargantuan luggage in the other two seats. He’s tall enough to grab the metal rungs of the bus, steeling himself in the middle of the aisle.

Taehyung doesn’t fight with that, and finally puts the bus into drive. Pulling out of the airport feels akin to leaving the eye of the storm. It’s going to be a long journey, and it makes you worry as to whether you’re going to make it on time or not.

Your favorite pastime is watching the window on a long car ride, especially when the snowflakes crystalize and melt away through the warmth of the vehicle. However, you’re irked. You thought Jungkook was a bit of a wank, a little too full of himself and far too mysterious for your own good.

Exhibit A, the luggage that’s currently threatening to wheel over and crush you against the glass. You wonder what’s so special about this luggage that Jungkook so desperately wants to protect, even so far as to buy its own seat. Sneakily, you lean over to smell the zipper. Surprisingly, it smells a little vinegary, the fumes getting you a little lightheaded within seconds. Your eyes dart to Jungkook, who’s currently engaged in conversation with Taehyung. You tilt your head and sniff again, confirming the slightly rancid smell.

It’s then you take in Jungkook’s form once more. He dresses a little schlubby, his clothes are old, his eyes are sunken in, and his luggage is filled with weird-smelling things.

Oh no. Is Jungkook a drug dealer?

Your fiancé’s parents would surely have a fit if this man gets arrested and you come up in the report as an accused accomplice. It makes sense, he would want to make sure that his goods are in his view at all times, and it explains why he so easily gave you his ticket for triple the actual price.

A giggle interrupts your thoughts. Yes, a tired, yet bubbly giggle. Jungkook’s face is pressed against his bicep, and you catch the fluttering of his eyes as he tries to keep up with Taehyung’s rambling. His grip is starting to loosen on the metal bars, and you’re worried that he might accidentally slip, or not hold tight enough in the event the car takes a sharp turn or slips on black ice.

“J-Jungkook,” it’s the first time you’re saying his name out loud, tasting it on your tongue as you regard him steadily, “why don’t we take turns sitting? I don’t mind standing for an hour while you sleep.”

He regards you with a sleepy smirk, shaking his head against the fabric of his jacket. “You’ll be flung in two seconds, besides can you even reach the handles?”

Good point, but Jungkook is far more muscular and if he does end up flying he’ll crash through the window and further hinder your commute. It’s why you choose your next words carefully, and you convince yourself it’s the only reason as to why you propose your solution.

“I’ll sit on your lap,” and since it sounds super weird coming out of your mouth, you tack on, “I’ll put your jacket over your lap as a barrier.”

He slacks, regarding you with a scrunched face. “Is the jacket supposed to make that situation any better? I’m fine standing like this.”

“This ride is going to take hours and you’re barely on your own two feet,” your point is made when the bus topples over a speed bump, and Jungkook looks awfully small as he moves to grapple the top bar with both hands, “my fiancé doesn’t get jealous, I’ve sat in plenty of friend’s laps before.”

“We’re not friends,” he blurts with a raise of his brows.

“Yes, I know that,” you’re a little insulted by the curt reply, but he still looks rather horrified that you’re proposing the following, “I don’t like it either, but I’m sitting in your seat and now I’m feeling guilty as hell.”

It’s a lot of shuffling and shifting after that. You try not to laugh as Jungkook rips off his leather jacket, folding it into a perfect square, ironing out the corners of the crinkly fabric as he gestures for you to take a seat. You try not to take note of how sturdy his thighs are, or how the muscle stretches across the seat so well that there’s no way for you to fall between the cracks.

“You’re going to sleep anyway,” you try to assure him, side eying him as he presses his forehead against the window, “it’ll be like being with a dead body.”

“Didn’t know you were into necrophilia, but whatever floats your boat,” Jungkook mumbles, eyes immediately fluttering shut.

At first it was easy, ignoring the fact that you’re sitting on top of a human. The drive seems endless however, Taehyung driving further and further into a sea of white ice. You force yourself to thread your fingers together, sitting on the very edge of his knees with your back ramrod straight. Eventually, you tire out and relax against Jungkook’s lax body. Your face is centimeters away from Jungkook’s. Long, dark lashes, and a strand of equally dark hair falls in front of his eyes. His cheeks are flushed from the blaring heater, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

Hm, for a drug dealer, he smells pretty.

Despite the weird-smelling luggage that looms over the two of you, the white long-sleeved shirt he wears is soft to the touch and smells fresh.

You huff, and shift in your seat.

“Stop,” Jungkook mumbles into your shoulder, and you don’t have the heart to look at him.

“I’m sorry, it’s cramped,” you reply.

“I get that, but you don’t have to—hike yourself so far up here,” he sounds almost embarrassed saying it, and his hand shuffles to adjust his belt. “Literally can’t sleep because you’re making me pop a boner.”

“Why, I’m engaged!”

“God, I know. It’s like your personality trait or something,” Jungkook retorts, “just because you’re engaged doesn’t stop my body from reacting. I’m sure your fiancé has reacted like this, stop acting like a blushing virgin.”

You tense, your eyes glued to the window in front of you. How do you even make a comeback to that? Wringing your hands in your lap, you feel your palms sweat with nerves the longer it takes for you to reply. This causes the gears to run in Jungkook’s mind.

“Holy fuck, have you two not—”

“Shut up,” you hiss, turning your body around to slap him in the chest, “shut up shut upupupshutup!”

You make seething, burning eye contact with Jungkook. You expect him to have a shit-eating grin on his face, teasing you for your relationship. Instead, Jungkook is wide-eyed, mouth parted open like a confused guppy and his big bug-eyes looking stricken. He says nothing.

The road starts to get bumpier, and the drive swerves from time to time to avoid black ice. Neither of you are relaxed. Combined with the heart of the storm, your heart is currently wrung on electrical wire, pumping blood with a fervor you cannot stifle.

“I’m going to put my arms around your waist,” Jungkook murmurs softly, and you lift your arms slightly to see him lace his fingers over your belly button. “Like a seatbelt.”

You sigh, relaxing in his hold. Now it’s awkward. He feels compelled to hold you to keep you safe, even though he clearly finds it awkward you’ve already put him in this position.

Jungkook isn’t so bad, you think as you let your gaze linger on his hands. They anchor you to his lap, making sure you’re not jostling during the ride. He may have a razor sharp tongue and gets under your nerves just for the heck of it, but he’s kind of nice. Under the prickly leather jacket, there’s a softness to him you can’t help but gravitate to.

It’s dark outside, save for the speedily descending flakes and the dim lights of the highway. You’re sitting on the lap of a total stranger, yet it’s a stranger who’s holding your waist like he’s a seatbelt, a stranger who’s making you feel safe to say the words that have been haunting you for the past few months.

“I’ve tried to initiate sex,” you finally say. “I don’t know why he doesn’t want me, it’s already been two years.”

Your eyes turn red with bloody horror. Your vision blurred by the insanity of what you’ve just blurted out to this surprisingly kind stranger who’s offered his seat (both times) to you.

“I didn’t mean to word vomit like that. Forget I said anything—”

“Must be his loss,” Jungkook cuts you off, and when he says it doesn’t feel impolite at all. However, Jungkook doesn’t continue on, doesn’t give you rhyme or reason, just lets you linger on his reply like a madwoman.

Maybe it’s because you’re so touch starved, maybe you’re just seeing things, but for some reason Jungkook’s fingers feel more apparent against the seam of your jacket. They tighten a fraction, drum around the metal zipper that holds the thick fabric together. Your palms feel like a fountain, and you try to ignore the burn between your legs, the liquid heat betraying the commitment that sits on your finger.

