#keeping this pretty short for the start but it can be expanded in future replies

[stoicstoryteller]

@unyieldingstar

“Hey— if you keep going in that direction, you’ll bump into the pole!”

He had barely caught a glimpse of the woman wandering forward seemingly aimlessly and scrambled forward to grasp her arm in an attempt to pull her back safely before it spirals into an incident that would potentially result in injury for her. Haochen would feel terrible if he didn’t at least try to stop her before then as an obvious witness to it.

[tittyblade]

tumblr etiquette 101

a list that is nowhere near exhaustive, from yours truly.

First off, welcome! Whether you’re a twitter veteran looking for anything but whatever twitter is, or a new user just done signing up, glad to see you in our ranks beloveds! Welcome home. Refer to this quick tour to make sure your fandom experience (or tumblr experience in general) is a positive one!

Disclaimer: I know it’s long, but please try to read or skim through til the end if you’re new here! This is by no means meant to be a rule book (for the most part lol), only a guide to help you get settled easier!

1) Your blog

This is where people will see and interact with you, so put some effort into it!

Try to choose a name (url) that’s simple. You can see it as your brand, it’s how people will perceive you and remember you. If you’d like to interact with other users here (and not use the site just for the content) it’s better to have something short and sweet, preferably without spaces. (Of course, these are only suggestions.) Rest assured, you can change it literally any time you want.

Have a theme. Utilize the tool that lets you edit your blog’s color or the font of your bio! You can make it match your profile picture, or your blog if it has a theme of its own. Make it feel homey :]

Fill in your bio. People will be checking out your profile probably more often than you think. Don’t leave it empty! Put in any information you’re comfortable with sharing and isn’t too personal (like your age if you’re a minor, or other TMI that can be found on other people’s carrds). It’s always better to add a name/nickname people can use to refer to you by, but feel free to use your blog description to shitpost still.

You can have an intro post. More often than not, you’ll see a blog have a pinned post, a post permanently appearing at the top of a blog until you pin another post or unpin it. You can make one of those, if you’d like to introduce yourself in more length, link any other socials or a carrd, and show others visiting your blog how you tag things so it’ll be easy for them to navigate. Not an obligation.

Keep your anonymity and your safety. It should go without saying, but there’s no harm in repeating it just in case. Your comfort, privacy and safety has the utmost importance. Don’t share any information you don’t want to. Don’t share your age if you’re a minor, or any other incredibly personal info. I’d encourage you to go by a nickname that’s not your real name, (blog name, your brand, remember?) since there’s safety in anonymity, and that’s lowkey one of the big deals of tumblr, but that’s up to you still.

Choose what you want to be visible. Your liked posts and who you follow are all things you can set to keep to yourself and hide from the publics eye, how handy! You should go through all the setting while you’re at it, set it to your comfort.

Side blogs are a thing. You can have multiple blogs that you can use for different things (see: different fandoms, art blog, etc) to keep them organized or away from your followers. Just remember that the replies and off-anon asks you send will be from your main blog, as well as where you follow other blogs from.

2) Interacting with others

You’ve set up your account, now comes the fun part!

Follow to your heart’s desire. If you care about others seeing who you follow, fear not! In tumblr, usually only two types of blogs keep their following visible to others: newbies, and big blogs using it to point people on other good blogs’ direction. Just turn it off, and go ham following people.

Customize your dashboard. Gonna mention just two things here: this is another reason why it’s really important that you follow blogs without sparing, your dash will collect dust otherwise; and you should turn off “best stuff first” in your dashboard settings, to have a better community here and all.

Follow tags. You can set it in your settings that posts with your followed tags appear on your dashboard.

You can check the og post for edits and context. When you see a reblogged post you don’t understand the context of (or don’t recognize the character in case of fanarts), click on the profile so it will take you to the original post. From there you can check the original poster’s tags to get the context, or see if there have been any edits made to the post, since when you edit a post it doesn’t update any past reblogs.

Send people asks... This is how you make mutuals, people! Do it off-anon if you’d like them to know your blog, or anon if you’d rather not! (You can still end your messages with a signature to show you’re the same person, -[name] is one example.) Send them nice messages, ask their opinion on something, discuss things, or just straight up shitpost lol. Go wild. The sky’s your limit and it’s definitely more than 280 characters.

...and let them ask you! You can set your preference in the settings, do it on desktop tumblr to access more settings tho! What you can customize on mobile is limited (like letting people ask you things anonymously, that’s only on desktop settings). In my personal opinion, it’s always better to tag their username (or a nickname you give them, if they’re a friend) on that post, since you wouldn’t want your interactions with your friends to get buried in your blog forever.

Comment on posts. If you have something to say but don’t want the post to appear on your blog you can add a comment. The owner of the post will get a notif for it, but for anyone else you need to tag them.

For the love of god, reblog. People will only see your liked posts if you have it visible to public and they specifically go on your blog to look at them. You like something? You reblog. It’s already hard for posts to circulate properly, if you don’t reblog them literally no one will see them. If not for anything do it for the artists. Just hold and drag on mobile to fast rb.

3) Your Posts

Finally here! Don’t be a lurker, post and engage!

Make use of “read more”. If your post is long, add it. That’s what you clicked on earlier to expand this post. On desktop leave an empty line and you’ll see three dots appear, and on mobile type :readmore: on that empty line.

Draft a post to come back to it later. Pretty self explanatory.

Queue your post. Whether it’s your own post or you’re reblogging, make use of the queue feature to a) not spam reblog and fill up the dashboard of people following you and b) keep your blog active while you’re gone. Mess around in the settings, it’s fairly easy to set up.

Schedule your post. Same as queueing, the only difference is you get to choose the exact time your post will go up. Handy if you want to schedule a post for certain dates like april fools, or 5 years in the future for some reason. 

Format your texts. You can do all kinds of fancy stuff here (that’s a link, try pressing on it). Twitter doesn’t have this, make use of it. Changes depending on whether you’re on mobile or desktop. (Desktop has less features.)

Check your stats. If you’re trying to understand the algorithm better or want to look at some pretty graphs you can get your data on that on desktop tumblr.

@ people in comments. You’ll get all the notifs when people comment on your posts but they won’t see your reply unless you tag them in your message.

4) Tags, and tagging a post

This is where my earlier statement “this isn’t a rule book” stops being applicable. It’s not a war crime to go against these, I won’t come chasing you (don’t take my word for this) but you’ll work up a bad rep. Just saying lol.

Do NOT crosstag posts. It’s really tempting to add unrelated tags to increase your posts’ interaction, I know, but that’s not what tumblr is about. Don’t be a dick and make other communities’ experience worse for them.

Always tag your posts with “crit/critical/discourse/etc” if it calls for it. There’s no exceptions to it. This is the reason you see people migrating to tumblr. Let people enjoy things.

Don’t main tag a critical/negative post. If your crit post is about “Thing”, you add the “Thing critical” tag, but not the “Thing” tag. People block crit tags if they don’t want to see it, don’t shove it in their faces by main tagging it. 

If you don’t want to see something, just block it. Another reason why people are able to survive on tumblr. You don’t start discourse, you don’t make call-outs, you block. You can find something for every community you can think of if you go looking for it. The worst of the worst probably won’t ever appear on your dash, but if you’re worried or feel the need for it, you know where the block button is.

Feel free to shitpost or ramble. More often than not you’ll see people rb a post with a comment, and their elaboration will be in the tags. The tags are only visible on your profile and the notifications of the owner of the og blog. Just a thing people do.

Reblog artists’ posts with nice comments in the tags! Commenting on a drawing is usually done through the tags (Not an obligation, again, just a thing people do. Feel free to add your comment on the rb itself if you’d want other people to see it tho!) and leave nice messages for the artists! It’s a win-win for everyone involved. 

If you have more than a single follower, always use the common tw warning tags. You don’t need to tw everything, but tw’ing some common things is the bare minimum human decency. Keep it safe for others. 

Tag a post “long post” if it’s really long. Pretty self explanatory. Don’t make people scroll through all that please lol. 

You can use them to organize your blog. This is more of a pro tip, if you’d like to not miss a post in your blog, cause they will start pilin’ up soon enough.

#Liveblogging is pretty fun. If you’d like to talk to people during streams, don’t forget to add the relevant tags still! Again, you won’t show up on people’s dash otherwise.

Whew! That got out of hand. Hopefully I didn’t bore you too much. Check out blogs like @heritageposts and @hellsite-hall-of-fame to honor our past o7. @mcytblr-hall-of-fame too maybe :eyes:. Anyways, don’t forget the most important rule of them all:

Enjoy your stay! You’re meant to have fun on here while also making friends (if that’s your thing). Just be kind and respectful of others, you’ll get the hang of the rest! <3

[elentiyawhitethorn]

Enchantment

Rowaelin Month, Day 20

Playing with Magic @rowaelinscourt

Rowaelin Month Masterlist//Main Masterlist//Fluff//1462 words

“Where in the world could she be?” Aelin asked frantically, running her hands through her hair anxiously.

Rowan shook his head. “Aelin… I’m so sorry… but I don’t think we’ll ever find her. She’s gone for good.”

Aelin gasped. “She can’t be. Don’t give up, Rowan; she’s our little girl!”

A mournful sigh left Rowan’s mouth. “Fireheart, I know you love her, and I do too, but we have to be realistic.”

Aelin covered her face with her hands. “I miss her already.”

Rowan’s lips twitched, and Aelin knew he was holding back a laugh. She pressed her own lips together to keep her face as melancholy as possible.

“Me too,” was all he could manage, hand going to his mouth to cover a snort.

Aelin grinned. “This is all your fault. If you had never suggested hide and seek, we never would have lost Nora in the first place.”

“My fault? How could you?” Rowan clutched his chest dramatically.

Aelin turned away, crossing her arms. “I don’t think I can stand to look at you anymore, you bastard. Leave me be.”

She watched in the mirror she was facing as Rowan sent a wink her way. “As you wish, my queen. I’ll pack my things immediately.”

Rowan turned and started for the door. Instead of passing the pair of shoes sticking out from under the bed, he paused. “Are these…” He paused dramatically. “Nora’s shoes?”

“All we have left of her,” Aelin replied, sniffling.

A muffled wheezing sound came from under the bed, and Aelin and Rowan exchanged a smile.

“I better get them, dear. If we leave them here, someone could trip over them.”

Aelin finally turned around. “As you wish.”

Upon hearing that the shoes were going to be picked up, they retracted farther under the bed, frantically trying to disappear. But Rowan was too fast for the shoes. He grabbed them, pulling a squealing child out from under the bed.

“Nora!” Aelin cried. “My gods, I thought we’d lost you forever!”

Nora, still on her back with her shiny red shoes in Rowan’s hands, stuck her tongue out at her mother. “No you didn’t, Mom, you’re the worst actor ever.”

Aelin gasped in indignation. “You slanderous little worm. Why, I’ll teach you to speak to the queen in that manner.”

She marched over, suppressing a grin once more as Nora squealed again and wiggled her feet free from Rowan’s grasp. She tried to stand, but Aelin swooped down on her and picked her up effortlessly.

“What will the punishment be?” Aelin asked in mock reprimand. “A visit to the dungeons? One thousand push-ups? Chocolate for dinner?”

“Mm, that last one sounds pretty good to me,” Nora said thoughtfully, dangling in Aelin’s arms.

“Mala spare me,” Rowan muttered.

Mother and daughter sent matching smirks to Rowan, only smiling harder as he said something along the lines of, “I hate it when you two do that.”

“Well, now that hide and seek has brought us the tragedy of thinking our daughter was gone forever”—Nora stuck out her tongue again—“why don’t we find something else to do?”

There was no pause between Aelin’s question and the squirming little girl saying, “Oh, we can practice magic. Please? Please, please, please?” Nora stared right into Aelin’s eyes. “Please, Mama,” she whispered.

Aelin laughed. “Of course we can. But we better get out of the castle, away from collateral.”

Nora nodded seriously, probably unsure of what “collateral” meant but too stubborn to admit it.

Aelin set her daughter on the ground. “Race you down to the courtyard,” she said.

And Nora was off, sprinting out the door and down the stairs.

Rowan chuckled. “She’s a handful, alright.”

“But she’s our handful,” Aelin said primly.

Rowan snorted. “You’re so cheesy.”

Aelin flashed a smile. “Race you down to the courtyard,” she repeated in a soft murmur, a flirty undertone in her voice.

Both of them knew the fastest way was not the stairs, as Nora had gone, but out the window and straight down. Rowan could fly, of course, so Aelin made sure to swing a foot out and knock him off his feet before jogging to the window. She smirked to herself as Rowan cursed her name.

Aelin may not be able to fly, but agility was second nature to her. She kept herself in shape, always training with Rowan, working for every muscle on her body, pushing herself to get better. Aelin hadn't quite been prepared for the pregnancy with Nora, and she’d had many days where helplessness had wracked her brain until the only thought in her head was that she was weak.

After all, some scars never heal.

But she’d finally given birth to the joy that was their daughter, and Aelin had started training all over again. She and Rowan had discussed more children, and firmly decided to wait a while longer until Aelin was ready again, which is why they only had the one child, nearly eight years old.

And the past eight years had made Aelin more physically able than she’d ever been, a feat of nature. She may not have wings as her mate did, but the way she climbed down the many stories, hanging from terraces and dropping from ledges, could almost be considered flying.

Aelin was nearing the bottom when a white-tailed hawk sailed out of the bedroom window. She went as far as to raise her middle finger before dropping the last story and a half, rolling, and rising with ethereal grace.

Aelin was too busy smirking at her husband as he dived to the ground to notice the little munchkin charging her way. One minute she was mouthing loser to the skies, as immature as ever, and the next a small form was clinging to her side.

“I almost won!” Nora yelled, desperate for some form of credit.

Aelin grinned and ruffled the short silver locks she’d inherited from her father. “Yes you did, dear.”

“I want to set something on fire,” Nora declared blatantly.

“Just like her mother,” an amused, but slightly concerned, voice said from beside them. Rowan had shifted back into his Fae form.

Aelin sent him an innocent smile. “What do you want to set on fire, Nora?”

“Don’t answer that,” Rowan cut in immediately. “Let’s start with something… unlikely to be needed in the future.”

Aelin snorted. “Boring old man,” she said, and Nora giggled, earning a faux wounded expression from Rowan.

Aelin pulled something out of her pocket.

“Tell me that’s not Darrow’s latest decree,” Rowan said in exasperation, already knowing the answer.

Aelin shot him a smile. “Something unlikely to be needed in the future, exactly as you wished, my darling.”

Rowan shook his head, lips twitching slightly.

Aelin unrolled the scroll and held it out, stepping away from Nora. She sent a nod her daughter’s way.

