#it serves a good purpose don’t worry its about how people read emotions into faces and how ‘unrealistic’ distortions of faces would imply

[cryptosexologist]

i think i’ve said this before but its really funny how analogue horror became this huge new beginner-media-creation accessible horror trend because outta any fucking subgenre of horror it takes arguably some of the MOST trialsome artistic standards to get “right”. the amount of energy that goes into setting up an immersively “real”-feeling mixed media faux nonfiction broadcast type thingy dealy PROPERLY is like, wow no wonder the genre cliche is “psas over a monochrome background with the occasional still image of a face or diagram drawn by a child” lmfao

[aminiatureworld]

A Sea of Fragment VI

Word Count: 3.964

Warnings: Slight violence

Author’s Note: I’m back! This chapter was so enjoyable to write, I missed this series so much! Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Also yes I did see the 2.1 trailer. Scaramouche’s JP laugh my evil beloved.

After your little interlude of conversation with Scaramouche you had succumbed once more to the blinding heat that was enveloping you. Having little sense of the world around you, waking up to bits and pieces of movement only to be stolen away by the darkness again, you found yourself completely disoriented by the sight that greeted you when you finally woke up.

You were in a tent, that much was sure, though beyond that you weren’t really aware of much else. The bed that you were lying on, though slightly damp, was clean, and the top cover, which remained underneath you, was folded over neatly. There was a large table next to you, filled with what could only be medical equipment, as well as a dresser, a chair, and a bench, presumably there for medical purposes. However the high quality material of everything, the tent, the sheets, the pillow, made the whole room seem much too fancy to be a simple hospital tent.

You weren’t sure how long you lay there, too afraid to move in case the world started swimming again, when what could only be a medic walked in. The Fatui emblem was embroidered neatly above his breast pocket, but otherwise he seemed completely, almost unnervingly, normal. The only other thing of note was the Anemo vision strapped to his arm.

“Ah I see you’re awake. Good, I didn’t want to have to call the head medic in again, since she made it perfectly clear already that your case didn’t need her specific supervision. Still, when my lord Scaramouche came in shouting, she couldn’t very well say that, ignoring how banged up you were at the time.”

“Scaramouche was here?” You asked, head still slightly fuzzy.

It probably shouldn’t have been a surprise to hear that, after all you weren’t the one walking to the medical tent by yourself considering the state you were in. Still the image felt like an odd one. You figured he would’ve found someone else to do it for him. Letting this information rattle around in your mind you mutely listened as the medic asked you to hold out your arm for pulse checking, barely listening to his halfhearted small talk.

“Your pulse seems to be evening out a bit,” he finally said. “Good, you were going berserk for a little bit there. We even had to call in a healer, didn’t want you to die. Thankfully the healing seemed to help, my lord was saying something about your state being magic induced, and we were worried that there would be no effect.”

“Thank you for your concern,” you replied, knowing full well that this level of treatment was likely the result of being dragged in by a Harbinger. Still, you couldn’t help but feel somewhat grateful.

“It’s nothing. Better have you alive then a dead body on our hands after all.”

“Fair enough.”

“Still, you’ll have to take care. Your iron levels were also somewhat wonky, so we’re going to give you a week’s worth of pills for that. Come back in a week and if everything seems alright you’ll be good to go. Okay?”

“Alright.”

The medic nodded before walking out. Feeling still exhausted you flopped down on the bed. A breeze seemed to be blowing outside and a part of it came in through the slits in the tent. Letting the wind fan over you, you closed your eyes. Soon enough your thoughts swam into incoherence and you were dragged down into the realm of sleep.

 “My lord.”

Scaramouche jerked his head up from the papers he’d been half heartedly studying. Seeing the medic in front of him he immediately stretched himself up a little taller. At least this wasn’t something completely worthless.

“I assume you’re here to tell me about the condition of the person I left with you.”

“Yes, they have just woken up. Their vitals are no longer in critical condition, and they appear to be alert.”

“Good. That will be all.”

“Yes my lord.”

Scaramouche waited until the medic had left before letting his thoughts roam. You were awake, you were finally awake. Though he wanted to deny it, the relief that flooded through him made it all too apparent how worried the Harbinger had been. When you’d first woken up in his tent he had felt worried, yes, perhaps even slightly frantic. Still, he had assumed that that would be the end of it. You collapsing again had made his blood run cold in a way that rarely, if ever happened. He was Scaramouche after all. The Balladeer, the Harbinger who had no room for mercy in his heart, no time to worry about the lives of other people. After all, does the winter blizzard care about whose house it destroys? Certainly not, it only has to fulfill its goal. Yet he had cared about what was happening with you, even more than that, he’d been worried, perhaps even terrified.

Acknowledging these things left a bitter taste in Scaramouche’s mouth, but he wasn’t idiotic enough to try and deny it. Somehow you had managed to become noteworthy to him, important enough to draw such a reaction out of him. Was this some despicable side effect of your ability? No, it was unlikely. There was no use in looking for excuses or denials. What the Harbinger had to do now was figure out what to do with his predicament. He ought to crush it, to treat you as he would any other low-level lackey, he ought not to have brought you over to his personal section of the medical tents, should have had someone else carry you to the general wing. Those sorts of regrets were too late now however. He had acted out of pure panic, hadn’t even thought of the strict hierarchy that ruled all the lives of those who lived under the Tsaritsa.

Not did your aberrant status help, you who weren’t from Snezhnaya, who had no sense of authority, who had no true place amidst the Harbingers. You were merely there, a shadow that Scaramouche had hoped to command who had instead appeared to have manipulated him in some way.

Yet he couldn’t get rid of you, not now. You were still needed in some capacity, needed to tell him of the layout of the village, the location of the artifact, you had said it was a mirror. Besides, Scaramouche still wasn’t entirely sure whether or not Signora would want to inspect you, having brought you to Scaramouche’s attention in the first place. It certainly wasn’t out of the realm of possibility; Signora had a habit of going where she pleased, deriving satisfaction from the ability to draw irritation out of her fellow Harbingers. The mere idea of her sauntering in to inspect you brought a sour sort of taste to Scaramouche’s mouth. Now more than ever he loathed his coworker’s antics.

Still something had to be done, though what was still up in the air. Pondering this Scaramouche stood up. At the very least he ought to look after you, though whether this was tied into the emotions that roiled in him or simple logic he wasn’t yet sure of. At the very least there would certainly be more talking if he didn’t look on you than if he did. If there was anything that the Fatui loved it was erratic behavior. After all those who could be swayed into doing illogical things were certainly much easier to manipulate. No, better for him to make an appearance, to say that he was concerned you were on the verge of death which would have ruined his plans. This excuse in mind he stood up, urging his inner thoughts to silence as he walked out of the tent and into the afternoon sun.

The image he was greeted with upon entering your, or rather his, tent was all too reminiscent of how you had first looked in that forest where he had first met you. Face pale, a slight sheen of sweat visible on your brow, slicking your hair against your neck. Though your eyes had almost immediately snapped open upon hearing the voice of the medic they were unfocused, and for a moment it seemed as if you were squinting to make the Harbinger out.

It was a pathetic image of a person, and a mix of disgust, pity, and worry swept over Scaramouche. Silently hoping that he himself would never look so weak he sat on the only chair in the room, dismissing the medic with a wave of his hand, keeping his focus on you the whole time.

“So,” he began when you two were finally alone, “you have been saved from the teeth of death. If I had known the spectacle you were going to cause I would have never asked you to do such a thing.”

“Most visions don’t go that way,” you replied, voice husky and cracked from lack of use. “It was, it was because of the mirror.”

“You mentioned that before. This mirror, I presume it’s what we’re looking for.”

“I won’t look for it anymore,” your voice seemed to tremble slightly. “Even if my vision it was terrible. It warped the space around it, even from the future. If you were to get into the same room as it, were to try and touch it, I, I don’t know.”

“We must get a hold of it. If it is the Tsaritsa’s wish we would sacrifice a whole reserve for it.”

“How can you say such a thing?” you replied, voice quiet. The dispassionate tone sent a lance through Scaramouche, and for a moment he found himself unable to reply, knowing full well the answers he ought to be giving you, the total loyalty demanded by the archon he served.

“Still,” he finally continued, “you have showed me that you’re certainly not strong enough for this. From now on I will no longer provide you information about this mission, nor will I ask you to do anything to bring it about. All I need is a report about what you saw, if you wish you can write it yourself. There are other things that you would be better suited for.”

“What things? I don’t think you understand. I’m the only one who has seen what could happen, what seems very likely to happen based on the fragments that were lined up in front of me. The best outcome I saw was that you were unable to find it. The worst,” you took a deep breath in, “the worst outcome is that the village goes up in flames.”

“Ridiculous,” scoffed Scaramouche, feeling irritation rise up inside of him. “I thought you would be grateful to hear that you wouldn’t be required to look into the future again, instead you insult me, insult the Fatui.”

“I am glad that you aren’t going to try and force me into the future. I don’t think you could truly convince me to anyways, but I’d rather not fight about it. Still, I want to be there, to make sure that this doesn’t happen. I have to know what’s going on.”

“You don’t have to know anything. I don’t owe you information or position, you’re only here at my pleasure.”

“Yes! I am only here because you forced me to be here, only here because you asked me to do something I didn’t wish to do. And now you take the advice I give you and trample all over it! Why, why are you acting so irrational?”

“You’re the one acting irrational!” Scaramouche shot back, feeling a wave of panic shoot through him. The idea that you had managed to somehow divine the odd emotions that he was currently experiencing seemed unlikely, but that you could sense something was out of place was alarming. “I just need the report,” he pressed, feeling his voice raise in irritation, wanting this to be over.

As you stared at him, silence being your reply, the thoughts that whirled inside the Harbinger’s head seemed to get louder. Why was this suddenly so complicated? All Scaramouche’s career he had easily ordered his way around and over people. Deals were only made with other Harbingers, who quickly stepped aside to let the Balladeer do his duty. Never had someone simply refused his orders. The idea that you would do so, would turn down something so easy and to your benefit, was absolutely infuriating.

“I would like to rest a little more,” your voice finally broke through the thick silence. “I’m tired.”

“I would have gone a long time ago had you just listened to me,” Scaramouche pointed out.

“Please,” you shot him a look, “I’m not in the mood. I don’t want to fight either. I really don’t. It’s the last thing I want to do. I wanted to thank you in fact, for bringing me here rather than letting me lie on the ground or trying to slap me awake or something. But, but you just, you never listen. That’s what makes it so hard, what makes all of it so hard. You never listen so how, how are you ever supposed to hear me?”

The plaintive tone of your voice struck another blow, as Scaramouche found himself suddenly, suddenly what? He found himself leaning out of his chair, the urge to walk over to you so intense it seemed to steal the breath from his lungs. He wanted to do something, though what he wasn’t entirely sure of. To apologize? To demand? To scold? To, to console? What a stupid thing to do. Yet all these things he suddenly wanted to do. Of course he couldn’t do nay of these things, couldn’t push you any farther, couldn’t pull himself back. All he could do was lean forward, as if that might in some way convey what he was feeling.

“Is there something you want?” You asked.

“No,” Scaramouche stood up. “There is nothing more I wish to say to you.” What a lie that was.

Making his way over to the tent flap Scaramouche stopped. Quickly, almost in rebellion with his mind, he turned and walked over to you. Taking your wrist he pressed his fingers to it.

“Your pulse is still irregular,” he noted.

Spinning around and walking out of the tent the Harbinger fought the urge to scream at himself, scream for such an irrational act. Yet part of him wasn’t thinking about that at all, was instead marveling at how warm, how comfortable your hand had been in his own.

 It seemed like an hour had passed by the time your pulse managed to right itself, though surely only a few minutes must’ve passed. You held your wrist in your other hand, staring down at it, as if willing the scene that had just passed to reappear before you. What was that, what in Teyvat was that? You couldn’t make heads or tails of it, could barely acknowledge that it had indeed happened at all. Scaramouche, the Harbinger, the man who had only moments before been berating you, that Scaramouche had walked over to you and checked your pulse, held your hand in his, if only for a moment. It seemed laughable, seemed so surreal as to have been a dream, yet it had surely happened.

Of course maybe to him that had been a completely normal thing to do. After all, the medic had told you that your pulse had been irregular. Surely Scaramouche would have noticed that too. Perhaps his self-righteousness had caused him to want to make his own judgement on the state of your health. Still that didn’t stop your heart from leaping into your throat the moment it had happened, hadn’t stopped you from feeling like you were, for very different reasons than before.

You cradled your wrist, still able to feel the slight pressure his fingers had exerted on it, as if he had somehow branded you. His fingers had been surprisingly soft, not at all rough as you had expected it. Perhaps that was only natural, you knew that he sported no sword hilt, and there were no sharpening stones in his tent, meaning in all likelihood he was a catalyst user. Still, it was unexpected. His fingers had been surprisingly gentle, his palm with which he held your hand was soft and warm. You wondered for a moment what it would be like if he were to hold your hand properly. A small part of you wondered if you might yet do so in the future.

Almost immediately you shook yourself violently, willing those thoughts out of your head. Even now the idea of doing something so domestic, so intimate, with Scaramouche seemed odd, almost heretical. He was a Harbinger, a bloodthirsty man, one who evidently had no problem with a village going up in flames. And yet, and yet…

You sighed, lying back down on the bed. You should sleep, you were exhausted. Everything was going fast, oh so fast. You couldn’t keep up, couldn’t keep up with your feelings, with Scaramouche’s logic. All you wanted to do was block it out, to sleep. As you closed your eyes one final coherent thought floated through your head. He had, despite it all, not asked you to do it again.

 You never realized you were dreaming until about halfway through your dreams. Even then you had no power to stop them, they pulled you along, like a riptide, waiting to drag you down into their depths.

You weren’t exactly sure how you got into the village, the all too familiar landscape. It was hot, and your thoughts seemed to melting along with your legs, as you tried to run towards the now blazing rooftops, yet found yourself hardly moving. Yet you kept moving forward, intent on something, though on what you weren’t sure of. Something very important to be sure. If only you could reach it.

Reaching some sort of back you shinnied your way between the burning. The flames licked at your clothes and at you, but you couldn’t feel them, they certainly weren’t any hotter than the rest of you. In fact the only side effect that seemed to be happening was how close the walls were becoming, so much so that you were barely getting through. Still you kept going, and eventually you found yourself out of the seemingly endless tunnel.

There were a few men in the distance, men who seemed to be barreling towards. Unease spiked through you, somehow you knew that whatever happened they shouldn’t catch you. Yet another part of you dismissed them as no important enough. No, this wasn’t how you wanted it to go, there was something else. As you thought that they seemed to suddenly fade away, or perhaps it was that you had suddenly found yourself somewhere else.

Walking down this road that seemed so busy and so desolate you found yourself in field. Not questioning the black sky above you, the fact that there was a field in the middle of a tiny village, you approached a figure in the middle of the field. Somehow you already knew who it would be.

You had never really thought about the space that Scaramouche took up before. He was simply there, a man, a Harbinger, a person. Just there. Now however he seemed all too small, almost puny. His head was turned to the side, so much as to be unnatural. A slight dribble of blood pooled from his mouth, and his eyes stared with the glassy intensity of the dead, the kind of stare that would forever haunt. You seemed to float above him, high, high above. Yet you wanted to lower yourself, to shake him, to see if he was just pretending. Everything felt glassy and distant, like a play that you were part of but not actively participating in. Soon enough he’d pick himself off the ground and start yelling at you. Soon. Yet someone was wailing in the distance, and for once the voice seemed eerily familiar.

 You opened your eyes, at first seeing nothing before the cloth ceiling of the tent finally revealed itself to you. Lying there, not daring to sit up or roll over or do anything, you replayed your dream. Before it had seemed so distant, so disconnected from you. Now however it close, all too close. Your back was sticky with sweat, and the sudden heaving of your chest, cause panic to flood through your mind, revealed how truly shaken you were. You had seen Scaramouche dead before, had seen his fallen frame in your visions. It had been so different then however. Then he had just been a Harbinger, just been a demanding man. Now however he was, something. Something else.

All this time you had worried about your feelings for Scaramouche, worried that they were just some figment of imagination that stemmed from your visions of the future. Perhaps that was partly the truth, perhaps those visions had indeed provided the fuse for your emotions. Yet somehow you had lit them, or more aptly somehow Scaramouche had. The image of him lying there, dead on the ground, filled you with such distress that it seemed liable to drown you. Even if these feelings were somehow made up, the result of some imagined Scaramouche in the future, some need to line yourself up with some possible path, they were still real. Painfully so, if this was a sign of anything.

Finally sick of lying in one position you sat up. Though the tent was opaque enough you could see little bits of light through the slits of the tent, and the slightly warm air had the distinct feeling of it being at least midday. Standing up you made your way, somewhat hesitantly, over to the flap of the tent. You needed to see Scaramouche, if only to try and convince him again not to go through with such a ridiculous plan. You needed to make sure that your dream didn’t become a reality.

Walking through the tented hallway you quickly ran into the same medic as before, this time pushing a tray with food on it.

“Oh good you’re up,” he said, voice slightly bored. “Maybe you’ll be able to leave tomorrow then.”

“I need to talk to Scaramouche,” you said, words tumbling out and running into one another. “It’s something of the greatest urgency.”

“I’m sorry but my lord isn’t here.”

“Isn’t here? Then, he…”

“He went off on a mission, he said if you were ready to leave before he came back to move you back into your tent tomorrow and to wait until he returned for further instructions.”

“He’s gone?”

“Yes.” The medic replied, seemingly slightly impatient.

Turning around you fell right back onto the bed. Ruining the hospital corners you ripped the blanket over your head, willing it to block out all the light. You needed to get out, you needed to go find him. Somehow you knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Even if you wanted to you doubted the medics would cross Scaramouche’s orders to keep you here until tomorrow. Even more so you had no information on what exactly he had done, though you were almost positive that he had gone to the village. Even if he hadn’t though you had to go check, go make sure. What he was doing was madness, running into a situation without fully comprehending it, what in Teyvat was he thinking?

Anxiety welled up inside you, consuming any and all thoughts you might’ve had. In their place was fear, pure distilled fear. Fear for the Harbinger that you didn’t want to die, and fear for the future that might not come to pass after all.

[myfeetkeepdancing]

Lost and Found  |  Arvin Russel x Male!Reader

Request:  I kind of thought about Arvin arrived in new city, without cash (maybe only small amount) and wandering aimlessly. Then he stop at a diner realising he doesn't have a place to stay at night and buy food, decide to leave but stopped by mreader(waiter?owner?) and said that he can eat for free (mreader can't help after watching him so pitiful). Later on mreader said that he know Arvin not from here, and kind of tell him place to stay and also a job if he want to, i mean who can just ignore Arvin.

Warnings: Cursing, smoking.

Words: 4915

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A mere glimpse. Just enough. A man, somewhere around your age. You'd seen him walk past the large window as you cleaned the last plates, halt for a moment before turning inwards. Stepping into your diner. The place wasn't big. But it had style, that look about it. Vibrant colors, yet cozy and warm. Located on the corner of a busy street, always something happening. Always movement. Three booths on either side, each seat sporting a view through the large windows on that bustling street. Opposite the booths stood the bar, it wrapped around the corner and partially hid the kitchen—enough stools to fit a soccer team. A small space was occupied by a door in the left corner; behind lay a staircase leading up. On the far right stood the large jukebox, too large for the place. But what is a diner without it? In all, a small place, but locally renowned for the food. Except for tonight. Tonight was quiet—a boring, dull, dark night.

"How may I help you?" You asked, moving towards him, drying your hands on the towel slung over your shoulder. "Kitchen is still open." At first sight, he struck you as a roadworker. A knapsack slung over his shoulder and worn-torn jeans and jacket. His once white shirt underneath grime with dirt and sweat. With his gray cap on, you couldn't really tell his expression as he was busy with the contents of his wallet. Spreading a small collection of coins across the bar. He cleared his voice before speaking. "Hi...ehm..." His voice was hoarse and dry. "W-What can you get me for this?" Speaking with an accent that wasn't from around. Working in the dinner, you heard and spotted many different ones. Making it a sport to figure out where they came from. But his posture and expression didn't lend towards a nice conversation. He looked reserved and held back.

Wiping your hands clean on your apron, you step closer and lean in, accessing what lay in front of you. It was obvious; he had literally turned his wallet upside down on the counter. Scraping every last coin out of there. The amount in front of you was far off from a meal you served here. But there was something about him as you looked up. You get a glimpse of his eyes underneath the cap. His eyes sat deep in his face. The expression was grave. Staring soullessly into a void. Veering back into life as he felt your eyes connect with his. "Sorry, sir…" He apologized after a lengthy sigh. "Long day." He mumbled, straightening himself upwards. He took off his cap and raked his fingers through his hair before putting it back on. "I know it ain't much, but…"

"Jerry!" You call out over your shoulder, awaiting the familiar deep voice to respond back to you. "One burger with extra fries." And give him a smile. "Seat yourself." Nodding towards the booths behind him. "I'll be right with ya." And start collecting the coins into your hand. You knew it wouldn't cover the cost, far from it. But you'd rather have a customer then wait for this long evening to end. You'll make ends meet. A good deed wasn't misplaced once in a while. And as your father always said, it's better to give than receive. From the corner of your eye, you see the man seat himself. The far most booth in the corner, close to the window and holding his knapsack close. A sense of pity grew for the man as you saw him there. Head hanging low, gaze stuck to the table. Occasionally peering outside. His expression was impossible to read as his cap sat low and firm on his head. Hiding his eyes.

Arvin looked across the booth's plain white table, staring almost, with incomprehension on his face. He felt empty and alone. Traveling all this way without purpose. Only anger and rage. Angry at the world. At everything. His growling stomach was the only thing that kept him sane. At least there was one thing he accomplished. He wanted to be far away from that place he once called home. His thoughts drifted between Lenora and his grandparents. He couldn't let his guard down for a moment and kicked himself back into it. His eyes were almost trained to spot a police car from a mile away. It set him on edge since that day—even the sound of the sirens. A quick glance through the local newspaper revealed no article about the drama in his hometown. It was a momentary relief. But the question was, for how long?

"Here you go, sir." You announced as you approached, putting down a glass of coke in front of him. He looked up at you, staggered, to say the least. "So... where are ya from? Going by your accent, you're not from around here." You check the diner a second time around, ensuring no customer was going unattended before returning to the stranger. You stuff your hand in the pockets of your apron. Patiently awaiting his response.

"I'm not." He said somberly. Taking big swigs from the glass. "I'm from a place called Coal Creek. Somewhere close there."

"Hmmm, that's around Marlinton." You asked. "Somewhere in-between Summersville and Staunton?" You tried to recall the map in your mind as you thought long and hard. "I'm not sure..."

"You're about right…" He nodded, crossing his arms on the table. "You been there?"

"No. No, not me. But I can recall someone going there." You heard the place before, but it probably was a trucker or someone else who mentioned it. "But I'm not sure who it was." You shake your head and continue on. "Anyway, how was the drive?"

"I got a lift."

"Okay, and what brings you to the rural city? Work, family?" You asked. "Love?" Followed by a light chuckle, trying to lift the mood a little. In the background, the jukebox had stopped playing. Only the sound of the grill in the kitchen and the neon letters' sizzle outside took over its role. Even the old coffee machine was quiet now.

"I don't know...." He shrugged off your question. 

The rough and uneasy response brought the ongoing conversation to an abrupt end. You didn't know how to respond to such an absent, short answer. Luckily you were saved by the bell. Jerry shoved the plate through the window towards the front. "Thank you, Jerry. Lookin' good as always." Giving him a thumbs up to show your gratitude as you take the warm plate. "Might as well lock everything up back there, Jerry. I think that's it for tonight." Following his confirmation, you bring the plate up to the table. Before you put the plate down, you take out a moist towel and wipe the table clean. "Look at that." You mumbled while cleaning the last bits of. "Much better." You pass him a knife and fork and follow up by placing the plate in front of him. "Enjoy your meal." 

"Thank you, sir." He said, and began to eat immediately. With an eye on closing time, you begin to clean the bar and surrounding booths. Jerry had cleaned the kitchen and said his goodbyes before heading home. All the tables and benches needed a thorough cleaning, and if you managed now, you'd have spare time for other things tomorrow morning. 

"You planning on going back to Coal Creek?" You asked while you cleaned the second last booth in front of him. From your position, you could only see the top part of his cap. He sure must have heard the question, as there was total silence across the diner. But the response took some time. 

"No." He said resolutely, with a whiff of distraught emotion in his voice. "Never." You gaze up, finding yourself lost in the dark eyes peering from underneath his cap. The pupils functioned like little keyholes, allowing a small glimpse at the ferocity and anger boiling within him. A fire raging within him that you wouldn't want to know how to quench. "I ain't going back to place."

"Right... Well, that's clear." Something had happened in that town where this stranger came from. And he wasn't intent on sharing that with you. Not in this state. "There's plenty of work in the city." And continue on to the next booth while you try to keep him talking. In the past, you sure had more talkative guests at the end of the evening. "Just make sure you walk in the right people."

"What does that mean?"

"Well…You see-" With a sigh, you raise yourself up again from cleaning the booth. You've always tried to warn the newcomers around—especially the ones who were low on cash. "Certain neighborhoods here… have a wrong crowd. Tend to lure people in, you know, pray on the poor and lonely... with false promises and such. Ending up… bad."

"I don't fall for that." He scoffed and continued to eat his burger. "Don't you worry." 

"Oh, I don't." You said, slightly sarcastic. "But it's easier said than done." And turn back behind the bar. Wiping the top of the bar down. Restock the last things. Making sure all the lights in the back were off. "Sometimes it makes you wonder if there's more bad than good on this planet.

"I know there is…" He muttered while he watched the world go by his window. "If there really was a God out there…" He spat, shaking his head. The man seemed distracted as if something was on his mind. The quiet was eerie, just to the two of you. He captured you in a way you couldn't describe, nor felt before. The headlight of passing cars illuminated his face. And you couldn't help but stare sometimes. Yet, the man didn't scare you. He remained unmoved in his spot while you worked your way around the place. Even when you turned the jukebox on again, trying to break the uneasy silence. You said your goodbyes to Jerry the cook again as he returned for his keys, and watched the streets go quietly darker and darker into the night.

"I understand you're closing." He said out of the blue, leaving his seat. Taking his jacket and knapsack with him. Halting in front of the bar where you were working. At least pretending to be working.

"A bit earlier than usual, yes." Wiping the bar down again, as he stood there. Watching you. "I got some pie leftover if you want." You offered, pointing at the stool. "Take a seat."

"No, I'm good." He replied with a grumble.

"Okay… Well, suit yourself." Drinking the last bit out your glass and continue your work on the cash register. "Have a good night, sir. And, please make sure the door is shut properly behind you."

But the man stood there, watching you work. And as you glanced back, he turned his eyes to the street. As if he searched deeply for a reason to stay inside. Not wanting to go outside. You know it didn't rain. You could see that. Yet, he remained in the same spot. Unmoved.

"I can wait." He offered, which took you by surprise. He didn't unsettle you in any way. But it was this kind of gesture you didn't expect. "Don't want you to be robbed by that… wrong crowd lurking the street." He looked over his shoulder, scanning the dimly lit streets while leaning against a table. "If... that's... alright with you?"

"Yeah…" You say and turn to confirm, catching each other's gaze. It's normal in any conversation. But this felt different. You felt drawn in by those brown eyes. Almost hypnotized. The moment of eye contact was longer than probably necessary. A smile slowly forming on your lips. "Of course." You nod and slowly return to your work. To your shock, you see your hands trembling ever so slightly as they hover over the numbers on your cash register. Not from the cold. That for sure. Because your hands feel clammy.

  -

"Was that all your money?" You asked while you shut the door behind you. With the keys in your other hand, you lock the place up. Turning on your heel, standing there a few feet apart from each other. The streets weren't exactly busy at this hour. But there was always some movement. But the man stayed silent nonetheless. Perhaps hoping you would drop it. "By not answering, you're admitting it is."

"Yes..." He grumbled, annoyed. "Yes, it was." Avoiding your gaze as he stepped aside for a passerby.

"There are some cheap rooms, two blocks down that way." You pointed down the road. "Big motel. Can't miss it." Pulling out a couple dollars from your wallet.

"That's far more than I paid for the food." He said, too stubborn to take the money.

"That's not the point." You noted. "I don't want you to sleep in a cardboard box under a bridge. There's no need to." Holding the money up to him. "It's cheap, but at least you got a roof over your head, a warm bed, and a way to freshen up."

"You don't have to do this."

"I know." You nod. "Now take it." Reaching the money out to him again. "Or are you intend to find out who's the most stubborn of the two of us."

"I can just walk away." He chuckled. "You know that, right?"

"Promise me one thing." Taking another step closer to him.

"What is that?" He says, watching you with a challenging glint in his eyes.

"Tomorrow morning, be here at seven." Jabbing a finger over your shoulder. "Backdoor. I'll fix you breakfast." Forcing the money in his hand. "Got it?" 

The man nodded as he stashed the bills away in his pocket. "And to who do I owe this promise?" 

"(Y/N)." 

If there was something to lie about, it could be his name. That's what coursed through Arvin's brain right now. After all this, should he be honest? Hadn't he already been up until now? A small inner conflict silenced him for a moment. But inside of him, the gears were turning. The name sat right with the person standing in front of him. And it made him feel… things…. 

For the first time, you caught a glimpse of what you thought to be a smile on the stranger's face. Short and sweet. It was a kind one. A genuine one. A smile that pleasantly cracked his stern features. So unexpected, yet so satisfying to witness. It suited him well.

But only seconds. As he bowed his head down, strolling his eyes across the pavement while fishing for a pack of cigarettes from his jacket. The cap hiding the expression. As if he was embarrassed to show his smile.

"I'm Arvin." He looked up, flashing his smile with confidence, stepping closer towards you. "I haven't thanked you (Y/N)." Offering you one of his last cigarettes. "The meal. And… this." Patting the bills in his pocket. "That's real kind of you." The smile said more than enough. Despite the stubbles across his face, the unshaven look, the long locks of brown hair protruding from underneath his cap, he had a certain charm. And it felt infectious. That ferocity from earlier had subsided. Making way for a heartwarming smile. "Thank you (Y/N)."

"No problem, Arvin." Pulling the collars up against the wind, but kindly refusing the cigarette. "I only drink." And return him a smile. "See you tomorrow morning."  

He nodded as you saw the fire catch his cigarette. The orange glow shining across his features. There was this tensioned moment of eye contact before you exchanged a "Goodnight". Arvin watched you go as he ran his hand over his curled dark hair, smoothing it into place before putting the cap back on. A shuddered breath left his parted lips. He didn't understand what his body was experiencing. This feeling. He wanted to say something as he saw you walking away. But he couldn't. Nailed to the spot. Yet his legs were like jelly. So each went their own way. But not without their troubled minds.

  - NEXT MORNING - 

 Still early in the morning, the cool breeze nipping at your skin, you tighten your coat around you. The streets were reasonably quiet. With your hands safely stowed away in your pockets, sheltered from the wind, you make your way down the street. The unmistakable form of the kiosk was one of the few places open so early. You pick up the newspaper while you exchange a few words with the older man behind the counter. It wasn't the smoothest of conversations. Undeniably, Arvin had been on your mind. Something about him made you look forward to seeing him again. With the newspaper under your arm, you continue. Therefore sleep didn't come easily last night. Twisting and turning in the sheets. What bothered you, you couldn't pinpoint exactly. But it had something to do with Arvin, you figured as much. The night was short as you woke up way before your alarm clock did go off—a terrible start to the day.

You turn into the alley leading to the backdoor. Not much movement this early in the morning. Your heart skips a beat as you are frozen on the spot. Seeing a figure hunched together beside the backdoor of the diner. The denim jacket and cap immediately gave away who it was. "Arvin?" You asked the obvious, slowly approaching. "Is...Is that you?"

A pair of tired eyes paired with furrowed brows shot up at you while you fish the keys from your pocket. His handsome face was lined, and eyes set deep into its sockets, riddled with sleep—a frustrated but tired gaze connected with yours. You can't help but notice the trembles shaking his frame as you come close. "Hey." He grumbled as the simple greeting came from his shuddering lips. The cold and fatigue certainly got a good grip on him. 

"You're... early?" You said somewhat sarcastically. "Something happened?" 

"R-Ran into some problems." He groaned, followed by a coughing fit that almost knocked his lungs out. "So I…eh slept here." 

"Damn… Do I wanna know what happened?" Arvin's condescending stare said more than enough. The way he communicated through that stare—the eye contact. You knew enough. You shook your head in disbelief. "Well, c'mon." Extending him a hand to help him on his feet. "I'll get you started with something warm." A firm grasp takes your hand, but his fingers were cold through and through, followed by a gaze of threatening eyes. You caught it in a glimpse. It was more than enough. Just what you thought. The red of his knuckles, skin rough and stained with dried blood. Arvin had been in a fight of some sort. 