You’re engaged to be married, you chastise yourself. All eighteen carats that symbolize that bond glare at you, bright and eager to make you feel guilty. The whole reason why you’re on this cramped bus ride is to get to your soon-to-be husband. Some pretty stranger with strong hands won’t change that.

“We’re here! Finally!” Taehyung cheers, and you realize now that you’re parked into a tunnel surrounded by other buses.

Jungkook and you wait until everyone steps off the bus. The pads of Jungkook’s fingers play an unsung tune, absentmindedly drumming to a song you can’t put your mind to.

“God, you can’t just pay the extra money for someone to take care of this?” Taehyung hauls the large luggage in the aisle seat, and you feel like you’re being revealed under a curtain, doing something you’re not supposed to be doing.

You hop off his lap, scoop your backpack in your arm and scramble off the bus. The cold, winter air bites into every available pore in your body, replacing the warmth that Jungkook gave in the tiny bus. You hike the collar of your oversized turtleneck higher up your chin, prickling in shivers as you wait for Jungkook.

“I don’t remember Seoul being this, empty,” you say to yourself, frowning at the lack of humans past the bus station. You peer curiously at the dark, dark road off the terminal. There’s no flicker of light, or a skyline filled with bustling sounds and flickering head beams.

“That’s because we’re only halfway there,” Jungkook walks past you, luggage in tow.

“What?” you pull out your phone, it’s already 4PM and it’s pitch dark outside.

The snow is beating down as you two speed walk out of the hangar, reaching a nearly vacant parking lot save for a pure white minivan. You barely notice the vehicle with all the snow, blending in perfectly as wave after wave of ice beats down on it. The pops of rust by the tires, gaudy orange stripes is the only thing you can focus on as you try to make it to the car as fast as possible.

“Get in and start the car,” Jungkook practically shoves the keys in your hands, gesturing for you to take the passenger seat.

When you enter his car, you’re hit with a scent scarily identical to the one in Jungkook’s luggage. You nearly gag when you inhale too much, and your eyes flicker over to the lemon air freshener attached to the exhaust, trying its best to mask the smell. You vaguely remember all the warning stories your parents told you as a kid—never enter the white van.

Ohmygod, you’re in a white van and all of Jungkook’s drugs are in the back.

You shake your head, willing the car to start as you arch your back over the console to start it up. You’ve been around your fiancé’s parents too long, letting them fill your head with judgemental gab and crazy assumptions only rich people have about people lesser than them.

Once the car spurs to life, soft holiday music plays from a pop station. The front window of the car is absolutely covered in snow, you can’t even budge the windshield wipers to scrape the layer of ice off.

Suddenly, a blanket of ice slides off the window, swept to the concrete. You’re met with Jungkook’s toothy smile and horror-esque stare, and you have this jerk reaction to nervously laugh and jump in your seat. Your nails dig into the cheap fabric of your seat as Jungkook’s scary expression melts into a more softened one, as if happy to have gotten you to laugh in such sucky times. Jungkook continues to brush your windows, meticulously making sure no ice can cause any damage as you two go into the night.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road!” Jungkook whips the door open, throwing the snow brush at the space between your feet.

As soon as he shuts the door, your stomachs growl simultaneously.

The two of you break into a quick laugh, giggles that overlap the twinkly holiday chimes and the packed snow crunching under Jungkook’s boots.

“After McDonalds,” Jungkook declares, setting up the GPS for a quick pitstop to the nearest fast food joint.

Ten minutes into the drive, you pull into a generic food joint, too starved to find gourmet McDonalds. You make it a point to flick your card and lean over his body to meet the cashier, telling him you’re spotting the meal. Jungkook doesn’t complain, and tells the cashier to add in a vanilla sundae for good measure.

Color yourself impressed, but you can’t help but gawk as Jungkook expertly sets up his food on the dashboard like a five-star meal, with fries in the cupholder and a burger unwrapped perfectly to catch any spills and to keep his fingers from getting greased up. For such a terrible snowstorm, he pulls out of the joint gracefully, a brief intermission in your long journey.

“So, is my fiancé’s place far from where you need to be?”

Jungkook shrugs, a stray fry hanging from his mouth. “It’s not far, not close either. I don’t mind, I like driving.”

“Do you drive around a lot?”

“Yeah, for work. It’s a little annoying that I have to spend Christmas alone, but it is what it is.”

Pausing on your speculation, you take a big bite of your burger. You were hoping that your conversation would spur on a little more detail about his drug-esque job. However, all you start to feel is the heaviness of your fast food meal, stemming from your chest and filling your grease-filled stomach.

“You’re spending Christmas alone?” you say, and you don’t mean to sound so sad saying it, but the thought of him being alone tonight makes you feel pinched with pain.

“I can practically feel your puppy-eyes,” Jungkook shakes his head, not even needing to look at you as he focuses on the road. “I’m fine, don’t you worry.”

“Do you wanna come to the party?” you offer, trying to sound as neutral as possible as you throw the suggestion on the dash.

“Not my thing,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, “with my line of work, I prefer to lay low.”

Trying not to feel a hurt by the sudden (but expected) rejection, you practically eat your burger whole, eyes glaring on the road. You surmise it’s a valid excuse, drug dealers aren’t exactly one for highly-populated areas and with your fiancé’s reputation, you’re sure his parents would smell Jungkook’s reputation in a micro-minute.

The drive isn’t anything special. You’re sure if it were spring, the foliage would be pretty and the sun would be setting into melty orange hues by now. It’s all black and white, boring shades that are aggressively pelting at the van and hindering your evening.

“So, what other character traits do you have?” Jungkook cuts through your semi-brooding, as easily as one slices through butter, “other than the obvious that you’re engaged, and that you’re getting married. And oh yeah, you have a fiancé!”

You scoff at his cheesy joke, folding your arms together. “I like spending time with my family. Watching movies under a weighted blanket. Plants.”

His stare dips away from the road for a fraction, enough for you to catch that he’s rolling his eyes, “Fascinating. Not a plant person myself. I like those cute little succulents though. Had a bunch of those in college.”

“I am also a ramen connoisseur,” you say pointedly, turning up your nose.

“Ah, are you?” you smile a little when you see Jungkook’s eyes light up at the mention of food, “what’s the criteria for good ramen?”

“Deep, creamy broth. Also, the egg. Gotta look like a custard-y, eggy sunset. It’s just,” you smack your lips together, mimicking a chef’s kiss, “perfect.”

He chuckles, and goes on to tell you a story about a ramen shop he’s visited on his travels. It’s one he declares that you need to visit, one he still dreams about often. It takes a ferry and it’s a bit of a trek, but he says it’s worth it, and the eggs are as custard-y and sunset-y as you’d like.

It’s between pockets of his story and pulling yourself out of this little bubble of a van you realize: are you flirting with Jungkook?

The longer this trip goes, the more your stares linger. They linger like the snow that sticks to the ground, unable to do nothing but cling. Layer after layer of confusing feelings, building up to a blizzard that you’re unable to quell.

“So, your family’s also going to be at your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook asks, poking at yet another one of your personal facets. He’s being blatantly nosy, yet neither of you seem to mind.

“Oh, no,” you shove your hands in your pockets, “they wanted to stay back in our hometown with the extended family. Y’know, the older members can’t really travel as much as they used to.”

“Ah, so you’re splitting up your time,” Jungkook drums his hands on the wheel, eyes drooped slightly as he continues along the monotonous road, “your fiancé couldn��t make it?”

“Couldn’t,” you reply lightly, “just, y’know, work.”

“Been there, done that,” Jungkook replies, “I’m sure he missed out though. What’s your family like? Are they the type to bake cookies until 3 A.M.? Oh, or do they get wine drunk and talk shit about their annoying cousins—”

“Jungkook,” the words fly out of your mouth before you can even think, “I’m engaged.”