Nora got into defensive position—her parents’ child for sure—and furrowed her brow. She’d played with her magic plenty of times before, but she was still learning how to control it, particularly the small amount of fire she’d inherited from her mother. She had a far greater amount of ice powers from Rowan, and better control over them as well—which made burning things all the more fun, in Aelin’s opinion.

Nora stared holes into the parchment, but nothing happened. Rowan came up behind her and bent down to whisper something in her ear, and the tenderness of the gesture melted Aelin’s heart. Nora nodded in determination once Rowan was done and squinted.

Her focus seemed to have improved with Rowan’s instruction, for smoke started rising from the paper. Nora smiled in delight and the whole thing burst into flames without warning. Aelin grinned and held the scroll as it turned into ash in her hand.

“Lovely, Nora.”

Darrow would not be pleased. What a productive day this was turning into.

Nora clapped her hands excitedly. She spun around, the ground starting to turn frosty at her feet. The wind whipped, and Aelin shared a proud look with Rowan as ice scread across the courtyard.

Nora’s power was limited, and the ice couldn’t quite reach the edges of the courtyard. Aelin felt Rowan’s ice freeze the whole thing over thicker in addition to expanding it, and all of a sudden, they were standing on their own little ice rink.

Nora squealed, quite possibly unaware her father had helped out. She laughed—then yelped as she slid onto her bottom. Nora quickly got back to her feet, just as capable as her father and persistent as her mother.

Aelin slid lazily over to Rowan, still watching their daughter spin and skate around. “I love you.”

He smiled, lifting a thumb to Aelin’s cheek. “I love you too.”

———

Tag List:

@aelin-bitch-queen

@evolving-dreamer

@feysand-loml

@flora-shadowshine

@gracie-rosee

@infernoqueen19

@julemmaes

@lemonade-coolattas

@live-the-fangirl-life

@midsizewitch

@morganofthewildfire

@nehemikkele

@realbookloverproblems

@rhysandswingspan

@rowaelinismyotp

@rowanaelinn

@sexy-dumpster-fire

@sleeping-and-books

@story-scribbler

@swankii-art-teacher

@thenerdandfandoms

@yesdreamblog

[wangxianficrecs]

Follower Recs

Stories I haven’t read yet, but clearly need to put on my ever-expanding List.

~*~

Welcome back queen [Thank you, it’s so lovely to be back!] if ur still doing follower recs I gotta recommend I would wait for a thousand years by bleuett it’s soooooooo good

[This one was actually recced to me by two different people, the other of whom said, “ Maybe I'm crying a little so I feel like a should recommend ‘I would wait for a thousand years’ by bleuett on ao3.”]... it’s def. on my List!

I would wait for a thousand years

by bleuett (T, 10k, wangxian)

Summary:  During the worst of winter, a traveler comes to stay at Lan Wangji's inn. He wears a red ribbon in his hair.

“Do you see the rabbit?” Wei Ying asks and points at the moon. “That’s the moon rabbit, he helps make Chang’e more immortality elixir. He keeps Chang’e company.”

“I do not wish the rabbit for company,” Lan Wangji says tightly. “You are the one I want by my side.”

“And I’m here, Lan Zhan. If you go to the moon, I’ll follow you, I’ll always be here now.”

~*~

I just read a great fic by aisthuu "every love story is a ghost story", didn't see it in your recs so wanted to recommend it! LWJ is a guqin composer and teacher, buys a cheap guqin off eBay which ends up being attached to WWX's spirit from canon era. It's bittersweet, LWJ deals with Lan's homophobia (implicit in a Lan way) and his feelings towards the ghost. This is author's only ao3 fic and honestly I don't remember how I stumbled upon it, but I'm happy I did and hope you will enjoy it too!  [I’ve recently read this one, and loved it!]

every love story is a ghost story

by aisthuu (M, 59k, wangxian, my bookmark)

Summary:  The man is in Lan Zhan’s bed. Did they—he begins to wonder, eyes trailing to where the man’s body lies under the blanket. Had Lan Zhan—?

Then the sleep-fog clears and Lan Zhan realizes that the young man isn’t quite opaque around the edges.

“You’re a spirit.”

The spirit narrows its eyes. “I’m so much more than that.”

(Lan Zhan buys a guqin off eBay for a suspiciously low price, only to find that it’s haunted. And now there’s a ghost in his bed.)

~*~

Ok so I absolutely have to rec "see you yesterday" by glyphic. It's a wip, but it's currently at 101k so there's a whole lot there, and it's terrible and wonderful and beautiful all at once. The way the backstory of canon events is adapted to the modern-with-cultivation setting is brilliant, and then there's the amnesia, and then there's the time loop. This fic lives permanently rent-free in my brain.

see you yesterday

by glyphic (M, 101k, wangxian, WIP)

Summary:  

Wei Ying 21:09 hey lan zhan what’s the weirdest way youve died

Lan Zhan 21:11 Falling encyclopedias.

Wei Ying 21:12 omg no way that’s so rude turning books against you???

Lan Zhan 21:13 A betrayal I will never forget.

On Halloween night, an exiled demonic cultivator and a Lan disciple get stuck in a time-loop, find each other, and try to figure it all out.

~*~

If you are looking for recs for yourself I absolutely love (the complete!) story Just as the Snow Melts by draechali on AO3. It's a canon divergence where everyone lives, even WWX! ~ @airmidcelt

Just as the Snow Melts

by draechaeli (T, 67k, wangxian)

Summary:  Like a snowy mountain top in spring the residents of the Burial Mounds trickled down the mountain and joined the flow of society.

“I went to the Burial Mounds,” Lan WangJi said.

“Ah, yeah… I’m sorry Lan Zhan,” replied Wei WuXian, “I hadn’t thought anyone would come to visit. I am still not sure how it happened; I brought A-Yuan to Yiling to play by the river and then ended up somehow teaching a bunch of children swimming and writing along with him.”

~*~

Hello! It's come to my attention that you have not as yet read Grandmaster of Meme-onic Cultivation! Please do! It's the only thing that gave me joy during 2020 😆 like proper belly laughs and disney villain style cackling. It is a wip, and it is long but so so worth it!! The author has reworked the entire canon through these message crystals and still conveys complex characters despite the tricky format. It's just so good!! Highly highly recommend it! ❤ ~ @theladypeartree  [Oh!  I’ve been subscribed to this one, and know that @swaglexander-the-great is a reliable provider of Hilarity, so I’m excited for it to be finished!]

Grandmaster of Meme-onic Cultivation 

by Hades_the_Blingking (T, 49k, wangxian, WIP)

Summary:  The Untamed universe is exactly the same, except everybody has magical crystals that have a suspiciously familiar messaging system. The story is pretty much the same as the show, except everyone lives!! (so minor changes).

or in which Wei WuXian tries his darndest to date Lan Zhan, Jiang Cheng possibly has a aneurysm, Jin ZiXuan is still the most awkward human alive, and Xue Yang makes me write some VERY cursed things. Written in chatfic format! :3

~*~

Chomrafy on AO3 deserves love and encouragement; she’s written a body of compact, poetic, and eloquent shortfics each of which can stand alone, but that comprise an intricately cross-referential and mostly internally-consistent universe. They’re grouped as chapters in works according to theme; for example, “in cupped hands” focuses upon Jin Ling and his second-generation baggage; “Departure in Autumn” portrays the last years of WWX’s first life. Follow the tag “Chomrafy’s MDZS shortfics.” [I don’t see this tag?]

in cupped hands

by chomrafy (G, 2k, wangxian)

Summary:  Of secrets, of futures, of love. A Jin Ling-centric collection of 200-word fics.

Ch.1: Jin Ling repays a debt (JL, JC, & WWX). Ch.2: Jin Ling and a ghost in the mirror. (JL & JYL) Ch.3: A matter of friends (JL & the other kids) Ch.4: In this house we don't keep dogs (JC & WWX) Ch.5: In the end, he remains silent (JL & uncles) Ch.6: A first night hunt, of sorts (JL & the other kids) Ch.7: Jin Ling, forgiving, forgetting (JL & LXC & JGY) Ch.8: Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling argue (JL, JC, & WWX) Ch.9: Jin Ling and his father (JL & JC) Ch.10: Jin Ling speaks up (JL, JC, & WWX) Ch.11: Jin Ling and a piece of home (JL, JC, & WWX)

Departure in Autumn

by chomrafy (not rated, 6k)

Summary:  Four perspectives. A steady march to the end.

Ch.1: Because if anything happens to them, Wen Qing would never be able to heal with these hands again. Ch.2: As long as this is still home, Jiang Yanli will wait as long as she needs to. Ch.3: Five times Jiang Cheng reaches for Wei Wuxian, one time he turns away. Ch.4: Whether the road is broad or narrow, bright or dark, they would have to keep walking. Wei Wuxian digs Wen Qing's grave.

~*~

Hello, hope all is going well. I don't have an ask, by I do have a recommendation. I read this fic a while ago and found it again. I just wanted to recommend this for everyone. Let me know what you think please. Thank you. [Oh!  This one’s in my To Read list, but  I’d forgotten about it.  Mmmm, fox!wwx and dragon!lwj.]

Ten miles of Lotus Flowers

by Yukirin_Snow

M, 274k, wangxian

Summary:  He was a mischievous fox spirit, wreaking havoc where he went, about to depart on a journey that would span centuries.

He was a heavenly prince, a proud dragon destined to ascend the throne to become emperor.

Neither expected their paths to collide over the span of three lives.

~*~

I forgot if it was your blog 😥 that recommended “Bestseller” (when Wei Wuxian writes the Xianxia cut-sleeve equivalent of Fifty Shades of Grey, based entirely on his experiences with Lan Wangji, he doesn’t expect it to become the next big hit) (https://archiveofourown.org/works/21528316/chapters/51318766)

But OMG IT WAS HILARIOUS!!! I LOVED IT!! And if it wasn’t your blog, I’m so sorry for how weird this sounds 😭😭😭😭 I just loved this fic so much that I have to tell it to someone 😢 [It’s on my List, but I haven’t read it yet!]

Bestseller

by pupeez4eva

M, 8k, wangxian

Summary:  He had written the book to prove a point. It was never supposed to be a big thing, and he certainly never intended for everyone — Jiang Cheng, Zewu-Jun, the Juniors, literally everyone— to be reading about his sex life.

Oh God, he definitely needed to make sure Lan Zhan didn’t find out about this.

(Or, when Wei Wuxian writes the Xianxia cut-sleeve equivalent of Fifty Shades of Grey, based entirely on his experiences with Lan Wangji, he doesn’t expect it to become the next big hit).

~*~

I’d like to rec On Your Marks, Get Set, Bake! by @blackwiresgrowonherhead

It’s one of my absolute favorites and I laughed out loud so many times when reading it

on your marks, get set, bake!

by BlackWiresOnHerHead

G, 41k, wei wuxian & juniors

Summary:  Jin Ling resumes thumping on the door to room 721, and the small collection of freshmen starts chanting “Senior Wei! Senior Wei! Senior Wei!” with increasing volume until finally Wei Wuxian opens the door.

“Yes?” he says with his widest, most innocent eyes.

“Senior Wei!” demands Lan Jingyi, shoving himself to the front of the group. “Why didn’t you tell us you’re a contestant on this year’s season of The Great Gusu Bake Off?!?”

--

Several months ago, college student Wei Wuxian secretly competed in the most popular reality show in the country. The show starts airing in the fall. The freshmen in his dorm collectively lose their minds.

~*~

If you're in the mood for v. short ridiculous fun fic, may I suggest My chain hits my chest/When I'm bangin' on the radio by x_los It's 2k modern cultivators AU, featuring WWX calling LWJ's sword Bitchin' [omg I’m laughing so hard] and I think it's more fun going in blind?

My chain hits my chest/When I'm bangin' on the radio

by x_los

T, 2k, wangxian

Summary:  Lan Wangji finds he doesn't even need to call for help for Wei Wuxian to come running.

[shootybangbang]

[Talking Bird] Ch 16: In which the plot finally makes an appearance

[Ao3 Link]

[Content Warning]: suicidal ideation, mild gore

[Note]: this fic has gone through some serious revisions — mostly expanded scenes/dialogue. The chapters most heavily affected are 1, 2, 3, and 7, but I’ve added a changelog to the end notes of each previous chapter detailing the edits that have been made. To save you some time though, here are the three main things to note:

The reader character does not have the bonds

The reader character refers to Arthur by his last name due to unfamiliarity

The horniness from last chapter has been moved to a future chapter. sorry!

This chapter is also pretty long in comparison to the others. From here on out, the chapters will probably be 2000+ words.

———

You look out into the plains, at the last pale band of light disappearing beneath a horizon of prairie grass and dark, looming buttes. The shadows of the scant trees stretch long and thin, their branches like a thousand spindly fingers grasping, searching. The landscape is dimmed to a tableau of reds and blacks, anything not illuminated by the fire slowly sinking into the featureless canvas of night. All of it blurred and indistinct behind a curtain of rain.

It’s a prettier sight by far than any you’ve had in St Denis. Or San Francisco. Or anywhere else you’ve lived, really.

And yet it hangs like featureless gauze behind the endless reel playing out over and over behind your eyes, spinning round like the printed images on a zoetrope.

The O’Driscoll’s hands wet with blood and mud. His eyes wide and uncomprehending. Trying to put himself back together the way one might a broken toy, sieving his viscera between his fingers and scooping it into the cavity of his chest. That initial, stunned bemusement giving way at last to the dawning horror of his own end.

And accompanying it, the numb realization that what bothered you more was the bare abstraction of the act. The burden of this sin weighing heavy with all the others, its addition tipping some moral scale, and —

“Hey.”

Morgan’s voice, jarringly brusque against the murmurings of your own private judge and jury, is almost mercifully irritating.

“What do you want?” you snap.

“Get up,” he says. “Start strippin’ the wet bark off the firewood.”

“For chrissakes, at least give me a second to catch my breath.”

“Why, so you can keep sittin’ there feeling sorry for yourself?” He leans one hand against the stone wall of the outcrop and drags himself back to his feet. The barest shadow of a grimace flits across his face as he straightens his back. “C’mon. Sooner we get set up proper, the sooner we can get back to ignorin’ each other. Then you can sulk all night in peace.”

The cottonwood branches are covered in cracked, ash brown bark that scrapes rough against your palms and fingers, rasping the skin raw as you hold the wood firm for carving. One of the downsides of living easy for so many years, you suppose — all the protective calluses atrophy to nothing, and what remains becomes susceptible to old and familiar hurts. But habits run deeper than skin, and what the mind forgets the body keeps.

As you work your way through the firewood, Boadicea nickers and paws impatiently at the dirt.

“I’m sorry girl,” you hear Morgan say. “Been a hard day for us both.”

You snort contemptuously. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he unhooks the horse’s bridle and lifts away the saddle, then starts grooming her with a battered looking brush, brushing with quick, circular motions, going against the grain and fluffing up her coat to dry out her fur with a solicitous measure of care that seems wholly unfitting of a man of his temperament and occupation.