"What?" He snorted in derision. Pulling back his hand from yours as he got onto his legs. His anger, sudden, and ferocious. There was a moment of thoughtful silence as he inched closer beside you. He was aware of what you saw. But wasn't going to admit it, nor tell you. 

"Nothin…" You replied. Careful not to show your disappointment. "Let's head inside."

Arvin took a seat at the bar, with your jacket wrapped around him. Just to give some extra warmth. Eyes small and dim, an expression of defeat and a glare that had tiresome written all over it. His shoulders hung low, and his posture sat like a wreck on the stool. 

"Did you even sleep?" Placing a big pot of tea beside him. He only answered by shaking his head, wrapping his hands around the mug. Life slowly returning to his pale-looking fingers. You let him sit in silence as you sip your morning coffee. Arvin's gaze stuck somewhere beyond the passing traffic. A thousand-yard stare. It sure was his trademark—so absent-minded, sulking on his own. Jaw locked and sucking on his teeth. You weren't a morning person either, but this was something else.

"Tidy up." You said while putting a warm moist cloth beside his hands. "You'll scare the customers."

"I don't follow." Came the grunted reply. Sipping on his steaming hot cup of tea. His reply almost sounded like a challenge, rather than this usual angry tone you got used to. 

"The blood-" You nod to his knuckles. Looking all sore and red. "On your hands. You... need a bandage or...?" The response was none. He just looked at you. Sometimes a car caught his attention before looking back at you. You think to notice a small curvature on the corner of his lips. Making you a little unsure of what to do. "You okay, Arvin?"

"You'd like to know...?" He asked with a growing smirk, slowly tilting the cup to his lips. The smile now more prominent than before. "Wouldn't you…"

"Arvin…" You sighed and rolled your eyes. "It's more-"

"Goodmorning!" A voice called out in the back. Interrupting you mid-sentence. Making you jump a little. You hop over to Arvin and pull the jacket away from him, just in time as your father turned the corner. "Well, good morning to you too." He flashed a smile towards Arvin. "To what do we owe this pleasure?"

Before Arvin had said a word, you already interjected; rather smoothly, you had to admit. "This is Arvin." You introduced. "And we were just talking about the job…"

"Oh! Nice meeting you." Extending his hand towards Arvin. "I'm (YOUR DADS NAME)." Shaking his hand. "So you're here for the kitchen? That's good! Jerry will be delighted to hear that." Arvin watched you with big eyes as you continued to talk in on your dad. Desperate not to let Arvin ruin the hold thing. But for one, Arvin didn't follow at all. His mind was too hazy to process this much so early in the morning. After a few minutes of conversation, your dad turns to Arvin. "All sounds good. You got experience?"

"Well... ehm." He stammered somewhat inaudible. Nervously shielding his bruised knuckles with his other hand. "I…"

" You... mentioned… your gran-" Trying to put the words in his mouth, mimicking the words with your lips. But Arvin clearly wasn't following. A confused expression crawled on his face as you exchanged glances. "Grand--... M-

"-Grandmother… Yes." He said, finally catching on. "I… learned from my grandmother."

"Ah! Okay. Well, we don't serve that kind of food here." Your father bellowed in laughter. "But experience is best shown via practice. When you're ready, hop on in the kitchen and serve us some breakfast." Your dad says, pulling off his jacket. "Give us a call when you're ready." And turns to you. "I'll be upstairs, do some paperwork. How was yesterday?" 

"Good, good. Nothing special. But listen…" Pushing him along towards the staircase in the back. Out of earreach of Arvin. "Arvin needs some living space. If he's good, which I think he really is, maybe he can sleep upstairs? One of the older rooms." 

"I thought you were thinking about-"

"No, no, no… That can wait. I can wait. But what do you think?"

"Yeah, of course. We can make that work. If you think he's good. Go for it. But he better make us a good breakfast." He laughs and pats you on your shoulder, starting to scale the flight of stairs. "Call me when it's done." You let out a sigh of relief as you close the door behind you. A good start so far. 

But dark clouds were gathering near the bar. You could see it in his eyes. Arvin's kind and smiling expression he faked in front of your dad. Those expressions had vanished, replaced by something of an animal's howl of outrage. "What did you just do?!" Arvin jumped off his stool, aggressively barged towards you. "You-"

"If you mean to ruin this for yourself-..." You cut him off. "-speak... louder."

"I didn't ask for any of this!" He hissed with his teeth clenched, like a wolf snarling at his prey. But surprisingly, in a lowered tone. Confronting you close up. His balled up fists threatening what came next. 

"Then why are you whispering-...?" You grinned. "-Arvin?"

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into!" His breath ragged with the passion of his anger and fuelled rage, big brown eyes peered into yours. For a moment, you were afraid that he might do something to you. "Do you?!" 

"No, but neither do you." You fired back at him. "Don't be mad at me. I'm merely giving you a chance."

"If I wanted that, I'd ask for it!" He snarled up close, the spittle almost flying across your face. "For ev-"

"Stay angry all you want." You said without letting him finish. "You can walk right out of the door if you want, or… you step into that kitchen and make something of it." You let the words sink in. Stepping past him, you turn around and pat his shoulder. "Think about it. It's a chance to start anew."

"I…" He sighed without finishing his sentence before even starting it. "You don't even know me."

"What's your point?"

"Why would you help me?!" He held his pose as he spoke, the dark brown intensity of his eyes never leaving yours. "Out of all the people that walk in here, why me?"

"It's simple." You toss the pen aside. Feeling the frustration of his misplaced mistrust starting to annoy you. "I just want to help you, Arvin. That's all." Your breath quickened for a moment as you stood there facing each other. Locked in one and other's gaze. "I… I felt…" But shake the thoughts from your mind. "I felt sorry for you."

"You shouldn't..." He mumbled, gazing into the distance. Locking his jaw as he mulled over your words. Trying to look tough. "I don't need someone else's pity." Throwing his knapsack over his shoulder. And starts heading for the door. "I'm a lost cause."

"Then what do you have left to lose? Nothing. Right?"

"I'm free to go wherever the fuck I want." He sneered, jabbing an angry finger against your chest. "Because you did something nice doesn't mean I have to repay you."

"That's not…" You sighed deeply, frustrated at his stubbornness. Seeing him walk away again. "Arvin… don't go."

"Oh shut up." He snarled, waving a dismissive hand.

"I'm sorry." You apologized. Ashamed of your comment earlier. "I shouldn't have said that. And, I… didn't mean it that way. It's… I haven't slept well and..." 

"You and me both." He said. Leaving you a little bit surprised. A moment of silence filled the room. Upstairs you could hear your dad walking. For a moment, youre afraid he might have heard something. "I'm sorry too." He hung his head low. "I shouldn't have lashed out at you. You didn't deserve that."

"Will you at least think about, Arvin. I want you to know, my father has agreed on lending you a room upstairs." You said while averting your gaze, back to your work. "You can stay there for a while." And head towards the ledger spread out before on the counter. Arvin stood there, frozen on the spot. Hand on the door. Ready to leave. "Think about it, Arvin."

His eyes widened, the aggression in his expression sank away, replaced by guilt. "Are you… Are you serious?" He turned to you. "(Y/N)?"

"Yes, I believe in you. You just… need a little bit of help." You said. "Worst case, my dad laughs about it, and he'll teach you himself. He can't see the bad in people. He only wants to bring the best out of them."

"Runs in the family." He says with a small smile growing. You only catch it in a glimpse as you watch him turn around, walking towards one of the hanging aprons behind the bar. You watch him from the corner of your eye and can't help but smile. Fiddling with the apron and cleaning his hands. He seemed like a good lad. And you were happy he at least was giving it a shot. "Arvin." You called just before he entered the kitchen, mentioning him to come over. "Make the bacon extra crispy for my dad. You'll score extra points."

"I will." He smiled and nodded. "I will." And watch him enter the kitchen. 

"And don't forget yourself." You add on while you try to focus on the numbers in front of you. But they didn't hold any interest to you. Opening hour was just around the corner, but this day had already gotten so much better. Your smile was hard to suppress. But why would you? A smile of happiness. Now it's up to him.

"(Y/N)" Arvin's voice came from behind you. Waking you from your derailed train of thought. As you turned around, you see him leaning on his forearms through the little serving counter. "When this turns out-" 

"It will, Arvin." You immediately said with confidence, followed with a smile. "Trust me. It will." 

"Okay." He chuckled softly. "Well...Do you… eh maybe want to get a drink sometime?" Asking with a slight nervousness to his voice. "No cigarettes." He added, a tender smile curving his lips. "I… also... still owe you for last night, so..." 

"Now I have to make this work." You chuckle, rubbing the nape of your neck. Feeling a rush of heat shoot across your cheeks. "Sounds good, Arvin."

[nyarmand]

my ranking of the alex rider original series (stormbreaker through scorpia rising) from ‘book i least enjoy rereading’ to ‘book i most enjoy rereading’ let’s goooo

spoilers for all 9 books under the cut

9. Ark Angel

...He went to space. He went to space. Also the entire plot could have been avoided if Drevin had actually bothered to provide a photograph of his son. I’m sure he had one. I still like this book but it’s literally so insane that I just don’t know what to do with it. 

It is however really funny that Webber just goes and gives a speech insulting this super high-profile ecoterrorist group and acts like it’s no big deal and then they kill him. Shock of shocks.

8. Skeleton Key

Okay, points to this book for terrifying the shit out of me. God damn it does that shark scene scare me. Also, points for making me feel a little bit bad for a man who wants to nuke his own country because he thinks it will fix the place up. I’m still not entirely sure how that’s supposed to work, but that’s probably a good thing. I feel like understanding his thought process would say bad things about me. Still, I actually did feel sorry for him, if only a little. Dude was clearly mentally unstable and I doubt his son’s death helped at all. I also got sad about what happened to Carver and Troy. (Yeah, yeah, I’m a cringe fail American who has the American release. So sue me.) What a nightmare that must’ve been to endure... Otherwise, though, I’m not super into this book. The opening is just kind of meh and the way it leads into the rest of the plot seems a little bit unbelievable. Also, this might be an unpopular opinion, but Sabina annoys me. I would not get along with her at all and I can’t imagine her as a girlfriend. Skeleton Key does, however, absolutely excel at the emotional scenes. 

Also, why are all the spy agencies so comfortable with sending in a 14-year-old? Especially when they outright admit that the other attempts have all died horribly? Bureaucracy’s a bitch.

7. Point Blank

Boo, Dr. Grief! Boo! We hate your white supremacy! I’m so glad you got a snowmobile to the face, you deserved it. (Perks of books written by Jewish people--we aren’t afraid to give the neo-Nazis an unpleasant death.) Anyway, this book definitely isn’t bad, but I wouldn’t really say it stands out in the series. It definitely does hammer home the point of just how trapped Alex is, since MI6 isn’t going to just let him go after one mission, and let’s face it, the plot with the clones is creepy as hell, if highly improbable. But I’m largely just here to see the neo-Nazi get snowmobiled. That’s right, I just completely changed the definition of a pre-established word. I’m a rebel.

Also, I hate Fiona Friend so much and overall think she just didn’t need to be in the book, but the line about ‘I’d rather kiss the horse’ made me laugh so hard. Alex, you sass.

6. Snakehead

Okay, let’s talk about how genius the plan in this book is. I love it! I love how Yu wants to kill the people involved in the peace conference without making them into martyrs, so he comes up with this whole elaborate plan to stage a natural disaster. It’s incredible. This dude was thinking so far ahead. And he would’ve gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for that meddling kid... But anyway, I don’t see a lot of books where the villain really acknowledges that killing their enemies could just cause more problems for them via turning them into martyrs for a cause. Also, the way he’s so polite and soft-spoken while also being a complete monster... This book genuinely gives me chills. Extra bonus points for the part in the hospital, the absolute nightmare of having all your organs slowly removed and sold off and everyone around you is being so nice about it? ‘Oh, don’t worry, Alex, it won’t be so bad. Here, take your medicine. Do you need anything?’ Literally just. What the fuck. 

Also Ash can fucking fight me. You put your own godson in horrible danger on purpose! You killed your best friend! Bastard. 

...And just in case the book wasn’t disturbing enough, Yu’s fate at the end lives in my mind rent-free and I think about it on a concerningly regular basis considering that the chances of that happening to me are so low they’re practically in the negatives. Damn you, Horowitz.

I would also be remiss if I did not mention just how much I love the tagline ‘once bitten, twice spy’.

5. Crocodile Tears

Ah yes, the book that kickstarted my drift away from the church... I kid, of course. I drifted away from the church for completely separate reasons. But Desmond McCain is always going to scare the shit out of me. The ability to kill countless innocent people while blissfully quoting Bible verses (that he takes wildly out of context and uses for his own self-serving means) is... well, I could actually say a lot about what that reminds me of, but I’m here to rate books, not religion. Moving on. This book has some really stellar antagonists, and the plot is chilling in a way that feels a lot more realistic than most of the other books. Even if some of it is a bit farfetched (sabotaging a nuclear power plant? Really?), the idea of using disasters for your own profit... well. I’m sure I don’t need to elaborate on why that is so believable. The Poison Dome is also a really cool and chilling scene--even Alex, who has the luck of the devil, can’t get out of that one unscathed. Further scares come in with the fate of Harold Bulman--imagine having your entire existence wiped and your identity changed while you were asleep! The breakdown he has over it is almost enough to make me feel sorry for him, even though he was ready to exploit a teenager and make his life a living hell just to turn a profit. Note the word almost.

Also. The opening makes me cry. Specifically the line talking about how Ravi’s kids would ‘never meet Mickey Mouse’. I lose my goddamn mind every single time I read it. That little personal touch turns the scene from a statistic to a tragedy. Once again: Damn you, Horowitz.

4. Stormbreaker

Yeah, this one gets the special cover shot. And why not? What we are looking at here is the birth of a legend. Move the fuck over, James Bond, Alex Rider is on the scene now. Anyway, yeah, this book is pretty damn spectacular. It has its stumbles, but as the first book in a series, that’s to be expected. Still, it pulls you in from quite literally the first line and keeps you going right up until the end. (If you came here from my post of memes, you know how much the line ‘Killing is for grownups, and you’re still a child’ destroys me.) It has the debut of much-beloved characters such as, of course, Alex--but also Jack Starbright, and of course, the best MI6 agent of them all, which is to say Smithers. Hell, even Yassen Gregorovich, especially once you get through Russian Roulette... Man, that was a rough one. 

Seriously, though. This is a really good book. The scene with the Portuguese man-o’-war still gives me the chills to think about. (Have you ever looked up pictures of those things? They’re beautiful, but holy shit will they make you regret being born. Nature is funny like that.) 

We also get the introduction of, of course, Alex’s patented sass (his response to Sayle saying he relates to the man-o’-war is HILARIOUS) and we get the inherent humor of Alex screwing up an alias one time and then just going by Alex for the rest of the series so he doesn’t do that again. Really, kid, I know you’re not a trained spy or anything but did you never play pretend growing up? Ever? You can’t pretend your name is Felix for a little while? That sounds like a you problem.

3. Scorpia Rising

I distinctly remember when this book came out, actually. I was on vacation at the time, and I remember my brother annoying the hell out of the poor workers at a bookstore we frequented there to see if/when they were going to get it in. They did, finally, and we bought it immediately, and I was of course absolutely desperate to read it. He got to read it first, though. -_-

This is a great book, an absolute emotional rollercoaster all the way through. The way Blunt tricks Alex back into service by staging a shooting was exactly the kind of cold, brutal behavior I’d expect from him. Seeing Julius come back was shocking, but very exciting, too. And Razim makes an incredibly chilling villain, with his absolute disregard for human life and his desire to measure pain. Also, seeing Smithers’s house was so much fun. Smithers in this book was just really fun in general, but he’s really fun in every book, so... nothing unusual there. But also, I want an unwelcome mat. Please?

2. Eagle Strike

‘But Penny,’ you might ask, ‘why is this book so high on your list? It has so much of Sabina in it, and you said she annoys you.’ That is true. What does not annoy me, however, is basically the entire rest of the book. I love the tense opening, and then reading through Alex’s real-life ‘playthrough’ of Feathered Serpent is still one of my favorite scenes. Cray is absolutely incredible as a villain, with the way that he truly believes in his cause--which is undoubtedly a good one! Yet the extremes to which he will go for that cause, and the fact that he very nearly succeeds, are what elevate him to one of the most dangerous villains in the series. That scene with Charlie Roper and the nickels is something I can never seem to stop thinking about. Actually, I think about it basically whenever I think about large amounts of money paid in small increments... 

Also, I really enjoy how he gets into the whole plot in the first place, and I really enjoy Smithers saying ‘ah, fuck it’ and helping him out anyway. Go, Smithers. You once again prove me right in saying that you’re the coolest adult in MI6.

The revelation that Yassen knew Alex’s father is one that absolutely blew my mind first time around. The way his life was threaded into the lives of the Rider family--he worked with John Rider, was saved by him, killed Ian Rider, and then died for refusing to kill Alex Rider--wow. Wow. It gets to me. It really gets to me. This book is a masterpiece. I heard that it’s going to be what the second season of the TV series is based off of, and I’m so hyped for that. We love to see it, we really do.

1. Scorpia

I don’t believe anyone who says this book didn’t get to them at all. I just think they are lying. I don’t think it’s humanly possible to not be affected by this book. God. Just thinking about it reminds me of why I don’t think it’s possible. I mean, come on. We get all this backstory about Alex’s parents, we get tricked along with him into thinking MI6 killed his father, then bam, that was a lie, and Alex may have just fucked himself over big time. Also, that plot is terrifying! (And I bet anti-vaxxers had a field day with it, huh.) Julia Rothman is a really great antagonist, one of the only ones who didn’t go and explain her plan in great detail to Alex--the fact that she didn’t actually being a plot point was something I personally found pretty clever. In general, this book is... I tend to hate when people say they ‘can’t put it down’ because it’s usually an obvious exaggeration, but that really is how I feel reading it.

And again. If that ending didn’t get to you... Well, I just think you are lying.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Three Gates - on ao3 (for content warnings check Ao3) - on tumblr: pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6, pt 7, pt 8, pt 9, pt 10, pt 11, pt 12, pt 13

- Chapter 14 -

“I would like your advice on something,” Meng Yao said to his mother.

Meng Shi was wearing silk again, rich colors that suited her – she had fully recovered from the serious illness she’d had a few years back, something for which he would be forever thankful to Qinghe’s doctors because he knew she wouldn’t have made it if they were on their own –  and a fur-lined jacket that made her look especially comfortable. She finished pouring the tea and smiled at him.

“You do?” she teased. “Still, after all these years?”

“I’m never too old for your advice,” he said and kissed her on the cheek before sitting down.

The weiqi board in the corner was midway through a game, he noticed, and was glad: Sisi was terrible at weiqi, and the only other person who routinely played against Meng Shi was Nie Huaisang. Things between them had grown better as he’d grown older – he loved to paint, to play, to keep birds and raise flowers, and those were the things Meng Shi liked the most.

It was good to see them spending time together. Meng Yao hoped that Meng Shi could show Nie Huaisang how to forgive, and to remember how to be as carefree as he had once been.

After all, Nie Huaisang had taken up what had once been Meng Yao’s duties, during the war, all the intelligence work and strategy, the battlefield clean up and the politics, and it had left its marks. Indeed, if Meng Yao had been anyone other than Nie Huaisang’s dearly beloved brother, he would probably be the subject of a decade-long plan of utter obliteration right now, good motivations or not – in fact, he was pretty sure that Nie Huaisang had one already plotted out, and was still considering it an option if Meng Yao didn’t make regular deposits on the infinity of fans he apparently owed him.

(The brat wouldn’t take duplicates, either. Meng Yao had put in an order for someone to send him an entire ship’s worth from Dongying in the hopes that that would earn him a little credit. The relevant someone being Wei Wuxian, who was off exploring the world with Lan Wangji - possibly for no other reason than to get away from the rest of them all teasing them about the long and overly dramatic way in which they’d confessed their affections for each other.) 

Still, Nie Huaisang had forgiven Meng Yao, even if he hadn’t forgotten, and they were most of the way back to being as they had been before – which admittedly was closer than he’d ever been with Meng Shi, who Nie Huaisang seemed to treat as a casual acquaintance instead of a mother. He treated her about the same as Sisi, actually, and usually acted as if he thought Meng Yao and Nie Mingjue were his birth parents instead of his brothers.

And possibly Lan Xichen as some sort of rich uncle he could (and routinely did) extort for gifts.

(He still called him ‘pretty gege’, though he’d recently started up several debates – mostly monologues –  as to whether Lan Xichen ought to now be called ‘er-ge’ and Meng Yao ‘san-ge’ according to their ages, being that he was now part of the family, or if they should just all go ahead and get properly married already so that he could call him ‘sao-zi’ instead. They’d all collectively decided to ignore him.)

“Is it about those sworn brothers of yours?” she asked, lips curving up into a smile that was entirely unlike the practiced ones she had once used most of the time, a real one that was a little bit crooked, and that made it all the more beautiful in his eyes.

Meng Yao batted his eyelashes at her. “I will of course let myself be guided by Mother.”

She laughed. “I think it’s a good cover,” she said. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, now, and she didn’t try to hide it with make-up or anything else. Meng Yao treasured every blemish and imperfection. “You three can spend all your time in each other’s pockets, putting each other above everything else, and no one will question it – or, well, question it too much.”

“Let them talk,” Meng Yao said. There would never come a day when people didn’t whisper about him behind their sleeves, calling him the son of a whore, and nothing he could do, no matter how hard he tried, would stop it. He could only adjust his own thinking and ignore them, at peace in his heart with the knowledge that they were wrong about him. With the knowledge that he was better than they were or indeed would ever be.

Perhaps there was something to Lao Nie’s old exhortation after all.

“But do they have something to talk about?” his mother asked, arching her eyebrows at him. “You retire to the same room to sleep, but I’ve never seen any of you walking strangely the morning after – what are you waiting for? Actual marriage vows?”

“The sworn brother oath served that purpose,” Meng Yao said dismissively, just as he’d explained time and time again to Nie Huaisang. It was just as permanent, after all; they would be bound together in this life and the next, each name forever placed alongside the others in the annals of history. “And we’re just moving slowly.”

He’d explained, in the end, what Wen Ruohan had wanted, what Nie Mingjue was, what that meant; he didn’t want to keep it hidden and risk anyone later thinking that he was taking advantage.

He didn’t want to keep even one more secret from his lovers in this lifetime.

Nothing. Not even surprise parties.

Nie Mingjue hadn’t cared one bit about finding out that he was a furnace, because of course he didn’t; he was still an idiot after all these years. Lan Xichen, at least, had been rightfully alarmed – neither he nor Meng Yao wanted to risk harming Nie Mingjue by accident, no matter how much he argued that his cultivation was high enough that he wouldn’t even notice a setback, and anyway that he trusted them not to try to steal away from him.

Nie Mingjue had finally convinced them to try, the night after they’d taken the oath. Emotions had been running high, and they’d all fallen into bed together, their blood running hot.

It had been – an experience, to say the least.

Sex was pleasant, something Meng Yao knew intellectually from his days in the brothel and personally from the few experiences, male and female, he’d forced himself to have in order to ensure he didn’t have any demons in his heart on the subject. He’d been glad to confirm that although he liked it well enough, it wasn’t so good that he would become addicted to the feeling, descending into dissipation and cruelty the way his father had.

What they’d shared together on that night, however…that wasn’t just sex.

That was something he could become addicted to.

Meng Yao had insisted on a strict moratorium on any further activities until they could process what had just occurred, and it had been telling that neither Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen had argued.

It had been mindblowing, a combination of overwhelming physical pleasure and emotional satiation, and then there was the spiritual ecstasy of cultivation – Meng Yao’s own cultivation, never especially strong, increased at an almost frightening pace for the next week, and Lan Xichen had confirmed a similar effect had occurred for him. Nie Mingjue’s cultivation seemed just as high as ever, unharmed, but obviously they had to do more research before they did anything else lest they accidentally cause harm to him somehow.

That meant they were back down to the basics, limiting themselves to rubbing up against each other at night and offering each other helping hands, given that Meng Yao and Lan Xichen weren’t willing to do anything together if it meant excluding Nie Mingjue – though recently they’d figured out that Nie Mingjue could narrate pornography without batting an eyelash with that frankly magnificent voice of his, and also that he liked telling people what to do (they knew that already, but still)…

They were going slowly. That’s how Meng Yao thought of it, and it was fine – he had no doubt that they’d figure out how to move to the next step sooner or later.

Sooner rather than later, given how quickly Lan Xichen was pouring through their respective sect libraries; apparently sexual frustration was a very effective motivator for him.

“If you’re sure you’re happy,” his mother said, and he smiled. “You seem to be. I’m glad.”

He nodded.

“So if it’s not about that, what do you want advice on? You haven’t needed to consult me on political matters in years. A-Sang would be better at that.”

“It’s not entirely political,” Meng Yao said, “though it’s not entirely apolitical, either, and don’t worry, I’ll consult Huaisang as well. Nevertheless, I wanted your views on the subject. You see, a rather complicated situation has arisen…I’ve been made an unusual offer.”

“An offer? A-Yao…”

“I know, I know,” he said, smiling. “Be careful of offers from strange men, especially bad men, and this is exactly that. But I still thought it was something worth considering. After getting the benefit of your insight, of course.”

“Well, then,” she said. “Now I’m curious. What’s the offer?”

He gave her the letter that he had received and drank his tea while she read it, her eyes going wide and then even wider.

“So,” he said, when he judged that she was done. “What do you think? Do I look like a ‘Jin Guangyao’? Or should I tell my father to go commit anatomically improbable acts on himself?”

“A-Yao…”

“I’m serious,” Meng Yao insisted. “This was always your dream, well before it was mine: whatever you decide, I’ll do. If you’d like for me to claim what should have been mine from the start, I’ll do it, though obviously if he thinks a mere name is enough to convince me to leave Qinghe in favor of Lanling he’s got a nasty surprise coming his way. But if you want me to tell him to his face that I’d rather be your son than his, I’ll do that too.”

He leaned back in his chair, and smiled.

“After all, I already have everything I want.”

- END -

[thanks--for--listening]

tethers

hi party people guess who finally finished her fic for the wilds! i’m tagging it as leatin but you could probably read it either in a ship way or just in a friendship way. takes place after the ocean scene but we’re pretending Leah hasn’t gone into the woods to find nora yet. (also on ao3)

~~

The sun was overbearing. Leah tried to open her eyes, but the glare surrounded her, didn't leave room for anyone or anything else. There was no warmth or feeling — just light. She might have compared it to drowning, but the metaphor didn’t hold up anymore. She knew what drowning looked like; there was nothing bright about it.

The waves had been all darkness, pain and pressure toying with her like she weighed nothing at all. She’d heard the ocean described as unforgiving before, and she hadn’t understood it until she was out there. The water didn’t care about her. It didn’t care about anyone. There was fear, a survival instinct that couldn’t be ignored, but there was also something intoxicating about its indifference. Giving up control offered a serenity she hadn’t prepared for. A part of her still longed for it, although it wasn’t strong enough to break through the sun, to drag her up and off the beach. 

The constant light might have tricked her into thinking she’d succeeded, but she was pretty sure the afterlife wasn’t supposed to hurt this much. Every muscle in her body groaned, as if they’d rusted over in however long she’d been asleep. There was a quiet but constant pounding in her head, and she let it ground her, let every beat sync up with her heart and confirm that she was still alive. 

Her other sensations came back slowly. The hunger, deep in her gut, made itself known in whispers that weren’t easily ignored. The sand beneath her, damp and cold, served as a constant reminder of the hell she was waking up to. But more than anything, it was the feeling of a hand running through her hair that motivated her to blink away the sun and let reality come back into focus. 

Fatin wasn’t looking at her. Her eyes were cast outward, at the infinite ocean surrounding them. She stared at it like she could see past it, like there was more to look at than their own personal wasteland. Like she saw something that wasn’t there.

Leah’s eyes drifted to her hands. She could feel her right one still absentmindedly combing through her hair, but her left was in its own world. Her fingers kept moving, up and down and left to right, slowly then quickly, then slowly again. It looked sporadic at first, but the longer she watched, the more she felt like there was a rhythm to it. A pattern, although one she couldn’t decipher. 

Fatin glanced down, as if she felt her eyes on her. “You’re up.” The worry in her voice contradicted the smile on her face. “How do you feel?”

“Drowsy.” Speaking took more effort than it should have. Her voice carried it's now characteristic crack, the sound almost not coming out at all. 

“Here,” she said as she reached for a water bottle. “Drink slowly.”

Fatin helped her up, held her head as she drank. It didn’t matter that the water was warm — it came with the same relief it had in the few weeks they’d been here. Every sip calmed her, brought her back down to Earth, dampened the pounding and gnawing and rebelling going on inside her body, if only for a moment. Calm wasn’t something she held onto for very long.

She put the bottle down, shifted so her head ended up in Fatin’s lap. They’d never talked about it, this position she often found herself in. Leah wasn’t even sure how it had started. All she knew was that she liked the way it felt, to lay against her, to feel the warmth of another person underneath her. And after that day they’d spent searching, when all she could think about was Fatin dead in a ditch somewhere, Leah couldn’t deny the comfort it gave her, knowing for certain that she was okay. That she was alive. 

Fatin never stopped her, not once.

“How—uh, how are you feeling? You know, up here?“ Fatin tapped on the side of her head as she asked. The hesitation was so unlike her. Guilt reared its ugly head, reminded her of an indisputable fact: Fatin’s fear, her worry, it was all her fault. They were in hell, and she was making things worse. The way she always did.

“Better.” She answered confidently, even though she wasn’t entirely sure whether it was true or not. The desperation was out of the forefront, at the very least. But she wasn’t sure that would classify her as healed. As normal. Leah didn’t think she’d ever fit that label, not before this fucking island and definitely not on it. She did her best to ignore the sinking feeling that she might not find normal anytime after their castaway adventure, either. She would always be this way. That girl who ran to the ocean, she would live somewhere inside her forever. 

Fatin sighed in relief, and all at once she made the white lie worth it. “That’s two things to celebrate.”

“Two?”

Her face lit up. “We’ve got food now. Starvation is officially put on hold.”

She tried to smile. Truly, she did, but whether it was her body’s slow reaction time or her mind’s lingering hold on her, something wouldn’t let it happen. Pretending kept getting harder, and she couldn’t help but worry about what happened when she lost the ability entirely.

Fatin noticed. She always seemed to notice. “Aren’t you happy?” She could hear it in the way she spoke. The concern. Leah hated it, hated being the reason for it. 

“Yeah,” she answered a little too quickly. “Sorry. I’m just really tired. But that’s good, it really is.”

She didn’t look like she believed her. Leah didn’t know how to explain it, her lack of response. It was a little bit of everything: the dread at thinking about what came with survival, the fog from whatever she’d swallowed not fully faded, the lifetime spent not knowing how to feel anything the right amount. She was all or nothing, always had been. And right now, no matter what she did, she couldn’t escape the nothing. 

There was a numbness to it. She’d get moments, watching the world speed around her while she felt trapped in slow motion. The island had broken it initially, but the adrenaline faded with every day that passed, and it took any sort of regulation with it. All she was left with was her typical, fucked up self, her zero to a hundreds. And everyone else was left with it, too.

“What was that thing you were doing earlier?” She asked it mostly as a distraction. Fatin may not have been as shallow as she’d once thought, but she also didn’t pass up many opportunities to talk about herself. The attempt may have been futile, but it could work, if it managed to catch her off guard. Or if Fatin decided to amuse her and ignore the obvious avoidance.

Leah knew she had her when she scrunched her eyebrows together. “What thing?”

“With your hands. You were, like, not tapping exactly, but you were doing...I don’t know. You were moving a lot.”

“Oh. That.” Fatin didn’t blush, not visibly, but she’d seen that smile before. She knew what it meant. “It’s nothing.”

“Does it mean something?”

“No. It’s stupid. Just an old habit.”

She could hear the lie. It didn’t make sense, how something so inconsequential could be worth hiding. Genuine curiosity snuck in, made her forget about distractions entirely. “It’s not like you could embarrass yourself more than I already have, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Leah saw the smile tug at her lips. “Okay,” Fatin said, sounding more herself. “If I tell you, you have to promise you won’t tell anyone. My reputation depends on it.”

She forced her hand up to her lips, weakly mimicked zipping her mouth shut. Her arm screamed, but the effort was worth it for the laugh she got in return. 