The weight of your words holds differently now. A whole day has passed with this man, and you’ve developed an attachment that simultaneously scares and thrills you. Not an hour goes by that you have to think to yourself that you’re taken, to the point that you can’t even tell what’s in your head and what’s being spoken out in the air.

Instead of a snippy comment, a snarky retort of, “I know, I know!” like you anticipate, Jungkook stops the car.

There’s no human trace for miles, so it doesn’t scare you when he slows down and pulls off to the side. He gears the car into park, roughly pulling the handle. He lays his arm over the steering wheel, turning his body so he can face you fully. The heat in the car suddenly feels too cloying, and you shrink in the seat as he leans in on you.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks, and from the looks of it, he’s genuinely hurt.

“I—Jungkook,” you plant your feet on the ground, trying to find some power in this situation, “I mean I, we—you just can’t keep doing this.”

“Do you feel like I’m trying to steal you away? Or, seduce you or something?” Jungkook is starting to talk himself into a stupor, eyes flickering from the window, to you, to behind you, and back to you. It’s almost jarring, seeing how self-conscious he starts to get without the presence of an audience. Gone is the smooth talker that you met at the terminal, willing to haggle it all for your cash. “Are you uncomfortable? Is it weird I have a crush on you?”

“Wait, you have a crush on me?”

He reels back, nearly pressing his head against the window. Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, exhaling deep from his lungs. “Adults still get crushes, y’know.”

“Yeah, but not to people you met eight hours ago.”

Jungkook arches a brow, “People fall for people in the most unlikely of ways.”

That singular statement hits you, hard.

Jungkook looks like he wants to get out of the van. He seems stuffy, and he unzips his coat and shoves it under his legs.

“You’re cute,” he echoes the statement like he can’t believe that in a short amount of time, he’s attached to you, “you seem to have good taste, you love family, and your personality isn’t half bad,” the last bit is meant to be teasing, a lighthearted way to end his bout of emotion, but it only makes you ache further, “And it makes me upset knowing that you have to keep convincing yourself that you’re in a relationship that isn’t as fulfilling as you hope. This whole drive, you’ve been anxious about going to his parents, worrying that you’re not going to make it on time instead of relaxing with your family. Where you actually want to be.”

“I also want to be with Jimin,” you say weakly, a half-hearted attempt to defend yourself.

You never mentioned your fiancé’s name until this point. It makes Jungkook stiffen a little, finally putting a name to the man that’s supposed to have your heart. It makes the relationship concrete, palpable.

“I’m sure you do,” Jungkook smacks his lips, evidently sealing the conversation to suffocate under the snow.

Jungkook puts the car into drive, sliding back into your current route.

“And to answer your question, Jungkook. No, you having a crush on me is not weird,” and smaller, quieter, you reply, “because it’s weird that I might have a crush on you, too.”

You know that Jungkook catches your statement, because he cranks the volume of the radio harder, effectively shutting you out.

The first thing Jungkook says when you finally reach the Park’s house is: “Wow.”

His van looks completely out of place, parked on the side as limos and Escalades drop off more and more people into the large estate. It’s pouring with elegant piano music, and the large window in the middle of their home reveals a century-old chandelier, crystals beaming and winking against the hundreds of guests that lie underneath.

The rest of the way driving was almost painfully fast. After that awkward wave of emotion, neither of you said anything. Well, you didn’t at least. Jungkook attempted to clear the air by singing along to the Christmas songs on the radio, but it only further attracted you because to your chagrin—Jungkook’s a pretty good singer.

The estate isn’t in Seoul persay, it’s a sizable plot of land that definitely comes from old money. It’s decked up like the North Pole, lit up and tiny crystal lines dotting the expanse of the rooftops. The snow certainly adds to it, and many guests are outside taking pictures of the picture-perfect holiday show. The blizzard has finally subsided, leaving a clean blanket of snow across their yard.

You scoff to yourself. What they find to be a Christmas miracle only derailed yours.

Jungkook stares at you while you send a quick text to Jimin. You tell him he needs to come fast, because you don’t want his parents to see you all sweaty and dressed like you’ve been traveling for hours.

“Oh, uh,” you finally take a look at him, and you immediately regret it because you’re getting sucked into his gaze, “I think you put my bag in the trunk?”

“Right,” he shakes his head, “follow me.”

He tilts his head down when he’s outside, as if the snow’s going to start back up and drown him. Your thumb scratches the ring on your finger as you hop out of the van, effectively popping the bubble the two of you have been sealed in for the better half of the evening. Is this going to be it? Is the last you’ll see of Jeon Jungkook?

All those thoughts evaporate when Jungkook opens the trunk.

There’s no drugs.

In fact, you don’t even know what to think. The van is absolutely filled, wall-to-wall art supplies and canvas carefully lined up like Tetris blocks to avoid damage. The floor of the van seems to receive the brunt of the messes, and you catch recent paint stains and spray cans stacked to the side. It explains the smell.

There’s some clear cases in a corner, protecting completed prints that are already framed. Your eyes cling to a vibrant hyacinth, coral and satin blue petals bunching in the middle of a black background. It’s absolutely gorgeous, if it wasn’t for all the paint lying around, you’d think it’s real.

Jungkook’s an artist.

“Holy shit, I thought you were a drug dealer,” you blurt, and you want to smack yourself in the face.

“Excuse me?” Jungkook jerks his head towards you, “did you think I was a drug dealer this whole time?”

“N-no,” you frown petulantly, letting Jungkook loop your arms through the straps of your backpack. “Maybe. You were very shady.”

He laughs, a genuine laugh. It confuses you, the way he tucks his hands in his pockets and bends his back over to look up at you through his dark lashes. It’s like nothing’s wrong, like he’s trying to erase the past eight hours and leave with no qualms. You don’t know if that comforts you or terrifies you.

“So, you were willing to let a potentially dangerous man be your travel partner for eight hours so you can make it to your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook’s eyes flicker over to the front door, “you must really love him.”

“I do,” you say the phrase like it’s second nature. Rehearsed. Practiced.

“Merry Christmas,” Jungkook pulls out his hand, and you don’t hesitate to grasp it.

Liquid heat sparks through your skin, one that tingles from where his large palm encases yours, all the way to your heart.

“Merry Christmas,” you echo, and your feet feel like lead as you back away from him.

Jungkook waits until you go inside the house, even though the valet is side eyeing him and mentally telling him to leave already. Turning your back to him is rough, like you’re without snowshoes and you’re trudging through snow.

The goodbye feels rushed. Your heart is cold and heavy. Unfortunately, by the time you realize you haven’t paid Jungkook for his bus ticket and the ride, it’s too late. Jimin has already pulled you in his awaiting arms, and Jungkook has peeled out of the driveway.

“You look awful,” Jimin coddles you, dusting the invisible dirt off your jacket. You know Jimin means well by the statement, but you can’t help but feel a little unsupported by his words. You did all you could to make it to Jimin in time for this party full of faceless, nameless people. And yet, Jimin inadvertently manages to put you down for finally making it.

The hallway is relatively empty, save for one staff member who cleans the wet linoleum floors whenever someone with snow steps in. You can easily make out where the heart of the party is, the tinkly holiday music playing from the speakers, along with all the bodies huddled by the extra large Christmas tree that is brimming with presents.

You do feel like a wet noodle, in comparison to Jimin and Namjoon’s complementary pinstripe suits. Jimin’s deep burgundy suit pops in the endless hallway of marble and light wood as he quickly leads you upstairs to a spare room for you to change. Namjoon’s more muted grey still looks stunning on him, cutting his tall figure nicely. You think it’s cute that Jimin made an effort to match with his assistant, not making him feel out of place in this big party.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Namjoon interjects softly, gesturing to the garment bag hanging on the boudoir, “I picked out your dress.”