Boadicea makes a low, rumbly noise in the back of her throat that sounds almost like a purr. She dips her head down and chomps at the yellowed prairie grass lining the floor of the outcrop, tearing up mouthfuls with a sedate contentedness that makes you sorely wish you could share in her circumstances.

A sense of fatigue more complete than any you’ve ever felt before settles over you like heavy snow. For the moment, you feel blank and washed out, stripped bare of all pretense.

“Morgan,” you admit. “I don’t have the bonds.”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I know.” He unpacks his canvas roll and yanks free from it the saddle blanket of coarse, undyed wool, then unfurls it over the horse’s back, pulling it over her flank and adjusting the fit. “Figured as much before we left Strawberry.”

“Oh.” At this point, you haven’t even the energy to be surprised. “Huh.”

For a long while, the only sound is that of the knife scraping against bark and the intensifying patter of rain, fat droplets coming down hard and fast.

In a small voice, you ask him, “You’re not really gonna sell me to a brothel, are you?”

He scoffs. “What makes y’think that ?”

“Thought you seemed too… too decent to do something like that.”

“Me? Decent?” Morgan lets out a low, disbelieving whistle. “Thought you’d know better by now.”

He turns partway to face you. In the dim light of the fire only half of him is lit bright enough to see, the rest tapering sharp into dark silhouette. For the lapse of a heartbeat it’s as if all the irreverence and bravado has been ripped away like a sheet of paper, and underneath a viciousness, a suppressed violence that you’ve been too blind to see.

This whole time you’ve been treating him like a dog, when the teeth at your throat are those of a wolf.

Your mouth goes dry and your fingers tighten around the knife in your hand. You stare up at him like a deer caught in his sights — blind panic rising up in your chest and throat like cold water. You swallow hard and try to force it down so you can maintain at least a semblance of control.

“Mr. Morgan…?”

“You ain’t been half as scared of me as you should be,” he says. “holed up with a wanted man, nobody around for miles. Some of the men I’ve run with, they…”

He lets the sentence trail off, the implications clear enough without him saying so. Then he shakes his head, and there is a weariness in him, a kind of cynical exhaustion that ages him far beyond his years. “Girl,” he says. “You keep at this line of work, I guarantee you’ll be dead in a year.”

Morgan slicks his fingers through his wet hair to keep rainwater from dripping into his eyes, and you can see that the hangdog look is back on his face, all his suggested cruelty vanished like smoke. He shifts his attention back to the saddlebags. “No, I ain’t decent,” he continues. He pulls out a tin cup and the individual components of what looks to be a collapsible grill. “But I ain’t so far gone that I’d hurt a woman. Or sell one.”

“But you’d ransom one.”

“Figured it out, did you?” he says. “Thought you might.”

He sits back beside the fire and pieces the grill together, twists its winch tight and positions it over the fire. Then he fills the tin cup with water from the canteen and sets it atop to heat.

“If you don’t hurt women,” you say slowly, your right hand still holding the knife tight as a vise. “Then what’re you going to do to me when you find out I’m not worth ransoming?”

“Doubt that’s gonna be a problem.”

“Why not?”

“Had a brand new Mauser on ya. You know how much those things cost?”

Mentally, you kick yourself. Looks like begging the gunsmith to lend you the best pistol he had in stock has come back to bite you in the ass.

“The gun’s not mine,” you say quickly. “It’s a loan.”

“Those bloomers in your room were real silk. You gonna tell me those were a loan too?”

“You — my bloomers?! Why were you going through my bloomers, you fucking degen—”

Of all the things you’ve accused him of today, somehow this is the one that actually rankles him. “You think I like rummaging through women’s underwear? Had to go through ‘em to get to your billfold.”

You flush hard enough that even the tips of your ears feel hot. “I… I saved up for those bloomers. Not that I’d expect you to understand the importance of—

“That shirt’s custom tailored, ain’t it? Those boots, too. And that’s good leather right there. Far too good for your typical drug mule. Either you come from money, or you got rich friends.”

There’s not much you can rebut here. All you can manage is a lame, “You don’t even know who I am .”

“Got a friend not too far from here who’s plenty familiar with St Denis. He’ll know.” Morgan holds his hand out towards you. “Gimme that knife a second.”

The knife is the only scrap of protection you’ve managed to grab hold of through this entire ordeal. You squeeze its handle tight.

He lets out a short, impatient sigh. “If I wanted to hurt you, I’d have done it by now. So c’mere and hand it over.”

You’ve known men who take a certain vicious pleasure in abusing women. Merchants with cringing wives. Clients with kind faces who’d leave working girls battered and bruised. There’s usually a certain mien about them that sets you on edge and that Morgan, brusque as he is, thoroughly lacks.

You brush the wood shavings off your lap and approach him. When you reach his place beside the fire, he tilts his head upwards to meet your eyes, the look on his face calm and expectant. A self-assured confidence that you’ve seen many times before, in the guises of many different men. It sends a familiar shiver of resentment down your spine.

You could cut out his eye right now. You could sink the blade into the thick cord of his neck. And he’d shoot you dead just for trying it — oh, you’ve no doubt of that — but it’d be quick and it’d be painless, and here comes that pathetic urge again, that little whisper coaxing you deeper, deeper towards the welcoming dark —

But equally pathetic is the nagging insistence that always stays your hand, that strident, desperate plea born from bodily instinct. The shared fear of all life from the inevitable. Cowardice — that’s what it is. A cowardice you’ve never been able to shake, a resentful, stubborn tether that you’ve bitten and clawed at over the years, but that still stays looped firm around your neck.

( And what about Mei? What about her son? )

You hand him the knife, and he receives it without incident.

The water in the tin cup is boiling. Morgan slips the point of the knife through the cup’s metal handle, and delicately removes it from the grate to cool. As you stand there, wet and cold and resentful, but not sure what else to do, he saws the top off a can of beans and sets it on the grill to warm, then pulls something out of his satchel and tosses it in your direction.

Somehow, you manage to not fumble the catch. It’s a can of peaches.

“Don’t eat ‘em yet,” he says. “I wanna take a look at your arm first. Roll up your sleeve for me.”

You grimace. One of the pros of tailored shirts is having sleeves that actually fit. “It doesn’t roll up that far.”

“Then I’ll cut it off for you,” he says, putting the knife to the shoulder seam.

“Like hell you will. This is my last decent shirt.”

Morgan shrugs. “No way around it, unless you wanna take it off.”

A shirt nice enough to present a veneer of respectability costs at least $4. Your usual tailor’s fee runs about $2, plus tip. That’s $6 total: the equivalent of two week’s worth of food for Mei and her son. Good food — white rice and cabbage, maybe even a bit of pork belly. Not the bits of offal scrounged from the butcher and wilted produce she’d resort to otherwise.

You hold out your hand and say, “Give me something to cover myself with.”

Your time spent reading Ovid in college would have probably been better served learning to dress like him, you think to yourself as you try and try again to wrap Morgan’s blanket around yourself like a toga.

“I said I’d give you a minute to yourself,” he says. “It’s been more than three now. I’m gonna turn around.”

“Just ten more seconds,” you respond, hastily tucking the corner of the blanket into the horizontal swathe pulled taut across your torso.

The sheer amount of irritation he manages to convey in the sigh he lets out is really quite impressive. In it, you can somehow hear him rolling his eyes.

When you finally let him know you’re ready, he takes one look at you and has to stifle a laugh. “You could’ve just wrapped it around your chest. Woulda been more practical.”

“Oh, excuse me for wanting to preserve what’s left of my dignity,” you snap, keeping one arm pressed against your chest to keep the whole improvised garment from falling apart.

“Alright Caesar, c’mere. Let me see.”

The cut looks like an angry red furrow ploughed through the field of your skin. Its edges are ragged and torn, separated like poorly cut cloth. In between, the wound itself gleams red and raw, with particles and fibers mixed in with blood and indeterminate tissue.

Earlier, when you’d gingerly untied the makeshift bandage and taken off your shirt, you’d taken a silent moment to survey the damage, wondering with horrified fascination if it was perhaps your own muscle you were glimpsing, that particular facet of your body surfacing through its dermal barrier for the first time.

“I’m gonna hold your arm,” Morgan says. “That ok with you?”

You nod, a little dumbfounded that he of all people would have the foresight to ask for permission.

He lifts your arm towards the firelight so he can better examine the wound, and in doing so handles you with more care than you can remember any lover ever giving you. You tell yourself that it’s a rebuke of your own terrible taste than an indication of any extraordinary kindness on his part, then forcibly dredge up the memory of his gun at your back for good measure.

“You’re gonna have a hell of a scar after this,” he says, running his thumb along the unbroken skin below the cut. “No inflammation, which is good. I’ll patch you up the best I can, but we’re still gonna want to check on it every couple hours to make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

He gets up to rummage through his saddlebags and returns holding a roll of gauze and a bottle of clear liquid. “You’ll be wanting this,” he says, handing over the latter. “This’ll hurt.”

You take a swig and nearly choke on it. “What the hell is this?”

“Grain alcohol.”

Grimacing, you bring it to your lips again and take in two more mouthfuls of the stuff before handing it back, gulping it down quick to get the burn of it down your throat and off of your tongue.

Morgan hovers his hand over the tin cup to test its temperature. “This needs to cool down first. Gives you some time for that liquor to set in too.”

“I think it’s going to my head already,” you admit.

Heat is spreading from the warm pit of your stomach to your neck and face, branching through your veins as sure as blood. The thud of your heart, previously an imperceptible thing, now asserts itself like a metronome.

He glances over at you and whistles low. “Not much of a drinker, are you?”

“Not usually.” You press your palm against your cheek. “Am I turning red?”

“Gettin’ there.”

It’s strange, settling into this oddly comfortable limbo between cordiality and aggression. Your sustained caution of him is beginning to wane so steadily that you have to consciously remind yourself the only reason he hasn’t shot you dead or at least seriously injured you is due to the fact that you’re worth more intact than otherwise.

“So,” Morgan says. “What’s someone with silk bloomers doin’ all the way out here runnin’ opium to Strawberry?”

“It’s a very long and stupid story.”

“Then give me the short version.”

You stare at the ground as though it’ll offer you some way to condense the sordid affair of your life into a couple easy sentences. He’d asked the question with what sounded like genuine curiosity instead of interrogation, and for once you feel inclined to blurt out the whole of it, like a girl in confession.

You want to tell him about how small the missionaries had seemed when you’d waved at them through the train’s grime-smudged window, not knowing it’d be the last time. The tweed jacket tossed carelessly onto the floor, and the cool, smooth sheen of mahogany against your skin. Feng fishing you out from the dark water lapping at the docks. The money, the opium, the blood.

The sight of the Heartlands for the first time, its blue horizon impossibly vast.

“I owe someone a lot of money,” you say finally, fiddling with a piece of grass between your fingers, tearing into halves and halves and halves. “He said it was either this or the brothel.”

“And you chose this. Runnin’ dope to those poor bastards working the railroads.”

It’s not the first time you’ve heard this particular tone of voice. The kind that implies its speaker’s higher moral ground as it categorically condemns you. But coming from him makes its sting especially hard.

“I don’t force them to buy it,” you say hotly. “It’s not just me that’s at fault here.”

“You ever seen a dope addict? They ain’t got a goddamn choice —”

“Well, d’you know what the average lifespan of a Chinatown whore is?” You don’t bother waiting for a response before plummeting to the answer. “Two years. After that she’s either dead from syphilis or suicide. At least with the opium I’ll die out here in the open and not in some squalid closet of a room that smells like piss and men.”

The liquor is starting to hit hard , and a part of you is fiercely grateful for it. It’s been a long time since you’ve been given an excuse to scream out the inequities of your life to someone, and a man who’s holding you for ransom seems as good a target for your vitriol as any.

“You think that just ‘cause it’d be better for the greater good or some shit, they should get to fuck me over? Is that what you think?”

Morgan seems a little taken aback. “I didn’t say th—”

“I don’t give a shit about the addicts. I don’t give a shit who’s life I’m ruining, as long as it isn’t mine. I don’t… I don’t care about anyone else because I’m a terrible excuse for a human being. That’s what you want to hear me say, right?” At this point, you realize that you’ve transitioned into a hysterical rant, that you don’t properly mean half the things you’re saying, but saying it out loud feels good nonetheless, like sucking venom from a festering wound. “But people like you don’t get to tell me so. Because at least I don’t hold people at fucking gunpoint . I don’t rob banks or kidnap women or beat debtors. I’m not a fucking murderer like you—”

The last statement barely clears the air before the image of the dead O’Driscoll, sprawled across the ground with his belly torn open, flashes through your head. You immediately clap your hand over your mouth, as if doing so will let you swallow back your words.

“No,” Morgan says, “You ain’t a murderer. And that’s why you won’t last long.”

“Good,” you seethe. The hot sting of tears begins prickling again at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t want to.”

He raises his eyebrows and regards you with a vague, detached kind of pity that makes you almost wish he’d just outright condemn you instead, then touches his fingers to the tin cup. “Water’s cool enough now, I think.”

You feel like a petulant child who’s just thrown an ineffectual tantrum. Rendered self-conscious and obedient for the time being, you allow him to secure your elbow with his hand and begin irrigating the wound with warm water.

“Jesus fucking god,” you hiss. You reflexively try and jerk away, but he holds you still and tells you to stop squirming, his grip firm as iron.

It’s the worst pain you’ve felt in years. Like a lick of flame passing over your skin, echoing its progenitor again and again as he washes the cut with a series of short, measured trickles of water, flushing away the combined grime of dried blood, dust, and lint.

“You think this is bad,” he says, unscrewing the bottle of grain alcohol. “Wait’ll I sterilize it.”

If the water was flame, then the alcohol is a streak of molten lava, wet fire soaking through the wound in a rush of white-hot burning pain. You don’t scream — you let out a weak, choking sob so pathetic that you cover your mouth again in an attempt to stifle it.

But you’re a little drunk and your subconscious recognizes this as an excellent excuse to cry, and so it lets flood the tears you’ve kept stoppered up for hours now. You whimper, meet his eyes briefly, then start bawling.

Your crying before hadn’t seemed to bother him, but now he looks almost comically alarmed. He must think it’s the physical pain sending you into hysterics, because he starts trying to comfort you the same way he did Boadicea when he’d led her into the river.

“You’re doin’ good,” he says, cajoling you in a soft, affectionate voice. He sets the bottle of alcohol on the ground and pats you awkwardly on the shoulder. “Just a little more to go, and we’ll be done.”

Another agonizing, scorching splash of fire. He doesn’t chide you this time when you try to pull away.

“Shhhh… I know, I know. Hurts like a bitch, don’t it? I’m gonna give it one more rinse, and — yeah, there we go. You’re alright.”