“Alright. Sometimes, when I get bored, or when I need to get out of my head, I mentally run through whatever piece I’m learning.”

The connection took a second. “You mean cello pieces?”

Fatin nodded. “I use my thumb as the makeshift fingerboard,” she said, holding her hand up in front of her. “And I just...go through the motions.”

Leah watched as her fingers moved. She could see it more clearly now, the intentionality of it all. The routine. She moved quickly, confidently, with so much purpose and familiarity. It was something so small, but she felt like it shattered whatever was left of the misconstrued perception she’d had of her. 

Fatin stopped after a few seconds. “It’s stupid, I know.”

“It’s not stupid. It’s cool.”

She laughed. “If you think this is cool, your social education has failed you.”

“I’m serious.”

“Leah, it’s the cello. Nothing about the cello is cool.”

“Anything is cool if you’re good at it. And I heard you’re, like, really good. Like, Juilliard-level good. That’s cool.”

The smile faded. Leah didn’t understand it, felt a quiet desperation to get it back. “Yeah. Well, if one good thing comes out of this, it’s that I can leverage my parents to make sure I never have to go there. Not sure they’ll be able to say no to me ever again.”

“You don’t wanna go? But isn’t that, like, the be-all end-all school for music?”

“Yeah, if you wanna spend the rest of your life playing concertos written by dead racist white men and wasting your best years wearing concert attire.” She tried to smile, but Leah could see right through her. “You know me, I can’t live my life confined to an all black wardrobe.”

She hesitated, just for a second, before asking, “There’s more to it than that, though, isn’t there?”

For a second, Leah thought she’d deny it, but instead she just shook her head. “It’s complicated.”

“I’ve got time if you wanna explain it.” She motioned vaguely around then. “Schedule’s all clear for the foreseeable future.”

Their eyes met, and even if she’d been strong enough to move, she would have sat frozen in place. Fatin had a way of staring into her like she could see every thought running through her head, like every emotion she had was out on display. It was captivating, and fascinating, and terrifying, and Leah never wanted it to stop.

“My parents started me in lessons when I was little,” she said after a minute. “Tends to come with the territory when you’re first gen. Music is supposed to teach you discipline and patience. Immigrant parents eat that shit up.”

“I’m sure you took to that lesson real fast.”

Fatin cracked a smile. “Oh, yeah. Throw your kid into nonstop music lessons before they know how to read, and you could come out of it with me, every parent’s dream. Clearly I’m a walking success story.”

“I mean, you kinda are. That is, if you’re really that good.”

“Don’t get it twisted. I’m fucking amazing. But it isn’t because of some child prodigy bullshit, or because I have an abundance of patience. Most people aren’t born good at something. You have to work for it.”

She meant to ask it as a joke, but sincerity slipped out. “And...that’s what you did? You worked at it?”

“You don’t have to act all surprised. Yeah, I worked at it. I worked at it a lot.” She held up her hand, and for the first time Leah saw the rough calluses Dot had mentioned earlier. “You don’t get monstrosities like these without spending a lot of fucking time on it.”

“Wow.” She tried to imagine it, a tiny Fatin slaving away at an instrument that had to be just as big as her. A teenage Fatin locked away in a practice room, playing over and over and over again, wounds reopening so many times that even weeks on an island couldn’t properly heal them. “I didn’t realize you were so passionate about it.”

She didn’t say anything. For a second she wondered whether she’d gone too far, crossed a line she hadn’t realized was there. An apology was sitting at the tip of her tongue when Fatin sighed and said, “I used to be.”

She could hear it, the way they were treading into delicate territory. Part of her was scared to keep going. Every one of her companions seemed to have their own personal landmines hidden in their time before the crash, and the last thing she wanted was to set off an explosion. She knew how to blow up, but she wasn’t strong the way Fatin was — if she missed a step, she may not be able to put the pieces back together. 

It was the feeling of Fatin’s left hand stalled in the movement, still fingers content to stay tangled in her hair, that made Leah push aside the fear. She could beat herself up later for whatever mistakes she was bound to make, but she couldn’t do nothing. 

“What changed?” The words were an invitation, one she wasn’t sure Fatin would accept. The pain was palpable. Her eyes drifted away from Leah and back out into the ocean, and a small part of her wanted to go back in, to find whatever it was Fatin kept searching for.

“I did, I guess.” She spoke like she was saying the words for the first time. “It may be hard to believe, but I wasn’t a popular kid. I had a weird name and a weird family. I brought the wrong lunches to school and I wore the wrong clothes, and no one cared to look any deeper. But none of that mattered, because I had music.”

Leah could see the light creep into her eyes, slowly, quietly. “When I played,” she continued, “I understood everything. I could hear it, the way each note, each piece, was supposed to sound. I could practice, and practice, and practice, and I could get better. I could learn to do everything right.”

She talked about playing the way people talked at funerals: reminiscing about someone who was already gone, picking only the happy memories and pretending for just a moment that no other ones existed. And Leah knew it wasn’t the whole story, but there was something compelling about listening, about imagining a world in which everything made sense and no error was so abhorrent it couldn’t be fixed with a slight adjustment.

“By the time I was in middle school, my future had already been decided. I’d spent every day after school rehearsing, spent every summer at music camps. I never complained, because I truly thought there was nothing else. Nothing could be better than sitting on stage, impressing rows and rows of people who could only dream about having what I had.”

“It sounds amazing.” Leah hadn’t meant to say the words out loud, but it was true. It reminded her of writing. Searching for the right words, the right structure, the right pacing. The satisfaction that came with it. She may not have had an audience to look out on, but she’d had glimpses of the feeling. The ability to control the world around you, just for a second.

“It was, at first. Every crowd, every teacher and ensemble member, they all wanted to hear me. They wanted to be me. And maybe it’s shallow, but there’s nothing more intoxicating than being desired.”

“It’s not shallow.” It came out as a whisper. Leah turned her eyes down, even when she was certain Fatin’s had found their way back to her. She knew if she gave her the chance, Fatin would see everything, all the guilt and pain and humiliation. The pages might have burned, but the need for them, for what they once meant, hadn’t turned into ashes yet. 

“Maybe it’s not.” Her voice felt softer as she spoke again. “But it’s easier to say that when it’s coming from an audience. From something you have to earn. It’s a lot harder when it’s coming from boys who see a body instead of a person.”

“So that’s what changed.” She tried to put some humor into the words. The last thing she wanted Fatin to think was that she was judging her. She might have done it before, but the high ground she’d once placed herself on was sinking by the minute.

Fatin chucked. “Yeah, you could say that. It’s the classic story, really. Girl turns fourteen, goes through puberty, and suddenly popularity is offering itself up on a silver platter held by boys in football jerseys and envied by girls with Pom Poms. Trends shift. What was out is now in. And for the first time in my life, I was in.”

“That sounds nice.” She wasn’t sure whether she was lying or not. It did sound tempting, but popularity had always seemed too good to be true. There had to be a catch.

Fatin just sighed. “Part of it was. I’d spent years not really interacting with anyone outside of a rehearsal hall. I thought it’d be hard. But when you're used to searching for emotion in sheet music, faces become so much easier. All these kids projected everything, gave me all the right answers. I never even had to try.”

So much of who she was began to make sense. Her perceptiveness, her empathy, her uncanny ability to read a room. Fatin had gone from an open book to a complete mystery in the last few weeks, and for the first time since, Leah felt like she was beginning to figure her out.

“The people I started to hang with, they were so different from everyone I’d ever met,” Fatin continued. “They were bold. Independent. Filled with confidence that wasn’t reliant on anyone else. It was…” she shrugged. “It was revolutionary.”

“What do you mean?”

“They showed me an entirely different life. Everything I’d thought I could only get while performing was out there, waiting for me. And the options — there were so many options. For so long, music was the only thing I cared about, because it was the only thing that ever made me feel...I don’t know. Seen. Heard. Wanted. But when the world started paying attention to me, I started paying attention back. And the cello wasn’t enough anymore.”

“So, why didn’t you stop?”

Fatin rolled her eyes. “You say it like it’s that easy. I could complain until I ran out of air, but that wasn’t going to change anything. Juilliard was my future. My parents weren’t going to let me throw that away for complete uncertainty.”

“Even if you didn’t want it anymore?”

“What I want hasn’t mattered in that house in a long time.”

Leah hesitated, before asking, “Is that why you’re going to move?”

“You could say that.” She seemed to search for the words. “I thought I’d...my mom, I thought she’d…” Fatin sighed, and she could hear the way her breath shook, went unsteady for just a moment before she kept talking. “I don’t have anyone on my side. The only thing that could keep me there are my brothers, but I’m not what they need. Not now.”

She let the silence fill the space around them. She’d only known Fatin from glimpses in the halls, but in each one she was always talking. Surrounded by people. The idea of her alone was almost unimaginable. “At least you have your friends. I’ve only ever had one, and I went and threw him away.” She thought about Ian, about the tent, about every moment she’d blocked out when her view had been dominated by hand-written notes and whispered confessions. “You still have people to go back to.”

Fatin just shook her head. “It’s not that kind of relationship, hon. We don’t...the people I spend my time with, we don’t talk about the real stuff. I’m not sure any of them are gonna wanna stick around after I come back with all this.”

Leah frowned. “But what about the guys you…”

“The ones I’ve fucked?” Leah nodded. “No. Everything is temporary with them. It’s perfect.”

“It is?”

“Oh, yeah. We worked because we both knew what we were getting into. They used me, and I used them. They wanted a good time, and I...I wanted that feeling back. The applause.” She exaggerated the word, like she wanted it to be a joke. It didn’t work. “I wanted more of it. I wanted them to need me more than I needed them.”

“That sounds—”

“You can say it. I already know.”

“Say what?”

“That I’m a skank, and I’m taking all of us women down with me and my reckless promiscuity.”

“I was just going to say it sounds lonely.”

She watched Fatin bite her lip, turn her eyes up toward the sky. Leah looked up with her. The clouds could have been painted, they were moving so slowly. It calmed her, although she couldn’t figure out why. 

“There are worse feelings,” Fatin finally said, “than laying with someone who wants you, even if it won’t last.”

He crept in quickly, reminded her of the pain of being left, abandoned, desired and then repulsed. She thought about the dark that had followed and never stopped, the missed calls and the unheard screams. The deafening thud in her head telling her to swim until she reached the end. She thought about the paranoia, the intensity of knowing when something was wrong but having no way to prove it, no way to fix it. 

“Fatin,” she said softly, eyes still glued to the clouds. “I don’t want to stay here, but I don’t think I want to go back home, either.”

She could feel the stare, but she avoided it. “You don’t have to go home.”

“I have nowhere else to go. And even if I make it back, I’ll have nothing. No one.”

“That’s not true. You’ll have me.” Fatin put her hand on her chin, tilted her head, waited until their eyes met. “And there’s no if about it. We will make it out of here. I promise.”

“It’s not just the island. I can’t leave all my problems in my childhood bedroom. I can’t walk out of my own head. I…” she tried not to, but she felt the tear slip out anyway, felt it make its way down past her chin. “I don’t know how to live like this forever.”

Fatin bent over and hugged her, brought their heads together in a way Leah didn’t think was physically possible. “I’m not gonna lie to you and say that everything’s going to be easy. But I know it’ll get better.”

“How? How do you know?”

“Because nothing could possibly be worse than this.” Fatin raised her head, but she kept her hand in her hair. Leah let the motion bring her back down, let it fight off the waves as best as it could. 

She didn’t know how long they stayed there. Long enough for the panic about the future to subside. Long enough for Dot to come over with food. Fatin eased her up, helped her eat slowly, and Leah was grateful. She wasn’t sure she’d have had the self control not to over-indulge without her.

Sleep threatened, tried to tug at her eyelids when Fatin pulled her back down into her lap. She resisted, searched for something to focus on and found the ocean in front of them. The moment leading up to it had been a bit of a blur, desperation blocking out the rest of the world, but she knew who she’d left on the beach. She knew who’d had to watch. 

“Hey,” Leah forced herself to tear her gaze off the sea, to look her in the eye. To not hide from the pain. “I’m sorry for scaring you like that yesterday.”

Fatin shook her head. “Don’t apologize. I know you...you’re not wired like everyone else. You have to be stronger. And that sucks, it really, really does. But promise me something, okay?” Leah nodded, and Fatin put her hands on her cheeks, made sure she couldn’t look away, even if she’d wanted to. “If you ever start feeling that much darkness again, don’t run to the waves. You run to me.”

She didn’t trust her voice, didn’t trust herself to do anything but nod. Fatin stared at her for another moment, searched her eyes for something and seemed to find it. She let go, but her hand didn’t make its way back to her hair. Instead, they formed fists at her sides, held nothing but air and frustration.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

“Fatin.”

Leah could feel the breath she took. It was heavy, weighted with burdens Leah knew and ones she didn’t. “I’m sorry.” She spoke to the ground instead of at her. “When you ran out there, I didn’t know how to get to you. I didn’t know how to bring you back.”

“But you did.” This time it was Leah who searched, who’s eyes begged her to listen, to believe her. “Rachel may have carried me to shore, but you saved me, too, Fatin.”

Leah reached for her hand, unraveled it until it fit inside her own. She ran her fingers over the calluses, the marks that told a deeper story than she’d ever suspected. Part of her wondered if they’d ever go away, if any of their pasts would leave them unmarked, or if they’d have to carry those scars forever.

“You know what,” Fatin said after a moment, “you should come with us. Dot and I, you should live with us in LA after this.”

She tried to imagine it: a tiny apartment, the three of them desperately trying to figure out adulthood on their own. It sounded crazy, and unpredictable, and reckless. She wanted it more than anything.

“Okay, but on one condition: you have to play the cello for me, at least once.” 

Fatin scoffed. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“I just need to hear what all the fuss is about! If I’m living with a music virtuoso, I wanna get an exclusive performance before you retire all together.”

She rolled her eyes, but a grin fought its way through. “I’m not opposed to the idea of playing again, so long as it’s for you.”

“Really? Just for me?”

Fatin fake sighed. “Alright, Dot can listen too, I guess. But my piece selection will consist exclusively of Top 40 covers. If you hear the real stuff, you might become possessed like my parents and try to ship me off to Juilliard in my sleep.”

“Possessed? So what, you’re some kind of Siren now?”

She held her hands up in fake surrender. “I’m just stating facts. My playing convinced my immigrant parents to push their daughter toward a career in the arts. Who knows what other power it holds.”

They laughed, and Leah kept to herself the thought that she could never be a Siren. Sirens were supposed to be tempting only from afar, their beauty a mirage meant to lead sailors astray; the closer she looked, the more confident she became that Fatin was no facade. She might have been the realest thing Leah had.

“If I’m being honest, I kind of miss it.” She looked back at the island. Leah watched the way she stared at it, the hints of appreciation that slipped into her gaze. “This place may be a living nightmare, but it would be a hell of a spot to play. Not for an audition or an audience or anything. Just for the beauty of it.”

“What’s the piece? The one you were practicing before you came here?”

“You wouldn’t know it. Unless you’re a closeted classical music fan.”

“Can you show me what it sounds like?”

Fatin turned toward her and smiled. Leah knew she felt everything in extremes, but she was certain that she could spend forever looking at Fatin’s smile and never grow tired of it. 

She began to hum. It started off fast, the notes bouncing from high to low and back again before Leah could even really process them. The cello was about as foreign to her as any other instrument, but even she could tell it sounded hard. The movements she’d seen earlier began to make sense, the speed at which her hands had shifted. It was impressive, even now, with no instrument in sight. 

When she began to slow down, each note taking up more and more time, Leah closed her eyes. She could hear it now. The timidness that had appeared at the start faded, and all that was left was the emotion. The passion. Part of her longed to point to it, to show her that it hadn’t vanished the way she’d thought, but the last thing she wanted to do was stop the music. So instead she kept her mouth shut and just listened. 

Their hands had found their way back to one another. She let them stay there, momentarily intertwined. Her body still ached but she ignored it, forced her energy into memorizing this moment. When she’d jumped into the ocean, she hadn’t felt strong enough to pull herself back. Her brain could be so selective, so misleading. It could steal the few tethers she did have, leaving her disjointed from everyone around her, from reality itself. She still wasn’t entirely sure how to fix it, but she wanted to try. In her mind’s brief period of peace, she silently vowed to make as many as she could, to stock up on moments that made her feel grateful to be alive. She started with this: Fatin’s melody, accompanied only by the quiet push and pull of the waves. 

[starscheme]

Only You

Chapter Twenty-Two: A New Plan

Returning to the beach house, Steven was relieved to see that the Diamonds had gone. He was still seething after they had offered him another Spinel as some cheap replacement.

"Shouldn't we contact someone else before we leave?" Suggested Lars. "If we run into trouble and no one knows where we are, it could be a problem."

Though Steven didn't want too many people involved in this, Lars had a point. Normally, he would have put his trust in Connie, but her appearance caused such problems before. If Spinel was truly still out there, that creature was still inside of her and it didn't like Connie at all. He didn't want anything to set it off right away.

Once they got into the house, Steven asked to borrow Lars' phone and sent out a text to the next person he thought they could trust for this. Pearl. He'd been reminded once before, that he wasn't the only one that cared about Spinel. Pearl loved her like a sister and he thought if anyone could understand his insistence on searching for her, it would be Pearl.

He didn't bother looking for the other Gems before rushing to the warp pad now. Sodalite held tight to Lars' hand as she prepared to be transported. Though she was scared, Sodalite was determined not to be a hindrance this time. It was her fault that Spinel got away before, she couldn't let that happen again.

The light of the warp pad engulfed them all and when it faded, the three had been teleported to a large, snow covered valley. An unfinished tower stood in the middle, crumbling slightly due to weathered decay.

"My Steven, won't you be cold?" Asked Sodalite in concern. Though she'd only read about snow in some books Steven gave her, she knew it was generally cold for humans.

"It's fine, it's fine," insisted Steven as he stepped off the warp, clearly focused on the damaged tower off in the distance. "That's it. That's where Spinel liked to hide before..." he informed the others while pointing to the structure. "You two wait out here. If she is in there...she might freak out if she sees Sodalite."

"You can't just go in there alone," added Lars. "That thing was inside my head, remember? From what I felt back then, it's pretty psychotic if you ask me."

"Just...give me ten minutes inside to look around. We don't know for sure that she's in there...but if she is, Sodalite will just make her aggressive. Wait for ten minutes and then come in after me as quietly as possible."

Lars was reluctant to agree. He would have insisted on going with Steven, but he couldn't leave Sodalite out here alone. If she heard a loud noise and ran off, they would have to look for her too. He nodded eventually and watched as Steven stepped through the shallow snow to reach the tower's entrance.

Truthfully, the cold of the snow stung his feet, but there were bigger things to worry about. If he wasn't so desperate, he might have stopped to prepare for this a little more.

Once he stepped into the tower, Steven glanced around the empty room, snow had settled on the stone floor, worrying Steven a bit when he saw how undisturbed it was. Trying to keep his hopes up, he carefully walked up the spiraling stairs towards the second floor. He tried to convince himself that even if Spinel wasn't here, it didn't mean she wasn't hiding somewhere else. He just wanted to believe he could see her again. The real Spinel. Not some illusion he would create in his mother's room. When Steven finally reached the second floor, he hesitated to round the corner. If he walked in there and saw nothing, where else would Spinel be? He held his breath and just as he was about to walk inside, the phone in his pocket began to vibrate. The sudden sound nearly startled him to slip up, but it also forced him to stumble into the room.

He quickly fumbled for the phone, trying to turn it off, but dropped the device in the snow instead. The phone continued to ring as Steven stared at the towers unfinished second floor. Spinel wasn't here. He had a small sliver of hope that she would be here waiting for him, but there was nothing. He dropped to his knees, sitting in the snow, staring down at the phone that wouldn't stop ringing.

It was Pearl. Probably panicking after she got Stevens message. After all, they insisted he stay close, but he couldn't let this chance slip by. He wanted to see Spinel once more, even if it meant getting caught by that thing that was inside of her.

"Steven!" Called out Lars as he and Sodalite scrambled to the second floor to check on him.

"...she's not here," mumbled Steven quietly.

Lars looked around at the undisturbed snow and sighed, "...well...that doesn't mean anything. She might still-"

Sodalite had tried to go around Lars to reach Steven, but slipped and fell, face planting into the snow.

"Aw geez," Lars began, leaning down to help Sodalite up. "You okay?"

Sodalite nodded her head, brushing the snow from her hair as she got back to her feet. "Yes, I tripped over this thing..." answered Sodalite as she bent down to pluck the object from the snow. To her horror, it was a large shard of a pink Gem. With a gasp, Sodalite dropped the shard at once. Steven and Lars turned their attention to the Gem immediately.

"It's...a Rose Quartz..." muttered Steven as he reached for the Gem to inspect it further. "...or...a piece of one..."

Sodalite cowered away from the broken piece and hid behind Lars, "So-someone shattered her...?"

Lars stepped further into the room, kneeling down to start digging into the snow that covered the floor. it took a moment, but he eventually uncovered a few other shards. Unfortunately, not all of them looked as if they belonged together. Which meant they were from different Gems. All Rose Quartzes.

With Steven and Lars both digging and shifting the snow, they were able to recover what appeared to be at least four Rose Quarts Gems that had been broken into pieces. What did this mean? Was this proof that Spinel had been here? Did that thing destroy these Gems? For what? It was after him wasn't it? What purpose did it serve to go after Rose Quartzes? "We need to get back," stated Steven, gathering up the broken pieces into his shirt. "The others need to see this...and we need to confirm where the other Rose QWuartzes are."

Lars agreed, taking Sodalite's hand to keep her from tripping once again. She looked a bit queasy, but that was to be expected. Surely it wasn't easy to see shattered Gems like this. Once they reached the Warp pad and returned to the Beach House, they were met immediately by Pearl and Amethyst.

"Steven," Pearl sighed in relief as she placed down her phone. "Thank goodness! You're not supposed to leave the city right now, you know that!"

Though the Crystal Gems were happy to see him, their mood changed when they saw the shattered Gems that were cradled in his shirt. It was then that Steven explained why he had left and what they found there. Neither Amethyst nor Pearl could think of a reason that Rose Quartzes were being targeted, but Pearl seemed conflicted with the news that Spinel might still be out there. She wanted to believe it of course, but it was just as possible that this thing had taken over another Gem to do this.

"...either way, we're changing plans," insisted Steven now. "Clearly, me staying here is doing nothing. From now on, I'm using myself as bait. If this thing wants to play games, I'll play along."

"Steven..." began Amethyst, "...what if-"

"-Sodalite will be with me. It will be fine. From now on, where I go, she goes."

Sodalite flinched, "...y-yes, My Stev-"

"-hold up," interrupted Lars. "I get that Sodalite can help, but if that thing knows that Sodalite can hurt it, why would it go near you if Sodalite is with you? If anything, Sodalite should stay away from you to lure it out."

"But then how would we get her to him in time?" Pearl asked. "He wouldn't be safe without Sodalite close by."

"Well...how about we force its hand," suggested Amethyst. "...I mean, it's obsessed with Steven. So much so, that it took over Spinel so that Steven would love it, right? ...What if Steven loves someone else? If it's watching him or waiting somewhere...what if it sees Steven moving on and being happy with someone else? I mean, jealousy makes people do stupid things and Spinel was a pretty possessive Gem to begin with. It might be the fastest way to get her close to enough to Sodalite..."

"I'm not sure I like where you're going with this..." Lars began, glancing at Amethyst suspiciously.

"Just hear me out," insisted Amethyst. "There's no way that this thing is going to go near Sodalite now that it knows she can hurt it, but if it started to see Steven and Sodalite together...maybe it would get jealous enough to think that taking over Sodalite was the better option now? Did you say that she offered to become anyone you wanted, Steven? What if you made it look like you wanted Sodalite instead? Maybe that thing would willingly leave the body it has right now."

"Why does it have to be Sodalite?" Asked Lars in a huff. "Why can't some other Gem pretend to be his lover or something?"

Pearl smiled at Amethyst, impressed with the plan she had thought up. "No, I get it, it has to be Sodalite. Otherwise, there would be no reason for that creature to come anywhere near her. It would just hide in someone else as it's been doing and stay far away. I mean, we've had Sodalite stay here and even help search for it, but no luck. It would be better to lure it to Sodalite on its own. Besides, if it was anyone else, wouldn't the creature just try to eliminate them or take them over? At least if it tries to attack or take over Sodalite, she can retaliate and maybe even destroy the thing."

Steven was already resigned to use himself as bait and what they said made sense, but pretending to be in love with someone else? How would that even work? Most of his emotions had become dull since he thought he lost Spinel. Would he even be able to act at being happy?

Lars was going through all this in his head, trying to come up with some sort of solution that was better than theirs. It made sense to try it this way, but he had a pit in his stomach. "What...like what would they have to do?"

"Whatever Steven and Spinel would normally do?" shrugged Amethyst.

"Ha ha, no way," Lars refused as he grabbed Sodalite by the hand. "Sodalite is just barely tolerating other Gems. You want her to cozy up to Steven for, how long?"

"I need proof that Spinel is out there. ...we need to find that thing in order to see if it's still using her body, or if it really shattered her to occupy someone else," stated Steven evenly. He wasn't keen on this plan either, but it did sound like the best way to get that obsessive monster out in the open. "...contact Yellow Diamond and tell her to send soldiers to watch over any Rose Quartz Gems on Earth. ...I guess...in the meantime, we can try and lure the thing out using Sodalite."

"Whoa, whoa, you're really thinking about doing this? What about Sodalite? Doesn't she get a say in this?" asked Lars, slightly panicked that this plan was getting the green light. "I mean-I want to find that thing too but putting Sodalite in danger AND forcing her to act like Steven's girlfriend, come on, do you really just expect me to let you use her however you guys want?"

"We are not forcing her to do anything," replied Pearl, almost offended by the notion.

"She still sees Steven as her Diamond, you know she's not going to refuse anything he asks her to do. Now how is that fair to her?" asked Lars again.

Steven sighed, feeling rather boxed in by everything that was happening. If Spinel was out there, he wanted to find her as soon as possible. If that thing had really shattered her then he wanted to find it and destroy it just as quickly. If this was the fastest way to do it, he needed Sodalite to cooperate. "...Sodalite is staying here anyway," began Steven, "she'll just be staying a little closer to me."

Lars shook his head before finally turning to Sodalite. She had been rather silent through all this. "You don't have to do everything he asks, you know. You can refuse."

Sodalite was staring at the floor, just as she tended to do when forced to be around too many Gems. She didn't like to look directly at them and see the dark fog that surrounded them. However, she had been listening the whole time. Lars was right of course, she didn't want to spend time closer to Steven. He had a lot of dark fog swirling around him and it had only gotten worse since losing Spinel. If they went ahead with this plan, wouldn't that mean she wouldn't have any time alone to recoup after being around all these Gems? Also, what did acting like his lover mean? Was it the same as being with Lars? Did she have to treat Steven as she treated Lars? She didn't want to refuse Steven's request, but she didn't want to make Lars angry either and he seemed rather upset over this latest order. Would he hate her for doing this?

"I-I want to help. ...but...what-what do I have to do?" asked Sodalite quietly, keeping her eyes on the floor.

"...Well...for one...you won't be able to see Lars for a while..." replied Pearl.

"Wh-Why?!" gasped Sodalite, lifting her head to face Pearl now, though averting her gaze rather quickly.

"...That thing has all of Spinels memories. So it would know how attached you are to Lars. It won't believe that you've become attached to Steven if Lars hangs around or if you cling to Lars," Pearl explained. "I know it's asking a lot, but you're the only weapon we have against this thing and we need to make it come to you. ...It's already shattered Gems and hurt Lars. It's dangerous and unstable."

Sodalite glanced at Lars, troubled by the irritated look on his face. He clearly didn't want her to do this. It was understandable. Seeing Lars act friendly with another Gem or human girl would upset her too, but this was her chance to do something useful. Even before she broke, she had been deemed useless. After being fixed, she still felt broken. Perhaps by doing this, she could redeem herself just a little bit. Maybe if she was successful in doing this, she wouldn't feel like such a burden just for existing. "I-I'm sorry..." she began, gripping Lars' sleeve between her fingers, "...it-it won't be for too long..."

"Are you serious?" asked Lars before turning to Sodalite and placing his hands on her shoulders to lean down and meet her eyes. "You really don't have to do this stuff, you know? You're already living here and I barely see you as it is. Pretending to be a couple with Steven isn't like what goes on between you and me."

"...I-I just want to help. I'm-I helped this thing...it used me to get here. ...I-I couldn't do anything last time. ...I can-I can be useful...this way..."

Lars heaved a heavy sigh when he saw the look on Sodalite's face. This was important for her, wasn't it? Still, that didn't mean he was okay with it. "This is bullshit," grumbled Lars, turning away from Sodalite. Even if this was pretend, he had to not only stay away from Sodalite, but worry the entire time about her safety while Steven was cuddling up to her.

"P-please...don't be angry with me..." pleaded Sodalite, stepping forward to reach for Lars' hand.

Lars glanced back at her and deflated. He wanted to be angry, but he knew that if he yelled and made a fuss, Sodalite would just blame herself. "...I...not angry with you," he replied finally, reaching out to take her hand. "i know you just want to help."

"It's not as if Sodalite is going to actually be my lover," added Steven, trying to make Lars a but less anxious. He understood this was a but much. "I'm not going to kiss her or anything. She just...needs to be around me. I love Spinel. ...I don't want to even pretend to love someone else...but I'll do anything to see her again. I know that Sodalite is important to you, just like Spinel is to me. I'll be with her to keep her safe...and I'll try to keep her from being around too many Gems at once."

Lars ran his hand through his hair, clearly not okay with any of this, but it wasn't his call. Sodalite had already agreed and he didn't want to tell her what to do. She didn't often insist on doing anything, especially if he voiced his concern over it. They had barely become a couple, so of course he was going to be insecure about all this. "...I can't see her, but I'll want to know how she's doing...and I'm gonna make a list of ground rules," replied Lars.

Steven nodded his head. If the shoe was on the other foot, he would have trouble agreeing to something like this too. They weren't even positive that Spinel was still being used by that thing, but he didn't want to give up and despair again. All they had to do now was start their own game and hope that the monster would play along.

[littlegiantposts]

pilot

kageyama x f!reader

may contain spoilers!

EDIT: HIIII SO UH THERES A “pilot ~revised~” ON MY PAGE SO I RECCOMENTD READING THAT ONE CUZ IT HAS MORE CONTENT 👍🏽

Here’s the link:

description: In which Y/n is a new addition to Karasuno’s Girl’s Volleyball Club 

THIS IS REALLY JUST LIKE...A TEST RUN..FOR THIS STORY CUZ I DONT THINK IM THAT GREAT AT WRITING and i feel like people wont really like it. so....yeah.

a/n: ok so, I’ve been thinking of this concept so much lately. It started off as just as a nice story to play in my head, but I really wanted to see if I could write it down. So, I felt like I haven’t really seen a lot of imagines or content on the girl’s volleyball club and I felt like it would be cool to explore that side. First things first, I am raised in California. Thus, I am quite incompetent in knowledge about Japan schooling. All my knowledge is really from me googling stuff and ofc, watching haikyuu. With that said, if I made a mistake on the take of Japan schooling, I do not mean to cause any offense. This is solely for entertainment purposes. With that said, I do not own the characters of haikyuu. However, there are some characters I made up with my own imagination. In addition, this is an “x reader” sort of story but I will be defining some of her characteristics so I am sorry if it hinders you from imagining its you. Finally, I am not that good at writing stories lol but im trying. I hope you enjoy.

I hate introductions. Y/n thought to herself as she sat back down in her seat after standing in front of the class, stating her name and her previous school. Her gaze shifted towards the window. The sun was out and shining and she had the perfect view of the gymnasium. Oh how she just wanted to get up from her uncomfy chair and leave the boring lecture and head towards the gym. 

It was the first day of school for Y/n at Karasuno High. It’s not like she started in the middle of the semester, no, she was just about a month late into the school year. With her work ethic, she didn’t feel any pressure in order to catch up with everyone else. She knew she would get it done.

It’s not really her fault she came a bit late into the school year either. Her dad’s job required a small move, not that she was complaining. She didn’t really feel tied down at her old high school because: she wasn’t there for that long and she didn’t really make any friends, despite joining a sport. 

It’s not that she didn’t want to make friends. It seems that her track record, or the lack thereof, from junior high with meeting new people has left an imprint on her.

Y/n looks down at the worksheet that was passed out in the beginning of class. The assignment was already completed due to Y/n’s eagerness to finish any homework that would take away time from her main passion.