“I’m sure whatever you bought is beautiful,” you assure softly, stepping fully into the room. It’s an extra bedroom, you’re assuming it might be yours.

“We’ll give you some time to freshen up and get ready,” Jimin squeezes your arm, a touch you can barely feel due to the puffiness of your down jacket. It’s just an awkward escape of air to you, a sssttt that you catch Namjoon hiding his smile for, “we’ll walk around a bit and bring you some food.”

“I want cupcakes,” you blurt impulsively, and the two of them laugh on their way out the door.

Once you’re finally alone, you strip yourself bare. Jacket, shirt, socks, underwear. You make quick work of taking a hot, damp towel to wash your arms and legs, scrubbing your face of any oil and dirt from the day. You wrap yourself in an indulgent fluffy robe, the plush material comforting you as you flop on the bed.

It’s been a day.

You take a five minute cat nap, the weight of the day taking its toll on you. When you finally flutter your eyes open however, you see him.

It’s not exactly him, it’s his art. It’s mounted right atop the headboard, a large blown up painting of a tiger lily. The orange and gold flecks flicker and go perfectly with the decor of the room. The piece is longing, aching for you to go back to two hours ago when you could’ve phrased your words better, balm the situation into something to salvage. This must be a sign, you think. Upon closer look, you see the signature Jeon JK etched in silver in the corner. Who knew the Parks were buying Jeon Jungkook’s work, the world is smaller than you’d originally thought.

It ignites you. You rip the zipper of the garment bag, pulling on the slinky glittery gold dress Namjoon picked out for you. It’s gorgeous, and you don’t know how he managed to find your proportions, but you figure an assistant of his caliber has access to many things. You don’t have much time, so you slap on some light makeup and swipe some highlights across your eyes. By the time Jimin returns, you’re pulling your hair up and out of your face.

Jimin walks to the bed with a pretty red velvet cupcake, “You look beautiful,” he says immediately, and you follow to sit with him at the foot of the bed.

You don’t hesitate to grab the cupcake from his tea plate, nearly shoving it in your mouth. You definitely need a rush, something to curb you over for the plans you have tonight. “Sugar sugar,” you chant like a mantra, and you don’t care that your lipgloss is smudged and crumbs cling to your cheeks.

Jimin just rubs circles onto your thigh, letting you eat and relax. He knows you’re not a fan of these kinds of parties, preferring to wallflower it, preferably at a wall closest to the buffet. His touch is comforting, and you chew slower in order to prolong the inevitable. It takes a beat for you to finish your cupcake.

“I need to talk to you,” the two of you blurt at the same time, and you point and giggle at each other like you’re still five year olds tinkering in the sandbox.

Jimin pouts, “Can I go first? Mine’s kind of important.”

“Mine’s also really important,” you don’t mean to invalidate Jimin, but you really need to get this out. “I might explode if I don’t say this now.”

The blonde scrunches his nose, obviously weak to your unusual distress, “I guess I wouldn’t want that.”

You clutch his hand, the hand that holds the plain wedding band he picked out for himself two years ago. Your eyes flicker to how your ring kisses his, “Jimin. I love you, like really love you. I can’t imagine my life without you, you’ve been my best friend since we could crawl. But as I traveled down here, I realized that even though I love you, I think I’m not in love,” you wince at how cheesy that sounds, “I don’t want you to feel like you’re not good enough, but the whole trip down here made me realize I don’t think I can commit to this.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” you gasp, watching relief wash over Jimin’s features. You’re not even done with your whole spiel and he’s already unbuttoning his blouse, “this makes what I’m about to say a whole lot easier.”

“Jimin,” you trail off, squeezing his palm, “what do you mean?”

“I mean, I think I’m in love.”

Your jaw slackens slightly, seeing the sweat that lines Jimin’s slicked back hair. He must’ve been thinking about this all night, waiting for you to tell you this. Your chest aches, weighing in on all the sudden facts. “Who is it?” you ask.

Jimin shrugs, “The man who does my taxes and makes sure I sleep at least seven hours a night.”

“Namjoon,” you conclude, eyes moving to the sealed door. You think Namjoon is waiting out there right now, silently supporting you two as you go through this. Of course, Jimin’s parents would be livid if anything would tarnish his reputation. A broken engagement would be sticky to cover up, and Jimin falling for his assistant is a headline right for the books.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispers, despite the room being vacant he feels the need to keep his words short, “You came all this way to hear this. But I guess we’re on the same page, huh?” His soft fingers make a beeline for your ring finger, removing the diamond band, “And by the way, I love you too. Which is why we’re going to come clean in the morning and work this out with my parents, together. I’m sorry if you felt obligated to follow me all this time just because our parents did.”

“Hey, like you said, we’re in this together. Both in and out,” you chastise, pulling your engagement ring from his grasp and holding it to the light. “Can I keep this? Instead of an engagement band, it can be our best friend band. I’ll even get it re-sized so it can go on another finger.”

Jimin pulls you into his arms, crushing you. The silky material of your dress bunches and rides, but you don’t care. The two of you can’t help but be a little crybaby-ish about it, feeling much like your younger-selves when you had to pull each other out of trouble.

The two of you walk out of the bedroom hand-in-hand, and Namjoon is leaning against the banister in the hallway, a soft smile melting on his tanned skin.

“I’m so happy for you,” you gush, hugging Namjoon tightly. You’ve only known the man for a few months, but you can tell he’s taking care of Jimin and that’s enough for you.

“I… really thought you’d be more upset.” Namjoon marvels, patting your back.

Jimin interjects, “I think she’s found someone hotter than me.”

“Impossible!”

You could stay at this party, lay low until you and Jimin have to confront his parents in the morning. They suggest to get all the food they need and sneak out to the home theatre. The three of you hustle it down the stairs to another part of the house, in order for you to make your getaway and avoid Jimin’s family.

“Hey,” you stop in front of another painting, pulling the two men to a stop. Your eyes lock on a framed droopy peony, tipped with pink dye. You realize you can’t stay here, not when someone’s home alone tonight. “Namjoon, I need you to locate someone for me.”

Jungkook does not expect to see you at his front door.

You’re stunning, and look as breathless as he feels. The liquid champagne number that hugs your frame does things to him, and he’s strangely attracted to the fact that you paired this expensive dress with your snow-drenched trainers.

You showing up at the wee hours of the morning was the last thing Jungkook thought would happen. It’s nothing short of a holiday event, you look like you’ve just walked out of a gala and then ran a marathon to reach him.

He thought when he said goodbye, it would be the last time you’d cross paths. At first, he was okay with that. After all, feelings come and go, and spontaneity only works a percentage of the time. Seeing you presently however, throws all those half-hearted concedings out the window.

“Hi,” you finally say, drinking from the fact that you actually found him.

“Hey,” Jungkook breathes, “you look, beautiful.”

“Thanks,” you smile.

“So, is this about you not paying me back for the ticket?” Jungkook suddenly feels guilty, having dipped out of Jimin’s manor once he saw him appear at the door. It was unrightful jealousy, and because of that he needed to drive away as fast as possible. “Because honestly, it was me messing with you. I really don’t need the money.”

“I figured, from the fact that I had to take the elevator up to the penthouse of the building.”

“So then why are you here?” Jungkook wobbles on the balls of his feet, unsure of what to do with himself.

“My ex-fiancé is in love with someone else,” you lay your cards out just like that, and Jungkook’s unprepared to deal.

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry—”

“Let me finish,” you cut in gently, “my ex-fiancé is in love with someone else, and that’s okay. We’ve been best friends since we were little, and we want nothing but happiness for each other. And for me? Happiness is right in front of me.”