Morgan wraps the bandage over your arm with deft, practiced fingers, and you wonder briefly how many times he’s had to do this for himself, with no one to soothe him. Though better that than the shoddy job you’d done on him six weeks ago, frantically patching him up with just the barest idea of what you were doing.

He ties off the bandage, then picks the can of peaches off the ground, pops open its metal lid with the tip of his knife and proffers it to you like a peace offering. “Here. You’re hungry, right?”

It’s very hard to cry and eat at the same time. You decide to concentrate on the latter.

After tapering your sobs down to a series of quiet, resentful sniffles, you begin gulping down mouthful after messy mouthful of sliced peach. It’s the first morsel of food you’ve had in over ten hours, and you wolf it down so quickly you hardly taste it. Just an impression of cloying sweetness mixed with something faintly aromatic (cinnamon, you think) lingering as an aftertaste.

The old instincts of hunger are hard to shake off. All decorum thoroughly discarded, you raise the can to your lips and drink down what syrup remains, tilting it nearly perpendicular to the ground to get at the last few drops.

“My god,” Morgan says. “I seen dogs with better manners.”

“If you’d fed me earlier, then I— what’re you doing.”

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” he asks. He holds his bandolier in one hand. The other is working at his shirtcollar. “I’m gettin’ the hell outta these wet clothes.”

You clutch at the empty can of peaches as his union suit reveals itself in a revelation of blue. A blue which, you admit to yourself with an uncomfortable surge of appreciation, suits the shade of his eyes extremely well. But when he begins unbuckling his belt, you quickly avert your eyes. “Really?” you ask. The scandalization you probably ought to have felt from the very moment he’d begun undressing finally begins to surface. “Your pants, too?”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m keepin’ the union suit on.”

“Are you usually this brazen with the women you kidnap?”

“D’you usually sit around half-naked with the men who kidnap you?” he asks, jabbing his thumb towards your own discarded shirt, which you’d spread out neatly beside the fire to dry.

“That’s different,” you hiss, knowing very well that it isn’t. “I had a medical reason.”

“Yeah, and so do I. I don’t wanna get pneumonia.”

He has a point. You look down at your own sodden trousers, which cling to your skin in a cold, wet embrace, and your internal scale of comfort versus propriety tips decidedly towards the former.

“Turn your back again,” you tell him.

“What for?”

“I’m gonna take my pants off too, and I don’t want you trying to sneak a peek at my bloomers.”

He laughs, then winces and gingerly splays his fingers across his ribs. It’s the first sign of real levity you’ve seen from him. “Oh, that is the last thing on my mind right now, girl.” There’s a tired grin on his face, and were it not for the events of the day, you might have almost found it endearing. “Besides, you ain’t hardly my type.”

“Well that’s good to hear,” you reply, a little offended. “Because I’m not interested in men with terrible taste.”

But he does as he’s told, and when you’re satisfied with the oblique angle of his range of sight, you let the borrowed blanket fall from your shoulders and pull the ribbon securing your braid free. You rake your fingers through your hair until it hangs loose, then gather the ends of it in one hand and twist it tight to wring out the rainwater. Only then do you pull the blanket back over your shoulders and begin to undress.

First, your boots. Then the knee-length woolen socks, which have left their cable-knit weave as an imprint on your skin. After glancing at him one more time to make sure his face is turned discreetly away, you unbuckle your belt and wriggle your way out of your trousers. It takes some maneuvering, and some thoroughly indecent posturing, to finally get them off. You leave your cotton bloomers on, figuring that the warmth of the fire will dry the thin material soon enough.

When you look back at Morgan, you find that he’s since turned back towards you. Not to gawk, but to get a better look at his own wounds in the firelight.

His union suit is half-unbuttoned. Most of his bare chest is visible, and along with it, the bruises from the ricocheted bullet. A mottle of blue and violet, like a spill of ink that radiates from the negative imprint of the flask that took the impact in his place. And right below it, a glimpse of your own handiwork.

When you’d first found him, the cut had spanned diagonal across his torso, trailing shallow from his chest and biting deep near the ridge of his hip. Most of it’s healed over since, but the edges are angry and inflamed still, and you can see the fading marks of your inexpert stitches laid like railroad tracks over the land of his skin.

“Don’t worry, I ain’t looked at you,” Morgan says. He probes gently at an indigo patch and inhales sharply. “Too busy lickin’ my own wounds.”

If you look closer, you can see the remnants of multiple scuffs and scratches. A history of violence storied across his body, told in the pale lettering of scars, many of them recent. An unwelcome pang of guilt settles itself low in your belly. It looks like he’s been on the road for a while, healing sporadically through long stretches of hard journeying. Hard journeying made worse, no doubt, by your theft of his bonds.

“You… uh. You want me to keep carving off wet bark?”

“Nah,” he says distractedly, still trying to determine the depth of the damage left behind. “Should be fine leavin’ the rest of it to dry out by the fire.”

You draw the blanket tighter around your shoulders, then root around your head for something, anything to talk about. Anything to get this burgeoning sympathy for Arthur Morgan out of your head.

“Your friend in St Denis,” you say finally. “He’s not gonna know much about me if he doesn’t speak Chinese.”

Morgan absentmindedly scratches his chin as he begins buttoning his union suit back up. “Wouldn’t put it past him. I know he’s had dealings with ‘em in the past.”

Something clicks in the back of your head. Long overdue recognition like puzzle pieces fitting together. “What’s his name?”

“Josiah,” he says.

“Josiah,” you echo. The spark of some fit of emotion is beginning to rise in your throat. “Josiah… Trelawney?”

His bewildered face is enough to confirm your suspicions. Relief, anger, confusion — all of them flood you at once with such intensity that you have to take a moment to squeeze your eyes shut. When you open them, you take a deep breath and swallow hard. “Josiah Trelawney’s the son of a bitch I sold your bonds to.”

———

Massive thanks to @reddeaddufus for editing not only this chapter, but the entirety of this fic. This whole thing would be a lot more disjointed if it weren't for her.

Definitely give her fic Red Dead Pursuit a look. The main character is extremely compelling, the plot is fast-paced, and the porn is A+. Her writing style is also a delight to read.

[themonotonysyndrome]

Time of Realisation

Happy New Year, everyone! May 2021 be everything you ever wanted. Since I just finished writing for part 8 of this series, I wanted to post this one a bit earlier than the usual Fridays as a New Year’s Treat. So here we go! Part 7 of the ‘Successors of the Future’ is here. 

(My Premium Grammarly account disappeared all of the sudden so please excuse any stupid grammatical or spelling errors you might find. I’ve edited this chapter thrice now and it should be ok??) 

Before we start, we must do our ritual and give thanks to the ever amazing @tri3tri for letting us all expand on her Draconia Family series. Hope you’ll have a great year as well, Tri-senpai! 

-

“To be honest with you Ren, I don’t remember much about Sebek. Just his voice. I still remember how loud his shouts were.” 

“Eh, don’t sweat it too much. Take it as a blessing.” 

Renata and Sherrie are in her room. The underwater aesthetic of Octavinelle is so beautiful to take in from the inside. It almost makes Renata wish that she’s a mermaid. Or a killer whale type of mermaid. Now that is a badass merfolk. 

Just like Renata, Sherrie was given a room all to herself instead of sharing it with a dorm member due to her gender. 

And her little sister did not waste time transforming her room just like her old one back at their home. Already her gaming computer has been set up on her study table, cosmetic sets of well-known brands - Nyx, My Pretty Zombie, and Fenty Beauty - are organised neatly on her shelves beside the standard textbooks and stationeries. One of the open drawers beside her cupboard full of her school uniforms as well as her Pastel Goth clothes display tins of green teas and stacks of instant foods. 

Clearly, Sherrie has made herself right at home in Octavinelle. And less than a week too! 

Actually, how much luggage did Sherrie brought from their home? 

After the Entrance Ceremony, Renata waited two days for Sherrie to acclimate herself to Night Raven College, letting her talk to some of her dorm members, get a feel on the teachers before slipping into her bedroom to catch up. It was a mild surprise to see the state of her room after her little sister told her to plant her ass on the bed while she prepared a pot of hot green tea for them. 

While she’s busy with the kettle, Renata wasted no time to explain what Ace told her during Winter’s Break when she inquired about Sebek. It was good to know that due to the dense magic in the Country of Thorns, technology is almost non-existent in the land due to magical interference. It also helps that despite being in the First-Year Forever group chat, Sebek barely checks his phone at all. Over time, Ace and the rest of their group forgot that Sebek is even in the group chat! 

“Still, it’s good to know that Mama’s friends drifted away from Sebek over the years. That’ll help us a lot in the long run.” Sherrie commented after Renata wraps up her report. She handed a cup of tea to Renata and lean against her study table, facing the bed where her older sister is cooling her hot tea by channeling ice magic onto her fingertips. “What about the student body here? What are they like?” 

“Everyone walks around as if they got a twelve-inch dick.” Renata’s sarcasm is as thick as the kelp forest outside of Sherrie’s bedroom window. 

Sherrie couldn’t help but laugh at her deadpan tone; she had to put her cup of tea on the table before it spilled everywhere. “That bad, huh?” She giggles helplessly, wiping the tears from the corner of her eyes. 

Renata was about to roll her eyes but stop herself and ponders. Despite their flaws, Hoyle and Rex are good friends. Hell, even Bakari vibes with her. Not quite friendly, but he hasn’t yet turned her away when she scurries over to intrude herself in whatever he’s currently doing. That, and she secretly enjoys finding little treats and snacks in her backpack after hanging out with him. “Ok, some of them aren’t so bad once you can get past their ego. Remind me to introduce Hoyle and Rex to you soon.” 

Sherrie raises an eyebrow. “And what about that one guy who keeps giving you food?”  

“You’ll see him around.” 

“...Right.” Sherrie eyed her older sister with a knowing look when Renata nonchalantly shrugs. She’ll get back to that little topic later. “Have you prepare the little surprise for Mama?” 

“Yup.” Renata affirmed and took a sip of her tea. She lets out a happy, little sigh when warmth travels across her body. “We’ll do it this weekend. That’s the only time that they’re free.” 

The two talk a little more until Renata had to leave when curfew looms. The passing Octavinelle students gave her a side-eye for a few seconds but otherwise, no one batted an eye at seeing a Diasomnia student walking about their dorms. The whole school is aware that Renata and Sherrie are siblings by now. Renata wonders if her sister will receive the same cold politeness because of their horns. 

Meanwhile, as Renata made her way to her own dorm, Sherrie is scrutinising the lock on her door with a frown. The previous used cups and teapot are all washed up and the lights are dim slightly since she’s planning to hit the bed right after she figures out how to secure her room thoroughly. There are just too many sensitive and important information about their family and plans against their father kept here. She straightens her back and tosses a glance at the computer and tablet lying on the table beside it. Sherrie had made sure to cultivate a habit of not storing the complete set of important materials in a single device - one can never be too careful after all. Especially when there’s a dorm here dedicate to Technomages. Hmm... perhaps she should befriend one of the students of Ignihyde to help her with the security of her electronic devices? 

Though there’s still an issue with the simple lock of her door. Anyone can just force it open with a pick. Sherrie made a mental note to consult with her sister for some sort of spell that can solve this problem. 

And with that, she quickly changes into a simple loose shirt and a pair of shorts before slipping under the duvet and turns in for the night. 

Life as a halfling and an Octavinelle student quickly proves to be unlike anything Sherrie has ever experience. 

Renata offhandedly advises her to shrug it off when her dorm members stare at her horns a little too long; they’ll get used to her soon enough. Sherrie cursed under her breath when her sister left and wondered if she could attend her classes virtually instead, but when she brought that up to her Dorm Leader, the shark merman raised an eyebrow and simply asked her if she’s an Octavinelle student or Ignihyde’s. Needless to say, Sherrie set on digging any dirt she can find on her Dorm Leader ASAP. 

Other than the uncomfortable stares and shady Dorm Leader - Sherrie quite enjoys the scarf that comes with her uniform - as well as her dorm leader, tend to keep it to themselves. Underneath the polite offers of tutelage in classes and tours around Mostro Lounge, Sherrie can blatantly pick up the insinuation underneath those favours. 

A favour for a favour - that’s how life in Octavinelle works. Information is worth more than Madols and dealings under the table is practically the norm. 

Sherrie adapts in Night Raven College faster than Renata ever could. 

Speaking of Madols, Sherrie needed to do something about their financial situations in Twisted Wonderland. Currency exchange is not a thing here so their dollars are practically worthless. Fortunately, Octavinelle expects its dorm members to pull their weights in Mostro Lounge. By the second week she’s in Night Raven College, her Dorm Leader already distributed the First Year’s schedule of their shifts around the café. The pay might not be much but it’s a good start. 

There’s got to be a Twisted Wonderland equivalent of Youtube. She made mad revenue as a Youtuber and game streamer back home. 

Today, Sherrie is working at Mostro Lounge with several other First Year students from other dorms. Customers flooded in during lunchtime and kept her busy manning behind the bar, preparing drinks and desserts. 

“Presentation my ass...” Sherrie mumbled under her breath as she struggles to beautify the ice-cream sundae. She had to redo the whole thing when one of the staff - her Third Year senior - saw how plain her work was and taught her to make an art out of the dessert. 

She was in the midst of deciding how many cherries would be enough to make the sundae look prettier when a rich, baritone voice broke her concentration. “Has the ice-cream offend you in some way, MC/S-san?” 

Sherrie moves her face away from the towering glass to see a fellow dorm member smiling at her. How curious, his eyes are like hot, molten gold. 

“No. I was just adding some finishing touches.” Sherrie reply, her voice remained neutral. She hasn’t seen this one around before. 

Her dorm member continues to smile. It comes across as calculative instead of genuine. Renata would’ve spat fire at him already. “My, it looks wonderful. I’ll be sure to inform the customer that his sundae is prepared by your meticulous hand. I’m sure he’ll forgive you for the time he had to wait.” 

Sherrie promptly turns around to store back the cherries into the fridge to hide her smirk. This nobody came forward trying to pick a fight with her? This could be fun. “I’m more than happy to receive our customer if he has any complaint with his sundae.” 

“I’ll be sure to inform him.” He nods once and place the sundae on a tray and left the bar. Sherrie made sure to keep an eye on him after that. 

He’s tall, taller than her, and play the perfect part of a waiter with ease. As if he grew up in this sort of environment. The way how he balances two heavy laden trays of food and drinks on his palms while weaving in between tables, greeting the customers with an impeccable smile is telling. This guy mastered the art of customer service for sure. 

“Who’s the hotshot?” Sherrie asked her partner as she carefully wipes the clean glasses. Her shift partner - a Second Year manta ray merman, who was kind enough to introduce herself to her without any subtle jeer - glances at Sherrie’s line of sight, and his mouth made a small ‘o’. 