Some people would say she was obsessed. Some would say dedicated. She simply sees volleyball as an opportunity. The class bell rings, signaling for lunch. Before she realizes it, she is walking towards the gym, in which she would meet the girl’s volleyball captain. As she is switching shoes, she can hear screaming from inside. 

“-What did I tell you about touching my onigiri! You are going to pay for that!” “I really didn’t mean it this time, I promise! I didn’t know it was yours!” The voices were muffled, yet she was still able to hear the sincerity in both of the voices. Y/n was about to open the gymnasium’s door when the door swung open by a tall pink-haired girl. She was being chased by another tall girl with long blonde hair, but she was a bit shorter than the pink one. Before Y/n could process stepping aside because it seemed the pink-haired girl had no inclination in stopping, she was tumbled to the ground by the girl who she can only guess took an onigiri without permission. As well, the blonde clumsily tripped and fell on top of the two.

“You idiots! Will you stop it! We already told you, we got a guest coming today and we want to make a good first impression!” A stern voice called out inside the gym.

“Um, Moa-san, I think our wishes are already soiled.” Another voice chimed in from the gym.

“Wha- You dumbasses! Hey, are you okay?” A girl with dirty blonde hair came out from the entrance and offered a hand towards Y/n as the two perpetrators started to get up with apologies towards Y/n. 

“Yeah, I am good.” Despite just being tackled to the ground, Y/n remains as neutral as ever. 

“Aren’t you going to ask if we are okay?” The energetic, pink haired spoke.

“As if I care when you collide into our guest! You really need to be more cautious, Etsuko!” She barked. “I am Aihara Moa. Pleasure to meet you. You’re the first year that turned that application past the deadline, right?” she states more calmly than her previous statement. 

“Pleasure is all mine. And, yes. Sorry for the inconvenience.” Y/n states with quite the unfazed face. 

Does this kid crack a smile once in a while? Moa asked in her mind. She seems quite different than the other first years we have. Her thoughts continue.

“I am Oba Yuma and this is Morita Etsuko.” Yuma, who had the pretty, long blonde hair, spoke with a warm smile.

“Why did you introduce me?! I wanted to have a cool introduction!” Etsuko huffed with a small pout. 

“Well, it’s not like you can recover your so-called ‘cool introduction’ from that full-body collision.” Yuma smoothly replied. Etsuko’s eyes widened and cheeks heated up as she couldn’t come up with a sly comeback to her logic. 

“You guys are just lucky that Rinko isn’t here to scold you.” Moa warned the 2 first years. With the mention of the scary third year that wasn’t even the captain, yet she reigned supreme in the disciplinary department, they shivered at the thought of the punishment. 

As Y/n stepped further into the big, bright court, she spotted that she could only assume was the captain as she looked so appalled at what happened. 

“Hello, you must be Michimiya Yui.” Y/n knew she had to say something to pull the worried captain from her thoughts. 

“Hi! Yes, that’s me! I am so sorry for those two. I would say they aren’t always like that, but I don’t want to lie to a potential teammate.” Yui spoke with an uneasy smile.

Yuma and Etsuko’s interests peaked when they heard “a potential teammate” come out of their captains' mouths. They were the only first years on the team, so the thought of another person in the same boat as them made them excited and wanted to join the conversation. The two first years gave each other a look and started to walk towards Yui and hopefully their new friend. However, before they could even be in ear-shot, the pair got pulled away by Sasaki Chizuru, another third year.

“Oh, no. Don’t think you will be bombarding her with questions right off the bat.” She bluntly states.

“Oh, c’mon Sasaki, aren’t you curious about her? Like how did she get into volleyball? Or even, is she a beginner? Or maybe she is an absolute monster who dominates the court!” Etsuko proclaimed as her mind went too fast for her mouth to follow.

“As of right now, it’s not our business. All we can do, and are allowed to do”, emphasizing the word ‘allowed’, “is to watch from the sidelines and quietly eat our lunches.” Chizuru instructed the first years and pointed at the far corner of the gym. 

Despite her own words, Chizuru couldn’t help but glance at Y/n and wonder the same things that the first year questioned. At face value, Y/n was quite the enigma. The 2 first years gave a pout, but headed towards their desired location.

“So, you came from Niiyama Girls' High? That’s a really good school for volleyball. What made you come to Karasuno?” Yui asked.

“It was the most ideal school in terms of my dad’s work location.” Y/n states plainly. She didn’t technically lie. Well, it was an ideal school in terms to the proximity to her new apartment, but that was not the only reason. She saw videos of their interhigh-prelims last year and to be quite frank, Y/n was not entirely impressed with the state of their team. However, she knew that this meant there was room to grow for them. She knew very well that she could have gone to Shiratorizawa and joined their girls’ volleyball club. Objectively, with her skill set, Shiratorizawa made sense. Nonetheless, Y/n didn’t know what compelled her to pick this one. She convinced herself it was because she is a sucker for rooting the underdog. 

Does this kid show any emotion? Yui thought in her mind. It’s like nothing affects her. Her thoughts continued.

“How long have you been playing volleyball?” Yui curiously asked.

“Since the 2nd grade.” Y/n quickly states. As much as she wasn’t showing it, she was just itching to show what she can do. The court was right there in front of her, after all.

“That’s impressive, alright, well if you’re comfortable with it, I’d love to see some serves and sets from you. After school, we can hold a three on three since we all aren’t really in the right clothes to play.” 

“Sounds good.” To say Y/n was excited would be an understatement. As she removed her cream sweater, she could feel a set of eyes burning a hole on her back. She turned around to put her sweater down and realized that she was wrong. It wasn’t one pair of eyes, it was all of them, curious to see how good she really is. She could feel her heart pounding at the thought of holding everyone’s attention. She knew if she let her mind continue, the nerves would get to her and hinder her performance. She took deep breaths and started to quietly humm a song that was previously playing on her phone from her morning ride to school. 

Yui passed a volleyball to her and ran to the other side of the net, and yelled, “Let’s see what ya got!”

Y/n carried herself behind the serve line, taking one deep breath to keep her hands from shaking. With that exhale, she opened her eyes and focused her sights on Yui. The captain wouldn’t admit it, but she could already feel herself sweating under the first year’s gaze.  

She looks so intimidating. I’m not even on the court, yet I’m scared. Yuma viewed Y/n’s determined look. For Y/n, it was as if everything crumbled away and the only thing remained was the court. She starts her run up.

A jump serve?! Yuma, Etsuko, and Chizuru incredulously thought simultaneously with eyes basically bugging out of their head. They watch in amazement as she jumps with severe height and reeled her arm back. After that, all that could be sensed was a loud snap and then the ball smacked the ground next to the wide-eyed captain. The impact from the ball gave a small breeze through Yui’s short hair. The deafening silence that followed her serve filled the room in an instant. Those watching from the sidelines had to pick up their jaws from the floor.

“She’s a first year?! Are you sure?!” Etsuko broke the silence with her curiosity getting the best of her. 

“Boke Etsuko! That was already clarified, don’t make her repeat herself!” Yuma scolded. While Yui read your capabilities on your application form, it was nothing like actually being on the receiving end in real time. 

“That’s quite a serve she got in her arsenal.” A voice startled the three high school students, sitting on the sidelines. Etsuko and Yuma were the most startled, but Chizuru was quite used to her fellow classmates popping in every now and then.

“Seriously, Sudou. We have to put a bell on you or something because I don’t think my heart can take any of your surprise entrances.” Sudou Rinko only slyly chuckles at Etsuko remark. She looks over at Y/n and Yui on the court.

“Did you guys see the precision on that serve?” Rinko posed to the other three sitting on the ground, munching on their lunch.

“Well, not really, but it landed, like, near Michimiya, right?” Etsuko tries to come up with the answer that Rinko was looking for. 

“It landed right next to her left foot. I think that pipsqueak is able to aim her serve.”

“What?! That’s insane.”

“Yeah, insane, but not impossible.”

“With her, maybe we can win more games!”

“Don’t get your hopes up, Etsuko, a team is only good if everyone is giving their all.” Yuma reminds. “After all, there’s not only one person on the court, there’s six.”

“I heard she came from Niiyama Girls' High” Sudou stated as she reverted her gaze back to her fellow teammates. They stared at her after she gave more information on the stranger in their gym. 

“Why would she come to Karasuno then?” Yuma asked honestly. She knew that her team had strengths, but she also knew that other teams had strengths that overpowered them.

“How could you diss your own school like that?” Etsuko was almost angry at how her teammate was treating their school. She always was the one to take pride in everything she does. 

“No, that’s a valid question. It makes sense that a player with her caliber would be well-suited in a powerhouse school.” Rinko supported Yuma in her question. All four look ahead and see that Y/n is beginning to set for Yui.

“Her precision and accuracy are so on point, it almost makes me sick.” Yuma commented on how your form for setting only held the necessities. Y/n stepped with purpose, and it showed as she passed a nice set for Yui, allowing her to have optimal choices in where she can place her spike.

so um, that’s really all i got haha I started this like yesterday instead of doing hw so yeah. Feedback and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. So, did u like it? Did u hate it? Are u confused by it? lol yeah okie bye 

[true-blue-megamind]

Daylight and Dark Ch. 3 - Ares

Photo by Joe Waranont

Some Yuletide silliness and... At last!  Enter the villain!

CHAPTER RATING: Teen; FULL FICTION RATING: Explicit.   WARNINGS FOR  ENTIRE WORK: violence, sex, language, references to prior domestic abuse, and rock n’ roll! CHAPTER WARNINGS: brief description of violence.

There is nothing NSFW in this chapter, but it is a bit long, so I am adding a Click Here to Keep Reading link.  You can also read the entire entire fiction HERE.

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There were moments in life when Roxanne couldn't help but think about perspective: about how funny it was that a person could never clearly see the road to their destination until that destination had been reached. She'd felt that way one bitter winter morning, in her office, when she had suddenly realized that she was becoming one of those sentimental hack reporters she'd always hated. She'd felt that way on the long-ago windy spring afternoon when she had finally understood that she would never have feelings for Metro Man, and she'd felt it on the early summer day last year when she'd learned, to her own surprise, she was in love with his former nemesis. Roxanne had that same feeling tonight. Stepping out of the taxi Megamind had insisted on paying for she'd immediately been met by three brainbots, two of which immediately took charge of her small suitcase.  Greeting them with pats, she had walked the last block through the biting December chill with her unusual escort bowging at her heels.  The little cyborgs had darted away once their charge reached Megamind's invisible doorstep, probably to inform their master of her arrival. Now she stood alone and stared at a cross-stitched sampler, hung incongruously beside what appeared to be a solid wall, which read: "Lair Sweet Lair" in slightly crooked letters. What was he up to?

That September afternoon on the balcony, after the first night they'd made love, had been a turning point in Roxanne and Megamind's relationship. She had expected that, of course, but now that she had arrived at this still-mysterious milestone in her life, something in the back of her mind teased that it had been even more important than she'd realized. They had shared deep, personal sorrows, hidden from all other eyes, and an impenetrable glass wall had been removed. She realized, at this moment, that something undefinable had happened as well. Ever since that day, something had begun building between them, unnoticed and unspoken, creating a channel into which two spirits were poured and mingled. Try though she might, however, that something refused to slide into focus. It was both elating and terrifying, for Roxanne had not fully expected the cozy intensity that she and Megamind had found. How was it possible to feel so relaxed, so at home, around someone that being near him was like snuggling into a favorite sweater, while still feeling so powerfully and passionately attached to that same person that he made you antsy, strangely warm, and a little nervous? How was it even possible to feel simultaneously self-conscious and comfortable in the first place?

The oddity of those emotions was disconcerting enough, but worse still was the fact that Roxanne had realized that she no longer loved solitude, because solitude meant Megamind wasn't around.  True, she still enjoyed many of the same quiet hobbies— reading books, binging sci-fi movies, solving crossword puzzles—but now she was only happy if a certain blue alien was beside her, busily sketching design schematics for his latest invention, or pointing out in hilariously descriptive detail why a particular piece of film prop "space tech" wouldn't actually work at all.  She had always disdained those couples who seemed to be attached at the hip: the sort that showed up to every party together and skipped any function one of them couldn't attend. Now it seemed she was becoming half of one. Worst of all, she didn't mind. She liked it. She was sublimely happy with it.

What is wrong with me?

She and Megamind had fallen into an easy rhythm as serene and unquestioning as the deepest friendship, yet had retained all the fire and ardor of a new infatuation. A traitorous little voice in her head asked if this was the way people felt before they got married, moved to the suburbs, gained ten pounds, and started daydreaming about babies. She refused to listen, refused to even consider the possibility of leaving chic professionalism for matrimonial doom, but that same little voice reminded her that it wouldn't be so bad as long as it was with Megamind. Despite all her denials, Roxanne had to admit that something new had grown between herself and her favorite hero, inching up, bit by bit, undetected, until suddenly she noticed it was all around her. Small kindnesses, shared moments, camaraderie, and passion had all built into something beautiful, strange, and a little scary.

Which is what brought her to tonight and her current situation, as she stood shivering in the winter evening, looking at that foolish sampler and wondering why the sight of it set alarm bells ringing in her head. Megamind had invited her over, insisting that he had a Christmas gift that couldn't wait for Christmas, and she had not considered the oddity of the date until this moment.

Why now? Why tonight?

That was it. Roxanne's eyes widened with a realization that should have been obvious. Today was December 12th. Exactly eighteen years ago Margaret Ritchi, Roxanne's mother, had taken a turn too quickly, swerved on icy pavement, and ended her life. Although it wasn't unusual for Roxanne to visit her lover in the middle of the week, it was unlike Megamind to ask her over at a specific time, especially when she had just gotten back into town, tired after a business trip, which indicated that he probably had something planned. It would be exactly like him to researched old traffic incidents just so that he could invite her over to cheer her up on the anniversary of her mother's death.

The question was, was he just planning on distracting her from her memories, or did he have something more serious in mind?

"Miss Ritchi," Minion appeared through the hologram wall, less than two feet away from Roxanne. She had to crane her neck up to look into the fishy face set atop his six-foot-tall robotic body. "Miss Ritchi, if you please, could you come inside? He's been watching you on the monitor for ten minutes and he's starting to worry."

"Oh, I… Of course. I'm sorry Minion. I just—"

It was always odd watching a fish smile. "No apologies needed. Just come inside before you freeze."

He ushered her through with the wave of a metallic arm, and Roxanne stopped so suddenly that he nearly crashed into her as he followed.

"Oh, my…"

Garlands. The Evil Lair was strung with garlands of faux evergreen twigs, plastic holly, and red and gold ribbons. Multiple strings of colored lights, hung with no apparent order or plan in mind, blinked, chased, and sparkled in crisscrossing lines until the flashing dials and blinking buttons in the workroom looked like no more than additional decorations. In the middle of the yuletide chaos stood a massive Christmas tree, its top nearly lost in the shadows of the high ceiling. Brainbots hovered and buzzed around it, trimming it in a haphazard fashion that Roxanne suspected explained the random order of the rest of the decorations. Most of the items being hung on the tree were normal— glass balls, silvery snowflakes, diminutive, jolly Santas— but every now and again a brain bot added a shiny bit of wire or a large metal nut. Christmas carols were blaring from the nearby stereo.

"Roxanne! What do you think?" Megamind's happy voice startled her from her contemplation. He jumped down the last two industrial steps leading up to the second floor, his face glowing with good cheer and one arm sweeping out proudly to indicate the scene. Roxanne turned her eyes back to the seasonal décor and the happily buzzing robots. After the initial shock, it really wasn't so bad. In fact, it was almost cute, like the messy decorations of enthusiastic children.

"It's wonderful," she answered, turning back to her lover with a genuine smile.

He beamed at her. "I'm so glad you like it! And look," he added with a sly smile. "We've got rocket-toe!"

"Mistletoe, silly," Roxanne smiled, leaning up to give him a soft kiss.

"Rocket, missile, what does it matter? Missiles have rocket propulsion systems."

"Uh-huh," Roxanne's expression was all wry amusement.

"The early Soviet Vostok rockets were based on the R-7 ICBM," Megamind informed her. "So I can see no reason whatsoever why rocket-toe should be any less—"

"Megamind?"

"Hmmm?"

"It's still called Mistletoe."

"Potato, tomato, potato, cucumber," he answered with a teasing grin.

Roxanne laughed. "Cucumber? Really? Why cucumber?"

"Well, they both grow on vines. Yet tomatoes are technically fruits while cucumbers are vegetables."

Roxanne laughed. "I always thought that was kind of weird. I mean: why?"

"They're gourds."

"What?"

"Cucumbers. They're gourds."

"Megamind, I was talking about the tomatoes-are-fruits thing."

"Ah, well, botanically, they're ripened flower ovaries that contain seeds, and—"

"Sir—" interjected Minion.

"And this will really blow your mind: so are zucchinis!"

"Sir—"

"Think about it: cucumbers and zucchinis, so similar yet so different."

"Sir! Didn't you have something to show Miss Ritchi?"

"Oh! Of course!" his face lit up, and he grabbed Roxanne's hand. "Come up! You'll love this! Wait until you see the dining room!"

"Dining… But you don't have a—"

"We do now! Follow me!"

He pulled her bodily past the command room and back up the metal stairs, her surprise growing with every step. The conference room near the kitchen— which had never seemed to serve much purpose since any meetings involved only Megamind, Minion, and, during the last several months, Roxanne— had, indeed, been transformed into a cozy dining room. Another garland swagged across the doorway, and a dark wood table, set as if in expectation of a festive meal, displayed a centerpiece of holly and ribbons surrounding three crème-colored candles. Beside the industrial stairs leading to the third floor— their banisters also bedecked in Yuletide fashion— the plain bathroom that had once served the offices over the factory had been updated and expanded. It looked as if it belonged in a wealthy grandma's house— if Granny had decided to go Goth. A largely unused, cavernous storage space had been turned into a sitting room. It proudly boasted not only a black leather sofa, matching recliner, and built-in dark wood bookshelves stuffed with second-hand volumes, but also an old-fashioned pot-bellied stove that Roxanne was almost certain was against fire codes. In one corner, a more elegantly decorated Christmas tree— probably Minion's work— stood glittering with white lights and antique glass ornaments.

Even that wasn't the most shocking addition to the new living space, however.

"Megamind, there aren't any external walls here. How on earth did you put in windows?"

"Isn't it great?!" he threw himself into the chair, grabbed a remote control from a side pocket, and aimed it at the window. Instantly the view of Metro City Beach was replaced by a forested mountain range.

"It's absurdly simple, really: just a high-definition plasma monitor that I mounted behind framed glass and connected to video feeds that I've had set up in various locations! That conversation we had last autumn about your apartment windows gave me the idea. Look! If you don't like the view, you just change the scenery with a press of a button!"

He clicked the control a couple of more times, bringing up a snow-covered prairie, a quaint French village, and a tropical reef.

"Minion picked out the last one," he explained. "It also interfaces with the supercomputer, so you can use it for research, calls… Look, the frames retract for a better view!"  he demonstrated.  "Then you push this button, and... voila!" A holographic keyboard had appeared in midair above the remote.  Megamind set the device down, and, to Roxanne's astonishment, began typing.  A browser popped up on the "window," and he navigated to a video featuring winter scenery to the accompaniment of a Boston Pop's Christmas album.

"Megamind, that's really amazing," Roxanne managed. "All of this is, really... I mean, you've made it so—" she almost said "homey," but bit back the word and finished with: "comfortable."

"I'm glad to hear you say that!" There was something warm in his voice that both thrilled and frightened her. "Oh! Oh! Oh! But it gets even better!" He leaped up and tugged her out of the room. "Let me show you what we've done upstairs!"

The third floor, once comprised of large executive offices, was where Minion and Megamind slept. Roxanne had been there many times in the past weeks, though she was admittedly usually too preoccupied to give much attention to the décor.

Megamind's room had changed from a blacked-out bachelor pad to a stylishly Gothic bedchamber. The walls were a rich blue. A full suite of carved ebony furniture—bed, wardrobe, nightstand, and chest of drawers— had replaced the previous collection of mismatched thrift finds. The ornate four-poster sported a new satin coverlet set in hues of gray, black, and cobalt, and was piled with silky-looking ash-colored pillows that Roxanne suspected matched the sheets. An impressionist oil painting of a historic street at night— rendered almost entirely in blue shades and black shadows— and a large mirror both hung in antique silver frames. Two lamps and a small chandelier, all wrought iron, completed the picture. It belonged on the cover of Evil Lair and Garden. Or maybe as the set of a photoshoot for Bad Boys Weekly. That would be better. All it lacked was its sexy male occupant lounging on the covers. The thought made Roxanne shiver with delight.

Minion's room reminded her of a garden pool, all greens, browns, and teals.  Its bamboo furnishings and simple stone accents gave it a slightly Asian ambiance. The style was completely different from Megamind's Vampire Chic bedroom. Full of clean lines and abstract art, it looked more like a post-modern interior design catalog than a Goth culture magazine.

"He picked everything out himself," Megamind was saying. "You should have seen him, like a kid in a candy store! When I told him I wouldn't invade his privacy by bringing you to his room, he was utterly offended! He insisted that if I didn't show you he would never speak to me again. And that I could expect literally everything he cooked to be smothered in mayonnaise for at least a week!" The blue man made a show of shuddering in horror. Looking around, he added: "I should have let him redecorate years ago."

"I'm curious, why is there no bed?"

"Roxanne, he's a fish. He lives in a fishbowl."

The grin she gave him was three parts knowing and one part sly triumph. "And so he has a bedroom because….?"

Megamind blushed a little under his blue tint. "Well, I mean, you know..."

Cocking one arm to rest on her hip, Roxanne gently poked his chest with her other forefinger. "I always knew you were a big softy deep inside, even when you were a supervillain."

He spluttered. "That isn't… I am not… I was disgustingly horrifying! And..."

She laid a finger over his lips. "I always knew, and I love you for it." Smiling into his emerald eyes, she tilted her face up to give him a long, deep kiss. "Now, before you take me back to your new bedroom, tell me: what's that other door at the end of the hall?"

"That, well," He smiled and rubbed one ear, a nervous gesture she had come to adore. "That's my early Christmas present to you. Come have a look."

He took her hand gently this time, and when he pushed open the third door, Roxanne's mouth fell open.

"Ta-da!" he spun to face her, cloak billowing.  His tone was all bold showmanship as he swung his arms wide to encompass their surroundings, but Roxanne knew him well enough to recognize the uneasiness hidden behind the bravado.

She stared around wide-eyed at the vaguely familiar round room. Everything in it had been changed so completely that it took her a moment to recognize the place she had awoken during her final kidnapping. The industrial elevator and second floor had been removed. A spiral staircase now led to a cozy loft and catwalk lined with wooden bookcases. All of the equipment had been moved out, the domed walls and ceiling had been expertly plastered and painted, and, where there had once been a telescope with mechanical shutters, there were now two glass doors leading onto a private balcony overlooking Lake Michigan. It was… perfect. Wonderfully, frighteningly perfect. Her own style—too formal to be modern but too clean to be antique—her favorite colors—sage green, sky blue, and soft ivory with cheerful red accents.  The bookshelves—obviously custom-made to fit the curving walls—and few other pieces of furniture were warmly-stained oak that exactly matched the contents of her apartment.  There were several empty spaces where she was clearly intended to move in her things. Roxanne knew she should have been thrilled—all the work, care, and expense he'd put into this would be enough to make any one of those silly interns goofy with elation—but all she could feel was cold dread.

"I was thinking we could put your living room suite upstairs to make a reading nook! And look!" He grabbed another remote control from a bracket on the wall. "I've renovated the alligator pit!" With the push of a button, a round trap door—one the reporter remembered with something almost like fondness— opened, and a half-moon desk with a cushy office chair rose on a platform to click into place with the rest of the floor. "I've, ah, also included controls in a hidden wall panel. I know how you lose remotes." He paused expectantly. "So, what do you think?" His smile was starting to look a little forced around the edges.

"Wow, Megamind," she tried not to sound unhappy. His feelings could be so easily crushed, though he excelled at hiding it. "This is…unexpected..."

His face fell slightly, and she searched quickly for something more positive to say.

Deciding on gentle honesty, she added: "I mean, this is exactly the way I would have decorated it myself. I had no idea…"

"Really?" God, she hated the vulnerable hope in his eyes.

"It's beautiful. It is. And sweet. But…"

"But?" he urged uncertainly, nervously fiddling with one of the studs on his black leather gauntlet.

"It just… This… All of this… It's happening so fast." It sounded like a canned response even to her.

True to form, her blue-skinned lover tried to put on a brave face with humor. "Oh, come on, you already sleep here more than you do your own place. This would make everything easier."

"Megamind, this is serious. I'm not sure if I'm ready yet."

"If there's one thing I've learned from all my battles, it's that there are some things you'll never feel ready for, but if you really want it, you just have to jump in anyway."

"Okay, but this? We've never even discussed me moving in, and this is just one step away from being married, and… I just…" she sighed. "I love you. I do, but I've never lived with someone before, and I… I need a little time to think this over." she finished lamely. Seeing his unhappy face, she added: "I'm not necessarily saying no, just...not yet."

"But Roxanne—"

"This is a wonderful gesture, but it's so sudden. I just don't think I can."

"Of course you can. Please, Roxanne, Sweetheart, say yes. Stay here with me," his voice took on an almost pleading tone. "It doesn't have to feel like we're living together. That's why you have a separate bedroom. Whenever you need time to yourself, you know I'll always give it to you."

"Megamind, it's not—"

"This doesn't have to be any more than you want it to be."

"Megamind, please—"

"I'll never invade your privacy unless you want me to." He dropped his voice to a sultry purr. "And when I do, I'll invade it very, very well."

"That isn't what—"

"I promise I'll be the best roommate you've ever had. We share a bathroom," he indicated the door on the left-hand wall. "The plumbing was insufficient for two, but there is a double sink. And I can use the facilities downstairs if you need me to."

"That's really sweet, but it's not the issue. I'm not ready for this."

"Stay anyway."

"I can't"

He crossed his arms. "Can't, or won't?"

"Why are you being so pushy about this?! You never push! And now you're asking me to give up my apartment, change my life… Megamind, that's a huge decision!"

"You're right. I never push. I've never before asked you for anything unless it involved protecting this city. But you know what? I'm asking now. This is the only request I've ever made of you. So please, please do this for me."

"Damn it, Megamind, that is so unfair!" Hot tears stung Roxanne's eyes. "I can't! Not yet! I'm not ready! And it's really low of you to pull that never-asked-for-anything card!"

That hit a nerve. "I am NOT pulling a card, Roxanne! I'm being very, very honest!"

"I didn't mean… I just…"

"I'm offering you everything! My home! My privacy! A place in every aspect of my life! I am offering you—a reporter!—all my secrets! I'm offering my feelings, my time, my vulnerability! I'm pulling out my heart here, Roxanne, pulling it out and laying it at your feet! Don't pay me back by stomping on it!"

There was ringing silence for a moment.

"I'm sorry," Megamind said at last. "That was… It wasn't fair of me to say..." He drew in a deep breath. "I just really need you to stay here."

Roxanne swiped at her eyes in frustrated, jerky movements.

"I think I'd better go."

"No! Wait!" he grabbed her arm.

"Let go!" She demanded. He did and she stormed toward the door.

"Roxanne!" Megamind dodged around to block her path. "Roxanne, I'm sorry, but I can't let you leave yet.  Please listen to me! I know you're upset, but please let me explain!" He braced his back against the door as she tried to push past him. "This isn't just about me wanting you close! This is about your safety!"

"My… Oh, God, now you're starting with the helpless damsel crap?!" She tried to push past him again.  "Let me out!"

"I will, Roxanne, as soon as you hear what I have to tell you."

She glared at him.  "Let.  Me.  Out."

"Sweetheart, please..."

"Megamind, I mean it!" she yelled.  "You promised me!  You said no more real kidnappings!  You promised!  Let me out!"

The pain in his eyes was like a punch to Roxanne's heart, and that somehow made her temper burn even higher.

"You promised!" she said again, her voice rising nearly to a shriek.

"That's not what this is, Roxanne!  If you would just listen I wouldn't have to do this!  You think I like feeling like a monster?!"

"Then stop doing it!"

"I can't. Not when you're trying to run away rather than listen. Look, you're angry.  I don't pretend to know why, but I accept that you are," His voice was deliberately calm, emotion simmering underneath, but he held his ground, pressing his weight back harder when she scrabbled for the doorknob. She wanted to slap him. "But, Roxanne, I still need you to listen," Megamind lifted one hand like he meant to touch her cheek, but stopped himself, closing his fingers on thin air. "I know you can take care of yourself under normal circumstances, but things have changed. Something's happened, and now… Metrocity isn't safe for you anymore."

That stopped her in her tracks. "Megamind, what are you talking about?"

"I didn't want to bring this up until I could gather some more information." Fishing into his pocket, he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. "I didn't want to worry you, not until I had a plan…"  He sighed. Reluctantly, Megamind handed over a folded letter.  His lover opened it to reveal oddly formal calligraphy.

My Dear Hesperos,

I have recently undertaken a business proposition in Metro City, which I understand is under your protection. In general, I applaud your intelligent planning and remarkable success in execution, but I wish you to understand that I cannot allow my operations to be jeopardized. Although your newfound love of justice and position as Defender of Metro City are both, to say the least, surprising, I shall not disparage your change in career. However, I believe that you also have seen enough of the world and society through the eyes of a villain to know that law and justice are, too often, completely disparate, and that sometimes an act of villainy is the only truly righteous course. Therefore I am sending this correspondence as both a professional courtesy and as an offer of peace.

Out of respect and remembered fondness for you, I desire to find a mutually beneficial compromise. It is therefore my hope that this communication will achieve two purposes. First, I wish to assure you that, as my plans currently stand, my activities within your city will neither be aimed against the populace at large nor intended to undermine the normal daily operations of the city itself. I will not, however, insult your intellect or my honor by claiming actions will be viewed, by the strictest interpretation of the law, as anything other than criminal. Nonetheless, be assured that it is my intention to complete my business quickly, discreetly, and without any more loss of life than is necessary. Second, I wish to cordially advise you not to attempt to dissuade me. I do not desire harm to come to you, or any dear to you, but I am a gentleman of business and must protect my interests. If you will consent to allow me to complete my task without interference, you will hardly notice my presence. However, if you take it upon yourself to trouble me, I am afraid I shall have to extract a dire price.

I would take no joy in harming a lovely young lady like Miss Ritchi, but accidents do happen, especially to those who oppose me.

Yours in Good Faith,

Ares Coeus

Roxanne felt slightly cold by the time she finished reading. To think that two minutes ago she'd been worried about whether Megamind wanted to become too serious!

But she hadn't become a star reporter by letting fear control her.  "Wow, okay.  So, this is... Not what I expected." She looked at him. "I'm sorry... I..."

"It's alright, Love.  And I understand. Believe me, it's thrown a wrench into my gears, too."

She nodded, forcing her mind to focus as panic tried once again to drown her natural spunk and curiosity.  "Ares? Like the god of war?" she managed a wry grin. "Really? That's a little dramatic."  Her attempt at a smile smile felt wrong, like it was stretched too tight.

Megamind didn't share her humor. "Yes, Sweetheart, like the Greek god of war."

Something about that name tugged at the depths of her mind. "I think... I think I remember hearing something about him now. Ares escaped Metro City Prison for the Criminally Insane when I was in the fourth grade. No one except you had ever done it before. No one except you has done it since. People were panicking. Some parents wouldn't let their kids go to school."  She paused.  "That was weird, now that I think about it.  They never did that when you escaped."

"I was not just the local supervillain but also a recognized super-genius.  My escaping was almost expected, even if they did everything they could to prevent it.  That was just another Tuesday.  But Ares' escape wasn't part of the show.  They couldn't tell themselves it was only because of my extreme brilliance and ingenuity; not when the escapee was another human.  That made it more... real."

Roxanne nodded and cleared her throat. "So… Hesperos. Is that you?"

"Yes. It was Ares' name for me. Hesperos Oldwin."

"Oldwin. That doesn't really fit the pattern. All the other names he chose sound Classical."

"You're right. It doesn't. Ares was obsessed with Greek myths, among other things—especially with both his namesake and with the story of the titan Cronos eating his own children, who were then reborn as gods—but the ancient Greeks didn't have a word for 'blue.'"

"Seriously?"

He made a brave attempt at a chuckle. "Clearly they didn't appreciate the finer things, at least where colors were concerned," His weak smile couldn't seem to hold onto his lips, and quickly fell away. He sighed. "Anyway, Ares gave me the name Hesperos Oldwin because it means Morning Star Blue Sky. The blue part is obvious—"

"Hmmm," she agreed

"And then, of course, my escape pod came from the stars and fell from the sky one morning."

"So he was, what? Your friend? Why is he threatening you?"