You bite your lip, and Jungkook fights down the urge to run up and pull you into his arms. You must be so cold, running out without a jacket and rushing to his home. However, he lets you finish, and he holds himself down by clutching the door frame as casually as possible.

“I also have a big, fat crush on you,” you say boldly, “and I had to tell you as soon as I could. It took a twenty-minute phone call and some serious leverage from Jimin’s company to figure out where you lived. That receptionist is definitely not letting me use my frequent flyer miles next flight.”

“You harassed an airport receptionist just for me?” he smiles wanly, placing a hand on his chest, “I’m touched.”

“You make me excited to try new things, to be spontaneous and do things for myself,” with every statement you take a step further, and soon enough you’re in his dimly lit apartment. The plush couch in his living room looks awfully warm and comfy, and the light music that plays from his speakers is soft and soothing. “So, let’s spend the holidays together and see where this goes. And go to your art gallery tomorrow, because I did research you on the drive and found out you had to rush here because of a big show.”

“So you’re actually a stalker?” Jungkook teases, tugging you over to the couch.

He takes the lead, plopping himself on the couch first and inviting you to sit next to him. You take a detour and plant your body atop of him, and with an ‘oof’ the two of you are sinking.

“A stalker and a potential drug dealer does sound like a promising pair,” Jungkook jests, his hand palming the silky material of your ruched up ball gown.

“I’m sorry,” you pout, wrapping your fingers around the long tresses of his hair, “can you please stop bringing that up? It was judgemental of me.”

“I like when you’re judgemental,” he pokes your puppy-faced cheeks, ruddied with embarrassment. “I like picking fights with you and getting you all riled up.”

“Will you rile me up now?”

Sexy, he thinks. He figures a vixen has been hidden under you, one suppressed by a complicated engagement and many other factors he’d love to learn about in the near future. The situation at hand however, is far more pressing. Your body is finally warming up, and Jungkook tries to ignore the weight your body is causing, re-igniting an ache he felt hours ago when you two were squished against each other in the coach bus.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” you declare, and you look a little frustrated that Jungkook is taking so long to process this information, “and I hope I take your breath away.”

You taste like sugar and the softness that comes with the holidays. It’s tender and oh-so comforting, and Jungkook can’t help but squeeze your hips closer as your lips brush fervently against his. The feeling is both new and old, and Jungkook figures you’ve finally uncoiled a flame that you can no longer quell.

Soon enough your kisses turn hungry, and Jungkook has to remind himself that you two have only known each other for a total of twelve hours, and he isn’t sure of what’s appropriate to jump to due to the speed of your relationship. Once he feels the first roll of your hips, a liquid heat that Jungkook can’t help but return back, he pulls away from your soft lips. Not too far, but a few centimeters apart so that Jungkook and you can catch your breath.

“We should take this slow,” he starts, trying to make a reasonable impression now that you’re a guest at his home and finally settled from their long trip. “I really, really want to get to know you. And you’re so beautiful and I really do want to have sex but—”

“Jungkook, I have not had sex with someone in two years,” you speak with a depraved tone, as if it’s been centuries since you’ve been touched. He can’t help but throw his head back and laugh, “a night full of sex sounds like the best last-minute present ever.”

You bring his hand over to your core, the shiny glassy material of your gown doing nothing to hide the glimpses of pleasure you’re minutes away from experiencing. You whine desperately at the thought, and Jungkook’s a goner.

“Well, I guess I’m about to pull a Christmas miracle,” he murmurs against your lips, ready to work his magic.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #kwritersworldnet #btsghostie #btswritingcafe #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fic #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts angst

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radexchangeprogram · 4 years

Note

This is a random one but can I request head cannons of the Brothers and Dateables reacting to an MC that’s actually a half demon but was really great at hiding her demon side since she grew up in the human world? They see a demon man just bounding towards MC before the boys could do anything MC’s like “DAD! 😃” before jumping in his arms like a child. Around her Dad she gains fangs and horns like him but she reverts back to normal when she wants to. The boys are like “Why didn’t you say anything?” And she’s like “I’m just used to my human side” or “You never asked 🤷🏾‍♀️”

Of course! I love this idea. I didn’t get a chance to proof read this so I apologize for any grammatical mistakes.

Author’s notes at the end (marked by *s)

Spoiler warning for up to chapter 17 to be safe. Especially with Belphie.

Half Demon GN!MC Headcanons

General

Everyone noticed that you never seemed too bothered by the fact that you were surrounded by demons, but figured you were just rather good at adapting.

This theory was proven wrong at a party Lord Diavolo hosted.

As you chatted with the brothers, a large demon with griffon wings, a lion’s mane, and horns similar to a gazelle began to head in the direction of your group.

The demon, who the others instantly recognized as Duke Vapula, walked up to them with a cheeky grin.

The brothers were instantly on guard, Mammon even growling slightly, as it was extremely uncommon for anyone to approach them so casually.

Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon, Luke, and Solomon all took notice and were prepared to intervine should something happen.

You turned around to see what the issue was and let out a loud gasp.

“DAD!”

Lucifer

Absolutely dumbfounded. How did he not know about this? He read your files to the point of practically memorizing them before you came here and he swears there was nothing about you being a half demon.

He was honestly a bit embarrassed that he didn’t know about something this major.

When confronting you, all you did was say that it wasn’t that big of a deal and that you figured they already knew.

You really give him a migraine sometimes.

He feels a bit relieved that he doesn’t have to worry as much about you dying, though.

If you wish, he may start teaching you demonic etiquette, such as having you shift form at formal events.

If you prefer your human heritage, he won’t pressure you to conform to your demonic ancestory.

Mammon

WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN HIS HUMAN ISN’T ENTIRELY HUMAN?!?

The loudest about his displeasure about not knowing.

“I’m your first man! I’m supposed to know everything about you!”

When you explain to him that you’re more comfortable with your human half, he calms down a little.

Tries to call you ‘stupid half-demon’ but it doesn’t feel the same as ‘stupid human’ :(

You tell him he can just keep calling you ‘stupid human’ :D

Wonders if he can get your dad to pay him for ‘providing his child with such incredible protection’.

You immediately tell him no.

Leviathan

Holy shit this sounds like something straight out of an anime!!!

Very upset that you didn’t tell him, you’re his Henry! You’re supposed to tell him these kind of things!

When you shrug and simply say that no one asked, he gets even more pouty.

You make up with him quickly by offering to play games with him all night.

Extremely curious about your demonic form for the primary purpose of cosplay. Do you know how many more characters you can be if you have a tail or wings?!?

You might inspire some fanfiction. (half demon Henry x Lord of Shadows au slow burn 100k words, def not Leviathan projecting no not at all-)

Satan

He is extremely shocked. Not only did he have no idea, but half demons are extremely rare.

From what he’s read, most half-human half-demon offspring don’t survive past birth and all documented cases that have survived reside in the Devildom so that their powers can be better managed.

He asks you about this and you reply that you’re actually quite good at controlling your powers, but that you prefer living as a normal human.

He’s not upset that you didn’t tell him, but he has a billion questions.

How long is your lifespan? Do you take more after your demonic father or your human mother in terms of power?What are your weaknesses?

He really wants to learn more about human-demon hybrids and will ask you to help in his studies.

Also a bit excited as your father is well known for some for his knowledge and writing about the sciences. He wants to discuss some of it with you, assuming you’ve read what your father has written.*

Asmodeus

Oh he is so excited.

A bit relieved that his charm isn’t wearing off, it just doesn’t work because you’re the child of a demonic duke!

You know those boiling hot springs he talks about visiting? Well he’s happy to learn that you actually can join him without fear of your skin melting off!

He’s not upset that you didn’t tell him, getting mad over stuff like that can cause wrinkles.