“That’s Amber Leech. He’s one of the promising First Year students we got, according to the Vice Dorm Leader. You’re more of a wild card, though. Dorm Leader still doesn’t know what to think of you.” 

Sherrie ignores that titbit about herself; she just hums. Didn’t Mama mention that she knows a Leech? “He’s good at handling the customers, I’ll give him that.” Sherrie admits, stacking the last dry glass onto the rack before her attention is capture by a server with a list of orders. Sherrie was too preoccupied with her job to scrutinised Amber any further after that.  

Later when a Scarabia student relieved her of her shift with a quick exchange of pleasantries, instead of leaving, Sherrie decided to stick around and enjoy some free food in the kitchen. As long as she stayed out of the way, no one really minded her presence. 

“Good job today, Leech-san. You can join MC/S-san in the kitchen if you’re hungry.” 

“Thank you very much. I’ll be taking up on your kind offer then.”

Sherrie paused, tilting her head up from her small tub of ice-cream to see none other but Amber Leech step into the kitchen. Their eyes met and his calculative smile greeted her. 

“Is this seat taken?” He politely asks her, gesturing to the vacant chair opposite her. The round table at the back of the kitchen is a bit small, barely enough to fit more than three people but it was far enough away from the kitchen staff so that they won’t be a bother. 

“Knock yourself out.” 

“Very well then.” 

By the time he took out a red bento from the fridge, heat it up and takes a seat near the table, Sherrie has already polished the tub of ice-cream. When Amber noticed the empty tub, he frowns. It was so sudden that Sherrie couldn’t help but defensively blurted out, “What?” 

“Is that all you having for lunch?” There’s a disapproving tone in his voice and Sherrie doesn’t know what to make of it. 

“That? It was a snack. I had my lunch before my shift.” 

For some reason, her dorm mate nodded, strangely pleased at her answer before he tucks into his lunch. By the looks of it, his bento is artfully made with a variety of colourful foods. 

The two said nothing, simply enjoying the clatter of cooking utensils, sizzling fire on the stoves and the cooks hum under their breath. Here in the back of the kitchen, the chatter of customers outside is almost muted. 

It was peaceful. So peaceful in fact, Amber Leech feels like it’s his sworn duty to shatter it. 

“I suggest consulting either Aeacus Shroud or the other students in Ignihyde’s Basic Magical Technology group as your solution. Shroud-san is the only First Year student in that group but I heard he’s the most approachable of the lot.” 

Sherrie’s heart froze. “What?”

Amber took his time to put away his now empty bento, dab the corner of his lip with a folded napkin that was on the table before replying, “For security of course.” 

His answer is vague. Purposely so as he levels a stare at Sherrie. 

“...How do you know that?” Sherrie all but demanded under her faux, indifferent voice. 

Amber dared to smile and point his eyes, no word escape his lips. 

A Unique Magic then. It has to be. Are his similar to Renata’s? 

Sherrie’s mind races, for once, trying to decipher this strange student beside her. 

And suddenly, Sherrie realises who this boy really is. The eyes were a give away.  

“Amber Leech. Jade Leech’s son, I presume?” 

-

“Mama, I’m home!”

“Welcome back, sweetie. How was cheer practice today?”

“It went really well, Mama. We nailed down the new routine without anyone falling off.” Lucien shuts the door close with his feet. He’s sweaty and still in his cheerleading uniform with a duffel bag sling over his shoulder. Seeing that his Mama is nowhere in the living room, Lucien padded into the kitchen. 

The house is, unfortunately, a lot quieter now that his sisters are off at Night Raven College. Before Sherrie left, she and he talk about how their Mama would feel lonely now. Even more so when it’s his turn. 

Lucien assured her that he’ll keep an eye on their Mama closely. 

His friends would playfully tease him that he’s such a Mama’s boy; constantly texting her of his whereabouts, what she and his sisters want from the convenience stores and Mama always make his favourite desserts more often compare to Renata’s apple pies and Sherrie’s matcha cupcakes. 

And Lucien has no shame in being spoiled by their Mama. 

However, when he steps into the kitchen to witness their Mama re-arranging the dishes in the cupboard for the second time this week, it’s time for Mama to be spoiled in return. 

Lucien can’t wait to see her reaction when they spring the surprise tonight. 

“Mama? Do you need some help with the plates?” Lucien asked instead of pointing out the fact that Mama has been restless lately. Without waiting for a reply, Lucien has already dropped his duffel bag to walk around the island counter towards her. 

“It’s alright, Lucy. I’m nearly done here anyway.” MC wave Lucien’s waiting hands away as she pushes the last stack of plates into the lower cabinet and got up. She shot him a smile but it’s wobbly. “Are you hungry, sweetheart? We still have some leftover dinner from last night that I can heat up real quick. Hang on, just give Mama a second to take it out - ”

“Mama, it’s alright. I know. It doesn’t feel the same without Ren and Cherry.” 

MC froze before she got up and smile sadly. The sight made Lucien’s heart clench painfully. “The three of you have always been close to me ever since you were born. Your Father was... many things,” MC grimace but she soldiers on. “But he would never separate your sisters away from me. I’m not sure what to do with myself now that Ren and Cherry are away...” 

Sherrie’s voice suddenly pops in Lucien’s head like how Renata enjoys busting through his door without knocking: “Mama needs a distraction. ASAP! Go, go, go!” 

Renata interjects after her: “Psst! Try something calming yet engaging. That’ll do.” 

Distraction. Right. Lucien can do that for Mama. At least until the surprise tonight. 

“Would Mama help me with my origami? I could use some help with filling up my new empty glass jar.” Lucien suggests. 

MC blink; didn’t expect Lucien to suddenly ask for an extra pair of hands with his hobby, but she took it in stride. “Uh, sure thing, honey.” 

Lucien beams like a blooming sunflower. “I’ll go shower first then. Be right back, Mama!” 

“Don’t run in the house, Lucy!” MC reminded him but lets him went upstairs with a small smile. She needs to get out of this funk. While Lucien is freshening up, might as well finish up her chores for the day. 

By the time Lucien came back down carrying an empty glass jar and a stack of colourful scented papers and they didn’t waste time to clear the dining table of the bowl of fruits and their cups so they could get to it. 

Lucien is remarkably patient. More so than MC or his older sisters - he made sure to slowly show how to fold the paper into stars to his Mama and when she’s confused, he would show her some videos online to help her. As the mother and son gradually fill up the glass jar, Lucien talks about anything and everything under the sun. How everyone in his team at school is helping him ease to the role as the captain of the cheerleading squad, how he’s getting a hang on the new subject material taught in Math class and who’s dating who in his circle of friends. 

MC hums and would give an appropriate reply in-between Lucien’s story. Typical teenage shenanigans, albeit, a lot tamer than what she went through but she’ll never get tired of listening to her children’s school life. Yes, even when Renata and Sherrie tried their best to hide whatever blunder they did at times. 

It was when Lucien threw a purple star origami into the jar that he suddenly changes the subject. “Oh yeah! By the way Mama, Ren and Cherry said that she has a surprise for you tonight!” 

“Oooh, a surprise? I wonder what your sisters are planning.” MC murmurs a bit absentmindedly, too focus on folding the papers. Her eyebrows scrunch in concentration and she would beam proudly when one star came out perfect before tossing it into the jar with a happy hum. 

Lucien is relieved. Looks like the distraction works. 

They had a simple dinner once the glass jar is filled and once the dishes are done, Lucien hurriedly ushers his Mama into the living room. On the sofa, MC watches Lucien draws the rune on the mirror, bemused at the grin on his face. 

When the rune vanishes, MC opens her mouth to greet her daughters. Her open mouth gapes and she could feel the corner of her eyes are suddenly wet when she saw the people on the other side of the mirror. 

“Ow! Deuce, you idiot! I told you not to shove me with your elbow!” 

“Who are you calling an idiot!? And quit hogging the mirror already!”

“I’m not hogging the mirror! You’re the one who keeps pushing me!” 

MC couldn’t help it. She laughs, tears now freely running down her cheeks. Lucien quietly excuses himself to fetch a box of tissue for her. 

Her laugh shuts both Ace and Deuce up. “Oh geez, what are you crying for, hah? It’s just us.” Ace said, supporting a bittersweet smile. At that moment, seeing his best friend releases the tension festering inside of him all these years. 

“We miss you, Prefect!” Deuce shouted with a sniffle, his eyes are teary as well. He hurries to wipe off the tears with his knuckle. “Miss you so, so much! I’m so glad you’re OK!” 

“Are you really though?” Ace interject, he doesn’t even bother to conceal his blatant check on MC’s body. Looking for any sign of injuries or illness. 

MC guessed that one of her daughters have told them what happened to her... 

But she refused to let thoughts regarding Malleus damper her happy mood. Not when she could finally see her best friends again. 

“I’m ok now. We’re... we’re ok.” MC honestly reply with a lightened heart. 

The three of them have grown; each of them has their own children now, at this moment, it feels as if they have been transported back to their teenage years all those years ago. 

MC realises that she’s truly no longer alone now. 

-

And we’ve reached the end of this chapter! I hope you guys enjoyed it!! MC finally meet Adeuce once more, even if it’s just through a mirror. With the three of them together again, there’s nothing they can’t do. 

Here are some titbits about Amber Leech’s background:

1. His Unique Magic is called ‘Witness of the Past’

2. His Mum is a beautiful mer Sea Lamprey (if you don’t know what a Sea Lamprey looks like, uh, prepare yourself before you google search them.) 

Speaking of Unique Magic, I’ve compiled a list of all the kids with their UMs already. Haven’t decided yet when I’ll post it, but I’m thinking of posting the names as a sort of teaser? Meh, we’ll see how that goes. 

[daydreaming-jessi]

Day 1: One bed

It’s time

I might’ve strayed a little bit from the prompt, but you know what, whatever. Anyways, there’s also a short story to go with thus under the cut. Enjoy!

Barbara stepped through the privacy curtains hung up to keep their bedroom private from the rest of the attic, freshened up and ready to sleep for the night, and smiled upon seeing that two people were waiting for her, rather than the usual one. Beetlejuice had been jumpy about staying the night with them, instead often opting to retreat to his own bedroom down on the second floor when the two ghosts began to consider turning in for the night. It took a lot on Adam and Barbara’s part to remind the demon that they in fact did enjoy his company and would love to spend a night with him and that he did have permission to stay if he’d liked. So it was cause to pause and appreciate the times when Beetlejuice seemed brave enough to stay and sleep with them for the night. It helped that the demon was adorably clinging onto Adam’s leg in some strange form of cuddling, his green hair bristling over Adam’s arm curled around his back.

“You know, I don’t think one bed is gonna be big enough for the three of us in the long run,” Barbara hummed, eyeing the way Beetlejuice’s back hung over the side of the bed.

Adam looked up from his book with a chuckle. “Yeah, I’m a little scared to let him go,” he wiggled his hand resting between Beetlejuice’s shoulder blades, which really did seem to be the only thing keeping the demon on the bed still.

Beetlejuice snuffled, burrowing his head deeper into Adam’s side with a sigh. Adam looked down to him with a wide, loving grin while Barbara pressed her hands to her mouth to keep her adoring squeak from escaping. She tiptoed over to the two, hovering above Beetlejuice for a moment as she studied the sleeping demon. He looked decades younger without a manic grin stretching across his face, his round cheeks looking oh-so pinchable. Barbara resisted that urge, instead placing a gentle kiss on Beetlejuice’s head, his hair smelling faintly of fallen leaves in autumn, a scent that seemed to stay no matter how much he showered.

He stiffened, and Barbara and Adam froze. Beetlejuice cracked an eye open and shot Barbara a half-heartedly annoyed, one eyed glare. “Sorry, Bee. Just couldn’t resist,” Barbara smiled apologetically.

Beetlejuice burrowed deeper into bed, his hair flushing pink. “You stop that. ‘M too tired for that adorable shit,” sleep slurred his speech, but his grip on Adam’s leg tightened with no problem. A third arm and leg appeared, wrapping further around Adam.

The ghost couple giggled at that. “Alright I’ll leave you be,” Barbara promised, turning her gaze on Adam. Before he could realize that he was being watched, Barbara launched a multitude of feather light kisses on Adam’s cheek, making him gasp and wriggle away from the tickling brush of lips while trying to stifle his laughter.

Unfortunately, in his bid to get away, Adam forgot that he was the one keeping gravity from fully affecting Beetlejuice. With a yelp, Beetlejuice unexpectedly tumbled off the bed, hitting the floor with a heavy thump. Barbara gasped and immediately crouched to the demon’s side, checking him over for injury.

Adam practically tossed his book aside in his haste to hurry down to the two, panic filling his eyes. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I’m so, so, so sorry, I completely forgot, I got so caught up, I didn’t think-“ he said, his hands helplessly fluttering over Beetlejuice, who lay on the floor looking like a ruffled cat.

Beetlejuice lurched up into a sitting position, his head twisted at an awkward angle that would be worrying if he were alive. He grabbed the sides of his head and cracked his neck bones back into place with a loud snap, making the ghost couple flinch back, now certain that they’d just ruined their night and had fully insulted Beetlejuice. “Not the worst way I’d been kicked out of bed before, I’ll admit. One time ended with me being kicked out the window and ending up impaled on the bird spikes on their wall. Now those take forever to pull out, lemme tell ya,” he shrugged.

“No, no! I did not mean it like that, I’m so sorry, Bee, I-“ a new surge of apologies burst from Adam, but before he could continue babbling, Beetlejuice leaned forward and silenced Adam with a long, drawn out kiss.

“You are adorable,” Beetlejuice snickered when he pulled away, leaving Adam gaping red faced, his eyes owlishly peering out from his crooked reading glasses. Beetlejuice then sleepily slumped into Barbara, nuzzling her exposed neck.

Barbara wrapped her arms around the demon in return, the earlier tension leaving the air. “Sorry Bee, I forgot how ticklish Adam gets,” Barbara said, running a hand through Beetlejuice’s green hair. He basically purred from her petting.

“Stop apologizing, nerds. You can make it up to Daddy later,” Beetlejuice smirked salaciously, his eyebrows bouncing up and down pointedly.

Barbara shot him a pointed look. “You just fell off the bed, and you think it can fit us all for that?”

“I would be too worried about knocking you off again to think about that,” Adam agreed, leaning back against the bed while his shoulders unwound with relief.

“Then we get creative! The roof is pretty cozy, Scarecrow and I have found the perfect spot for hiding out and throwing rocks at cars up there, after all,” Beetlejuice replied.

“First off, we’re going to have a talk about how dangerous that is in the morning with Lydia, secondly, we are not having sex on the roof of all places,” Barbara said.

“Why not? It’s not like anyone can see us. Public sex is hot when you’re a ghost and don’t have to worry about being caught,” Beetlejuice pouted.