"I think I was the closest thing to a friend Ares ever had, but that wasn't very close. More like hero worship." At Roxanne's look, he grimaced slightly. "Remember, I was young and… less brilliant."

"But you liked him?"

"'Like' is too strong a word.  Ares was… strange, but he enjoyed my company when I was a boy because I was the only one who could keep up with his intellect, even beat him at chess, although I quickly learned that outsmarting him too much led him to abandon me for days on end.  He could be… disinterested, but more often he talked to me, sometimes for hours, when he wasn't locked in solitary confinement. I thought he was cool— smooth, sophisticated, well-spoken, smart, tough— and maybe I liked finding someone fairly close to my own age who didn't revile me for a change." He studied his black boots. "Maybe it made me feel special that I was the only other person he bothered naming."

Roxanne gently lifted his chin. "You were lonely.  I can't really blame you."

"I can."  Megamind sighed. "As I grew older I began to realize that some things about him were just… off. It wasn't until years afterward that I learned 'morning star' is also the meaning of the name Lucifer, as in the devil in most Abrahamic religions. By that time Ares was already gone, but I have the feeling the parallel wasn't an accident. The worst part is, I don't think he meant it as an insult."

"Okay, but how much of that is just a persona? You once said that the difference between a villain and a supervillain is presentation."

"Minion said that," he reminded her.

"It's still true."

"This is different."

"I don't mean he's necessarily a supervillain. You grew up in prison. You're better at analyzing criminal minds than any psychiatrist I've ever heard of. I've seen you figure people out so fast it's almost like mind-reading. I'm guessing Ares isn't his real name, so clearly he's putting on a show. How much is him and how much is just an act?"

"Oh, you don't understand!" Megamind threw up his hands and began pacing. "Ares does not play at evil insanity. He's the real deal! No one in that prison ever crossed him. Convicts, guards, even the warden feared him. Most people, even criminals, have limits… lines they won't cross, but Ares… He had no lines. He would be a perfectly nice and polite man until someone did something he didn't like—anything, a tone of voice, the wrong look—and then, in a flash, he could turn horrible and callous. He would get this cold smile on his face, and you knew sometime soon something truly terrible was going to happen to that person. And it never bothered him. Not even a little."

"You make him sound like a monster."

"He is."

Roxanne stood up and stopped his pacing with a hug. "No, Megamind. He's just a man."

With a sigh, Megamind gently pushed her away. "Roxanne," he looked her in the eye. "I was twelve when Ares was arrested. He was only a few years older than me, not quite a legal adult, but they sent him to a high-security facility for the criminally insane. Do you know why? When he found out his father was cheating on his mother, Ares murdered both the man and his mistress. And not in a crime of passion. He searched, learned, planned, and prepared. He found out about the spa resort his father often took his mistress to— an exclusive and very discreet place outside of town—"

Roxanne was starting to feel a little sick. "Oh my God… The Nelson Case. You knew that guy?"

"Yes. Ares' real name is Eric Nelson."

"I read about that trial for a paper when I was in college. Did he really kill them in the steam room?"

Megamind nodded. "He told me all about it. Bragged. The fake ID, the forged credentials, the Social Security System hack… And then he got a maintenance job at the spa resort. Even though he was rarely around guests, he was always in disguise, even changing his mannerisms and the way he walked… He learned how the steam system worked, created a bypass for the safety measures…." Megamind shuddered. "Roxanne, he literally steam broiled those people alive. And he watched. He stood there and he watched. His own father…" With a shake of his head, Megamind added: "He wasn't even sorry. Ares called himself a 'soldier of righteousness,' and insisted it was the legal system that was corrupt."

"How could he think that?"

"He's crazy. But he's also calculating, cold, and cruel. That makes him dangerous. When his twisted sense of honor and justice is incensed, he is capable of truly horrific things." Megamind sighed again. "After Ares escaped prison, he joined a paramilitary organization, but apparently his philosophies were too... extreme even for them. The last I heard, he was working as an assassin, but he only takes certain jobs that he feels are in line with his off-center views of right and wrong. He's so good at making his murders look like accidents that no one— not even in the criminal underworld— really knows what his kill count is. Even so, the sorts of 'accidents' he causes… Let's just say people don't hire Ares if they want the funeral to be open casket."

"Maybe he's not serious." Even to her, it sounded more like a plea than a suggestion. "What if he's just playing mind games with you?" Roxanne trailed off as she studied her lover's face.

"No. Ares isn't like other villains we've faced… like I was. This isn't something he does for fame, money, petty revenge, or for the simple reason that he's bored out of his skull and needs intellectual stimulation. He doesn't play games, or if he does, he plays for keeps."

It felt as if ice had replaced her spine. "And you really think he'll do it? That he'll find me?"

Green eyes met hers, and something in their depths made the ice expand to fill her stomach.

"Megamind?"

He glanced away again, like he couldn't bear to see her reaction. "Sweetheart, there were..." his throat bobbed.

"There were photographs enclosed with the letter," he answered quietly, as if lowering the tone of his words would somehow lessen their impact. "They were… One was of you standing just inside the glass doors of your balcony—"

"Oh my God." she breathed, moving to collapse into the desk chair.

"One was of you leaving the news station. The last was of you jogging in Hill Top Park." He finally met her gaze again. "Sweetheart… I'm sorry… He has already found you." He knelt beside her, turned the desk chair to face him, and took her hands in his, looking earnestly up at her. "I have to try to stop him. You know I do. I'm the good guy now. But I can't do that and watch your back at the same time. Not if we're apart. That's why I really, really need you to stay here."

Something in her vaguely understood that she should care about that, but it suddenly seemed as if her brain, overwhelmed with terror, had opted to turn itself off. Her heart, in contrast, was screaming and she felt like she might be physically ill. This, Roxanne decided distantly, must be what a panic attack felt like.

"What about… my job?"

"Telecommute."

Her laugh sounded bitter and wild in her own ears. "I'm an on-scene correspondent. I can't telecommute."

"Then take some time off," he offered gently. "We'll talk to the station, or have the officials contact them. This is little different from a witness protection program. And it's only temporary. They'll have to understand."

"And if they don't?"

"I'll make them."

Roxanne buried her face in her palms. She heard the tread of leather boots, the sighing swish of a cape, and deft hands began massaging her shoulders. Megamind's voice spoke gently behind her.

"Roxanne. Listen to me. It will be alright. Everything will be alright. We are going to get through this. He hasn't found this place, and I've made some alterations to ensure it stays that way."

"How do you know he hasn't found your hideout?" she asked between her fingers.  "You can't possibly know that."

"He hasn't.  Trust me.  His letter was sent to my fan mail post box. Ares likes keeping people off balance, making them feel he has the upper hand. If he had known where my Lair was, he would have found a way to deliver it directly here. He didn't, which means we're safe. I've been working on some enhancements for a while, but Minion and I have put in a lot of hours to finish them quickly. This entire building is now outfitted with a cloaking shield: a hard light hologram similar to what the holowatch produces. I took it down briefly when I saw you approach, and put it back up once you came in. Now all anyone will see is an empty, condemned building. No dome, no signs of life, nothing."

Turning the chair to face him, she suddenly threw her arms around Megamind and held him close.  He knelt to let her hide her face against his neck.  Like a child awakened from a bad dream, Roxanne buried herself in his warmth and breathed in the comfort of his scent.

"I really am sorry," her words were muffled by his skin. "I'm so very sorry."

He ran gentle hands up and down her arms.  "I am too."

"You shouldn't be."

"If you weren't with me, this never would have happened."

"No.  People assumed I dated Metro Man, and they would have assumed the same about us." 

"I should have realized sooner.  I should have done better."

"You're doing your best."

"We both are."

"I'm so sorry I yelled at you."

"You didn't know."

The moment of weakness passed, and Roxanne gathered herself, gluing pieces of broken confidence back together with spunky determination and brave humor.

"Yeah, well, you know, you could have told me this sooner and saved us the trouble of arguing," she jibed halfheartedly, her crooked smile appearing through tears.

His answering grin was weak, and a little sad. "I didn't want to have to tell you. Not now, not tonight. And I didn't want to ruin your holidays." His shoulders drooped slightly. "Tonight was supposed to be about cheering you up. I wanted to make you happy, not terrify the living daylights out of you."

"But I thought you liked terrifying me. Why else did you kidnap me all the time?"

"How else could I spend time with you? Besides, you were never truly scared of me. Annoyed, yes. Sometimes even angry, but never scared." He wrapped her in an embrace. "And I happen to think you're extremely sexy when you're angry."

That drew a tearful laugh from Roxanne. "Right, because, you know, that's one I've never heard before." Sighing, she looked back at her new bedroom. "Thank you for everything you've done, Megamind. If it's okay, I'll enlist the brainbots' help in moving my things tomorrow."

"I'll be glad to have them give you a hand, but we should do it late at night. That's when Ares… works. He'll be less likely to be watching your apartment."

They were silent for a moment.

"Well," Roxanne's voice held a tone of determined calm. "At least we have a plan."

He smiled. "We have a plan."

There was another pause.

"So..." casting around for something to say, Roxanne landed on: "how long has Ares been in Metro City, and what do we know so far?"

"Not much. I got the letter last Thursday, but Ares has been laying low.  I've had brainbots guarding you twenty-four-seven."

"I thought I saw more of them around than usual.  Wait," she looked around her room with new admiration. "You managed to get all of this pulled together in six days?  That's... Darling, that's beyond impressive! That's amazing!"

"Five days, six hours, and fifty-three minutes, to be precise," Megamind answered, standing up and managing another gray smile. "Incredibly Handsome Genius, remember? You'd be surprised what can be done with a little determination, a large budget, and thousands of tireless laborers."

"Large budget?"

"I have contracts with various companies for a cut of the profits from all Megamind merchandise sold, among other things."

"Seriously? That's not standard hero procedure, is it?"

"Being a good guy doesn't exactly pay well."

"Wayne never did that."

"Ha. Metro Man was adopted by a multi-billionaire. He has a trust fund big enough to support an entire third-world country, not to mention that all of his abilities are inborn. I, on the other hand, have supplies to buy, bills to pay, evil inventions to construct..."

"I thought they weren't evil any more?"

"Well, evil only to evildoers." His burgeoning grin faltered. "Roxanne, be honest, are you angry at me? For not telling you sooner? I know you always hated it when Metro Man treated you like a powerless victim, and I want you to know that isn't why I didn't tell you. I just wanted the brainbots to do a little reconnocense first. And, as I said, I wanted you to enjoy the holiday season before I threw this at you."

Drawing close to him, she cupped his cheek and looked sincerely into his face. "No. I'm not angry. Not now that I understand." She hugged him once more. "But from now on I need you to trust me enough to just tell me things. I can't be prepared if I don't know."

"It's a deal."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

She pulled away enough to look into his eyes. "I'm sorry I doubted you."

He kissed her cheek. "I suppose it's possible I could have handled it a little better."

She finally managed a real grin. "Maybe a little." She held her hands a foot apart. "Like this much."

"Oh, come on, not that much." He moved her arms closer until her palms were only a couple of inches apart. "Maybe that much."

"This much," she spread her hands even wider.

His mouth quirked. "Now you're just being unreasonable."

Despite everything, they both laughed, releasing the tension in the air.

"I'm glad I'm here," Roxanne said.

"Me too." He held her, kissed her brow. "You'll be happy here, Sweetheart. I'll do everything I can… I want this to be comfortable, and good… You like having your own space, and that's fine, but I want you to know that this is your home, too. Always."

She felt herself smile, although the expression lacked its usual confident strength. He wasn't wrong. Sometimes Roxanne felt she practically lived in his hideout already. Well, the past few weeks had been an exception. While the blue hero had dealt with a plot by the Doom Syndicate and the usual holiday season uptick in thefts, Roxanne had been forced to travel, first covering a rare blizzard in the Upper Penninsula, then a meeting of the newly formed Michigan State Disability Caucus in Lansing, and finally attempts by members of the state legislature to conceal certain business interest's tax frauds. She and her lover had only been able to steal occasional dates during her brief returns home, and he had spent one night in a Lansing hotel with her. Even when life wasn't so busy, however, the reporter and her lover rarely spent the night at her apartment anymore. Not since Ms. Farley, a sweet but nosy elderly woman who lived next door, had caught Roxanne out in the hall one evening and invited her over for what had turned out the be the most awkwardly embarrassing cup of tea in all history.

"Listen, Dear," the old lady had said amicably after a few minutes of small talk. "Between you, me, and the lamppost, I just want to tell you that I am really very happy you and our hero have such a healthy and loving relationship, but— I really hate to bring it up— but maybe three in the morning is a little late for… nocturnal activities? And… well… you might just ask him to be a little more circumspect about his language? It's only that Len Paszek mentioned that his little boy asked last week what all those funny words the Defender kept shouting meant…"

Megamind had blushed fuchsia when she'd told him, and admitted that one of his new friends on the police force had laughingly informed him they had received no fewer than three noise complaints from other tenants in Roxanne's building.

"He seemed to think I needed to be congratulated?" the blue man had said uncertainly. "He kept slapping my back and saying I must be doing something right?"

Roxanne had felt her own cheeks burning. "I… um… yeah, that's a… pretty normal human male bonding ritual…"

"Humans are strange," Megamind had informed her.

They'd spent almost every night at the Lair ever since.

"Sir, Code C and C," Minion's voice crackled from the vicinity of his master's left hand, disrupting Roxanne's thoughts.

"Code what?" Megamind asked into his wrist.

"Cookies and cocoa!" Minion explained. "Come and get it while it's—No no no! That is not a toy! Drop it! Drop it right now!"

A sound suspiciously like breaking china echoed through the watch's speaker.

Megamind and Roxanne looked at each other and laughed again. It felt good. "I suppose we had better go downstairs while the cookies are still edible," the blue hero said. "You don't mind, do you, Roxanne? It's just that— well, you know— Minion has planned out this entire evening, and it really means a lot to him…" he trailed off as Roxanne gave him his favorite knowing smile.

"Thank you and Minion both for planning tonight. Of course I want to be a part of it." She sighed, looking down one more time at the disturbing letter. "Let's just take a step back. We can deal with this tomorrow. Besides," she brightened slightly. "I wouldn't miss Minion's home baking for anything."

Megamind chuckled again. "Be sure to tell him that." With a dramatic flourish, he swept his cloak behind one shoulder and offered her his arm. "Now, Miss Ritchi," he purred in that tone that always melted her down to her toes. "If you'll come with me, please, I fully intend to spend the next several hours cuddling by the stove, if only I could find a beautiful, intelligent woman to cuddle with."

A small, very grown-up and professional part of Roxanne hated that Megamind always knew how to make her blush. The rest of her, however, adored it.

"I think I can oblige," she answered, linking her arm through his.

He returned her smile and led her downstairs.

[paradife-loft]

Close reading all the Jin Guangyao scenes: episode 22

Episode 10 | Episode 11 | Episode 23

Alright, now we’re getting somewhere! Still a pretty small amount of content in this episode, comparatively, but it’s fun and features a truly wonderful outfit so I am certainly not going to complain!

This episode, of course, features Round 1 of Meng Yao’s confrontation with Nie Mingjue in Wen Ruohan’s throne room while working as a spy. I think I need to mention at this point just how much I love these early partial versions of the scenes between Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao, that we see later explored more fully during the Empathy session with NMJ’s head? Just this idea and execution of partial context being given before the story does its definite “reveal” about JGY as the one who killed him - I think it does an interesting job of making the viewer complicit in the theme of forming opinions based on incomplete information, giving the viewer only a partial look at who Meng Yao is in the same way that the characters themselves only ever get a partial glimpse.

...Which may make it a little ironic that what I’m going to say here is definitely informed by hindsight out of necessity, but ah well!

The first thing I want to say is that I do see Meng Yao as playing a role in these scenes too (just as much as he does when he’s being the polite host), as opposed to dropping all personality masks and acting as his unfiltered self. The clearest example here for why I think that can be seen in the rebuke he delivers (yelling!) to Mingjue: “How dare you be so rude in front of Wen-zongzhu!” - like, this is not the sort of concern that he displays anywhere else in his scenes; he’s not Wen Chao, to take a lack of subservience to the Wen clan as an infuriating personal slight worthy of immediate violence. While he no doubt appreciates the ability (and indeed, expectation) to shed his subservient manners for a much more commanding, threatening air, this reaction is one deployed in service of the persona of someone who’s come to serve the Wen sect out of a desire for vengeance, angry at being cast out from one of their enemies’ sects - as is the smirky, “been a while~” line he greets Mingjue with.

(I wonder, also - given the speculation I settled on regarding episode 10 - if part of Meng Yao’s story to Wen Ruohan for what happened with the Nie sect was indeed something along the lines of, “I already wanted to serve your interests; I was going to hand you Xue Yang when your son came calling, but Nie-zongzhu discovered me and cast me out as unloyal.”)

So, after that, we move on to Mingjue breaking out of Meng Yao’s control of the scene, taking back Baxia, wrecking the room full of Wen disciple guards, and taking a full flying leap straight toward Wen Ruohan, because if a stealthy assassination mission doesn’t work, might as well go back to what you’re best at!

And this is Meng Yao’s reaction to said flying leap! His face looks so worried here! (Also in pain. Honey.) Given the kind of power he’s already seen Wen Ruohan throw around, I highly doubt that’s worry on behalf of WRH’s ability to handle an already-roughed-up NMJ flying at him. More like, he still absolutely cares about Mingjue and doesn’t want to see him turned into a crispy puppet sect leader by the power of the Yin Iron. Especially since he continues looking over, worried, when NMJ is knocked out from the bolt of energy that’s hurled him back onto the floor.

Oh man, and then the next little bit where he’s struggling to get back up? Hand trembling, almost falling again as he tries to support his weight with the one arm to push himself up? I love these little embodied indicators we get of how he’s not remotely as sturdy as most of the other characters, due to his low cultivation.

Which! Speaking of!

It’s the “still” in this line that interests me a lot, actually! We know that in CQL canon, the Wen sect will clearly teach cultivation to people that most other sects probably wouldn’t bother with, if they see some reason to, i.e. Xue Yang most obviously (but also possibly Wang Lingjiao? It’s unclear whether she has no spiritual power at all, or simply very very little). So given that Meng Yao is saying “must still trouble” as opposed to something else that wouldn’t imply an expected change in ability over time - my bet is that Wen Ruohan has arranged for someone to instruct Meng Yao in cultivation, despite his very late start. It might even be the first place where he’s been given actual cultivation instruction? The evidence on whether or not he’s been taught while living at the Unclean Realm is pretty scant, unfortunately, and I can think of arguments in favor of either side.

And that’s.... pretty much it for this episode! He closes out the scene fade-to-black watching and waiting to see what Wen Ruohan is going to do now that his Yin Iron modem & router setup seems to be on the fritz, with us none the wiser about what his ultimate intentions are here; whether Wen Ruohan or Lan Xichen or both have been deceived as to his true purpose in this role.

I do actually think there’s a decent reading to be made that Meng Yao could well have infiltrated Heavenly Nightless City with the intention of playing double agent so that he could come out on top regardless of who eventually won the day; he certainly undertakes a good many courses of action that he feels personal regret about for the unfortunate outcomes of others caught in the crossfire, while still believing them necessary sacrifices to the goal of his own safety and advancement.

And while I was originally going to say here that my ultimate read was that he was working truthfully for the Sunshot army’s victory only, taking the costuming choice of leaving his hair done up in the Nie sect style as a clue intending to indicate his actual allegiances... Honestly? I think the costume cues of Nie hair combined with Wen robes do just as good a job of signalling uncertainty, dubious loyalty and conflicting feelings, both to us as viewers and as an outward sign of what his own internal reality is at this point.

While I do think he’d choose the Sunshot army if forced to pick a side he’d prefer to win... I also don’t think his pragmatism allows him at this point to throw his emotional lot (much less his actual plans) entirely in with either outcome. He has reasons to be emotionally attached to aspects of his life lived on both sides of the war.

[bellesque]

EEP! I’ve been waiting for reqs to open since I syarted following you a few weeks ago! HOORAY! How about a one-shot where Tom is nervous about his first show of Betrayal but his gf helps him and supports him through it? And maybe they can celebrate after the show with some fluff and smut? Gracias and happy b-day 😄

Opening Night

(Tom Hiddleston x Reader)

Read on my AO3.

Summary:

Tom’s a little nervous about Betrayal’s opening night, and as his girlfriend, you’re more than happy to help him through it - and celebrate with him at the end.

Rating: Mature (wow a first, not E)

Word Count: 2.7K

Warnings/Tags: FLUFF, Pillow Talk, Smut, Tom Hiddleston yes he gets his own warning

A/N: The theatre enthusiast in me will always be a little sad that I never got to see this show but hey that’s what fanfiction is for right? Enjoy! (and again in case people get confused my birthday was a WHILE ago hehe)

TOM’S RUNNING LATE.

Not that you’re worried. Or that you blame him. From what your boyfriend’s told you, tech week has been significantly stressful and hectic. As Betrayal’s opening night inches closer, Tom has been all kinds of all over the place as of late.

It’s heartwarming to see him put so much love and effort into the production. Just as he does in every other aspect of his life.

You check the wall clock in the kitchen, wondering if it’s a better idea to leave dinner out on the table or keep it for the meantime. You know he’ll be hungry when he gets home, and you don’t exactly want to serve him cold chicken. You send him a quick text asking where he is, and hear his text notification from outside the door.

It opens with a quiet click, and Tom grins at you as he steps inside. “Just arrived,” he says, holding up his phone. “Sorry, darling, we were running late tonight. There were a few points we really needed to get right.” He gives you a chaste peck on the lips and then another on your forehead.

“I figured.” You head back into the kitchen and take out two plates as Tom makes for the bedroom. “Rehearsal was okay?”

“Alright,” he calls. “We hit a few snags with the sound, but that’s what tech week is for, isn’t it?” He’s pulling on a white shirt when he steps into the kitchen with you. As you set his place at the table, he wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Come shower with me,” he whispers.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach and you can’t help the giddy smile that spreads across your lips. You giggle as he presses a kiss to the base of your neck. Just when you’re about to turn around, his stomach rumbles loudly, and you laugh at his sheepish expression. “Someone’s hungry,” you tease.

Tom gets a teasing glint in his eye. “For—”

“Some chicken, I hope,” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow. Tom laughs, that adorable peal with his eyes crinkling and his tongue poking out between his teeth.

After dinner and clean-up, you and Tom take a shower—together, as he so kindly asked. Once you settle in your pajamas, the pair of you climb into bed.

You expect him to fall asleep right away; after all, it’s been a long day for him. So it surprises you when he falls back against his pillows, wiping a hand down his face and sighing.

You know that sigh. It’s the one that comes out when his mind is running a mile a minute. When he’s got a lot of thoughts, but somehow nothing to say. You study his face and you prop yourself on your side, your head resting on your elbows. “Hey.”

Tom glances at you. “Hi, darling.” He smiles briefly.

A pause. You reach out and pluck his hand that fiddles with his beard away from his face. “Penny for your thoughts, mister?”

He laces your fingers together and brings your intertwined hands to his lips, brushing them against your knuckles. “Just about the show,” he answers, resting your hand on the spot above his heart.

The steady beat of it doesn’t fool you, though. It’s not unlike him to try and brush off his nerves, make it seem like it’s no big deal so that it doesn’t worry you. “You know you can talk to me,” you say gently. “Safe space. Always. We can share the burden, Tom.”

He sighs, his thumb drawing circles over your hand. “Opening nights are always… you know, the critics will be there, you don’t know how the audience will react, generally speaking. You can only guess how people will like it. If people will like it.”

“They will,” you reassure him.

“I hope so.” He exhales again. “There’s also the concern of whether or not they’ll be able to follow it, if we’ve presented it in a clear way.”

“I’m sure everyone knows it’s in reverse chronological order.”

Tom glances at you with a reminiscent grin on his face. “Remember when we watched The Last Five Years?”

You give him a playful shove. “That’s different. You’re telling two stories in reverse order from each other.”

“Not as different as you might think.”

You hum. “Well, it’s very likely people who are coming to the show have a good idea of what to expect. Done their research and all that. And hey, that’s not your problem, right? If they don’t get it. You’re there to perform, to bring Robert to life.”

“Darling, you know—ah, but that’s actually another thing, see. Robert. His character. You know with Pinter, there’s a lot said in the unsaid. Got to make sure the pauses, silences, it all has to speak without speaking. If the tone isn’t right, even in those pauses, the integrity of the scene is, well, in a way, compromised. There’s not much to go on, so it’s a big job for the actor. Everything needs to have that emotional weight. Purposeful, you know? Even if it’s Charlie and Zawe’s scene. Can’t lose that emotional momentum, or else those big impactful moments don’t land right. Er—darling?”

You’ve gone quiet beside him, letting him speak so freely from the heart. Seeing his passion, the depth of his thought for this role, fills you with admiration and affection. “I’m listening,” you promise, at the same time he says, “I should stop talking about it.”

“No!” You tighten your grip on his hand. Tom squeezes back. “No, please, I love that you can share this with me. I love hearing you talk about theatre like this. I do,” you reassure, laughing goodnaturedly at his half-skeptical face. “I’m glad you’re talking to me about it. Things are always less daunting after you say them out loud.”

“That’s true, isn’t it?” His eyes are soft when they’re locked on yours. He shifts, lying on his side to face you, and you lay your head back down against your pillow, arm tucked under your chin. “You do know how to cure a man’s stage fright.”

“You? Stage fright?” He chuckles when you wrinkle your nose. “Impossible.”

“More likely than you think, love.”

You shift forward to kiss him sweetly; just a short one, you think, only he deepens it and pulls you closer by the nape of your neck. You pull away slightly breathless, see Tom’s eyes scanning every inch of your face, and you stroke his cheek. “Okay. Bedtime. Tech week isn’t over, in case you forgot.”

Tom groans as he rolls onto his back, and you pat his pectoral. “Absolutely grueling,” he mutters.

“You’ll be fine, big booty.”

Tom twists to face you, hand sliding over your waist. “Now if you say it like that, I don’t think sleep is in the cards for the both of us—”

“Sleep.”

 --

“Hey. You’ve got this, okay?”

You cup a hand around your boyfriend’s jaw, tiptoeing to reach up and plant a kiss on the opposite cheek. “You’re ready. You’re gonna do great.”

He takes your hand, kisses the inside of your wrist. “Meet me at the stage door?”

“As your number one fan amongst your many other number one fans,” you grin. “Now go. Do your thing. Break a leg, big booty.”

Tom leans down to plant a real kiss on your lips. “I love you,” he murmurs when he pulls away. “I don’t know where I’d be without you, darling.”

“Backstage doing pre-show ritual things, now go!”

Giving him a gentle push and with his pleasant, uplifting laughter ringing in your ears, you watch Tom disappear into the theatre.

You’re so proud of him. Always have been, always will be. Everything you’ve said to him, every encouragement, affirmation—you meant it every single time. He’s talented at the same time extremely grounded, and he deserves to be reminded of his capabilities when he’s unable to remind himself.

You take your seat, Playbill in hand, and after a few idle minutes of scanning its contents and watching people file into the theatre, the lights dim and the curtain rises.

All throughout the performance, you watch in rapt attention. Only after the show is over and curtain call starts do you realize your brows have been knit the entire time. Tom takes his bow with a splitting grin on his face, and a few tears spring to your eyes. You’re so proud of him and the cast. The success of the night. Opening night. You cheer.

When you go out to stage door, you don’t come up front; instead you hang back, a little ways away from the crowd, and watch as the cast wave, sign Playbills, and take photos. You love seeing Tom in his element. Riding the silent high of a great performance.

His eyes scan the crowd until they land on you, and there’s an unmistakable twinkle in those baby blues. You light up, giving him a wide grin and a thumbs up, and he smiles back at you.

A private smile that seems to say, We’ll celebrate later.

 --

Dinner with the cast and crew is nice. Zawe and Charlie are welcoming and warm, and it’s not awkward for you to hang back and observe while Tom floats from circle to circle like a social butterfly.

But every so often, he casts a burning, wanting look your way.

No one else notices. No one else can see the clandestine and seductive I want you he says so loudly with his eyes. It’s reserved for you, and only you—and a thrill shoots down your spine.

You’ll have him later. Right now, you want him to bask in his moment to kick off Betrayal’s run right.

But damn, the way he looks at you weakens your resolve bit by bit.

He’s posing for a photo with his cast mates, and after the camera clicks Tom politely excuses himself and makes his way towards you.

“There’s my lady.” He kisses you on both cheeks. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I am,” you respond. He’s always been subtle with his emotions, but to you, it’s clear as day how excited and elated he is. “But you should get back.”

“Come with me,” he says, keeping your hand in his.

“I couldn’t—it’s your night—”

“And I’m celebrating it with the woman I love together with everyone else here. Ah, Peter—”

Tom moves to shake a crew member’s hand, tugging you along by your intertwined fingers. He doesn’t let go of you the rest of the night. Instead you find yourself linked at his side. When you occasionally pull away his hand rests on the small of your back. You’re a part of his world; he actively makes sure of it.

“Are you coming to the after party?” a portly woman asks the pair of you.

You look at Tom in confusion—isn’t this the after party?—but he gives her an apologetic smile. “I’ve got plans with this one.” He raises your entwined hands.

You’re not exactly comfortable keeping him from the festivities when he should be a part of it, so you open your mouth to protest. “Tom—”

The woman chuckles, cutting you off. “Must be nice to be in love, hmm? See you tomorrow then!”

You poke his side. “Why’d you say no to the after party?”

“There’s only one after party I want to attend.” He leans in conspiratorially. “And there’s only one woman I want in attendance.”

He pulls away, eyes darkening at your flushed cheeks. He glances at your lips. “Do you want to come?”

And like a switch, your dirty brain turns on.

“When?”

“Now.”

You and Tom rush through your goodbyes as respectfully and as fast as two aroused humans possibly can. After a few more photos and a couple final victory hugs, you and he are finally on the way home.

Part of you expects that as soon as the front door closes, you’d get straight to it, kissing and groping like your lives depended on it. You’re ushered in first, and Tom quietly closes the door behind him.

And you both stand there.

“What a night, huh?” you say as you shuck off your coat. Bundling it up in your arms, you beam at him. “Happy opening, love.”

He strides towards you, and when he reaches you his hands run up and down your bare shoulders. “Thank you. Truly, darling. For always believing in me. Supporting me. Loving me. I mean it when I say I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

And then he’s kissing you. Delicately, slowly, like he has all the time to explore your mouth. The coat in your arms falls to the floor as your fingers find their way into his hair. The heat that once simmered underneath the surface begins to bubble and boil, your kisses becoming more frantic.

He trails his lips down your neck, and then he’s planting a line of kisses around your jaw. You manage to find your lost voice and gasp out, “Bedroom?”

He lifts you up and you squeal in surprise, his large hand cupping your butt. He lays you on the bed with a strong sort of tenderness and his mouth closes over yours again. The feel of his hard length against your stomach has you all types of flustered, and you sloppily try to take off his sweater.

Tom takes over, peeling off his clothing and sliding down the straps of your camisole. You sigh when you feel his mouth over your nipple, giving a tug at his hair that makes him growl. As soon as you’re both naked, bared to each other, he slides a hand between your legs, slipping a finger into you with ease.

“You don’t know how hard it was for me to control myself,” he husks, hitting a spot inside you that makes you inhale sharply. “All I wanted to do was bring you home, party be damned.”

“Tom,” you sigh, eyelids fluttering as you fold around him. “Well, we—hah—we’re here now, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” he murmurs, kissing your throat, “the perfect celebration. Oh, darling, I love you.”

Your hand somehow finds its way down and you begin stroking him. Both your hips move into each other’s hands in sync, breathing becoming labored, as he whispers against your neck and your fingers tangle in his hair. His fingers find your clit and you moan.

You wanted to be patient, draw this out—but you can’t. You need him. To feel him fill you, your every space and secret corner.

You guide Tom into you. Your pace is slow, controlled and measured, until you begin the crescendo to release. Tom kisses you fiercely, his hands roaming every inch of your skin, as he pounds into you until your bodies meld as one.

He thrusts a few more times, hard and purposeful, and you explode in shattering release.

He follows soon after, one hand braced above you, his eyes shut as he chases after his own pleasure. You rock your hips against his, coaxing, and them he cums with a shuddering breath.

There are no words that can articulate your adoration and affection for this man looming above you, his face slack with the pleasure of release, so you attempt to convey it with a searing kiss. He responds with equal fervor, his hands brushing your hair as you both come down from your high.

Moments later, you’re curled up at his side, slightly panting but entirely satisfied. Tom’s fingertips trail over your spine absently, pressing his nose into your hair from time to time.