He will absolutely want to help you groom your horns/wings/scales/tail.

He already has shown you a lot about demonic fashion trends, such as extra clothing that can be fitted around demonic extremities, but now he actually can actually have you try on some! Do you prefer gold tail bangles or jeweled horn cuffs?

Beelzebub

Relieved that Duke Vapula wasn’t looking for a fight.

He can’t help but smile a little when you hug your dad. It makes him happy that you love your family.

When you blush and tell him that it just slipped your mind to tell everyone about your heritage, he isn’t upset.

Happy that he doesn’t have to be so scared of accidentally hurting you with how strong he is.

If you’re able to safely eat some more demonic food, he will absolutely get you to try some of his favorite foods that normal humans would die upon eating.

Overall, you’re still the MC he has grown to love and doesn’t treat you too differently.

Belphegor

Is now more awake than he has been the entire evening.

Half demon? Nah this is just some dream.

Is understanding when you explain to him that you prefer being human and living as a human.

He’s happy he found out after making amends with you. He used to despise half-demons just as much as normal humans, seeing them as repulsive.

He still very much treats you the same, but is a bit annoyed with his brothers.

With knowledge of your demonic blood coming to light, they drag you out even more often and naps with you are becoming rarer.

If you get too overwhelmed with his brothers constantly wanting to try things they thought would previously kill you, he will be more than happy to lend you some of his hiding spots. He does charge the small fee of getting to take a nap with you though.

Diavolo

Similar to Lucifer, is shocked that he didn’t know before you came to the Devildom.

You aren’t the first half-demon he’s met, but he is surprised that a demon of Duke Vapula’s rank had a child with a human.

He’s actually very excited to learn that you’re a half-demon who is in more in touch with your human side. He feels a lot more relieved that you aren’t as defenseless as previously thought.

He does, however, make absolute sure that you have full control over your demonic powers. Every other half-demon lives in the Devildom for a reason and he can’t have someone who is technically one of his subjects accidentally cause mass destruction.

He invites you for tea more frequently, asking so many questions about how being raised in the human world as a half-demon was.

He likes to exchange stories with you about your younger years and the power fluxes you both struggled with as you grew.

Tells you that should you ever wish to live in the Devildom that he would be more than happy to make the needed arrangements.

Barbatos

He knew the whole time. When Diavolo asked him to look into the success of the program, he made note of your heritage right away.

However, he decided that keeping this information hidden when he saw that you were raised human and preferred to be seen as human.

When he explains this to everyone, you can’t help but feel thankful.

While some of the others make no effort to hide how annoyed this makes them, he doesn’t mind. He knows he made the right choice keeping this from everyone and doesn’t regret it at all.

Barbatos is actually a pretty good friend of your father’s and grew up with him. He actually met you when you were a baby because of this.*

Solomon

He has seen a lot in his years in the world of magic, but nothing like this.

Usually, half-demons were very easy to spot as they struggled to control their powers, but you practically had it down to an art!

You explain to him that you’re actually pretty good at keeping your powers under control. He’s rather impressed by this and will ask to see your spell work.

Thinks it’s a little funny that he has a pact with your dad.*

Like Satan, he wants to know all about you. Unlike Satan, he is going to actually conduct experiments instead of stick to interviews.

He has a new potion that he wants you to try almost every day now.

Can half-demons make pacts? If so, you have now been added to the list of demonic beings he wants to make a pact with.

Simeon

Very surprised considering he’s blessed you before.

Blessings aren’t supposed to work on anything of demonic nature so he’s baffled.

When you explain to him that you were raised human and prefer to live as human, he smiles.

He comes to the conclusion that you being a good person must be greater than the demonic blood in your veins.

He treats you the same overall, knowing that you’re still you no matter your heritage.

Luke

Absolute denial.

There is no way someone as nice as you is part demon! He refuses to believe it!

Gets upset and accuses you of trying to manipulate him, which you quickly deny.

When you explain to him that you prefer being human, he huffs.

Simeon gives him a bit of a talking to, about how you’re still the same MC who he sees as a big sibling.

He bakes you some apology cupcakes for being rude to you.

You sometimes shift form to mess around with him, it never fails to make him let out a shocked yelp before he snaps at you for picking on him.

Everyone (except Luke) thinks it’s funny tbh.

Author’s Notes:

*Duke Vapula is described as being able to bestow knowledge about all science contained in books.

*Barbatos is also a duke in The Goetia. I thought a fun nod to this would be to have them as friends.

*The Goetia talks about the 72 demons that King Solomon evoked. Vapula is one of the demons that he evoked. The game actually references this by talking about his 72 pacts. Asmodeus and Barbatos are both included in the 72 demons which is why he has pacts with both of them in the game :)

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dennou-translations · 3 years

Photo

Violet Evergarden: Booklet 3

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

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At that moment, I found myself thinking, “Aah, maybe if I disappeared, if I vanished right now, nobody would notice.”

Once I thought this, I could no longer think of anything else.

Before I realized, my hands and feet had moved. I slowly moved my whole body and left that place behind.

Nobody called for. Nobody tried to stop me.

Which was why I was now hiding. I was in a corner of a maze of roses in the royal palace of this forest kingdom.

I looked up at the sky. It was overcast. The air was a little heavy, so there was a chance of rain.

Was anyone looking for me by now? No, they might not have noticed. I could bet a hundred of Drossel’s white camellias that they hadn’t. “That wouldn’t be a bet,” someone said from within my mind.

——What will happen to me if I just stay here like this?

I tried to think calmly. Firstly, I would get hungry. My body would get bitten by insects. The sky was looking shady, so rain might come pouring down on me. I would get a fever from the cold, and then... and then... and then...

The power of my imagination was scarce, so the scenario ended there.

Stretching out my dress’s sleeves and removing my long gloves, I plucked the grass with a bare hand. Picking up some rose petals that had fallen to the ground, I threw them into the air even though they would not fly too far. I looked almost like a child trying to contain her bad mood. Most likely, if anyone saw me, they would wonder what on earth the queen of Fluegel was doing.

Why had I grown up to be like this? All I ever did was think big of small matters and be in a state of chaos. It was such a weak mindset, which people most likely wouldn’t expect to come from someone born in a family that was meant to rule a country.

“Members of the royal family are actually not supposed to expose their original selves. Under no circumstance should you forget that you must act with dignity and be a role model to your subjects.”

Even though I had already become a wife, I behaved like a little girl.

“However...”

I had experienced a romance like the ones that young girls dream with.

“...from my long time working in the court...”

I fell in love and won my beloved lord over.

“...these have been the most memorable Public Love Letters. Yes... in a good sense.”

After running and running, I was now living the aftermath of that.

My name is Charlotte Abelfreya Fluegel. Already a year had passed ever since I married off to Fluegel.

Charlotte Abelfreya Fluegel and the Forest Kingdom

Drossel and Fluegel – no matter what could happen to these two nations in the future, they had me as their intermediary princess. If I happened to die in this rose labyrinth without anybody ever finding me, I wanted someone to remember that.

As to why things had turned out like this, I’d have to rewind my life a little to explain. I had to mix up the cauldron of time that made the hours pass.

How far back was I supposed to go?

That beautiful golden-haired girl. My favorite. The ghostwriter who had become a mediator for my romance.

Rewinding to the times of Violet Evergarden’s Public Love Letters would be going back too far. It should be a bit later. Perhaps the appropriate would be around the time when I, who was once the third princess of Drossel – that beautiful country where white camellias bloomed in copious amounts –, went away and changed my surname. Yes, right, that was adequate enough.

Fluegel was a neighboring country of prosperous forestry. I was married to the man who had the priority rights to succeeding its throne. Letting go of everything that I had cherished until then, I married off.