“We have a perfectly good, flat bed right here. We just need to… expand it,” Adam patted their mattress thoughtfully. He seemed to already be thinking up new ideas for their future bed frame, his eyes growing distant as he worked out measurements in his head.

“Though I don’t know how we’ll get a bigger mattress up here,” Barbara hummed thoughtfully.

“Oh my god, you guys are such nerds. We were so close to an orgy and now you’ve ruined the mood with all your weird domestic bed talk, it’s like being boring is a lifestyle fetish for you two,” Beetlejuice groaned, flopping back onto the floor. Barbara and Adam exchanged an amused look. Despite his words, Beetlejuice’s hair had turned a lovely mix of green, pink, and magenta.

“Well, if that’s the case, then let’s go ahead and call it a night. C’mon Bug,” Barbara patted Beetlejuice’s hip twice before getting up to her feet, crawling over the bed to her preferred side.

Adam stood after, and Beetlejuice simply appeared next to Barbara, smack dab in the middle. He shot the ghosts a smirk, as if he were causing some kind of trouble. The smirk promptly disappeared when Adam easily slid into bed next to him, pulling the covers up over them. “Definitely need a bigger bed,” Adam noted, eyeing how close they had to squish together to fit.

“We’ll figure it out tomorrow,” Barbara yawned. She nestled closer to Beetlejuice, and slid her arms around his torso. “This okay?” She asked.

“Uh… h-hold on,” Beetlejuice stammered, the slightest tint of color emerging on his cheeks. He eyed the second pillow Adam had been using for a backrest earlier and pulled it under the covers with him, clutching it tightly against his middle. He settled under the covers, his eyes stubbornly fixed on the sheets as he readjusted for a moment. Then, quietly, so quietly only the dead could hear, he whispered, “Makes me feel safer…”

“You don’t have to explain, Bee,” Adam reassured the demon, Barbara nodding in agreement. Adam stretched out, encircling his partners with his arms, pulling them closer together still. “Good?” He checked.

Barbara carefully wiggled a hand around Beetlejuice to intertwine her fingers with Adam’s and nodded. “Yup.”

Beetlejuice’s eyes darted between the two before he slowly moved one arm away from the pillow, turned onto his side and wrapped it around Adam’s waist. Then a third arm appeared from… somewhere on his person and curled around Barbara’s. “It’s weird, but… it’s nice,” he mumbled. Barbara buried her face into Beetlejuice’s hair, and he could feel her wide smile.

“It is,” she agreed, relaxing further.

Adam looked over the two before him with such loving eyes, all Beetlejuice could do was duck his face into Adam’s dorky flannel shirt to avoid that overwhelming green gaze. “You two still owe me make-up sex. All these tropey ‘there was only one bed’ shenanigans aren’t gonna get you outta that,” he huffed.

“Course,” Barbara hummed.

“We will definitely christen the new bed when we get it ready,” Adam pressed a kiss to Beetlejuice’s forehead.

That made the demon purr. “Oh, I will be doing so much more to you than christening some damn bed when the time comes. Trust me.” Even with the sleep weighing their bodies, Adam and Barbara still felt a shiver of excitement run down their spines at the baritone hum Beetlejuice’s voice reached. “Alright, good night!” Beetlejuice gleefully chirped, closing his eyes.

“Bee! You tease!” Barbara squealed.

“You can’t just do that when we’re trying to sleep!” Adam said, his hips shifting away unconsciously.

Beetlejuice grinned wider, hugging the pillow tighter to his chest. “Now we’re even! Sweet dreams!”

The lamp then clicked off, leaving the room dim, save for a weak filtering of moonlight in the windows. The ghosts settled in, their legs tangling together in one final act to be as close as possible to one another as they finally started to sleep.

[kiarcheo]

Meowsunderstandings 1 / 2

'Oh.’ If Cathy could dig a hole in the floor and disappear, she would. ‘Ignore me, I swear that I’m usually not this much of an idiot.’

‘We know.’ Jane reassures her.

‘And even if you were, we wouldn’t mind...I mean, we love Anne anyway, don’t we?’

This has been in my WIPs folder for at least 6 months if not more, but I decided it was time to dust it off because I didn't have the greatest week and I needed some levity. Should have the second part ready and post it next weekend.

Can read on Ao3 here

Part 2

                                 ——————————————–

In Cathy’s defence, it was a totally understandable mistake. And she had not been alone in that. But, of course, as the one dating the subject of the misunderstanding, she is the one teased about it.

It all started at university, in class, where Cathy had ended up paired with Anna. It turned out that they actually got along quite well and became friends outside of lessons too. Which led to meeting Anna’s girlfriend, Jane, and then a relatively new friend of Jane’s, Catalina. And, because it’s a small world, to discover that they were old family friends. Catalina had recognised the surname and asked if she was a relative of Maud Green. Apparently Catalina had met Cathy when she was a baby…which obviously Cathy didn’t have any recollection of.

Anyway, they all hit it off.

As new friends, one of the first topics to be covered had been housing. Between complaints about housemates, landlords, buildings and neighbours, it always guarantees plenty of fodder for conversation.

And when Catalina, whom Jane called Lina and had shrugged when asked if they could call her that too, said, ‘I have a housemate, my Kat’, with a warm smile, well, forgive Cathy for thinking she was talking about an actual cat. Especially when the topic of pets came up and Lina said ‘Does my Kat count?’ with a laugh. ‘I mean, she is independent, obviously, but-’

Cathy remembers Jane and Anna sharing her own slightly confused expression because of course cats are pets, why should it not count??

It didn’t help that Lina would say stuff like:

‘Rain check? Kat is sick, has been throwing up all day so I want to keep an eye on her.’

or

send a voice message on the group chat that ended with ‘Sorry, have to go. I have a Kat on the table and I don’t know why.’

And then there was the time she was distracted and then admitted that she was worried because she didn’t remember if she had locked the door and she didn’t want anything to happen to her cat.

Or she would talk about cleaning and how often she has to vacuum. Because two girls in a house mean lots of hair too. And you know what? Cats can shed hair too! And Catalina would not be the first person to refer to pets as you would do to a person (or treat them as such)!

And she literally replied to the question ‘How did you get your cat?’ with ‘Well, she was living with…someone I knew. When she had to move, taking her along…was not really worth the trouble, all the documents and stuff. Especially since she would be coming back anyway. And it just made sense…we already knew each other and got along well. We could keep each other company. And me and Anne might have our disagreements, but she knows she can trust me with her Kitty.’

Or should Cathy talk about the texts? Despite what people might assume, Lina uses lots of emojis. So when texts such as ‘Movie night’ or ‘Girls’ day’ were paired with others like ‘Snuggling with 🐱’ or ‘Day in with 🐱’ … Well, forgive Cathy for thinking that Lina talking about her Kat was talking about an actual cat, as in an animal.

---

‘Where is your cat? Hiding?’

Jane asks, looking around. It’s the first time Lina is having them over at her house – them being Anna, Cathy and herself – as usually it’s more convenient and easier for everyone to meet at places around or close to the campus.

‘She went out, but she should be back soon.’ Lina chuckles at the way they all seem eager to meet her. ‘You’ll meet her, don’t worry.’

They fell into an easy conversation, the topic forgotten until...

‘Cathy? Cathy?’ Catalina calls out. The girl in question has her cup half-way to her mouth – a couple of degrees more and she would be spilling the tea all over herself – and her eyes fixated towards the door.

Everyone turns around to see what is capturing Cathy’s attention.

‘Did Anne die?’ Catalina tilts her head as if to look for something behind a girl in basketball shorts and a sport bra, high ponytail with pink tips.

‘Almost.’ Another girl drags herself in. She drops on the floor. ‘Was it your plan all along?’ She wheezes out. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I thought you knew…have you seen her?’ Catalina gestures to the girl still standing there, barely out of breath. ‘She is fit!’

‘I thought it was metabolism…I have a good one too.’

‘Good metabolism doesn’t give you abs like that.’

Cathy’s attempt to avoid looking at the exposed skin glistening with sweat fails completely when Lina mentions them. If the humming coming from the other girls is any indication, she is not the only one.

‘Come on, I’ll let you shower first.’

Anne moans, reaching up with grabby hands.

‘What? You want me to carry you?’

‘Are you saying you can’t?

‘Is it a challenge?’

‘If that’s what it takes…’ Anne shrugs from her spot on the floor, unrepentant.

The girl sighs but crouches down. It doesn’t seem to take too much effort for her to lift Anne in her arms and start walking, her hold confident and comfortable as if it had happened many times before.

‘Kat.’

‘Yeah?’ The girl turns around.

‘You can use my shower if you don’t want to wait.’

‘Thanks Cata, you’re the best!’ she smiles brightly at her before leaving the room, Anne in her arms.

‘That’s your Kat?’  

Cathy hears Anna asking but after that, she honestly has no idea what the others talks about or even what she is thinking until the girls returns, Anne once again carried in Kat’s arms.

Kat gently puts her down on the armchair before leaving the room again. ‘Need anything from the kitchen?’

‘No, thanks!’ Catalina calls back, before addressing Anne. ‘You know, they say you should keep moving, this is only going to make the pain worse later on.’

‘That’s a problem for future me.’

‘I would apologize saying that she isn’t normally like this, but I’d be lying.’ Catalina turns towards her friends.

‘Hey!’ Anne protests as Kat comes back, sitting on her armchair’s armrest and passing her a glass of juice.

‘Thanks Kitty.’

Catalina is going through presentations when Cathy suddenly comes back to earth. ‘Wait, you’re Lina’s cat??’

‘Possibly?’ Kat replies, hesitant confusion in her voice, while Anna, Jane and Lina look at their friend weirdly. They probably already went over it. Oops!

‘I mean, it’s Katherine.’ The girl continues.

‘Me too!’ More odd looks.

‘But most people call me Kat. Or Kitty.’

‘I better be the only one calling you Kitty.’

‘And the overprotective one is Anne,’ Kat slings an arm around the other girl, ‘if she didn’t present herself.’

---

‘Cathy? You alright?’ Jane asks as they walk towards the bus stop after leaving Catalina’s home. ‘You’ve been spacing out.'

‘Yeah.’ She nods. She hesitates, before blurting out. ‘Do you think they are dating?’

‘Who? Kat and Lina?’ Jane laughs.

‘No! Anne and Kat!’

‘I’m sorry, but am I the only one who thought that when Lina talked about her Kat she was talking about a cat, like, actual animal cat, meow?’ Anna interrupts them.

The look exchanged between Jane and Cathy gives her the answer. ‘So it wasn’t just me.’ Anna nods to herself, relieved.

‘Some things make more sense now,’ Cathy muses aloud, ‘like Lina not having her scarf because she gave it to her Kat.’

‘And some things don’t.’ Jane points out. ‘Kat on the table, anyone??’

‘The cat is on the table.’ Anna laughs. ‘Sorry.’ She can see her friends don’t understand why it’s funny to her. ‘When you learn English as a second language, that’s often one of the first sentences you learn.’

---

‘How did you meet?’

They are all back at Catalina’s house, this time Anne and Kat joining them from the start.

‘We were frenemies.’

‘Oh?’

Anne’s answer doesn’t really explain much.

‘We dated the same guy.’ Catalina expands on it.

‘Henrat.’ Anne mutters darkly, before adding, ‘Not on purpose.’

‘Certainly not.’ Catalina scoffs.

‘He told me he was going to break up with her. That it was taking some time because they had been together for years and it was hard. And well, naïve mistake of thinking myself different or better…Spoiler alert, if someone cheats on someone with you for months, chances are they will cheat on you too, sooner or later.’

‘Oh.’ That was not the story Jane was expecting when she had asked.

‘Yep. So…soon after we officially get together, Henry is out every night, just sleeping around, like what the hell?!’ Anne looks around, as if seeking support from her audience. ‘So I thought if that's how it's gonna be, maybe I'll flirt with a guy or three just to make him jel. Henry finds out and he goes mental. He screams and shouts, like so judgemental.’ She rolls her eyes.  ‘We were at a party and he was like "you damned witch”, which wow, talk about outdated, but anyway, I go “mate, just shut up, I wouldn't be such a bitch, if you could get it up”.’

‘It rhymed!’ Kat points out like she does every time Anne tells the story.

 ‘Is that what you said?’ Anna sounds impressed.

‘Yep. Everyone heard that too. He’s been wanting my head since.’ Anne shrugs. She didn’t regret it a bit. ‘And not in the sexy way.’

‘So it’s a “the enemy of my enemy is my friend” situation?’ Jane looks like she is trying to wrap her head around it. She isn’t sure she would be willing to be friend with someone she got cheated on with, doesn’t matter if they are not together anymore.

‘Not really. I didn’t want anything to do with her…or Henry. Until I saw him harassing a girl. Well, flirting according to him, but she looked so uncomfortable and so young. Especially compared to him.’

‘Yeah, I was 16.’ Kat pipes up.

‘So I shooed him away. Comfort the girl, who was pretty shaken. Have her call someone and wait with her…and who shows up?’

‘Me!’

‘Anne.’ Jane guesses correctly at the same time.

‘And that would have been the end, but Kat wanted to thank me and keep in touch and…it’s really hard to say no to her.’

‘Yeah. Especially when she gives you the KHoward look.’ Anne nods solemnly. It’s a patented weapon she has fallen victim of many many times.

‘Uhm? The what?’

‘Do it, Kitty.’

‘It’s not a party trick.’ Kat protests. But everyone is looking at her expectantly. She lets out a sigh. And she obliges the request.

‘AWW.’ Jane coos, while Anna nods. ‘I get it.’  

Cathy is just speechless.

‘Yeah. And suddenly that scene in Shrek made sense.’ Catalina adds.

‘It didn’t before??’ Anne looks almost offended.

‘Well, I never had a cat before, how was I supposed to know?’ Catalina defends herself.

‘Wait!’ Cathy suddenly exclaims. ‘K?’

‘Yeah? Katherine, you know?’

'Oh.’ If Cathy could dig a hole in the floor and disappear, she would. ‘Ignore me, I swear that I’m usually not this much of an idiot.’

‘We know.’ Jane reassures her.

‘And even if you were, we wouldn’t mind...I mean, we love Anne anyway, don’t we?’

A betrayed gasp. ‘Catalina! You turned my Kitty against me??

Catalina is laughing so hard that she is crying. 'My Kat, I love you so much!’ She finally wheezes out.

Cathy is smart. She is! But apparently she turns into a complete simpleton in the presence of pretty girls...or more specifically of one pretty girl called Katherine Howard. Sure, she had fumbled in front of girls before, but never to this degree. An absolute and utter disaster.

‘Anyway,’ Catalina starts again after regaining her breath, ‘long story short, we kept in touch. It was not Kat’s fault what Anne did, anyway. And they were living together and when Anne had to move, it made sense for Kat to come and live with me.’