“I am,” you start to say, breaking the comfortable silence, “so proud of you. You were great tonight. Everyone loved it.”

“Thank you, love. For your undying fidelity,” he says, switching his voice to the familiar antihero you love. You laugh against him, sitting up.

“The night is still young, you know.”

He strokes your arm. “Is it?” he teases.

“Mmhmm.” You swing a leg over him, your lips latching onto his throat before you whisper, “If you think the afterparty’s over, you’re wrong, my love—we’re just getting started.”

[sonderrow-moved]

IC          CANON          VOICE          BODY          TRIALS           PLOTTING

◭ I.D

FULL NAME: Roy Kaworu Spiegel BIRTH: March 14th, 27 y.o. SEX & GENDER: Male SPECIE: Human ETHNICITY: Asian American LANGUAGE: English, German, Japanese OCCUPATION: Intern in environmental research, masseur RELIGION: Shinto SEXUALITY: ??? ◭ ANATOMY

HAIR: Bright auburn red EYES: Light grey FACE: TBA COMPLEXION: Milky honeyed skintone HEIGHT: 184 cm BUILD: TBA VOICE: Melodious and serious

◭ PERSONA

LIKES: Reading, anthropology, people older than him DISLIKES: Injustice, vices, ignorance MBTI: TBA ALIGNMENT: Lawful Good POLITICAL STANCE: Middle ground EDUCATION LEVEL: PhD DRUGS: Do vitamin supplements count..? PHOBIAS: Acrophobia DISORDER: None diagnosed

♚ “AND LATER MY MACABRE JOY SOURS AND I’M WEEPING FOR MYSELF, UNABLE TO FIND SOLACE IN ANY OF THIS, CRYING OUT, SOBBING, “I JUST WANT TO BE LOVED,” CURSING THE EARTH AND EVERYTHING I HAVE BEEN TAUGHT: PRINCIPLES, DISTINCTIONS, CHOICES, MORALS, COMPROMISES, KNOWLEDGE, UNITY, PRAYER - ALL OF IT WAS WRONG, WITHOUT ANY FINAL PURPOSE.”

This man has lived too long. A classic concept written, imagined by artists. To comfort them about their mortality, explore the ins and outs of an alien narrative full of ifs. How would this even work ? Even the people with the best memories, to a genius level even, eventually forgets, for the brain can only retain so much. This feeling people gets as they grow older, the biased nostalgia of glorified items they saw through their pure, untainted, still developing eyes and the resentment towards new trends as they cannot see anything without any scum anymore. The yearning not for those movements, but for this soft sensation, of looking, admiring something and think, for a moment, that it’s idealistic form was real.

This sweet, unadulterated notion became only a distant, forgotten memory as time hardened the one known today as Roy. For years. Decades. Centuries. Millenniums.

A man who was born during another civilization, another time, long forgotten with only myths remaining of it. Not even a relic to be talked about, as everything had disintegrated, returned to earth for another life cycle.

♚ “THE PAST ISN’T REAL. IT’S JUST A DREAM,” I SAY. “DON’T MENTION THE PAST.”

Roy was born under another name, one he still remembers, but has long buried away, as it is not his name anymore. No one remembers it. It is not him anymore, as much as he might like to. It is only an appellation to let go of. As humankind developed its technology to a peak, so did their power, as they yielded control over nature people nowadays couldn’t imagine. It wasn’t as clear as one making a motion to have the waves, wind and earth respond to it. It was a much more fundamental, rawer sense to it. Where the energy of the world could be used to build even new life.

Always the diligent person who only lived to serve, executing tasks exactly as he was asked to, Roy had been appointed to be the Right Hand of the High Priestess. A young female who had only recently bloomed into womanhood. So perfect in existence, like a bright, pale, white being given to their kind in exchange of their discovery over worldly power. She had embraced her role as a symbol since birth, and he was to accompany her every step of the way as she rose to an official position. To inspire and love. Untouched by anything, for her importance was too great as people shook the world order in their insatiable human curiosity. Nowadays, Roy could have been defined as a bodyguard, yet, in this time, there was no fear of another person’s mishap. Only was he to protect her from accidental injuries, get more menial tasks off her shoulder and, most of all, as they understood this aspect deeply, have her emotional and social needs satisfied.

The way she was so beautiful, the way she would only crack a laugh at his shenanigans, the way he knew how to soothe her and she, in her infinite kindness, learned to soothe him back when a crack of worry grew between his impeccable … how could he not fall in love ?

He loved the way she would recite poetry while he slowly got used to her wanting him to caress her head, and she loved the way he would sing her verses in his smooth, sultry voice. The way she would eye him while someone else was talking on stage with a soft smile while he was guarding the entrance and he’d let a smile crack.

It wasn’t a consummated love like you would see in the current, modern days. There were, of course, pairings who held deep affection towards one another and brought in the next generation, but she had a role where she would never have the chance to do so, for her symbolism was not to replicate, only to be a happenstance, a gift which mustn’t be tainted by an attempt to be artificially redone. She accepted her role with no issue, and so did Roy. And the two of them were perfectly happy with this.

This was a time before the continents even started to noticeably separate on Earth, or even before the initial ground became more and more flooded by the waters. A time where Roy’s kind felt so unified, at peace… until this built up, free of conflict power shattered in on itself.

Raw abominations started roaming, not in the form of creatures, not exactly. So ephemeral, yet spreading chaos and distortion at every corner, fueled by the abuse and infighting of those who had gathered too much and only yearned for more. Years and generations of peace had made civilization take harmony for granted, and the couple was powerless as they saw it unfold. As the world balance collapsed, Roy was approached by a group of pacifists, trusted people for outside the conflicts, everyone knew anyone, respect one another, grew with one another. And as sickly dear ones, growing tainted by the plague pleaded with him, for his position had him perfect for what needed to be done for the greater good: kill the priestess, so the good in her would spread across the land, calm the spirits through their weeps, and save them.

Someone like Roy, of unfathomable loyalty, had a decision to make. And despite the tugs at his heart, it was an easy one. For he believed that, if the Priestess was present, the choice would be simple. That she would understand, because, in her infinite goodness, she could forgive them, forgive him, in the end. And as his trust towards her was strong, it is during a bright morning, away from the war, in the beautiful temple they inhabited, up in the mountains, away from civilization, that he entrusted her with what the people wished of them… and like the great woman she always had been, she kept a serene, albeit slightly sorrowful expression as she accepted. If there was a chance the power built inside her since birth could save more than one person, she would die.

But when his blade pierced her heart, tainting her white, ceremonial clothing in the middle of the garden, she only clanged onto him, eyes wide with desperate sorrow, an expression she, and he, never ever witnessed in anyone before. Fear and betrayal spread across her dark eyes as they grew more and more obscure.

I don’t want to die. My love, I don’t want to die…

―were her last words before, as she wept and choked, the High Priestess expired in her guardian’s blood soaked arms, him wearing too stunned an expression for her to ever hear an answer for him.

Just like beliefs and idolization are made-up by man for comfort and, ultimately, are fake, so was the glorification that one death, from someone incredibly beautiful from the inside out, would be a solution to mankind creating their own demise.

And so, it was at his feet that Roy saw the last of humans slowly die out, first from their endless conflict, so harsh they forgot where it even started, and then to the unforgiving nature, taking back the life they had abused off her.

Only, as he himself felt like he was expiring, with all lifeforce living him in the deserted, now ruined temple he had taken cared of with his beloved.

♚ “THIS IS TRUE: THE WORLD IS BETTER OFF WITH SOME PEOPLE GONE. OUR LIVES ARE NOT ALL INTERCONNECTED. THAT THEORY IS CROCK. SOME PEOPLE TRULY DO NOT NEED TO BE HERE.”

And with the end of this first Humankind was the land so dry of its lifeforce that the cycle of resurrection immortality and resurrection ended. It was quite simple at the time, and helped with the utopia free of grief and unnecessary sadness for their knowledge-seeking kind. If happenstance had you gone, your aether would go back to the earth, only to rise again in the next year, century, no one knew, but they would rise again, the same people, to meet the ones they knew in another life again, with hazy memories, but just enough to recognize your loved ones, and find them again. The more time passed, the less did people come back from this dormant phase, millions and millions now sleeping under the crust of the Earth, never to awaken again. Only the one who had gathered more power could come back more quickly, not the servants, no matter how strong they were, like Roy, who was only, despite all his strengths, a support to a higher one.

Only, as their kind ended, in her last breath, was he given the last link to the cycle, to be connected to his brethren, when he wasn’t supposed to be the one to live again to better the world.

She gave it to him, as her last gift. As the forgiveness she could never give him while she clung to dear life so desperately.

For the greatest gift to give to someone where inevitable death surround them is to still live……… isn’t it ?

I have seen too little, did too little to be of any solace in chaos. You, my love, have seen, experienced. I cannot think of a finer person to carry out our legacy, for I trust that only the best will come out of you.

♚ “PEOPLE CAN GET ACCUSTOMED TO ANYTHING, RIGHT? HABIT DOES THINGS TO PEOPLE.”

Life went back to its natural course. Ancient structure became ruins as vegetation took over, and, strong as it ever was, mankind rose again from the ashes. At the dawn of a new civilization, an orphan would be found at a nearby river, taken in by farmers and eventually would be a child raised by the whole humble village… a child who hadn’t forgotten a thing, and worked towards the dawn of a new age where he could protect what was dear to him.

And so, the one these days called Roy, grew up like he did before, to train and refine his ways. Only, this time, he didn’t only focus on his personal growth, but on others’ too. Estranged from other children like he had always been, with adulthood reaching his mind too quickly, only devoted to his craft. Despite snarl from the youth, his reputation grew amongst the adults and elders, and the communities beyond. As soon as his body was barely out of its formative years, did the boy set home in the mountains. Out of the leftover ruins his past life would let him have. A strong foundation to not lose sight of his objective.

Discipline. Commitment. Responsibility. Peace of mind. Realism. Alongside harsh but fair mental and physical training, all from what he had been taught and remembered, Roy kept exploring martial disciplines he even hadn’t touched in the past, wanting to reestablish what had been lost, and, before he knew it, he was known nearly as a Sage Deity across the land. A man coming from another world, who set up his temple atop the mountains made of smooth boulders eroded with time, near a clear water source, in the middle of a blossoming garden full of colors and hybrid one never knew how such an abundance of different species naturally grew alongside one another in this location, like it was enchanted.

Often, the village elders sought Roy’s advice, which he hoped have given sparingly, in neutrality, since he couldn’t guide mankind every step of the way, only show them a flourishing path. Travelers would come from afar to seek both his teaching and words, with glorified stories growing slightly intimidating to the young man. Despite this, he did his best to carry on his duty, taking care of the new temple grounds he assembled himself, wearing flowing clothes he sew himself; all loyal to the form and aesthetic of the woman he cherished, adorning the same attire she did and flowing, long hair. He wasn’t hoping for them to meet again, only honor her memory. He had grieved and grieved, wept and wept before she gave him the gift of eternity. His salvation was throwing himself into his training, contemplating his sorrow, and so on and on again until he only felt peace.

Roy’s stories of a lady in white with the darkest of eyes became legends, tales of kindness, bravery and adventure. And, amongst his own legacy growing, did Roy decide, after much deliberation, to take in disciples. One, then two. People under his tutelage, who would, in return, vow to spread and defend what the temple fought for, alongside taking equal parts in temple duties. And as the young people he accepted under his wing grew, Roy would soon be surrounded by four bright students he deeply loved. Unable to truly have a father’s touch, he, at least, believed he was a good guardian, hoping that, with time, his students would become masters, and that humanity could flourish.

It was then that, surrounded by his disciples, minus one, actually, that Roy had just finished drinking light tea and eating some sweets. He sighed as a cloud formed in front of his thin lips, the cold air announcing the winter to come. Even as his eldest disciple spoke, Roy didn’t reply. He stayed still, unmoving, silent, for there was nothing to say about what he felt was to come.

He didn’t even groan when he felt the ornate blades of his disciples pass through him, all three at the same time, for they were bound to be guilty together. While the screeching pain enveloped his senses, he wondered if this was what she felt, when he betrayed her.

That night, the Sage’s remains were cut to pieces, scattered far and wide, while his head was burned in the courtyard bonfire, all in an attempt to stop the link he had with his brethren, to cease the “gift” he had been given and for the cycle carried by the billions sleeping to come to an end.

But, unlike what men thought, Roy’s cycle was only part of nature, and he was to rise once more.

♚ “MY NIGHTLY BLOOD LUST OVERFLOWED INTO MY DAYS AND I HAD TO LEAVE THE CITY. MY MASK OF SANITY WAS A VICTIM OF IMPENDING SLIPPAGE.”

It was always the same. Again and again. He would be reborn, train, work, bond, and die at the hands of the very ones he had linked himself. The only reliable companion Roy ever had was nature outside of mankind, harsh but fair, just like him. With a behavior he could coexist with peacefully. It started eating him from the inside out. This time around, Roy had come back from the dead a few decades after his murder, found stark naked in a rice field even farther East, still in a young adult form, regenerated. Mankind hadn’t been doomed yet, and so, he vowed to save it by himself.

Roy would travel far and wide as mankind spread its territory and the continents started separating, being the only one of his kind which could still read the flow of life, its remaining corruption, and how to neutralize them. He would never stay in one spot for too long, only focusing on what he had to do. Because if he didn’t do it, who would ? If he didn’t do anything, he would only be left seeing the same amount of suffering and death, all by himself.

He couldn’t sit down. He couldn’t lose hope.

But Roy’s respect for life took the better of him. As he helped others with his abilities, presenting himself as somewhat of a medium as others also showed special traits, he hadn’t seen how darker human’s hearts had become. So much more quickly than the society he had known in the past. People turned envious of his abilities, and, soon enough, he needed to fight and run for his own life, at the risk of being torn apart yet again.

This fight and flight narrative happened again. And again. Until Roy’s duty had no time to be done; if he wasn’t around, there was no way anything could be done. He had to survive. And as the world grew around him, his mind and memories became muddied, and the depravity surrounding his person slowly creeped into his mind, as any remainder of his initial purpose was muddled with a constant years of bloodshed. An age of decades where he was to be burned and tortured, captured again and again before he’d lay waste to entire villages for his own safety. So no witness was to remain, and less people were to go after him. His training was used in a way he had never done before. For a cause he couldn’t decide to stop. He learned how to kill as efficiently as possible, how to decimate communities, destroy morale through underhanded means. Jumping from one allegiance to another as he either killed or fled before they’d go after him. For the first time, Roy could see how much his raw abilities could be of use in carnage, with no ceremony, no cause behind them. Only death. The very somber death he swore to stop.

He didn’t even stop to wonder at the technology men came up with, using the growing devices as meant for an end, anger and rage creeping into his very soul, indulging in vices he was being offered by humans which morals he always despised. There was no relief in this life, no moment of quiet, only screams and chaos, and only sins could provide a moment of respite. Roy, actually, never remembered how he died, but he did, at some point, in some time, after all sane people had left the territory, and only savagery had roamed the land he had loved so dearly.

During this time, he had forgotten her name, even her face.

♚ “THE CONVERSATION FOLLOWS ITS OWN ROLLING ACCORD - NO REAL STRUCTURE OR TOPIC OR INTERNAL LOGIC OR FEELING; EXCEPT, OF COURSE, FOR ITS OWN HIDDEN, CONSPIRATORIAL ONE. JUST WORDS, AND LIKE IN A MOVIE, BUT ONE THAT HAS BEEN TRANSCRIBED IMPROPERLY, MOST OF IT OVERLAPS.”

At some point, Roy had no recognition if he had been in the same world, the same plane of existence amongst the cycles when he awoke once again. This time in a white, desperately empty desert. With no one at his side. He was still, somehow, a fully grown person, with the fresh memories of violence he had laid, and the scent of blood into all his pores, and the grotesque weapons he had used with no ceremony.

Yet, in this newly regenerated body, in this empty space by himself, his mind centered itself. His discipline kicked in between the silence and hunt for sustenance. He had spent so long a time by himself, alone, in the most chaotic of scenarios. With no one who remembered him, no one who remembered his loved ones, no one who remembered who everyone he even knew were.

After spending time and time, he couldn’t count how long, to rebalance his person, reshape his senses and skills yet again, Roy readied himself to reach civilization once more… yet when he started his journey again, he stopped, the sudden weight of his contact with humankind anchoring him to the ground, unable now to stand. His body was trembling, and everything he had packed fell to the ground. He knew what would happen if he gave up. What he would need to go through and experience. Again and again. He tried. He tried so hard. But no matter how good he could be, it seemed so… hopeless. However, even if it was an impossible endeavor, he couldn’t stop, or else he would have nothing.

He wouldn’t be able to, maybe, one day, see everyone again. How many times had it been ? His memory couldn’t bear so much, what important things could he not recall ? He could start counting, but there was no way to say if entire lifetimes were not thrown into the abyss, and if forgotten crucial knowledge would end up with yet another failure…

This is when, hunched onto himself in this deserted, white horizon, Roy held his head in his hand. He groaned of pain as his mind was strained to its limits, drooling as he agonized, and images faded far, far away as he life flow was being torn apart from him by his own hands. He could hear the screams of his brethren, their legacy being desecrated. Useless. Useless. He didn’t need to remember their names. He didn’t need to remember their faces. Everything deemed useless to the core of his mission was shred out of his very soul, making the pain, the worries fade away, for he only needed to focus on what needed to be done.

Discipline. Commitment. Responsibility. Peace of mind. Realism. For those virtues to lead mankind to a greater part. And maybe, just maybe, recover part of everything he had lost.

For it was the one thing she had not accounted for, for she saw this man as someone so perfect through her affection for him.

That, ultimately, he did all of this so he could see them, see her again if he ever succeeded, and mankind could doom itself if it wasn’t the only way he knew to move onwards. That he did what was needed of him, without taking it so much to heart, that, in the deep of his heart, laid a hidden, selfish reason for all of this. Yet, it may not be this one anymore, he couldn’t tell.

And as Roy literally lost his mind, all by himself, with not a soul around to witness his sorrow, he laid there, vegetable from the trauma, feeling but unable to move, in a haze of horror and pain, before, finally, dehydration took him, and he was back in the cycle again.

Only, this time, there would be no memories. Only physical ones. No loneliness, only fake memories pieced by the world to balance his existence. Only a man, his training, his virtues, and an impossible task that is his only defense against despair and insanity.

♚ “THERE IS NO TIME FOR THE INNOCENT.”

[cavalierious-whim]

The subject of Sucrose's new research is kissing, which is, admittedly, a little unorthodox.

#

A/N: Philematology is the scientific study of kissing. I like Sucrose and Albedo. They're cute. Read here on A03 for better quality. You can also follow me here on Twitter for updates and other neat stuff!

#

It starts the same as all her research does: an observation that grows into itching curiosity. The type that digs deep into your skin and roots there. It makes Sucrose restless, her fingers twitching uncontrollably as she thinks next what to do.

Admittedly, it’s a strange subject of study. She’s never quite considered it before, but it’s been increasingly obvious with every day that passes. Unable to be ignored.

Lips and mouths, more specifically kissing. Languid and smooth devotions of love, preferenced by those who wish to wear their hearts on their sleeves. The idea of kissing wasn’t ever disgusting to her, Sucrose just never thought about it.

Until it was all that she thought about. Still thinks about. Daydreams of at this point, something so entirely out of character for her. Sucrose tells herself that it’s part of her research.

Albedo is the one who makes it difficult, of course. She can’t focus on anything when he’s near. Her gaze always finds his lips, lingering.

More research, Sucrose tells herself. Certainly not like and definitely not love. Admiration, perhaps. That’s as far as she lets herself think.

“Sucrose?” Albedo asks her that day, blinking slowly as he regards her.

“Ah! Mr. Albedo,” she manages despite being shocked from her thoughts.

He watches her in that quiet, concerned way of his. “You look tired. Have you gotten enough rest?”

No, thinks Sucrose. She never does, not with how much research she has. Books upon books to read, and samples upon samples to examine. Of course, this isn’t what she tells him. “Naturally,” she says. “I made a point of it.”

Albedo’s gaze narrows just the slightest, as though he doesn’t believe her. “So you haven’t holed yourself in the lab for days on end?”

She has and he knows it. Sucrose bites at her lip, thinking quick. “I prioritized eating and took a nap.”

Albedo lets out a soft huff but doesn’t refute her claim. “All right, then,” he says. He lingers by the door, his hand resting gently on the frame. “Don’t work yourself to the bone, otherwise I’ll assign another vacation to you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. Albedo,” says Sucrose, flashing him a smile.

“Sucrose, for what seems to be the thousandth time, it’s Albedo.”

#

Sucrose has spent the day watching the good citizens of Mondstandt.

More specifically, citizens that are on dates, sneaking a kiss or two. It’s all innocent. Sucrose’s scientific hobby of observation, that is. Definitely nothing strange about watching couples peck at each other as she jots down her notes.

She hasn’t figured out the appeal of it. Kissing serves no scientific purpose so why is it done? Why are couples seemingly lost in the feel and emotion of it? It isn’t that Sucrose is immune to romance. She’s read novels and felt affection.

Albedo’s visage forces its way into her brain and Sucrose frowns.

So, not the best idea, crushing on your boss. Not to mention, Albedo certainly deserves more than that. And yet, she can’t help but think of him and the way that he softly smiles. How her heart speeds up at the thought and sight of him.

Of how she might want to kiss him. Specifically him.

Hence the research. The affliction might go away if she figures the darn thing out.

So far, she hasn’t.

“Sucrose?” asks Albedo, pausing by the door of the lab. The same, worried tone as always. The same tiny little furrow that he gets in his brow. “Have you been working all day again?”

“Not all day,” she assures him. But it sounds flimsy even to her.

Albedo sighs and steps into the room. “On with it, then. What has you so engrossed this time?”

Sucrose’s mouth snaps shut, trying to figure out a way to navigate out of this. Kissing research might make sense to her but no doubt it would leave Albedo entirely confused. If not concerned.

“More bio-alchemic studies on sunsettias? Whatever happened to the potatoes-- did you manage to prevent rot for a half-year?”

“Lips,” blurts Sucrose without thinking. She’d been watching his mouth move as he spoke, daydreaming about whether or not his lips might be soft. Maybe they’re chapped with the way that he idly bites at them.

Albedo’s mouth pauses, hanging open. Unsure of what to say. “Lips,” he repeats.

“Er, kissing,” says Sucrose, scratching at her ear idly. “I’m studying the benefits of it. Does such closeness with another have added health benefits? Can it be amplified with a tonic of a sort? What if we can use it to heal?”

It sounds halfway convincing to her, at least.

Albedo’s expression turns, surprisingly, amused. “Philematology,” he says. “Not an entirely bad idea. I look forward to your findings.” Then he’s gone without another word like he usually is.

Sucrose blinks. Thinks. Ponders what just happened.

But she certainly isn’t going to complain.

#

It’s been three months, four days, and one hour since Sucrose first thought of kissing Albedo.

She knows the exact length of time because she’s painstakingly kept notes. Jotted down every thought about it. Tallied every instance of it, which now numbers in the dozens. A conservative estimate, at best.

There seems to be no rhyme or reason to it. All of her careful observations have led to a conclusion: people kiss because they want to, and that’s that.

It does nothing to help her. Sucrose is entirely in a pickle. She hates things that don’t make sense, can’t stand the idea that there’s no basis for the how or why.

But most of all, Sucrose can’t figure out why she wants to engage in such a thing. It’s an annoying constant; the thrill of the idea, the way that her heart beats in titillating excitement at the mere thought. And of course, when she sees Albedo himself.

“Sucrose,” he says that day, starting his inquiry as he often does. “I must ask, whatever sparked your research into kissing?”

He seems genuinely curious. And maybe a little amused. Sucrose can’t help but turn pink in the face and scratch at her ear nervously. “You know how it goes, Mr. Albedo. Sometimes you see something that you can’t forget, and you have to study it further.”

Albedo steps closer, leaning against the desk that she sits at. Arms crossed over his chest as he ponders this. Sucrose does brilliantly in her efforts of maintaining her gaze on his face. Until she fails miserably, eyes slipping southward to where his lips are.

Soft-looking, incredibly pouty. A tad bit chapped, just as she originally guessed. It’s the closest she’s been to them and she can’t look away.

“Sucrose?” asks Albedo, leaning closer. He presses a finger underneath her chin and tilts her face up.

Sucrose must be bright red by now. She can feel the burn of her cheeks, the dryness of her mouth, the painful flutter of her chest as her heart beats wildly.

Albedo watches her for a moment, then offers her a gentle smile. “Ah, I see.”

“Um, Mr. Albedo--”

“Sucrose, would you like to kiss me?” He asks it so innocently. Frames it as though it’s for her research, offering himself up as a test subject. Only, he must know it isn’t like that.

“I--”

“Let me rephrase,” cuts in Albedo, dipping down to her level. He’s still sitting on the desk, leaning over on one hand, the other still gripping her chin softly. “I would like to kiss you if you would allow it.”

“For research purposes?” asks Sucrose, ever the scientist.

“If that’s what you wish. I, however, wish to do it earnestly.”

Sucrose kisses him. It isn’t fancy or complicated. She reaches up and pulls him down by the lapel of his jacket. And it’s more of a peck, than anything. A prolonged touching of the mouths.

“And what have you gleaned?” asks Albedo when they part, his mouth still near hers. Waiting.

“That your lips are just as soft as hypothesized,” says Sucrose. “But I fear there isn’t enough evidence. I might have to do more research. There’s much to be studied.”

Albedo chuckles softly before swooping in to steal another kiss.

[sal2724]

OVERTHINKING

#I am myself a great over thinker. So I very well know it’s not a good thing and I am writing this blog to maybe help myself and you guys too at the same time. As before writing any blog I kind of do some research and try to find everything about that topic. So I hope this blog helps everyone who needs to face the problem of overthinking.

 What is overthinking?

Overthinking refers to thinking about a situation or topic to an excessive amount or in a simpler way think about (something) too much or for too long. It affects a person mentally as well as emotionally.

How do we start overthinking?

As I have noticed, we overthink because we worry about stuff a lot. We kind of observe every little thing that happens around us and just think and think about that. That thing may or may not be such a big issue but our mind makes it. I guess our mind need something to occupy it all the time and that’s why we overthink, just to occupy our mind. We can never overthink with our minds full of something useful.

There is an old hindi saying “Khaali dimag, shaitan ka ghar hota h” which means empty mind is the house of devil. Today while writing this blog, I realised maybe that saying is true and the devil it talk about is “over thinking”.

Yeah I am so happy for this thing that I just now realised… I don’t know why JJJ

Also it is said that:

“Don’t get too deep, it leads to overthinking, and over thinking leads to problems that doesn’t even existed in first place~ Jayson Engay”

Why do we overthink?

We overthink because we are desperate creatures hunting for answers. We like certainty and we like being in control. Don’t worry, its part of human survival tactic. Well, somewhat. Overthinking is not all bad. Probability theory requires that all possible outcomes of an event must be explored to determine what can really happen in that given situation.

We know what that is like; before a big event we find ourselves thinking about it so much, we create hypothetical beginnings and endings and even climaxes of said event before it even happens. In a way, it is preparation, so that we can deal with whatever outcome there is and not suffer from too much of a surprising consequence. And in a way it is vaticination. We cannot predict the future, but there is a deep longing inside of us that wishes we could have.

Our intuition gives us half ability to do that. This way, we sometimes can sense when something is wrong, where we should or should not go, who we can and cannot trust. We have a powerful inside voice us that can sometimes save our lives. Overthinking puts that voice on blast. It is a harsh process to go through but it is sometimes necessary.

 Two Forms of Overthinking

Overthinking comes in two forms; ruminating about the past and worrying about the future.

It's different than problem-solving. Problem-solving involves thinking about a solution. Overthinking involves dwelling on the problem.

Overthinking is also different than self-reflection. Healthy self-reflection is about learning something about yourself or gaining a new perspective about a situation. It's  purposeful.

Overthinking involves dwelling on how bad you feel and thinking about all the things you have no control over. It won't help you develop new insight.

The difference between problem-solving, self-reflection, and overthinking isn't about the amount of time you spend in deep thought. Time spent developing creative solutions or learning from your behavior is productive. But time spent overthinking, whether it's 10 minutes or 10 hours, won't enhance your life.

  Signs you are an Over thinker

 Here are 10 signs that you're an overthinker:

1.I relive embarrassing moments in my head repeatedly.

2.I have trouble sleeping because it feels like my brain won't shut off.

3.I ask myself a lot of "what if..." questions.

4.I spend a lot of time thinking about the hidden meaning in things people say or events that happen.

5.I rehash conversations I had with people in my mind and think about all the things I wished I had or hadn't said.

6.I constantly relive my mistakes.

7.When someone says or acts in a way I don't like, I keep replaying it in my mind.

8.Sometimes I'm not aware of what's going on around me because I'm dwelling on things that happened in the past or worrying about things that might happen in the future.

9.I spend a lot of time worrying about things I have no control over.

10.      I can't get my mind off my worries.

How to stop over thinking?

Pay attention. Train yourself and your mind to be more self-aware. I have stickers on my vision board in my workspace that says “be aware” and “stay focused” and as trivial as that method seems, it helps. The moment you feel yourself about to drift off into “overthinking land”, you can do two things; either be completely silent or start talking.

When you silence yourself you prepare for the poison, you know its coming so you get ready. Read, watch tv, do chores, shower and cook. Anything will serve as a distraction when you are silent. Try to remind yourself that you are overthinking and that it will pass. Give yourself the affirmation that it is fear and stress attacking you and that you will defeat it. Be strong in your silence and be patient for the unsettledness to allay.

When you start talking you give yourself a chance to let stress out. But be careful, venting can be contrite, especially when the person or persons to whom you are speaking to may not understand you or sympathise immediately. Admit that you are overthinking and that you are lost in the ordeal. When you talk about what’s on your mind remember that it won’t completely make sense to you, let alone to the person you’re talking to. But getting things off of your chest right away is a good method to adapt so that you don’t suffer for a long period alone in your head.

Cry. Crying is healing. In all of my adult years so far, I found that crying has helped me move past the toughest of times I have ever faced. When I overthink I automatically get emotional and vulnerable, so I end up crying. It is painful and it is exhausting but the outcome is appeasing. Overthinking is already a bottle of prisoned thoughts banging to come out, when you cry you allow yourself to alleviate some of the pressure that comes with being stuck inside your head. You ever noticed that headache that comes after crying? It is a pressure release.

If you are not a person easily brought to tears or perhaps you are not yet 100% comfortable in your emotions, it will be difficult for you to just try to amend your troubled thoughts. In that case, you first need to learn how to connect with your emotions and your true self.

Think. Let me explain. To stop overthinking you need to think? Yes. Because most of the times we are overthinking we are not even constructively thinking but rather we are wallowing those worn thoughts about our fears and frustrations. Constructive thinking can change your life. For now, I’ll tell you how it can help to stop overthinking. We possess the power to change the way we think; but it requires practice and a ton of self-discipline but it is not impossible.

[homogrimoire]

Birds of Paradise and Prey

Fair Game Week 2020: Day 4 - Birds / Soulmates

Read it on AO3 here.

Clover was standing at the door of his and Qrow’s apartment. He was nervous, despite all the planning he had done, and even getting some advice from Tai, Ruby, and Yang. And despite the nervousness, he was also excited. Has finally going to ask Qrow out. He would have liked to have done it sooner, but the war against Salem had taken up so much time, and even after, there wasn’t much time to do so. The brother gods of light and dark hadn’t really done the world any favors, only taking care of Ozpin and Salem before abandoning the world for good, as well as destroying the relics, their purpose fulfilled. This meant that grimm still lurked about. And without anything making any demands of them, they became more erratic and dangerous. As a result, people had to adjust to a more overtly dangerous world. Of course, the people of Remnant soon adjusted to the chaotic world and society stabilized once more, for they all had each other to lean on and turn to.

The dark continent where the chaotic grimm arose from an otherwise calm sludge had become even more inaccessible. The grimm were a problem that could not be solved in their lifetimes, but they all accepted that. They saved the world from Salem and the brother gods. They had done their share in protecting the world. Some of them continued traveling, paving the path for future generations to follow in hopes that they would dispel of the grimm entirely. Some decided to settle down a little.

Qrow was one of these people. He felt that he had spent too much of his life moving from place to place, with so little certainty. He wasn’t old, but he certainly wasn’t getting younger, so he decided to settle down as a teacher at Signal and help protect the place from grimm when needed. Naturally, Clover followed him and got a job at Signal as well, thanks to his Atlesian experience and Qrow vouching for him. After his near death experience in the tundra, he quit the military and joined Qrow and his kids. During all this, they had grown closer and closer. Yet, despite some sexual encounters here and there, neither had made the move to take it a step forward, both feeling that there was too much else to do. With enough time spent contemplating, he knocked on the door. After a moment, Qrow opened the door, surprised to find Clover standing there instead of just having used his key.