I had transformed from a girl into an adult. Although my appearance hadn’t changed much, that was my status.

My husband was Damian Baldur Fluegel. He was the person who possessed the rights of succession as the next monarch at the beginning of our marriage, but a few days ago, he had inherited the throne from his father and become a king both in name and reality. In other words, I had become the queen as well.

Probably the worst queen in history. After all, I had run away.

Let me try to trace the rewound time with exact precision.

Fluegel’s capital was a city of fresh greenery, which had a castle erected in the depths of a forest. Said royal palace couldn’t be considered sturdy or showy, but it was in perfect harmony with the nature, endowed with a calculated beauty. Unlike Drossel, a country that maintained itself through the tourism industry, Fluegel had much of its national interest shouldered by its forestry. Drossel’s national flower was the white camellia, while Fluegel’s was the red rose.

The two countries were separated by a large river, but one would be tempted to wonder how they could be so different.

Differences were by no means a bad thing. After all, Lord Damian and I had met because we had been raised in such different cultures. That was exactly why I became attracted to Lord Damian’s… albeit artless, uninhibited personality, which was so unlike that of the royals from Drossel and other nations...

Yes, “differences” were not bad. But the so-called “differences”... how should I put it? When they weren’t tolerated, instead viewed as an absence of profits and effort, they would turn into a really bad thing.

Most likely, that was what made me the way I was now.

Was this an excuse? It might be. But that was how it was. That was it.

At first, my life in Fluegel didn’t go well.

Becoming used to even small differences in habit was extremely difficult for me, which caused the chamberlain to sigh often. He was someone who deserved respect for having taken care of Lord Damian’s personal matters for quite a long time.

There was no mistaking that I was in a position higher than his, but I soon understood that he looked down on me. One could tell as much by things such as the movements of the other’s eyes and their attitude.

The chamberlain would tell me: “That is not the way we do it in Fluegel”, “This is for your protection. You will be criticized otherwise. Now, fix yourself up”, “I have said this several times, but...”

I didn’t think I was some idiot. I believed myself to be the kind of girl who could do well if I put my mind into it. But I had to admit that I was a very unstable crybaby.

The differences such as the ones that the chamberlain talked about were, for example, the order in which people were seated at meals, how to lift my dress when hopping into a carriage, and other minute details like that. If I were told such things back in Drossel, I was positive that I could internalize it in the first try. After that, I definitely wouldn’t repeat the mistake. But the moment I tried to do it in this foreign country that I wasn’t familiar with, being watched by the monitoring eyes of someone that didn’t have me in his favor, I ended up failing. It was almost as if I were inducing the failure on my own. What was this phenomenon?

The chamberlain most likely knew this as well. He knew it, and even then he would sigh and speak in a detached manner while watching me go pale. There was nothing good in it for either of us, yet we would find ourselves repeating this vicious cycle.

To be honest, we were so incapable of getting along that the desire to jump off from one of the Fluegel castle’s windows as retaliation surged from within me. However, I had no choice but to keep going. Because I was a newcomer and that person was an elder.

If I didn’t get used to this, it would be the end of me.

Right, and there was also the tea party. The flow of the Cauldron of Time had finally returned to the present.

It all had begun… from the chamberlain suggesting that if I, who had become the queen, held a tea party, I would certainly make myself known as someone who shines like the stars in the night sky. He gave a long speech about my authority as a queen being this and that. That detestable chamberlain.

I did like tea parties, but even after being in Fluegel for a year, I wasn’t able to find myself anyone that I could consider close to me, so I frankly didn’t like the idea. I hadn’t gotten myself anyone to be on friendly terms with, so rather than a display of my power, wouldn’t this be deemed as more of a public execution for me?

Ever since I had arrived here, I was in the position of a foreign princess who had a political marriage with Lord Damian, so both the royal family that I had joined and the people who took care of me were somewhat distant… To make things worse, I was the very person who had tainted the traditional event of the Public Love Letters. People were wary of me as an unprecedented princess.

I had seen that Fluegel had a liberal aspect to it and wasn’t too bound by formalities in comparison to Drossel, but when it came to the royal family, that was a different story.

Whenever I passed the corridors of the royal palace, I could hear one name being whispered. Everyone would have faint smiles on their faces. “Baby Princess” was what they called me.

The one who came up with it was Lord Damian’s younger sister or something. Indeed, I had childish facial features and I was the girl who had married for love, so there was no helping that I would be mocked like this.

Receiving a nickname and having it made into a title meant that it was ingrained in people. Once a knight earned himself an alias, others would expect him to have a conduct that was worthy of it. In that same manner, no matter what I, Charlotte Abelfreya Fluegel, might say… I lived in Fluegel as the princess whom everyone would giggle at.

Whenever I made a mistake, “it’s because she’s a child”. If I happened to rush towards Lord Damian, “it’s because she’s a child”. Whenever I said anything, “it’s because she’s a child”.

If there was some magic spell that could turn me into a twenty-year-old right now, I would have taken it. It’d be great if I could instantly grab ahold of my dignity in a way that nobody would complain. But that was something that people had to be awarded to through the years, along with their efforts...

I might have been the Baby Princess today as well – the day of the tea party.

The chamberlain was in awfully high spirits, which one way or another was an omen for misfortune. I was watching from my bedroom as the elderly man briskly instructed the people around him.

From the room where I stayed with Lord Damian, I could see the castle’s garden, the rose maze that started from the garden’s entrance veering to the side, and the castle town. Back when we had just married, we used to often gaze outside the window together, but now we couldn’t even talk for more than five minutes.

Ever since succeeding the throne, Lord Damian was truly busy. He would be working while I waited for him in our room; by the time that I woke up, he would be by my side without me having realized it; as I stretched the creases that formed between his eyebrows while he was dreaming, he would wake up all of a sudden and then head off to the royal office again.

I was depressed since morning, because why did I have to hold a tea party while my husband was working so indiscriminately? But, well, this was also part of my duties. It was important for me to mingle with other women from a social status similar to mine. The trust earned from them would help not just me but also Lord Damian.

Those who controlled factions also had control of politics. Yes, yes, I knew that much. I had to do this exactly because things weren’t going well. In order to level up my speech skills, I had to start from taking up a stance. As my position was becoming worse, if I could get around here well, I would increase my authority in the royal territory without having to recreate myself.

I understood the reasoning behind this. What the chamberlain said was correct. He was implicitly telling me to do right, and I was the one at fault for not managing it...

The tea party was held in the garden outside at the arranged time.

There were people that I hadn’t seen ever since my wedding ceremony, whom I greeted while turning my head around at an incredible speed. Whenever someone sprinkled the subject of political affairs here and there, I’d throw it back at them with a smile, literally tearing apart and flinging away whatever came at me on repeat. Although the scene actually looked like a peaceful conversation, under the surface, I, the queen, was being evaluated, so this was a battle.

I thought I had done a really strenuous effort up until the middle of it. Instilling the impression that “My, so maybe the Baby Princess isn’t a bad person and is surprisingly smart when she talks?” was quite a success. The signs that I could make them deem me as worthy of standing by Lord Damian’s side were becoming visible. However, the very moment that Her Highness, the King’s young her sister, appeared in the tea party, everything I had set up crumbled down at once.

She was pretty late from the scheduled time – rather, she suddenly showed up when it was already ending.

Although she was close to me in age, she had a very adult appearance and was an awfully beautiful person. Renowned as one of Fluegel’s talented women, she was also involved with the National Assembly, and told us that she had rushed over because the meeting had ended just now. I had not yet been allowed to attend the meetings even though I was the queen, so I was terribly jealous... and a little miserable.