‘But now you’re back?’ Cathy’s question is completely disinterested, of course.

‘Soon permanently.’ Anne smiles at Kat, nudging her.

‘Where are you going to live?’ Anna asks the younger girl. ‘Are you going to move out or stay here?’

‘Oh, she is trying to win her back.’ Catalina nods towards Anne.

‘I never lost her.’ Anne retorts.

‘I’m not a prize to be won.’

‘I’d argue about that.’ Cathy mutters, getting an amused look from Anna, the only one who heard her.

Kat heaves a sigh. ‘I would suggest we could all live together, but I don’t think I can deal with this on a daily basis.’

---

They hang out. It’s quite difficult to get everyone together, between classes and jobs and other commitments, but in smaller groups it’s easier and more common. That’s how Cathy finds herself at the pub with Anna and Anne, her and Anna celebrating having finished a big assignment and Anne joining because Kat and Catalina don’t particularly like going out drinking and she misses doing it.

Cathy has mixed feelings about Anne. Is she pretty? Yes. Is she smart? Yes. Is she funny? Yes. Does she hate her a little bit? Also yes. Is she going to get drunk while trying to keep up with her (and Anna, but her Teutonic constitution puts her on a whole other level)? Again, yes.

She pretty much checks out, lost in thoughts, until a shrill ‘Kitty’ brings her back to the present...and to Anne hanging from Kat’s neck, nuzzling into her. ‘You came!’

‘Of course, I did. You called.’ Kat says as if there has never been any other option.

Did Cathy mention that she hates Anne a bit?

‘Time to go home?’ Kat asks, while rubbing Anne’s back.

Anna raises an eyebrow at Anne, still wrapped around the newcomer, and then chances a look at Cathy, slumped on the table. ‘I think we better.’

‘Do you have a car?’

Anna shakes her head. ‘No, I planned to drink so...’

‘Good.’ Kat smiles at her. She is happy to play chauffeur if it means her friends are being safe and responsible. ‘Let’s get you all home.’

Anna helps Cathy to Kat’s car while the younger girl helps Anne.

‘Cathy, where-’ Kat looks at the rear-view mirror only to see that the girl is asleep. ‘Do you know where she lives?’ She asks Anna, the only one still awake.

‘I know she lives in a hall on campus, I might even remember which one, but no idea about the room, sorry.’

‘That’s okay. I’ll just take her home with us, then.’

‘Are you sure?’ Anna looks to the backseat, both girls dead to the world.

‘Yeah. I can carry Anne, I’m sure she won’t be much of a problem either.’

Kat drops off Anna and then drives home. Once she parks, she texts Catalina to open the door for her.

She picks up Anne and carries her home. ‘Can you stay at the door and keep an eye on the car?’ she asks Catalina before manoeuvring inside, careful not to bump into anything lest Anne wakes up. Few minutes later she comes back, goes to the car, and picks up Cathy.

‘Ahnghh.’

‘What?’ Catalina takes the car key Kat is holding with her teeth. ‘Say that again?’

‘I said hand because I wanted to drop the key in it.’ She adjusts her hold of Cathy. Not that she is heavier than Anne, but she has no qualms grabbing and holding Anne, and if she grazes her butt or her boobs, so be it. Cathy is a relatively new friend, and she is more conscious of any touch, no matter how accidental, that could make her uncomfortable (well, if she was awake to realise it, anyway). ‘Lock up for me, please?’

                               ——————————————–

Storytime: I was 2000 words deep into this when an atrocious doubt came to me…was Kat actually pronounced the same as cat?? English is a weird language and not my native one so I started to worry…did I just base my story on something that made no sense? Also (perhaps more important), had I butchered people’s names for years without knowing? As someone whose name is often mispronounced (well, in the UK at least, since it’s Italian), I felt really bad about that. So I asked a native-speaker friend and he said it sounds the same. So if he trolled me (he told me he wasn’t, but who knows) and Kat doesn’t sound as cat…I hope you enjoyed the story anyway (and let me know so I can get back at him!)

[dsmproleplayaccount]

welcome to the dream smp interactive roleplay game!

happy to have you here! here’s some info about this new concept i’m trying out for fun.

disclaimer; i will not be writing any reader x character romance or overstepping cc’s boundaries; the pfp of my blog is not made by me, but was labelled free to use.

how does this work?

it’s rather simple! after you submit your initial post (it’s explained how to do that below), i reblog it with a reply writing the response by the dsmp cast and world as a whole. it’s a training experience for me to learn to write the dream smp characters as well as get better at writing and dialogue in general! i’ll attempt to keep them in character as much as i can, however keep in mind i believe every single character on the dream smp to be morally grey, not inherently good or evil, so i will write them accordingly.

you can go into this knowing literally nothing about the dream smp! if you have a friend who is clueless about the story, they can submit a post here and become part of the dream smp, learning more about the characters in an interactive way- either way, if you would like yourself / a persona of yours to join the story, that’s exactly what this whole thing is about- i will write you into the story, while you yourself control your own decisions. it’s like a game which takes you down different paths depending on what choices you make, however this has literally endless possibilities!

sounds like a pretty fun concept to me! that’s why i thought it would be cool to try this out, seeing as interactive stories are for me the most entertaining kind.

it might take a bit for me to reply, and in case (though i don’t think that would happen) that this blog happens to get flooded by submissions, i’ll most likely not reply to all of them; including ones that i don’t feel comfortable doing for whatever reason. don’t be shy to submit though, i am looking forwards to playing this w/ you guys!

and don’t feel bad for this being reader-insert! i myself don’t and will not ever read those because of personal preference; you can think of this as more of an open-world text-based fangame.

how do i enter?

to enter, you must be moderately capable at writing your own character- anything extra triggering crossing the line of what usually happens on the smp shouldn’t be included in your character’s backstory or actions, as to not endanger the mental well-being of me or possible readers.

the story itself starts when your character, someday somewhere, finds a portal. they jump into it, and spawn in the dream smp.

in the ��start the game” (or submit post) section, you’ll fill out this short form:

- name, age & gender of the character - are they accompanied by any pets? - brief appearance, clothing and height - starting point (time-wise) - starting point (space-wise) - starting post (thoughts and feelings upon arrival, maybe them wandering around or interacting with objects/buildings)

as for the starting points; any time during the canon storyline is fair game, e. g. you can start your story at the beginning of the l’manberg war, during the pogtopian revolution, or during the prison arc that is currently ongoing. feel free to pinpoint very specific times to me as well; shortly after techno’s execution, right after tommy gets let out of the prison, etc.

any place should also be fine, however don’t have your character spawn for example in the middle of a battlefield or inside buildings; you’re most likely to spawn in a large and open area, for example outside l’manberg, in the village by techno’s house, or the initial spawn area.

if you have specific questions and don’t know whether something would work or not, don’t be afraid to simply send me an ask! you’re never a bother.

you can choose to have your character have forgotten everything (except their own beliefs and personality) because of jumping through the portal, or they can have a backstory; please keep those in line with the minecraft universe, i. e. things like growing up in minecraft player villages, hybrid settlements, a nether colony, or public servers like hypixel.

please no mary-sues, overpowered characters, nsfw characters or anything that seems off-limits! your character can be a furry or a mob hybrid if you want! as long as it’s not painful to write about it’s all good.

this rules section will expand depending on my experiences with this! it’s still in alpha, let’s say; don’t be afraid to ask me to specify or add something.

can i play with someone else?

since this game is basically in its demo, i’ve never done this before and have no idea how it will go, multiplayer is not available just yet! if there is enough demand, you’ll be able to play with your friends in the future, but for now it’s limited to one character.

if you have any other questions, please use the question section!

so, are you going to join the anarchist syndicate or become part of snowchester and an adoptive sibling of the underscore family?

can’t wait to see what you come up with!

either way, have a wonderful rest of your day :]

[sgtcalhouns]

Fresh Start

As new opportunities arise in Felix’s professional life, an old flame reappears to shake things up in his personal life, as well. 

“So, what do you think?”

“It’s a lot different from home. I almost forgot what a new apartment building could look like.”

Ralph chuckled at Felix’s assessment as he took a swig of his beer. They had come to the bar after a long day of work, and the cozy atmosphere provided relief from the bitter cold outside. This weather was more severe than anything Felix was used to, and he made a mental note to consider that piece of information when it came time to make his decision.

“Are you gonna take it?” Ralph asked.

“Take what?” replied Felix.

“Oh, come on, don’t play dumb,” Ralph teased. “We both know they’re gonna offer you that promotion.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” he said. “They could offer that position to anyone, there’s no reason to assume it’ll be me.”

“What about the fact that you’ve been with the company for almost ten years and you’re more qualified than anyone to do that job,” Ralph shot back, “is that a good enough reason?”

“I don’t want to get ahead of myself,” Felix said. “Besides, I’m not sure if I would even take it. Boston is a long way from Georgia. Do I really want to make such a big move?”

“Why not? You deserve this opportunity,” Ralph said. “Besides, it’s not like there’s anything keeping you in Georgia anymore.”

He caught a glimpse of the pain in Felix’s eyes and regretted his words.

“Sorry,” he said.

“No, you’re right,” Felix sighed. “It’s just hard. All our memories together are there, I don’t know if I can leave all that behind.”

“Maybe that’s exactly why you should move,” Ralph suggested. “You can have a fresh start.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Felix replied as he set his chin in his hand and lost himself in thought.

The memories in question were that of the most serious romantic relationship he had experienced in his adult life, one that had ended a few years ago. Despite the ample amount of time since that breakup, he still felt the sting as freshly as though it had happened yesterday. To this day, he was convinced that Tamora Jean Calhoun was the love of his life and would accept no arguments to the contrary. The circumstances of their break-up were difficult for him to accept, and he had never truly gotten over it. They were forced apart by distance when she was called to lead basic training at Fort Jackson in South Carolina, and he wasn’t able to move with her. He had pored over pages and pages of job listings, but hadn’t found anything that would pay enough to support them, even with two sources of income. They made it work long-distance for a couple of months, but after a while it became too much of a strain on their relationship. He would never forget how devastated he was the day she called to tell him it was over between them; in one short phone call, the biggest source of happiness in his life was ripped away from him.

“You ok?” Ralph asked, breaking Felix out of his thoughts. He offered a lethargic nod in response. “I know it’s hard, but maybe this is how you can finally move on.”

Felix looked around as Ralph talked, and he perked up as he noticed a familiar blonde fringe at the end of the bar. It looked identical to the golden locks he had always sought out in order to find Tamora in a crowded room. He shook it off—he was probably imagining things. His mind probably invented the similarities he was seeing because he had been thinking about her. The stranger flipped their bangs out of their face to take a drink, and Felix felt his heart constrict.

“You know, you can’t spend the rest of your life hung up on her,” Ralph said.

“Tamora?” Felix asked, his voice quiet.

“Yeah, exactly” Ralph replied.

Without warning, Felix stood up and started walking over to her. His movements were slow, and part of him was worried that she was nothing but a beautiful mirage that would vanish as soon as he drew near. Ralph looked around in confusion until he followed Felix’s gaze to the end of the bar. As much as he knew it was a bad idea to let him talk to her right now, he also knew there was nothing he could do to stop it. 

Tamora could sense the movement of someone approaching her, but she did her best to ignore it. She sat against the wall on one side, and her bangs shielded her from the crowd on the other, sending a very clear message that she was not to be disturbed. Her body tensed as she felt the offender draw near.

“Excuse me,” she heard from behind. She knew that voice...

She turned to find Felix standing behind her with his hat in his hands.

“Tamora,” he said, sounding almost surprised that it really was her. “Hi.”

“Felix?” she asked. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” he said with a chuckle. His body was rigid with nerves as he tried to gauge her reaction to his presence. “Niceland apartments are expanding. They’re building a new complex here and they brought a couple of us to check it out.”

“Oh,” Tamora responded.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Felix spoke again.

“What about you?”

“Fort Jackson cut me loose a couple of months ago,” she explained. “I was free to go wherever I wanted, and I thought I would try somewhere new.”

“Oh,” Felix replied.

He tried to hide his hurt feelings, but Tamora saw right through him. Although he would never admit it, he had never let go of a small glimmer of hope that maybe, when the opportunity presented itself, she would come back home to him. It was unreasonable of him to expect of her and he had no reason to believe it would ever happen, but it still hurt to know for certain that he had been holding out hope for nothing.

“So,” Tamora said, breaking the uncomfortable silence she had brought upon them, “are you here all by yourself?”

“No, I came out with Ralph after work,” Felix answered, pointing to his friend on the other side of the bar. “Why don’t you come and join us?”

“I was getting ready to head out when you came over,” Tamora replied.

“Then let me walk you out to your car.”

“I live nearby, so I walked,” she said.

“Oh,” he replied, his disappointment clear in his voice no matter how much he tried to hide it. Tamora hated seeing that sad look on his face and, even more so, she hated the fact that it still held so much power over her.

“I know you’re here with Ralph, but it’s a pretty short walk,” she offered. “I could use some company.”

“Okay,” Felix responded, and his face lit right back up. “Just let me grab my jacket, I’ll be right back.”

As he crossed the restaurant and made his way back to his friend, he tried his best to suppress the giddy smile that had taken residence on his face. He knew that Ralph probably thought he was being irresponsible, that he was falling right back into old habits and following behind Tamora like a lost puppy. There was no need to give him a reason to think that this was anything but a platonic walk down the street. He placed his hand on the back of his chair and tried his best to appear casual.

“I’m going to walk Tamora home,” he said. “I’ll meet you back at the hotel.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Ralph replied.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Felix asked.

“I know you, Felix,” he said. “Whether you want to admit it or not, you’re still in love with her. Maybe it’s best to keep your distance.”

“I appreciate you looking out for me, but I can handle myself,” Felix replied. “It’s a short walk. I just want to make sure she gets home safe.”

“I think we both know that’s not the reason you’re doing this,” Ralph said.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I do want to spend a few minutes alone with her. Maybe I want to know how she’s doing because she was a big part of my life and I care about her well-being,” Felix huffed. “I don’t see what’s so wrong with that.”

“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with it. I just think you should be careful.”

“I know you think I’m not strong enough to handle this, but I’m not that lovesick fool anymore,” Felix shot back. “It’s been years, Ralph, and I’ve come a long way since then. I thought you knew that.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, I—”

“I’ll see you later,” Felix grumbled as he pulled his jacket off the back of his chair.

He hurried toward the door, donning the extra layer as he joined Tamora. Ralph watched as Felix opened the door for her and followed her outside. He shook his head and turned back to his drink.

Felix shivered the moment the harsh cold met his skin. As someone who grew up in the south, he was unaccustomed to this sort of weather and was not at all equipped to handle it. Tamora smirked as he shoved his hands into his pockets in an effort to keep warm.