“Hey, Qrow. I was wondering if you would like to make me the luckiest man alive, and go out with me?” With a slight bow, he revealed the flowers he had hidden behind his back, suggested by Yang, with some pointers from Tai. Most noticeable in the bouquet were some flowers that had orange petals, almost feather-like in shape, that jutted out in various directions, with a few slender blue petals scattered here and there. They were certainly the focus of the bouquet, and had caught the attention of the man he was asking out as well. However, with Clover right in front of him, they would only hold Qrow’s attention for so long. As Qrow looked back at him, he gave one of his signature winks.

“I think you know the answer to that, Lucky Charm.” Qrow smiled back at Clover as he graciously took the flowers. “Well, I’m guessing you already had the whole day planned out, so lead the way.” Qrow held out his hand, and Clover took it, intertwining their fingers. Briefly, Qrow wondered if it all was a bit too much just to ask him out, but a voice that sounded like Clover’s told him that he deserved nothing less. After spending so much time with Clover, building up his confidence in himself and learning to control his semblance, he wasn’t going to argue with that. He knew he deserved to have good things, and knew that this wasn’t just something he wanted, but something Clover wanted too.

Their first stop on their first official date was Qrow’s favorite place to eat, which he learned from Tai. It was a quiet little cafe, owned by a couple, that he liked to frequent. It was away from the mainstream area, therefore attracting less attention to itself and its patrons, and served good drinks and food. As such, it had a solid following of some loyal customers, Qrow included.

“After you.” Clover said as he opened the door for Qrow.

“Ever the gentleman. What did I do to deserve you?” Qrow asked sarcastically.

“Be you.” Clover replied earnestly, earning a light blush across Qrow’s cheeks and a small smile from the man.

“Ah, Qrow! Nice to see you so soon again.” the cashier-owner asked in a thick accent. “Aye, and look at you! First you tell me you quit alcohol, and now you bring boyfriend who give flowers! I’m happy for you. I tell Lyre, so they give you congrats next time. They be happy for you too.” From embarrassment, Qrow’s light blush grew into a much more visible blush. “So, what want? I tell this first date, so I give half off.” they said.

“Really? Thanks, I appreciate it.” Clover said. “Lucky us, huh Qrow?” He gave Qrow a light elbow jab as he smirked.

“That never gets old.” Qrow laughed. “But, yeah, thanks Gray. I’ll take a velvet cake. And you, Clover?”

“Hmm,” he contemplated, “ooh, I’ll try the shamrock milkshake.”

“Going on a cannibalistic streak now are we?” Qrow joked.

“I might be.” Clover said with a sly look as he slayed alon.

“I better watch out then, you might eat me next.” Qrow replied smugly, knowing very well what he said.

“Qrow!” was all Clover could say as his face began to flush. However, the cashier-owner just laughed.

“Aye Qrow, you always make me laugh. But don’t worry. Is mint. Is just called shamrock cause I put shamrock on top. Aye, I go make food, and pay me later so I can say goodbyes.” With that, they walked to the back of the kitchen, and Qrow and Clover found a comfortable place to sit. They talked and joked and laughed about the things their students were doing, as well as the things their kids were up to. They were so caught up talking to each other, they almost didn’t notice Gray come out with their sweets.

“Here you are. I gave couple’s cake and couple’s cup size. I know how much couples like to share with each other.” They said as they placed the sweets between Qrow and Clover. “Now, I be in kitchen. Just call if need be. Enjoy! Oh, and be careful. He likes his cakes too much” they warned Clover as they chuckled.

“Thank you, and I will.” Clover said as they left. “They’re pretty nice, huh?”

“Mhmm.” Qrow replied, mouth full of cake. “I first took Ruby and Yang here way back when. I liked it here, so I kept coming back, even without them. And well, you see how Gray is, their spouse Lyre is pretty much the same. Its hard to be distant with both of them. And me and Lyre got along pretty well too, being named after birds and all.”

“Sounds nice. Can't really get anything like that in Atlas.”

“I can imagine.”

“Now, Give me some of that cake, I wanna see how it tastes!”

“Mnm-mnm,” Qrow said as he shook his head and swallowed, “my cake.” He then licked it. “I licked it, its mine.” He pulled the plate closer to him.

“Qrow, you know that's not going to stop me.” Qrow gave in. He couldn’t argue with that, all things considered.

“Fine, but only because I love you.” Qrow hadn’t realized what he said, at first, but Clover did. By the time Qrow realized, Clover was barely coming to terms with it.

“I love you too Qrow.” Clover said out loud. Then, he had an idea that made him blush. “Since we love each other, and we’re on a date, how about we do some couples on a date stuff?” He grabbed his spoon and scooped up some cake, and held it up to Qrow. He got the idea and got a piece of cake too. They moved their spoons towards each other’s mouths, albeit a bit awkwardly. Despite the awkwardness, it was undoubtedly intimate, both of them blushing furiously.

“That, went nicer than I thought it would. I can see why people do it.” Clover admitted.

“You mean you , poster boy of Atlas Academy, never did things like this?” Qrow was surprised. He was sure Clover would have been drowning in these kinds of dates left and right.

“Nope. It’s pretty lonely at the top, you know? Well, it was lonely. Luckily, a good luck charm waltzed into my life and made it not so lonely.” Qrow blushed as Clover lovingly gazed at him.

“Then at least we can try to work out all this sappy couple junk together.” Qrow said as they were both still blushing. Qrow could hardly bring himself to look at Clover though, else he would explode because of emotions. So, they worked through all that sappy junk, getting the hang of it more and more. It was filled with laughs and jokes and sickeningly sweet moments. Once they finished their sweets, they paid and thanked Gray, and went on their way back home to their shared apartment. However, their perfect night would have a small bump in it. This bump wasn’t actually small, it was Nevermore sized. A Nevermore was spotted in the distance by a nearby sector, and Qrow and Clover, being the closest huntsmen, were notified through their scrolls and made haste.

By the time they arrived, they could see the Nevermore in the distance. Wanting to stop its advance as soon as possible, they were driven to it, along with one other younger huntsman who was also nearby. Up close, they could see how large the grimm had grown with nothing to control it. Its colors had also dulled, much like the other grimm. The exception to this was their glowing red accents, which made it seem more vivid than it had before. Fortunately, the younger huntsman was an archer, so they instructed him to attack from below as they fought up close. They all climbed up a tree, readying to attack. When the time was right, Qrow transformed, grabbing the Nevermore’s attention. They always hated Qrow in his animal forme. With the giant bird distracted, Clover launched himself upward, hooking onto it and landing on its back. Then Qrow turned back into a human, letting the Nevermore return its attention to the man on its back. Clover had already entangled the bird in his line, but it still trashed about wildly as Clover wrangled with it so Qrow could deliver a deadly blow.

However, it was smarter than it looked, as it had managed to angle itself so that Clover would be hit by a tree, and thrown off. He landed in a clearing, half his aura gone from the fall. It landed  in the center of the clearing, ready to play with its prey. However, a shot from another side of the clearing got its attention.

Clover could see that it was Qrow who fired after it. But, it did not care, until he transformed. However, it did not dart after him like they usually did. It kept looking at the two men, as if torn between some difficult decision. It screeched as it looked back and forth, ready to pull out its feathers. Thankfully, the young archer fired a lightning fast and powerful shot that turned it to dust as the arrow pierced its head.

“Are you two alright!?” he shouted as he ran towards them.

“I took a hit, but I’ll be fine!” Clover shouted back as Qrow helped him up and handed him his weapon. He knew he would be feeling that in the morning.

“What in the world is that? Everyone know you're one of the greatest huntsmen and can turn into a bird, Mr. Branwen, but that isn’t something anyone can do.”

“To tell you the truth kid, I don't know. It should have chased after me.”

“Why, do they hate birds or something?”

“No.” Qrow answered. “Just me when I’m a crow.”

“Odd indeed.” The young huntsman rubbed his chin as he wondered what caused what had just transpired. It clicked when he saw the flower tucked into Clover’s green vest. “With all due respect, sir, I think you might be wrong.” He pointed at the flower, which prompted Clover to pluck it out for them to examine. It’s resemblance to a bird was undeniable. Apparently, now that they were free from Salem’s control, that hatred for Qrow’s crow forme was amplified, and was extended to anything avian in appearance that wasn’t a fellow grimm.

“Did we just break the grimm’s mind?” Qrow asked, baffled as they all focused on the flower.

“I think we just did.” responded Clover, amazed.

“‘Birds of Paradise Conquer Birds of Prey.’ That’ll be quite the headline.” said the young man, to no one in particular.

“Looks like my god luck charm saved my life again.” Clover teased as he gave Qrow a chaste kiss on the cheek.

“No problem babe.” With a wink and finger guns pointed in his direction, Clover couldn’t help but laugh a little. He could see that Qrow was blushing just a little. He was glad Qrow came into his life. He brought so much love into it.

“Well, we should get going. It’s getting late.” said the archer. “I can take care of the report. Just tell me your comments on the ride back and I’ll make sure to include them.”

“You sure, kid?” Despite the huntsmen’s age requirement being lowered, mostly because of Qrow’s kids showing the world what they were capable of, most still didn’t graduate into a huntsman so young. This kids was a rarity, so Qrow wanted to be sure he could handle the paperwork, the most difficult and boring part of the job in Qrow’s opinion.

“Yeah, I don't mind. You two did all the heavy lifting, it’s the least I could do. Besides, you should go home and rest and make sure that he recovers his aura.” the archer said, pointing at Clover.

“Can't argue with that logic.” Clover said, shrugging.

“... And, if you have the time, could you, maybe sign an autograph for me, Mr. Branwen?” the kid asked. Qrow gave a light hearted laugh.

“Of course kid. And you know, that was a pretty strong shot back there. Pretty accurate too.” Clover could see the young huntsman’s face light up as Qrow praised his handiwork. On their ride back, they both talked with the kid, sharing a few tips they learned from their experience, as well as a bit of life advice. It almost reminded Clover of back when they were all traveling together. He always liked seeing this side of Qrow. It was adorable, no matter how much Qrow protested that he was not adorable.

-

As Clover peered up the staircase, he realized that he felt way too sore to climb up them.

“Qrow, can you carry me up?” he asked. Qrow contemplated it for a moment.

“Only if you join me in the shower.” He lifted Clover up to carry him bridal style, Clover resting his head on Qrow’s shoulder.

“No s─”

“No sex, I know. I’m too tired too. The sooner we get done showering, the sooner we can fall asleep together.”

“Mmm, I like the way you think, Mr. Branwen.” Clover said as he leaned his head into Qrow’s shoulder, bouquet of flowers in his lap.

“I’m just a simple man with simple pleasures, Ebi.” Qrow set Clover down, much to their dismay, and unlocked the door. They quickly made their way to the shower and undressed. They took their time under the hot water, letting it wash away  the dirt and any aches in their muscles. They helped each other clean the area on their back they couldn’t reach, passed soap and shampoo between them, and even helped clean each other’s hair. Qrow had suggested it, claiming it was something he always wanted to try. Clover joked that it was his bird instincts kicking in. Regardless, Clover let him do it, of course, and was glad he did, because it felt amazing. He returned the favor and Qrow didn’t think he could ever shower alone again. Shower sex would only be a bonus now. As they got out, they couldn’t help but admire each other’s body, scars and all, toned by years of hardship that had paid off well.

Tired, they went to their bed, and spent their first night together as an official couple. They didn’t fall asleep right away. They stole a few kisses from one another and told each other their inside jokes that always made them laugh.

“Good night Cloves, love you.”

“Love you too Qrow. Love you a lot.”

With that, they fell asleep in each other’s arms. On their living room table, a vase of flowers shone in the moonlight.

[jvnghxope]

dalliance (m)

one shot;

◦ pairing: Taehyung | reader

◦ genre: smut; vampire + vampire hunter au

◦ word count: 11.7k+

◦ warnings: mentions of blood, death, mild mentions of torture, vampiric compulsion, mature content, sexual themes, bitting kink, penetrative and unprotected sex (vampires and vampire hunters can’t procreate together!), slightly degradation, swear words, mentions of drug and alcohol consumption

◦ abstract: The Association sends you to your first mission alone and you encounter a Pureblood ⎯a race you believed were extinct⎯  who is in the mood to play. 

⇥ First installment of the In the Shadows universe

Now, you can read the next part here!

“Please tell me you didn’t go to that mission alone.”   

Namjoon’s voice sounds worried and angrier as time goes by.

You take a deep breath before opening your mouth. This is going to be hard.

“I did,” you reply carefully.

“___, what the hell!?”

You pull the cell phone off your head before he rips your ears.

“I’m sorry Joon but it was an order, from Jaebum personally,” you apologize. You know how he hates when you go on missions without him. “It’s not like I could say no.”

“Well, Jaebum can suck my ass. Why did he send you to a mission like that?”

“Don’t worry, Joon. It’s just a patrol.” You try to soothe his anger. “I need to redeem myself after what happened last time.”

Namjoon groans from the other side of the line, “It’s not your fault you killed the witness. He attacked us first. You saved my life.”

“I know,” you can’t help but sigh, remembering everything that went wrong that night. “I should have just immobilized him, not killed him. I should have controlled my emotions better than that. I panicked.”

“Our job is to hunt and kill vampires. Why are they making a fuss?” he mumbles and you don’t need to see him to know he is frowning. You know your best friend that well.

“Don’t worry. It was my mistake. I need to fix it. The Association just want me to watch. A bunch of vampires around humans could not end well. Everything will be fine,” you assure him.

“There’s nothing fine when it comes to vampires. Where are you, anyway?”

“In a club. One called Pandemonium.” You look around you, “I see it is pretty popular among shadoworlders.”

“Pandemonium? I don’t know… I’ve never heard of it. But what if you cross with a Pureblood?”

“I don’t think so, Joon.” You ease his nerves. “In our whole life as a hunter, how many times have you seen a Pureblood? None.”

“Not because you haven’t seen one means they don’t exist,” he comments in a stern voice. “You must have called me.”

He sounds beyond frustrated and you feel a knot of embarrassment forming in the pit of your stomach.

“I'm sorry. I didn't want to burden you. I know you had a difficult time with that pack of wolves a week ago, adding to the injuries that bloodsucker did to you... This is just a routine patrol. I promise.”

He sighs, “Fine. But call me if something happens, okay? At least you have Bloody Rose with you, right?”

“Well, about that…" you start.

“What?”

How can you explain this without get him really angry? “I… They… took it from me as a part of the… punishment…”

You expect him to yell, swear or at least say something. But he doesn’t say a thing. Not even a single word. The other line is dead. You even check your phone.

“Hello? Joon?”

And then: “I swear ___, if I don’t know anything about you in the next 12 hours, I’m going to that club and kill every fucking bloodsucker that gets on the way.” And he hangs up.

Well, that went better than expected.

You wave your hand, calling the bartender. “A shot of tequila, please!”

You eye the party for the first time since you arrived. When Jaebum, the current head of the Association, told you that you'll go alone to a patrol, you felt anxious. It’s the first time you go on a mission alone. Plus, you don’t have Bloody Rose, your personal anti-vampire weapon, tucked on your back like always. You feel kind of… naked without her.

No. There’s no need to feel nervous about it. You are one of the best Hunters out there and a silver dagger placed strategically on your thigh gives the all the strength you need to continue.

You take a deep breath.

The truth is… this is not routine patrol. You didn’t want to tell Namjoon that because you don’t need to get more nervous than he already is.

The Association received some rumors of an illegal Feed Sistem. People are recruiting human ladies to escort and feed vampires. The human police found some dead bodies. All women and their veins empty. So the Association needed to step in before it gets worst. But before the chaos start, the need visual confirmation of the crime.

There is nothing wrong in vampires feeding of humans. Unless they kill them.

The club is owned by someone known as “Kim”. According to the Association records, the Kim Family is known as one of the Pureblood families. And nobody messes up with Pureblood vampires. But it is also true that nobody has seen a Pureblood in the last one hundred years to the point some of you believe they are extinct.

Your eyes wander around the room as you adjust your clothes. You see a lot of humans drinking, dancing, having fun. But you also have some glimpses of a few fairies, some werewolves, a warlock, and vampires. The members of the Shadow World enjoy spending their time around humans because they find them fascinating. This kind of clubs are one of the fewest opportunities they have to interact with them because every human in this party has enough alcohol and pixie dust in their system they don't even notice that the true skin color of that fairy is green or that witch over there has thornes as hair.

You are a Hunter. One of the best of your kind. One of the fewest when it comes to gender. Bloodsuckers are your specialty. You could kill one with only a small silver dagger. That’s the reason why the Association sent you. Is either that or the fact that you screwed your last mission.

You are not like the other members of the Shadow World. You appearance resembles the most to a human, but you are not a human either. The powers were granted to your kind by a warlock many years ago. You are like a bridge between both worlds, your job is to maintain peace.

Your eyes return to the spot where you saw the vampires the last time. Part of the training in the Academy is to recognize vampires. They have pretty unique characteristics, each one of them just as lethal.

All vampires look the same: all cockiness and long legs, smooth hair and greek-like sculpted face. They look mesmerizing without even trying. That is what you hate the most about vampires: they look like models that just ended a photo shoot. They need to look good to attract their prey, they say.

“Are you looking for someone in particular?”

The bartender draws your attention, placing your drink in front of you. “Excuse me?”

“Seconds ago. It seemed like you were looking for something or someone...” he trails.

Shit.

“I… No. I was just… Nothing.”

Wow, this is the first time you go on a mission alone and you already broke the first rule: don’t blow your cover.

“You should be careful with whom you let your cover fall, vampire hunter. Not everyone understands the true purpose behind your duty,” he comments with a wink.  

What?

A million questions start to flood your mind: Is he a Hunter too? Did Jaebum send him to watch over you? Doesn’t he trust you to do the job?

Maybe Namjoon was right. Maybe you’re not ready to deal with this type of mission alone.

As if he reads minds, the bartender chuckles softly, showing his fangs in the process –totally on purpose. You know vampires can hide their fangs if they want to. Serves well when they don’t want to scare humans while they are seducing them.

He’s a vampire.

You stare, dumbfounded. How could you not see it? Now, you can see the signs. Sun-kissed, porcelain-like skin, lean body, enhanced beauty that makes you want to stab your eyes or worship his altar.  Or both.

You clear your throat, “Hey, vampire.” You call him. He moved to the other side of the bar, making a mojito mixed with pixie dust for a fairy with blue skin. You know even when he has his eyes fixed in the task in hand, you have his full attention. “I'm here with official matters of the Association. I aim no harm. You better don’t blow my cover. I appreciate your cooperation.”

His shoulders move when he chuckles but nods nonetheless. You don't enjoy the fact that the success of your mission is in a vampire’s hands but you don't have another choice.

With a sigh, you take your shot in one gulp and stroll around the club. The group of vampires you saw earlier are in the corner and surrounded by humans.

Blood Sluts, perhaps?  

You suddenly feel sick.

A ‘blood slut’ is a very vulgar term for both male and female humans that trade their body in exchange for a bite from a vampire. A vampire’s bite is high in endorphins and its effects in a human body are close to as that of any drug. It's super addictive and dangerous. That's why the Association is not happy. Vampires are using humans as their personal blood bag and killing them in the process.  Well, they assume.

With a new wave of determination, you kick in your plan.

How to attract and kill a vampire 101.

First, draw his attention. You need to act like a normal human. And what normal humans do in a club? They dance. So, you stroll towards the dance floor. High heels, a dress that sticks to your body like a second skin, you don’t miss the opportunity to walk in front of the group of vampires. As you wander your eyes, one of them gives you the other thing you needed: eye contact. Besides, it is practically impossible for him to go unnoticed with his bright red hair in a sea of brunettes and blondes.

There's something different about him. At first glance, he's like any other bloodsucker: deadly handsome. But when you look more closely, you notice how he is surrounded by people. Vampires and humans and his demeanor is more… powerful.

The vampire’s eyes are fixed in you the whole time and you don’t lower your gaze like most of the humans do. You are not intimidated by him. And he loves it. And then, you smirk before turning your back completely at him and keep walking. The floor, your personal runaway.

The moment you finally arrived at the dance floor, the DJ (conveniently for you) changed the trance music to a more EDM kind of music. The type you can dance. You know your plan is working the moment a pair of strong arms snake around your waist just a couple of minutes after.

You don’t have to turn around to know is the vampire. There are not a lot of male humans here, most of them besotted with fairies or female vampires.

You don’t push him apart, even when you want to. No. You need him to take the first step, for the sake of the mission. So, you keep dancing, with a creepy —and most certainly handsome, vampire attached to your back whom only wants to drain your veins empty. You lose count of the songs the two of you dance, your Hunter nature giving you the opportunity to keep up with his stamina. You hope his mind is clouded enough with booze and blood-lust to notice. He is not a bad dancer, either, and to your surprise, you found yourself enjoying dancing with him a little.

“Do you want something to drink?” the vampire finally whispers against your ear, once the nth song finishes in the massive club speakers. His breath against your bare skin sending shivers down your spine and not in a good way.

You don’t enjoy the idea of having your neck fully displayed for him, so you turn around. “Sure.”

His hand, a little too cool to the touch despite the fact that it has been attached to your waist for the last hour, takes one of yours and leads you to the bar. He orders two drinks to the bartender from earlier, to your dismay.

Now, without all the stroboscopic lights and up close, you understand why humans get besotted that easy. He’s gorgeous. Electric red and smooth hair, chiseled jaw, blue eyes. Probably contacts. Everything about him screams perfection and danger. Humans only see the perfection. You’ve been inside the Shadow World enough time to know beautiful equals lethal more often than not.

“Enjoying the view?” he asks with a smirk once he passes you your drink.

Maybe a little too much. Instead, you giggle and take a sip of your drink. It tastes sweet. Like grapes and something more, something you can’t quite pinpoint. It warms your belly right away. His eyes are fixed in you like he is waiting for your reaction. Does he put something on your drink? Is that their MO?

“What’s your name, beautiful?”

Being trained to be undercover, your fake name rolls off your tongue pretty easy. “Sewon”. You've said it a lot of times that feels natural. Like a second name. You take another sip and the warmth inside you spreads deliciously. “What about you?”

He leans, “Why don’t you come with me and find out?” He whispers to your ear.

“Go where?”

“Somewhere we could do something fun” he offers with a smirk, the kind of smirk that show his fangs a little. Is he trying to scare you? Maybe he thinks you don’t understand what your eyes see. Most of the humans doesn’t. The clear example is in front of you: humans are dancing with fairies and not freaking out. Maybe the pixie dust is helping a little.

“Ok… Sure.” A part of you know is a bad idea being alone with a vampire, but you are pretty sure you could take him down in case something goes wrong. Plus, if you want the mission to succeed, you need visual confirmation of the crime to bring the Association. So, after finishing your own drink, you follow him through the crowd.

There’s a small corridor next to the bathrooms with a wooden door. It’s kind of hidden due to the scarce illumination but you facepalm internally. Know your surroundings in case you need to escape. Another rule you broke in the span of an hour.

The vampire urges you inside before you can even think it properly and closes the door behind you, muffling the music. The hallway looks nothing like the club. Where the club is all modern furniture, lights of all colors and a mass of sweaty bodies, this part of the building feels like you just entered another century. High walls, classy wallpaper, mahogany doors, and enormous chandeliers, the dim light providing just enough for your eyes to get used to your surroundings.  

He leads you through the corridor and opens one of the wooden doors. Once you are inside the room, you take your time to wander around. It is an office. There’s a massive desk with leather seats in the corner. There's a small bar on the left side. Bookshelves occupy all the right wall in its entirety and there are some couches where people can lay down and read comfortably. When you have all the time in the world, books are a good company, you suppose.  

“So, what's vampire hunter doing in my club?”

You consider yourself an ace when it comes to walking in high heels, plus you have enhanced agility and reflexes. But after those words coming from the vampire’s mouth, you find yourself tripping over your shoes.  

“What?”

He lets out a dark chuckle like the situation is so funny. Is he for real?

“I-...  Did you know all this time? Is that the reason why you gave me Pixie dust?” Now that you think of it, that’s why the drink he ordered earlier tasted different, sweet.

“I had my suspicions,” he replies, purring an amber liquid in two small glasses. If he thinks you are going to accept something coming from him again, he’s crazy. Plus, alcohol doesn’t work on vampires, so you don’t know why does he even bother. “Your face was new to me. I know Vampire Hunters tend to hide their scent when they go on missions, so I couldn’t trust my nose. Pixie dust was my last... resource.”

Is that so? Most of the humans enter into a euphoric-like state under Pixie dust consumption. The effects can reassemble to the ones of a vampire bite, but the difference is that any can consume it and fall under its effects. Obviously, the effects may vary. You discovered a couple of years ago that Pixie dust doesn’t affect you that much: it dulls your senses for a very short period of time.

A vampire’s bite only affects humans. Or that is what the Academy told you.

“Why am I here, vampire?” you ask sternly, your ego slowly getting hurt.

“You tell me. What does the Association want here? Did someone break your precious law?” he teases with a smirk.

“Don’t mock the law in front of me, vampire. You are maybe too young to understand-”

“I was there,” he deadpans.

“What?”

“I was there the first time they signed the Accords,” he repeats.

You stare at him, dumbfounded. No, that’s not possible. Because if he is telling the truth, that means he is more than 500 years old…

“Wait. Didn’t your Academy never teach you how to recognize a Pureblood vampire? Or maybe you are not that brilliant…”

Pureblood. Your eyes go wide in realization. Namjoon was right. Your stomach drops and your blood runs cold. What are the odds that in your first alone mission you encounter a Pureblood? A lot, it seems.

You try so hard to remember everything about Purebloods. The books say they are stronger and more powerful than regular vampires and they have another type of skills. Plus, they are kind of immortal. Well, you guess you'll put the last one to the test.

As smoothly as you can, you slowly retrieve the silver dagger from its confines in your thigh, enjoying the way his smirk vanishes at the sight.

Pureblood vampires are dangerous. That's what the Academy taught you. Why are you not running for your life? You may ask. Well, adrenaline does wonders in situations like this and, as you watch him, he doesn’t look much different as many of vampires you have fought. And if you indeed try and run, he would catch you almost instantly.

“Silver daggers don’t hurt us. I thought at least you knew that.”

He is leaning against the bar, all smug.

“Oh, I know that,” you didn’t. “I’m just wondering how much time would it take for you to heal from a stabbed heart,” you comment with a devilish grin, the dagger rolling expertly between your fingers.

By the way his jaw tightens, it is more time he wants to admit ‒just enough for you to escape from his grasp.

“Are you threatening me, little dove? Because that’s, actually, not a smart thing to do.”

You scrunch your nose at the pet name. Dove. He is definitely not from this century.

“It’s not a threat. It’s just a fact.”

“Well,” he starts, standing from his previous position on his desk and taking the glasses with him. “If we are talking about facts, then tell me what the Association wants with my club.”

He offers you one of the glasses, one that you are reluctant in accepting. The dull in your senses are completely fading by now. You need every advantage you have now that you know you are dealing with a vampire with more than 500 years of existence. When you don't accept it, he leaves the glass behind at the bar.

“You don’t need to know, vampire. The Association only needs your… cooperation.”

You can’t help but notice how close he is getting to your personal space. “Is that so?” he hums. A dark expression tints his inhumanly handsome features like he doesn’t enjoy the feeling of being unnecessary. “I guess I could use compulsion and make you tell me.”

You don’t know why but your heart starts to pound nervously.

Thump thump thump.

He can hear it, of course. The wicked smirk that spreads across his face doesn’t go unnoticed. You scold yourself internally because as times goes by, you keep breaking the rules. Never show weakness or vulnerability in front of anyone.

Compulsion doesn’t work on Hunters. That's a fact you have believed and lived with your whole life and you are probably not the only one. Nonetheless, it is also true that there are not a lot of Hunters that crossed paths with a Pureblood before. But the handsome vampire in front of you, with his 500 years of existence, had certainly crossed paths with some Hunters. You need to take his words with caution. Maybe he wants to get under your nerves.

"Compulsion doesn't work on me," you warn. He doesn't care. He is willing to try. “Using Compulsion in an official matter of The Association is illegal, vampire.” You try once again, narrowing your eyes. “How sounds an eternity in prison?”

“They’ll never know. I can compel you to forget.” He says, taking slow steps towards you. Like a predator cornering his prey. “I can compel you to tell me everything, even your deepest secrets, and compel you to forget everything. You’ll not remember a thing.”

You are not at your best right now. He knows that. Pixie dust is still running in your veins, weakening you.

He is so close by now, his cool breath tickling your hairline. His presence is slowly overwhelming you, making you feel giddy. What is wrong with you?

“Vampire-”

“Shhh,” he presses one of his slender fingers against your lips. “Stop calling me ‘vampire’. I have a name, you know?” One you don’t need to know, right? “‘Vampire’ is so… impersonal.”

“Oh, yeah, because you are a person,” you whisper back.

You don’t understand what is going on. It’s like his mere presence intoxicates you. Never, in your life as a Hunter, you have hated your enhanced senses as you did now. His cologne and aftershave make you feel dizzy. Does he showers in that shit or what?

You make eye contact then and it's probably the worst idea you had all night.

There is something odd in the way he is staring at you. Looking up close, he’s even more handsome. With his smooth, red hair hovering above his eyes, long eyelashes, chiseled jaw… It is almost painful to watch. Like staring at a supernova… Suddenly, you feel the cold metal of the dagger slipping away from your hand...

Wait.

As you slowly come to your senses, you notice the dangerous position you put yourself through. Somehow, he managed to snake his arm around your waist once again, pulling your body closer and his hand now cupping your face. His thumb is caressing your cheek, something that feels utterly foreign and familiar at the same time. He is getting closer, his lips almost touching yours and his other hand taking the dagger away from you...

“What are you doing!?”

You push him away, hard. He lets out a yelp of surprise, not expecting that amount of force coming from you. Your fingers tighten around the dagger and you accidentally cut him when you jank the weapon away from him. You hear him wheeze. The cut heels pretty quickly, much to your dismay.

“I compel you to give your dagger” he coos, shrugging. “I must say I’m impressed.”  

You are just as frightened as you are angered. “What do you mean?”

“You broke the compulsion,” he explains. “You were able to walk out of it. Almost instantly. You are not the first one, no. But you did it faster. You have a strong mind,” he states. “I’m impressed.”   

You are not sure what you are supposed to say. Thank you?

“What about-?” you are not able to continue but your fingers brush against your lips, mind flooding with memories of him being at a kiss reach…

“What? Are we shy now?” he mocks. “I’m not the one who allured you to come to me. I was pretty fine back there until you seduce me with your pretty, naughty eyes. Like a fucking siren. And can bet I’m not the only vampire you have allured to your claws and end up dead or locked up in the hands of the Association.”  

You clutch your hands into fists because he is telling nothing but the truth. Your MO most of the time is like that: seduce the vampire to come to a dark alley or to a hidden room where Namjoon is waiting to help you. You are not proud of it. Use your body like that. But you get the job done. Each day you go out to work, fewer monsters are out there killing innocent people.

That is what helps you sleep at night.

“And what was the point?” you ask. “Compel me to kiss you as some sort of payback for what I did with other bloodsuckers?”

He tsks, “Perhaps. But let’s be honest here.” He points at himself. “You’d be honored to grace this lips.”

You ignore the way he licks his lips lasciviously and winks at you (your breath didn’t hitch at that, of course…).

You snort. “You are so full of yourself, vampire. You probably kiss like an old man.”

“Like an old man?” he chuckles. “You are just trying to hide the fact that you are attracted to me.”

“Attracted to you? Please. I was happy dancing alone. You are the one who approached first.”

“Yeah. Like you didn’t want me to.”

It’s your turn to wink, “You are probably a vampire, but still a man and men are predictable.”  

Something glints in his eyes. A hunger you are not ready nor want to dwell right now. You need to focus on the goal you are supposed to be here.

“Ok vampire, we are getting off topic here-”

“Taehyung,” he interjects with a groan.

“What?”

“My name’s Taehyung. Kim Taehyung. Stop calling me ‘vampire’.”

“...Taehyung, so if you are not going to cooperate, I might just leave and find a vampire who’s willing to talk to me. Or I can just torture you to extract all the valuable information. Your pick.”

He presses his tongue against his cheek, pondering his options ‒it’s not like he has a lot. He is stronger than you, you both know that. But with your training, you have a pair of Aces under your sleeve. You are pretty sure he knows that, too. You are not the only Hunter he has had the misfortune to encounter and end up fighting. He knows what are you capable of.  