Of course, whatever had been discussed there became the topic, which Her Highness told the women present, explaining in a simplified manner. What a wonderful person she was.

Regardless, it felt like this was going to end as Her Highness’s tea party, even though it was mine. Well, that was okay too. Rather, it might be easier if there was someone to take the initiative to talk like this. I had a bug where I couldn’t speak very well to people whom I wasn’t close to, so I decided to leave it to her.

Despite this being a tea party, I hadn’t eaten anything, so I had the feeling that I would get hungry in the evening. I wondered what we would have for dinner.

Just like that, half of my soul disappeared somewhere else, so I didn’t notice that the subject had changed from state affairs to the next successor to the throne.

“Queen, are you listening? If things continue the way they are, there will be no helping it if a concubine is appointed.”

Since I hadn’t noticed it, I couldn’t react right away, even as I took the tremendous brutality of those words to the face. This had happened just a moment ago, so I didn’t remember very well what kind of reaction I’d had. I had the feeling that I had responded with a somewhat sluggish reply such as “aah” or “eeh”... much like the way that living creatures cried for the first time upon being born.

I could immediately tell that Her Highness wasn’t satisfied with my answer.

“It is because you are so laidback like this that the King has to fight the national affairs alone. You still intend to be here as a guest, not doing what you have to do, so everyone has to hold back and nobody can speak up their opinions. Talk more. Be more useful to the country. Most important of all, it has already been a year, yet nothing has been reported to us. Are you seriously discussing the succession with the King? If this goes on, someone will suggest a concubine for him.”

With such words thrown at me in sequence, I—I had... I had a thought. That perhaps she was trying to make me lose heart. Wasn’t I being attacked right now?

I looked around. Nobody attempted to open their mouths in order to defend me. There was no one. I had no one.

All of them were waiting for my reaction.

I knew this situation. I knew it very well. I wasn’t being treated as a person at the moment. My personality was being denied as well. The dignity that should be granted to the human being named Charlotte wasn’t being taken into account.

However, I didn’t break. Why?

Because I was used to being neglected.

“Yes, I am truly doing a poor job. I believe it is as you say.”

I was smiling.

“However, it has not yet been decided what will be my part of the work and what will be the King’s, as we are in the process of deciding on it as a couple.”

I was smiling mockingly.

“Now that I have talked to all of you like this, I have concluded I should propose my thoughts to the parliament slowly, little by little.”

I was... smiling.

“I was the princess of my country. But now, I am the queen of Fluegel. I did not intend to be here in the position of guest, but it is true that I was restraining myself. But is that not the same for all of you? I am aware. Everyone has been... well, surrounding me from a distance and looking after me. I was fretting, as it would have been better for you to tell me more directly if there was anything wrong... By all means, I would like to have a frank exchange of opinions with you in the future... and I hope that we can help each other... as fellow women.”

This was laughable.

Her Highness was appalled. So was everyone else. She must have spoken so conflictingly due to thinking that it was sure to make me start crying.

I wanted her to stop saying such stupid things. I was the former third princess of Drossel. Did she know what kind of country that was? It was a country where it was okay for women to become political tools. We were by no means granted the position to act freely like she did. As the shadows so-called “women”, we had no choice but earnestly do whatever we could.

I was born in a country were women were consumed and worn down. To top it off, I had been raised mostly by courtiers, away from my biological parents. I hadn’t seen my mother in forever.

Exhausted as a result of her marriage of convenience, Mother had Father build her a palace and secluded herself in it all day long every day. She did show up at the wedding ceremony, but she hadn’t even sent me a single letter after I had married off. She had probably already forgotten that she had given birth to me.

But that was the country I had been born in. I had been raised by one of this country’s strong women – a carefully selected, tough woman. This person patiently educated me, even though my aptitude wasn’t good. She explained things to me over and over again. She scolded me a lot. She taught me so that I would be able to marry anyone and live anywhere. She had also predicted that a situation like this might happen. So she told me how to act during a quarrel with other women.

That was why I smiled at times like these.

My looks weren’t bad. I was no idiot. I knew what effects I would bring about if I smiled. There was little that I could do, but I was going to be the one firing the best shot here.

I was a crybaby. I was a weakling. I was lonely.

However, I had been taught well. No matter what, I couldn’t lose in times like these. I knew that much.

I had been protected through the erasure of my personality.

That day’s tea party was over right then, and thanks to the chamberlain saying that it would soon be time to bring it to a close, it ended well.

At a later date, my feud or whatever with Her Highness would become a rumor around the royal palace, but that was a story of the future. In any case, it was over for now. Therefore, I was extremely relieved.

The chamberlain let me return to my room unusually early and consoled me with a “you must be tired”. “You were excellent today,” he told me. Enveloping my shaky palms in his hands, which had wrinkles just like Alberta’s, he warmed them up. “No matter what happens, do not forget that you have one ally,” he said.

From that, I understood a little something. That he, indeed, worried about me in his own way. I wasn’t fond of his way of doing things, but he had struggled as much as he could in order to do something to improve my position.

He had seen what I had gone through today, so he was commending my brave fight. I had been subjected to violence today. I had been told such terrible things. Even though I—I...

I was in love with Lord Damian.

Both Drossel and Fluegel were aware of this. The citizens of both kingdoms knew it. And yet, aah, how embarrassing. But everyone knew.

I was in love with that person. I was in love.

“You have not sired a child after a year, so there might be need for a concubine. Therefore, if such a woman appears, you should accept it,” she said, despite knowing how much it would hurt me.

I was told off. I was told off by the younger sister of the object of my affections. That was what she said to me.

“Thank you, but please, let me be alone.”

I still managed to keep my smile up, but as soon as I drove the chamberlain out of the room, the tears overflowed torrentially and I couldn’t stop them.

There should be things more painful than that out there in the world. I looked like a fool for crying because of something like this. But right now, I was feeling like the most pitiful person in the world. I wanted to return to Drossel. I wanted to go home to Drossel.

No, that wasn’t it. No, that wasn’t it. No, that wasn’t it.

I wanted to go back to the person who would always allowed me to cry, no matter how much I did so. The person who would stay by my side.

“Alberta...”

I wanted to go back to Alberta.

I knew it was stupid of me. But when I thought that a day might come when Lord Damian, my husband – the object of my affections –, would take another woman aside from me, it was so painful. My chest hurt – it hurt so much that it was hard to breathe. So I couldn’t contain my cries.

I wondered what had gone wrong.

Was it because I had started clamming up, since the chamberlain would always hammer me down by saying, “That kind of unheard-of behavior is not allowed here”, so I couldn’t speak the way I wanted to? Or was it because I was late to find out that not assertively addressing the royal family was bad manners, since I was in a position where I had to wait for people to talk to me first back in Drossel?

Perhaps it was everything.

Apparently, Fluegel hadn’t taken in a princess from abroad in the last sixty years, so maybe it was already difficult for them to accept a foreign object like me in the first place. Things would probably have been different if I were a great woman – yes, a woman like Her Highness –, yet I had nothing but tears. Still, was I such a horrible person that I had to be told such things?

Aah, nothing – just nothing. Nothing was working out. It might be that nothing would go well from now on too.

This thought swiftly made its way into my heart.

All of a sudden, I was able to clearly hear the sounds around me. The noises of someone walking, the whistling of the wind outside, my own breathing. The way that the tears fell down as they dripped from my eyelashes, the way that I was suddenly looking at myself in a holistic manner.

Yes, perhaps things would never work out from now onward. If so, then...

Then, shouldn’t I run away?

Several questions – such as to where, with whom and to do what – came to me, but I ignored them. I had probably broken down at that point.

I dropped my own heart, which I had been cherishing as much as possible in order for it not to break, onto my feet. I had the feeling that I heard a clank when doing so.