In a world where vampires and hunters get in constant fights to prove who’s stronger ‒and werewolves always getting into the mix, you know you need to play diplomacy if you want to get the mission done.  

Clicking your tongue in distaste, you put the dagger away and locking it in your thigh. You ignore the way his intense gaze follows every movement. You feel uncomfortable without the cool metal pressed against your palm. Vulnerable. Either way, you raise both hands, bare of any weapon, as a sign of temporary peace.

“I want to get out of here with every drop of my blood and you probably want your head still glued to your body. So…”

Something happened. Something changed. He is no longer looking at you with a mocking expression or like he wants to eat you whole and empty your veins in one gulp. His eyes softened and he looks vulnerable.  “Hey, vamp-Taehyung,” you call in a small voice, the air in the room suddenly becoming too thick to breathe. “Are you okay?”

For some sick reason, his mind drifted 300 years ago, in a time where everything he knew was long dresses, ballrooms, and masquerades. He doesn’t remember the last time he was that happy. He remembers the music, the way his feet felt after dancing all night with the girl of his dreams clasped between his arms. He remembers the agony when she fell in love with his best friend and not much longer after that, everything was tinted in crimson and pain.

It’s weird. You remind him of her.

The buried memories came clashing with the force of a train, shattering his heart in a million pieces once again. Shallow breaths come out of his mouth and he closes his eyes to calm his erratic heart. After it feels like forever, Taehyung flutters his eyes open (he didn’t notice when he closed them). Slowly, he is graced with the vision of you still standing in front of him. The confusion and fear in your eyes are what brings him from his daze, leaving the 1700’s behind and returning to the 21st Century just as quickly as he got back.

Taehyung doesn’t understand why his mind chose that moment to remember those things, memories that had been haunting him on his sleep.

He shakes his head, as if he could get rid of the memories that easily, and flashes you a charming smile. One that if you knew him, you’d notice it is completely fake.

“I’ll answer your questions,” he says. He lets his body sink in the soft cushions of his probably too expensive couch, suddenly mentally drained and tired.

It takes more than you’ll admit jumping into action. The pain in Taehyung’s eyes took you off guard. Until this day, the only pain you cared about was Namjoon’s –him being the only person you could call family. You didn’t take any other’s pain seriously. Especially vampires. You even enjoyed when they squirmed under you when you tortured them. How life left their eyes once you killed them. You don’t feel proud of it. But it was some sort of payback to you. For all the lives they took. For all the innocents they tortured in order to feed.

You always thought vampires were emotionless bastards with no respect for human life, even when some of them were humans at some point of their existence. But as you saw the suffering in Taehyung eyes, maybe you were wrong all this time. Maybe. It is the first time you feel compassion for another person than your friend, after all.

“Are you going to ask something or…?” he asks with a frown, his eyes following your every movement like he can read your thoughts. Can he?

You really need to stop embarrassing yourself in front of a vampire.

“Y-yes!” your voice comes out in a squeal.

You hate the effect he has on you. You consider yourself as a confident person, but right now you are a mess: all flustered and rosy cheeks. Not even a single, coherent sentence has left your mouth for the past couple of minutes. Namjoon would probably be embarrassed of you. You let yourself be intimidated by someone who doesn’t have God in their vocabulary.

“Come and sit with me,” his voice is strong, deep and clear and you feel your legs obediently moving forward. He motions the spot next to him but you chose the couch in front of him to keep your personal space and senses away of his allures and charms.  

“Let's do this: I'll answer your questions if you answer mine,” he offers once you're comfortable.  

You agree with a nod. What type of questions will he ask, though?

“Ok, then. The Association has a couple of homicide cases in their hands,” you start. You don’t want to lose more time. “Human ladies, their veins emptied. Are you breaking the Accords, Taehyung?”

His eyes grow wide and it would be comical if the situation wasn't that serious. He looks... surprised.

“For someone who claims to be a Pureblood and owner of one of the biggest clubs in town, you are clueless,” you click your tongue in disappointment.

His jaw tightens. “I can assure you. No human has been killed inside my territory. At least not by my men.”

You narrow your eyes, “How are you so sure?”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m aware you don’t know a lot about us –or me in that case. You only know what they told you. You don’t need to know more.”

You press your tongue against your cheek because it’s true.

“I am different from other Purebloods because I can use compulsion in other vampires,” he continues. “So, I’m sure because they can’t physically disobey my orders.”

He what?

“I don’t believe you,” is all you can muster, taking mental notes with every bit of new information he is providing.

He snorts. “Why? Because I am a monster?”

One second, he is comfortably seated in the couch in front of you and the other, he is standing in front of you. He moved so fast. Not even with your good reflexes you were able to see him.

You’ll not be intimidated this time. “Yes. I don’t trust vampires.”

His eyes glint dangerously. A pair of crimson red eyes are fixed on you.

“Why do you hate us so much?”

He is hovering above you. You stand from the couch to be at his eye level.  

“Because you feed on humans. You kill innocent people in order to survive… That’s despicable.”

He takes another step closer to you. “I didn’t choose this, you know? I was born like this. I haven’t killed a single human for the past two hundred years.” He whispered the last sentence against your mouth, his cool breath caressing the sensitive skin of your lips and making you shudder involuntarily.

You take a step back, surrounding the couch to get a much-needed space to breathe. His eyes follow you.

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because you are not better, dove. You claim to be nothing but good and impart justice with your bare hands but you’ve killed innocent people, too. Following orders from your precious Association.”

You shake your head, not believing what your ears just heard, “You are lying...”

“Am I?” There is a hint of a smirk dancing on his lips. “Does all your missions start with an interrogation?”

He is lying. You want to believe he is lying. No, of course not all your missions start with an interrogation. Most of the times, your orders are to hunt down someone and nothing else. That’s why you are so good: you follow orders, get the job done, don’t ask questions.

“I hunt down criminals, you hurt innocents. Of course I’m better than you-”

“Wait. Do you really think we hurt them?”

The sudden change in his behavior is slowly getting you off balance. Why the hell he is chuckling?

“Are you telling me you don't?”

“Well, that depends on your definition of pain,” he murmurs, frowning. “The bite can be painful for a couple of seconds, but then it is just a pleasurable experience for both parts.”

You snort, “Really? Are you expecting me to believe that shit feels good for humans?"

"Yes."

"You are gross," you wrinkle your nose. “So, what’s your MO?” You ask him before you can knock yourself some sense.

“What?”

“MO. You know… Modus Operandi?”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, “I know what MO is but I don’t understand what do you mean by that.”

“Oh!” you exclaim. “Well, I’ve been around a lot of vampires and each one of them has a different way of feeding. So, I was wondering how you do it…” your voice gets lower at his intense stare, the hint of a smile tugging his lips.  

“Why do you want to know?”

“I don’t.”

“Then, why you asked?” he counters.

“I-I don't know. I guess I was just curious. I’ve killed countless vampires, but I’ve never spoken with one. I didn’t think-”

“That not every vampire acts under their impulses? Don’t feel bad, dove. You are young and probably just encountered with newborns before. After the first 50 years, vampires learn how to control their blood lust and only feed when is absolutely necessary.”

50 years!?

“W-when was the last time you fed?” you can’t help but ask.

You know vampires can control the color of their eyes willingly. That ability becomes a way more difficult when they are angry or extremely hungry. And now, a pair of crimson red eyes have been fixed in you for the past hour.

He notices your discomfort. “Do my eyes make you feel uncomfortable?” he asks in a low voice, sending shivers through your spine, not for the first time in the night.

The color is not a problem. Is the intensity behind them. It’s like he is waiting for the perfect moment to kill you. Well, at least the feeling is mutual.

“So, your MO?” you ask, choosing to ignore his previous question.

He takes the last gulp of his glass to hide his smile. Somehow, he finds you adorable. “Purebloods doesn’t have to feed as often as normal vampires or newborns,” he explains. “I like to give something in return to my victims. I am very… picky with them. I like to choose well. I like beautiful ladies with sweet blood.”

“Do you use compulsion on them?” you narrow your eyes.

He nods, “Most of the time. They freak out when they see the fangs more often than not and it is more pleasurable for them if they are not fighting against it. Now, my turn. How did you hide your scent?”

“I…” you are not sure if it is a good idea to reveal this type of secrets to a vampire. They are your enemies, after all.

He notices your cold feet in a heartbeat. “You promised. Doesn’t a hunter have an honor code or something? I must say, I’m disappointed.”

“The magic community is our ally. I made a warlock friend to put a smell on me. Okay?” you muster before he can continue with his dramatic antics. He really knows how to get under your nerves. You hate it. “Does compulsion works in anyone?”

He snorts. Never in your life you heard a vampire’s snort. “You hunters are always curious about that,” he says with a chuckle. “Essentially, in every human. Some of them are more perceptive and the compulsion works better on them. It depends immensely on how strong their mind and will-power is. Another factor in the equation is the age of the vampire. The elder the vampire, the stronger the compulsion. Maybe the reason you hunters believe compulsion doesn’t work on you is that you surround yourselves with newborns,” he makes a tsk sound with his tongue.

"Okay, okay. Fine. Get over it," you muster, waving your hand. "We already established you are a super-duper powerful vampire. Besides, you cheated."

He makes a sound of surprise, "I cheated?"

You nod, "You had the pixie dust on your side."

"Are you telling me that I drugged you with pixie dust to use compulsion in you because otherwise, it wouldn't work?

You shrug, a hint of a smile tugging your lips. "Your words, not mine. You said I had a strong mind. Imagine what would happen if I wasn't under the effects of pixie dust. Maybe it wouldn't work. So, can we continue with the interrogation?"

He ignores your question, “If you are so sure, let me try again.”

There is something in his eyes that doesn’t let you say no. You stroll towards him with a bored expression. “Fine. But do it quickly. I don’t want to waste more time with you.”

And then, you feel how the air shifts around you. He stays silent, his eyes glued on your face and nothing else. You barely notice how your heartbeat quickens in your ribcage. You make yourself busy admiring one of the old paintings embellishing the room, doing everything you can to not make eye contact even when every fiber of your body screams look at him.

“Dove, look at me.”

Slowly, you turn your head until your gaze meets his. A pair of chocolate brown eyes are looking at you, the crimson red completely vanished. Taehyung is no longer the ravenous vampire he was just a few minutes ago. His expression softened. It is almost gentle. He reminds you of someone but you can’t exactly remember who. Maybe someone from another life.

“Come here,” he commands, honey dripping from his tongue. His voice is no longer harsh. “Give me your hand.”

You do as he asks, taking the last steps until he is at a hand-reach. He outstretches his palm as an invitation and you quickly accept it, sliding your fingers against the cool skin of his hand. A jolt of electricity ran up your arm and ended in your toes. By the way his eyes go wide slightly, you know he felt that too. You want to yank your hand away but your arm doesn’t follow the order your hazy brain desperately sends.

You suddenly move forward, Taehyung tugging you closer. A gasp comes out of your lips when he kneels in front of you.

“W-what are you-?”

Your words are interrupted when his slender fingers start caressing the bare skin of your leg. You let out a sigh at the feeling. His hands move slowly along your skin, his eyes never leaving yours. Your breath hitches when his hands start massaging the soft skin of your thighs… and his movements come to a halt when Taehyung finds what he is looking for: your dagger. He retrieves it from you thigh pocket carefully and tosses it to the floor. It is kind of funny how a powerful vampire as himself is afraid of a tiny silver dagger.  

As your eyes linger on his face, you can’t shake the feeling of familiarity that washes over you. “Have we met before? I think I’ve seen your face before…”

A sad tiny smile appears on his lips, “I met someone a long time ago. You look… alike.”  

His hands are still roaming your body until they fall comfortably on your waist. You reach forward, using your hand to touch his jaw with curiosity. He goes stiff once your fingers touch his skin but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his arms snake around your waist and tugs you tighter.   

“Keep going,” he encourages you and now you use both hands to explore his face with your fingertips. He lets out a sigh at the light touch against his skin.

“We’ve been here before,” rather than an ask is an affirmation. A sense of Deja Vu numbs your senses as flashes start to cloud your mind. You stare at him with wide eyes. “Is it possible?”

He flutters his eyes open. “I don’t know,” he chokes, the same pain you saw before tinting his factions, his facade is slowly crumbling before him. “You look like her, you feel like her… But at the same time, you are different. It is confusing…”

“I don’t know what-”

Before you can continue, he presses his lips against yours. It takes a whole 5 seconds for you to understand what is happening. He is kissing you, stealing a gasp of your throat. You break the kiss almost instantly.

“What are you doing?” you whisper.

“Excuse me. I…”

Taehyung, in his 500 hundred years of existence, has mastered to hide his feelings, don’t letting them control over his actions. Only one person managed to watch directly into his soul, to break the facade it took him several years to build… and the vivid image of her is standing in front of him.

“You remind me of her.".

"Did you loved her?"

"With all my life," he replies without hesitation.

"What happened?"

His eyes darkened at the question. "He took her from me."

Your heart drops at that. "I'm sorry…"

Maybe it is the pain in his eyes. Maybe is the sudden urge you have to make him feel better. But now, you are the one that starts the kiss.

He welcomes the gesture with open arms, pulling you closer (like it was possible) as your arms snake around his neck. The kiss is slow and nothing like you've experienced before. His lips are warm and he tastes a little bittersweet, like whiskey. He really is a good kisser. But then again, he had a couple of centuries of practice.

The sensation of deja vu overwhelms you again and another gasp comes out. Taehyung takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss and slides his tongue into the seam of your mouth, exploring the crevice like a starved man.

The room moves around you and a second after he's sitting in the couch and you are straddling his lap.

"Fucking enhanced vampire speed," you mumble and he chuckles against your mouth. He keeps kissing you, massaging the nape of your neck and playing with the strands of your hair. Kissing Taehyung is intoxicating and you can't get enough of it.

It feels like forever when he finally moves from your swollen lips and starts kissing your jaw, moving down to meet your neck, the fruit of his desire.

"It is said that a hunter’s blood is one of the most exquisite things for vampires out there." His nose lingers in your neck, caressing the sensitive skin. "God, you smell amazing. I can only imagine how you taste."

“Feeding on a hunter is illegal,” you warn him.

“Do you even know why is illegal?” he inquiries, pulling just slightly to look up at you. You shake your head. “To protect my species.”

“Ok, you are telling me the Association made feeding on hunters illegal to protect your species?” you scoff. “Right…”

“We were cursed,” he explains. “The most delicious blood out there is also toxic. It can kill us if we consume enough amount.”

You smirk at that, lazily. “You are aware you are giving this information to a hunter, right?”

“Yes,” he muses. “I am aware. But you will not use this information against us, dove.”

And then he proceeds to attack your neck once again, alternating open-mouthed kisses with love bites, soothing the marks with his tongue.

“How does the bite feels like, anyway?”

Your question takes him off guard. “It definitely doesn’t hurt that much. And as I said before, it can be very pleasurable for both parts. I can prove it to you,” he whispers the last sentence, the decision already made. Before your hazy mind can digest what he meant with his words, his fangs sink in your flesh in one fluid motion. You let out a gasp because it is not what you’ve imagined. You thought it would be messy and painful and gore.

It is painful, yes, but not that painful ‒your pain threshold increased with time and previous injuries (you are not going to lie, a hunter’s life doesn’t leave you scarless)‒ and it vanishes as time goes by.

It is definitely not messy. The only injuries he has caused the ones in your neck. Taehyung is even holding you gently, not using his vampiric force to keep you from moving. Not like he needs to, though. Because there is the bliss. A happy, joyful sensation consumes you. It is like nothing can go wrong in this world. The euphoric state the bite puts you through explains why humans enjoy this so much. The effects are perhaps stronger in them. It is a weird sensation. You feel strong enough to destroy a wall with a single punch…

The bliss decreased in power as Taehyung pulls away, soothing the bite with his tongue to help with the healing process.

“Yep,” he half moans. “You definitely taste better.”  He licks the reminiscent of your blood on his lips and the gesture would be twisted and disgusting for you if your mind wasn’t clouded with endorphins. Perhaps that’s the reason why, when he pulls you again to press his lips against yours, you don’t fight against it. Is either that or the fact this time he used his vampiric force to push you closer. Not that you mind, though. You are just as eager.

The kiss escalated pretty quickly this time, your fingers finding and tugging the locks of his hair, harshly, as your tongues dance together in a shared sloppy kiss. The combination of his skillful mouth and the endorphins make you lightheaded. A warmth starts to spread across your body, lingering in your lower belly. Unconsciously, you start to rock your hips against his to alleviate the delicious pain that starts to grow between your thighs.

Taehyung groans against your lips, “Dove, you are driving me crazy.”

You chuckle, moving your kisses toward his jaw and giving small bites to the soft skin of his neck. You know, as a vampire, he heals quickly. So you use all the force you can muster to give him some hickeys (or try, by any means) as a payback for the unwanted but surprisingly appreciated bite.

You don’t know what you love the most: the sound of his heavy breathing and soft moans that you elicit from his beautiful mouth or the sound of metal against metal when you train with blades with Namjoon back at the Association.

Probably both.

As time goes by, this is just not enough. The kiss gets sloppier. The hip thrusts get harder. You just want more.

"Taehyung," you whisper, tugging his earlobe with your teeth. "I need you."

His eyes are an interesting combination of brown and red, both of the colors blended beautifully. He doesn't answer. Instead, he stands up, carrying you like you weigh nothing. He makes you wrap your legs around him and a second after, you are in a bedroom. You feel like a joke of a hunter, once again not realizing there was another room.

There is not time to dwell on your failure because Taehyung lets you fall in the mattress, his eyes raking your body hungrily.

"Are you sure you want this?"

"Yes," there is no hesitation in your voice.

Your bruised lips rejoined not long after that, your back falling flat on the bed as his body hovers over you. The kiss is a way different than the others you exchanged before. It is softer and more… hesitant. Languid. Like he wants to take his time with you. He is immortal, so time is not something he needs to worry about. He has all the time in the world. His large hands start massaging your tender skin, starting from your breasts, going down your waist, thighs and finishing his journey on the heaven between your legs.

“Oh,” he murmurs against your mouth when his fingers get in contact with your now drenched panties. “You are ready for me and I haven’t touched you properly yet.”

“And what are you waiting for?”

With a smirk and nose snuggling in your neck, Taehyung pushes your panties aside and runs his index finger along your slit, teasingly. He pulls away, taking his hand to his lips, sucking dry his digit and moaning, “Is it possible that this tastes sweeter than your blood?”

“I-”

He hums, “Let’s find out.”

Swiftly, he rips your dress off your body, the piece of cloth tearing easily between his strong fingers.

“Hey!” you cry out. “That was my favorite dress! You owe me a new one.”

“Worth every penny,” he grumbles, tossing your dress ‒now torn into shreds‒ to the floor.

Dude, you really loved that dress…

Your trail of thought is interrupted as a groan echoes around the room, Taehyung drinking at the sight of your body in full display for him. Well, almost. The only things still attached to your frame are your now probably ruined panties, your favorite pair of thigh weapon-holder (one is holding your cell phone and the other had your silver dagger) and your thigh-length boots.

“Wow,” he exhales. “You are so sexy. I could happily fuck you like this.”

A soft whimper comes out of your mouth at his words.

Taehyung reaches your right leg, unzipping your boot slowly and caressing the newly exposed skin. The feeling of his tender almost feather-like touch against your warm flesh send jolts of electricity flying directly to your core.

Why is he taking so damn long?

He repeats the agonizingly slow process with your other leg, enjoying the way you squirm under his ministrations. He even takes his time sliding your feet out of your socks. Jerk.

“Oh, dove,” he coos. “A little impatient, are we?”

“Fuck you.”

He grins. “Not yet, love.”

“You better not tear those apart,” you warn him once his fingers reach your weapon-holders. “Or I will definitely kill you.”

“Fine,” he accepts. “We’ll do it your way.”

“Wait, what are you-?”

Taehyung is getting so close to your leg that you fear what he might do and of all the options you had in mind, this was not definitely one of those: as tender as he can, he is slowly sliding the weapon-holder down your leg… with his teeth. Like one of that old stuff humans did on weddings. One thing for sure, it is one of the sexiest things you have ever seen.

He does the same with both weapon-holders, taking extra care with your phone only because you glared at him once his fingers were wrapped around the dispositive.

The panties stay in their place, much to your surprise. He runs his hands along your now bare legs, opening them wide as he places himself in between. He lays his body on top of yours as he reaches your lips once more. You respond quickly, using both hands to hug him closer. Your fingers find their way in his hair, tugging his locks every now and then when he starts to buck his hips into yours. It is at a particular firm thrust that your hands fall to his back and you notice he is still fully dressed.

Two can play this game.

His body grows stiff above you as the sudden sound of his dress shirt being torn cuts the air, receiving the same treatment as your dress. You let out a sigh at the sensation of his skin against yours.

He continues his ministrations, kissing his way down your body. He nips the skin of your neck and collarbones, stealing your breath away. A gasp comes out of your lips when his lips attached to your breast, his tongue swirling around your sensitive bud. You cry out his name at the feeling of him giving you small bites and Taehyung groans in appreciation.

A whine comes from your mouth when he leaves your chest, mouthing his way down your sternum to your belly button –your neglected breast (and nipple) aching for the attention they didn't get.

When his mouth finds the hem of your panties, he pulls away to gauge your reaction and some sort of asking permission. He only needs the nod of your head to slide, finally, the panties away.

Placing his warm hands on your knees, he opens your legs wider. Your chest moves up and down as your breath becomes shallow. Blood runs up to your cheeks as he analyzes the most intimate part of your anatomy. You feel exposed and vulnerable.

He starts peppering kisses down your thigh, getting closer where you need him most.

"Don't even dare bite down there, you perv," you manage breathlessly and he chuckles against your skin.

"You're no fun."

Any snarky reply you are planning to say is cut off when his tongue presses against your slit. Your body jumps reflexively, wrapping your legs around his neck to keep him in place as his lips pull your clit into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the bundle of nerves. His palm press against your hips to keep you steady.

"Fuck," you moan. "Yes. Keep going."

He hums against your flesh, sending vibrations all over your body. Taehyung eases a finger inside of you, curling the digit inside your walls. The sensation has you mewling. Your body arches when he adds other finger, digits scissoring in your insides to stretch you out. The knot inside your belly starts to tighten as the combination of his tongue around your clit and his fingers inside of you becomes overwhelming.

"Are you going to cum for me, dove?" He asks, pupils blown with lust, once he feels your insides twitching and tightening around his fingers.

"I-I'm close… ah…"

Your chest heaves uncontrollably as you feel your release approaching. Taehyung attacks once again your swollen bud, his fingers pumping in and out of you, filling the room with squelching sounds.

And just when the knot inside your belly is about to snap, his fangs buried in the skin of your leg, injecting a new wave of endorphins and pleasure through your veins. You fall over the edge. Sparks of electricity wash over you, numbing your senses. He only takes a few gulps of your sweet blood and soothes the injury with his tongue. Purrs of his name come out of your mouth. It is only when you cry due to overstimulation that he pulls his fingers out of you.

"You are a good girl, dove" he coos, sucking his fingers dry and his other hand massaging the skin of your legs apologetically. "And very, very, sweet."

"You are a jerk," you manage to murmur once you regained control of your body. You throw your arms around his neck and pull him towards you, your lips pressing together in a heated and desperate kiss.

"Don't you want to be inside of me, vampire?" You tease against his mouth, rocking your hips up to meet his.

He quirks an eyebrow. "What? Are you giving me permission, hunter?"

"Do it before I change my mind."

He doesn't need to be told twice. It only takes a few seconds (thanks to his vampiric speed) for him to get rid of his slacks and briefs. A hand wraps around his length to pump himself a few times before joining you in the mattress. He rubs his tip teasingly against your folds, coating the sensitive skin with your juices.

“Are you ready for me, dove?” he asks, voice raspy.

He only needs one nod to finally give in to you, pushing slowly, inch by inch, inside of you. You both sigh at the feeling of his member stretching you out, your walls hugging him like an old friend. He doesn’t move once he is fully seated inside of you, giving you some time to adjust to his girth. It doesn't take much time and soon you become desperate.

“If you value your life, vampire, fucking move already!”

A smirk appears on his face. “Feisty and needy,” he remarks. “You are definitely a hidden treasure, dove.” But complies nonetheless, sliding out until his tip is only inside of you and pushing inside again in one silk motion that has both of you moaning.

He repeats the same movement a couple of times, making your toes curl. But you want more.

“Taehyung, faster.”

You press your heels against his lower back to make him go faster. You are used to being stronger than most of your partners. Most of them human.

Taehyung nuzzles your neck, biting occasionally but not with enough force to pierce the flesh, as he quickens the pace of his hips against yours, building a steady rhythm. A vampire with a bite kink. What’s new?

You are not anything alike as other partners he has had.

When it comes to intimate relationships, he has always preferred humans over vampires. The laters only surrounded him because he was a pureblood. Not because they cared. The only perk of being with another vampire was that he could go as hard as he sometimes craved without worrying if they ended up killed if he was too harsh. Something he couldn’t afford when he was with humans. But he didn’t care. Humans are more fun to be around. And they are warm.

You are different. You are the best of both worlds: you are not as fragile as a human, but you are as strong as a vampire. And as he keeps pushing inside of you and as the warmth that your body provides embrace him, he hasn’t felt more alive.

In a particular hard hip thrust, he pushes your body upwards –your head bumping into the headboard with a loud thud.

"Offf... Can you just… be more careful!" You grumble. "Clumsy vampire…"

You even shove him away, with enough force for him to slide out of you. He shudders at the loss of you, your warmth, wrapped around him.

He chuckles at your scrunched nose, your hand rubbing your head as you seat in the bed. You look cute and he knows, thanks to the endorphins, you are overreacting.

"Don't be dramatic, dove." He mocks, tugging your body closer to his, flattening your back against the mattress and throwing your legs over his shoulders. "You are probably healing at this point."

"That's not-"

He pushes inside of you again, leaving you speechless, the new angle making him reach points inside of you that make your toes curl.

"Yeah, what were you saying?" he coos.

"You are… ah… so full of yourself,” you manage between moans. You find yourself sliding your hands against the mattress and your fingers curling to grip the silk bed-sheets to hold for dear life.

You know he is just as affected as you. There are pearls of perspiration embellishing his forehead and well… vampires don’t usually sweat.

“What? You can’t keep up with a hunter?” You ask as you squeeze your walls around his member making him groan, his fingers digging harshly in the flesh of your legs.  

“Don’t do that,” he warns.

“Do what?” you bat your eyelashes, all innocent.

“That,” he practically growls as your body repeats the movement in an involuntary reflex.

Something feral poses Taehyung, vanishing the last coherent thoughts he had and something more primal leading his actions. His fingers leave red marks as he holds your legs tighter. Hip thrusts become harder, the rolling of his hips inside of you hitting the right spots.

"Keep going," you mewl, encouraging him.

He enjoys watching your face contorted with lust and endorphins. Very much. You look beyond beautiful. The sight sparks something inside of his chest and either he doesn't want to address it or he is too distracted with the task in hand to even dwell about it.

Your moans become louder as he sets a new pace with his hips. At this point, you are clutching the sheets between your digits so tightly you are surprised it hadn’t torn by now.

“What would the Association say if they find out  their star hunter has a someone like me balls deep inside of her?” He asks, as he rolls his hips deeper and hits your G-spot deliciously.

“So ashamed,” you let out with soft moan.

“So ashamed,” he agrees. “So ashamed of you being a little slut for my cock.”

Your affirmation comes with a purr.

If it wasn't for the force of being a hunter provided, you probably wouldn't feel your legs by now.

"Are you close, dove?" He grunts.

You notice how his hip thrusts become sloppy with time, indicating he is getting closer to his own climax. He is probably old school (well, he has 500+ years after all…) and wants you to cum first.

“Yes,” a whimper comes out of your mouth as you feel the orgasm in your belly start to build for the second time in the night. He takes one of his fingers to your clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves furiously eliciting a cry from your lips.

Curses pour from his mouth as he keeps pushing inside of you. You tighten even more around him, making it harder to move. Taehyung's hips decrease in speed but not in force and soon, you are both gasping for air.

Fingers relentlessly rubbing your clit, hips slamming you in half… Everything becomes too much and you fall apart beneath him. Your back arches furiously as your orgasm washes over you. Taehyung's hips are relentless as he milks every drop of your release and chases his own. He doesn't last long though and soon he follows through, filling you up with his warm seed and collapsing on top of you.

And suddenly, everything is too much to handle: ragged breathing, ecstasy tickling every fiber of your body and the endorphins running in your veins… It is only when your body relaxes and your breath becomes even that you finally slide in the deep world of unconsciousness.

Your body feels… lighter. Like it is made of feathers.

You are lying down in a bed that is more comfortable and bigger than yours.

Where am I?

The silk duvet feels soft against your bare skin and you almost hum in delight. You don’t remember the last time you slept more than 6 hours straight. It was amazing.

As you slowly come to your senses, you notice the reason why you are awake.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Someone is banging the door as if their life depended on it.

With a groan, you move your limbs to stand from the bed. It takes you some time to maintain the balance, your legs feel like jelly, and a lot more to finally being able to stroll towards the door. You yank it open to find a very confused, very worried and very angry Namjoon.

“What?” you groan. The change from the fetal position you were at the bed has your stomach churning and your head pumping furiously. You don’t want nothing more than to lay down again.

“What happened to you?” he asks as he closes the wooden door behind him. “Are you okay?” His voice is tinted with concern as his eyes lay on your body and your intent to crawl back to the bed. "What happened with you calling in 12 hours?"

Your eyes move to his bothered figure. "What are you talking about?" Your voice comes hoarsely, surprising you both.

His eyes go wide. "The mission? Or did you just party all night? How much you drank?"

"Not that much," you reply to both of his questions.

"Then why are you dressed like that?"

"Like what?"

He motions your body with his eyes and you look down, your jaw dropping. You are wearing a baby doll, a fucking baby doll made of silk and lace and it's beautiful and it probably costs a whole month paycheck.

“Are you okay?” he asks again, walking towards you and cupping your head with his hands to examine your face. He hums in content when doesn’t notice any perceptible signs of harm on your skin. He examines your eyes then, frowning a little when he notices your pupils slightly widened in a room full of sunlight. “Do you remember what happened yesterday? Tell me how the mission went.”

You tell him everything that happened after he ended the call. He listens to you intently as his eyes keep scanning your body for injuries. His eyebrows crease into a frown at the mention of the pixie dust but stays quiet as you keep storytelling.

As time goes by, pieces of your story start to get blurry. It's like your mind, still a little hazy, can't recall some of the events of last night.

Then, Namjoon's eyes fall over the juncture between your neck and shoulder and you feel how your body tenses under his gaze. Your hand drifts upward to the spot where his eyes linger, the movement solely pulled by instinct. It is finally when your fingertips grace two tiny marks embellishing the skin of your neck that your eyes grow wide in realization. You have been trained to recognize those marks without a second glance your whole life and when your best friend’s expression hardens, you know you are right.

A vampire’s bite.

“Get dressed,” he barks. You didn’t realize there were spare clothes for you until they are thrown to your face. Courtesy of your friend. “We need to go to the Association. Now.”  

“Yoon,” you call. He is strolling around the room, mad, and with phone in hand. Probably telling the Association the status. “Namjoon,” you call him again. “I’m fine.”

“Fine? Fine? ___, you were attacked. Attacked. By a fucking bloodsucker. You understand that, right?” He shakes your shoulders to try to knock some sense into your hazy and confused mind. “Plus, you don’t seem to remember anything of last night. That means they used compulsion. The Association needs to know. We are not as immune as we thought.”

‘Maybe the reason you hunters believe compulsion doesn’t work on you is that you surround yourselves with newborns.’

“Okay”, you finally agree. “Leave the room so I can change.”

“Hurry,” he urges you while he opens the door. “Jaebum knows we’re going.”

You groan. Of course he is.

“Fine.”

But before he can close the door behind him, something that is stuffed in his fist draws your attention. “Joon, what do you have in your hand?

“Hmm?”

“Your hand.” You point the cream paper that he clustered between the fingers of his right hand in his outburst.

“Oh, it was with the clothes I found. A note.”

Something tingles in your spine. “Did you read it?”

“No.”

“Can I?”

He shrugs and hands it to you before heading out of the room, leaving you alone. The paper feels heavy against your palm, texturized and lush. Someone scribbled with black ink and the words handwritten with beautiful calligraphy will be printed to your mind for the rest of your days.  

Dove:

I hope you had fun last night. I'm sure I did. In all my existence I've never crossed pads with such fascinating vampire hunter as yourself. I definitely give you the opportunity to kill me next time.

Lots of love,

Kim Taehyung.