“That jacket doesn’t seem to be helping much,” she said.

“It’s always kept me plenty warm during the winter back home,” he explained, “but it sure isn’t enough to cut it here.”

They both chuckled at his misfortune.

“Are you sure you want to walk all the way there and back?” she asked. “You look pretty miserable.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten my commitment to making sure you get home safely,” he replied, taking mock-offense to her question. “The weather is never too severe to escort a lady to her door.”

“Right, how could I forget?” she laughed.

“Besides, I’m glad we get the chance to catch up,” he said. “It’s really good to see you.”

“You, too,” she responded.

Their eyes met then, and they found themselves surprised by the emotion that passed between them; warm and familiar, comforting and safe, deep down they knew what it was but neither was willing to give it a name. It was a dangerous path to tread, what with the history they shared and the uncertainty of their future. Felix cleared his throat and looked away, cutting off the rush of feelings before it could overwhelm him.

“So, tell me,” he said. “What have you been up to since you moved here?”

“Well, I was finally able to retire from the marines, and the pension’s more than enough to keep me afloat,” she explained. “I tried to just enjoy the free time I had, but I started going stir crazy after a couple of weeks. Now I teach fitness classes at the local gym.”

“That sounds like a perfect fit. You probably whip them into shape faster than anybody,” he replied. A mischievous grin appeared on his face as he asked, “How many people have cried in one of your classes?”

Tamora gave him a playful glare.

“I think it’s a valid question,” Felix chuckled.

“It happens at least once or twice every time I get a new group,” she admitted.

Felix burst into laughter.

“What? You asked,” Tamora said.

“I wasn’t expecting a real answer,” he replied, taking a deep breath to calm himself back down.

“Really, you can’t even blame me for it. I don’t know what people expect when they sign up for the most intense class the gym has to offer,” she shrugged.

“That’s true,” he agreed. “How well do you think I’d hold up in one of your classes?”

“That depends,” she said. “Have you cut down on all those pies?”

He didn’t answer, averting his eyes to the sidewalk to avoid her gaze as his cheeks flushed with guilt.

“Yeah, you’d definitely be a crier,” she teased.

“Hey!” he protested.

“You asked,” she replied with a playful shrug.

He laughed and shook his head. They fell back into their old banter so easily that he nearly forgot about everything that had happened between them. The fact that it was still so effortless between them had to count for something.

“Well, here we are,” Tamora said as they approached a large apartment complex. “Come on, let’s get you inside to warm up for a few minutes. I have a hat and some gloves you can take for your walk back.”

As he followed her to the set of double doors at the building’s entrance, his heart rate began to increase. With every step, he visualized himself alone with Tamora in her apartment, and in every scenario, he saw himself letting his heart take the lead. It hit him that Ralph had been right all along—that he was still madly in love with her and that he wouldn’t be able to contain it if they were together in private.

Felix wrestled with his thoughts as he realized he could put a stop to this. He could politely decline her offer and say goodnight and walk away from her, saving himself from the heartache he knew would accompany a visit to her home. Yet, despite knowing this, he felt powerless to the firm hold she still had on his heart. Years of failed attempts at moving on had proven fruitless; he longed for her tonight just as badly as he had the day she left. His inner struggle intensified the closer they got to the door, and just before the handle was in arms’ reach, he finally managed to make an attempt to save himself.

“Wait.”

She turned to find him gazing at her, eyes bright.

“I don’t think I should go up to your apartment with you,” he said.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I...” he trailed off and his eyes dropped to the pavement as he tried to think of a way to voice his thoughts without making things awkward between them. “I’ve had such a good time with you tonight. It’s made me so happy to spend time with you again.”

Even in the dark she could see the blush that bloomed on his cheeks.

“I really missed you, and I want you to be a part of my life again,” he said. “But I don’t want to do anything that might make you uncomfortable.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I thought I had moved on and that we could be friends moving forward,” he said, “but seeing you tonight forced me to accept the fact that I still have feelings for you.”

The simplicity of his confession surprised her. Normally one to trip over his words due to nerves, tonight he was calm and unafraid as he laid his feelings out before her.

“I still want to be with you, Tamora. I’m worried that if we’re alone together in private I won’t be able to stop myself from overstepping my bounds,” he admitted.

He rubbed the back of his neck as the discomfort of his confession finally caught up to him.

“But what I want more than anything is for you to be in my life. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize that,” he said. “So if you don’t feel the same way, I think we should say goodnight right here.”

Tamora looked at him for a moment, standing before her in all his vulnerability. No other man she had ever known had been brave enough to be so open. She took a step closer to him and reached for his hand. The touch caught him off guard, and he looked down at their connected hands and then back up at her face with a cautious hope that he didn’t dare express. She gave him a gentle tug as she turned back toward her apartment building.

“Then let’s go.”

[confusednarcissistwrites]

Hotsy Totsy Pt. 3 (T.C.)

ahhh the last bit of prewritten work!! thank GOD. reworking my own writing from a few years ago was killing me slowly (who tf let me write). next update will be all fresh 😎 hope you enjoyyyyy. things heating up quickly!

(sexual references)

“Man, this is… crazy,” Nick said, shaking his head. He held his tongue for a moment, his brow furrowed. He knew Timothée was already grasping desperately for something that appeared to be just out of his reach, so he needed to phrase his words carefully. “Look, Tim… she’s a married woman-”

“You think I don’t know that?” he retorted, a wild, grief-stricken look in his eyes. He fell into the doorframe, pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew he shouldn’t be frustrated with his friend; it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know the full story.

Nick looked at him expectantly, sitting down on the edge of his bed; he sensed this was going to be a late night.

“We met at an audition for A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the college.” Timothée stared at his hands and fidgeted a bit. “She was auditioning for Hermia and I for Lysander, as fate would have it. The connection was instant. Every moment after only confirmed what I’d known the moment I’d met her.” A sad smile graced his lips, melancholic memories of hushed conversations had backstage and through rehearsals. You glowed with life and vigor and enthusiasm; he was snared from day one. “Things quickly grew serious, and I planned to ask her to marry me. But then the draft order came.” His eyes were dark and his hands trembled a bit as he remembered the atrocities of war and the nightmares that still plagued him. He carried on, telling Nick about the day he saw your marriage announcement in the paper and how he, to this day, still believed he was in your heart, that if he could become affluent like her family he would be able to steal you away again. By the time he’d finished his sorry, he had slid to the floor, his back slumped against the door jam. “Before I left, she had promised me she was going to wait for me to return. We’d had our life together planned and names picked out for our future children; I had no reason not to believe her. A couple months at camp turned into two years, and I never heard a word from her. I think I knew then, but I refused to believe it. I kept her on my mind until it became a habit, a coping mechanism, still writing to her every moment I could.”

Nick listened intently to every word, learning every piece of his best friend’s life that had somehow been going on behind the scenes that he hadn’t caught on to; it sickened him a bit. How had he not seen the pain Timothée had been suffering this whole time?

Despite the tragic backstory, he wasn’t sure he could go along with his plan. Married is married. He’d been raised in a home with strong religious values and, though times were changing, he felt he shouldn’t act as an accessory to the two lovers finding their way back to each other.

Seeing his apprehension, Timothée spoke up again. “She doesn’t love him,” he stated earnestly. “She did what she had to so she could get the life she wanted, but she doesn’t love him.”

“How can you be sure?” Nick pressed.

Timothée paused, his eyes closing as if in prayer. “I just… know. I can feel it in my bones.”

Nick looked down at the floor, mulling it over in his mind for a few moments. He couldn’t find it in him to tell him no. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

***

Jordan sat on the vanity as you got dressed for the evening. You wore a rosy-pink, silk shift dress that came down to about mid-thigh with fringe along the hem. Your garters were nearly completely exposed, holding up your black fishnet stockings. You sat down in the chair in front of her, slipping on you Mary Janes and fiddling with the buckles.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” she noticed, pulling the cigarette from between her lips and exhaling swirls of smoke as she spoke.

“Just thinkin’” you replied with a shrug, getting up to pick out some jewelry from the many ornate boxes perched on a shelf inside the armoire. Truth was you’d been off ever since your conversation with Nick the night before.

“That’s dangerous,” Jordan chuckled, slipping off of the desk and striding over to peer over your shoulder. She was in a much more revealing outfit for her performance that evening; a gold, glittering, bedazzled leotard with triangle cutouts right at her waist, thigh high stockings, and a black velvet choker resting against her throat that completed her ensemble.

“You figure he’s gonna be here tonight?”

You huffed, wanting to ignore her as you tried to pick out a set of pearls. “I dunno.”

Jordan rolled her eyes. “What's going on in that pretty head of yours, doll? And don’t say it’s nothing because you know I’m gonna keep buggin’ until you give it up, so you might as well just start,” she chided.

“I just-” you began, clearly flustered. “I’m going through some personal things, okay?”

Jordan went a bit wide-eyed at your snappy reply. “Fine, fine,” she submitted.

You looked at yourself in the mirror as you adjusted the layered pearls that laid against your chest. Would he be there tonight? Noticeable circles were under your eyes, and you looked less than yourself. You patted on a bit more powder, adding some body glitter here and there.

“I’m sorry, J,” you sighed, shaking your head a bit. You turned to see her as she headed toward the door. “I’m just a little tense is all tonight. I’ll be fine soon.”

“I know you will, doll,” she smiled reassuringly, slipping out of your dressing room.

As she stepped out, the door to the manager's office at the end of the long, narrow hall cracked open. Lola, a new fan dancer from Chicago, came slinking out looking blatantly disheveled, red lips smeared and mascara lines down her cheeks. Jordan’s brow drew together as she tried to get a better look. She stepped behind a stage prop, her back to it and her neck craned to watch as the girl scurried away. Before the door closed completely, Jordan caught a glimpse of James sitting on his desk shirtless and his trousers hanging loose.

She quickly stood, ready to storm in there and demand an explanation, but that’s when she saw you standing in front of your dressing room looking shell-shocked. Your entire body was tense and your face white as a sheet. She hurried over to you, pulling you back into the dressing room and closing the door to avoid making a big scene. She had no idea what to say, her mouth open as she grasped for words.

“Son of a bitch,” you muttered, your eyes wide and quickly welling up with tears. The fear coiled in your stomach tightened around your guts, your subconscious hissing cruel “I told you so”s. You shook your head almost violently, expelling them. Short gasps left your parted lips as your chest refused to let your lungs expand.

“Y/N, you need to breathe, love. Come on, in and out,” Jordan quaked, gripping your hands tightly in her own.

You watched her with your eyes that burned from unshed tears, shakily following her breathing she modeled for you. Your chest heaved, and your mind fought hard to clear itself from all the horrible conclusions the other part of you wanted to jump to.

Eventually, she managed to calm you down, but your hands continued to tremble. Jordan looked over you worriedly, feeling like she didn’t know what to do for the first time in awhile.

“I’m- I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” you shuddered, pulling away to clean yourself up in the mirror.

Jordan sat looking a bit dumbfounded. “What?” she asked, unsure she’d heard you correctly.

“I’m sure it wasn’t what it looked like.” Even you could hear the slightly hysterical edge to your voice.

“Y/N-“

“No,” you interrupted in a clipped tone. “This will never leave this room.”

While a woman confronting her husband wasn’t something that happened then, Jordan had never had any of it. She also never had believed you to be a woman to be pushed around, and normally you weren’t. Your lifestyle wasn’t one of a typical domestic wife, and, being an educated woman, you’d taken your fair share of guff from conservative men. Yet, you’d never been one for confrontation, especially in your current emotional state.

Jordan shook her head in disbelief. “Y/N, he has no excuse for-”

“If you are my friend,” you choked, “you will pretend nothing happened.” Your voice was broken, but unyielding.

Her face softened slightly, and she stepped back, her hand on the doorknob as she shook her head. “You are upset and don’t know what you’re saying. I’ll see you after the show,” she replied, leaving and closing the door gently behind her.

Nausea washed over you and you bolted for the bin, the contents of your stomach evacuating unceremoniously. Your whole body heaved as you were sick repeatedly, the brief glimpse of your disarranged husband playing over and over in your mind. Denial was a hell of a drug, but your body was beginning to reject it. A quick knock at your door informed you that you were expected on stage in ten. You quickly began to clean yourself up, knowing that once you left that room, you were Daisy: the beautiful, the talented, the flawless. Hotsy Totsy would never know you as anything different if you had any say.

***

“I need a drink,” Nick grunted, hoisting himself from the desk chair he’d been sitting for the past hour, writing intensively.

Timothée hung his coat up on the hook and dropped his briefcase carelessly, just glad to be home. “I’ll pull something down,” he replied, heading over to the liquor cabinet.

“No, no, Tim. Don’t be a bluenose. I want to go out. I could go put in word with Cousin...” He raised his brows, knowing how to convince Timothée into doing what he wanted tonight.

He turned to him disdainfully. “Nick, I’m pretty tired. I don’t think I can handle that all tonight..”

“We are going. Go get dressed,” he insisted, grabbing Timothée by the shoulders and turning him to go upstairs to change.

He huffed but complied anyways. Subconsciously, he was eager to see you again, no matter how many nerves and feelings it stirred up inside of him. He changed into more casual wear: slacks, a white button up cuffed up to his elbows, and his favorite suspenders.He peered into the mirror, mussing his hair a bit before hurrying downstairs.

Nick was in similar attire, but with a striped shirt and a bowtie. “You ready, man?” he asked, slapping a newsboy cap on his head.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go before I change my mind,” he chuckled.

***

The high-end club was busy and bustling as always that Friday night. Cigarette smoke plumes hung heavy in the hot air, and every person had the Devil’s brew gripped tightly in their fists. A swing group played on the stage while a small group danced the Charleston below them. Timothée couldn’t help but smile as they came in: it really was soothing to his soul to be in such a carefree setting filled with so much life.

As the band’s song came to a close, an announcer came bouncing out and up to the mic. “Ladies and gents, please put your hands together for the lovely and exotic Ladies of Godiva!”

A flock of feathers came shuffling out onto the stage, three pairs of feminine legs peeking from below the large fans. The band began to play a soft and slow ballad beat. One by one, the women began to reveal themselves from behind their ivory plumes, but only in teasing glimpses that fell in time with the music. Eventually, three, jaw-dropping, dark haired women stood on the stage. Their fans were discarded to the floor to reveal bejewelled, scanty bodysuits and long, stocking-covered legs. They all huddled around the microphone and hummed sweet harmonies along with the saxophones and trumpets. Both Timothée and Nick, and every other man in the joint, were held captive. However, it was Nick who was truly in awe. In fact, he was particularly enamored as he took in the sight of the daring girl he’d met a few days before looking absolutely sinful on stage.

Timothée caught him gaping and planted his elbow between his ribs with a smirk. “Put your tongue back in your mouth, dude,” he snickered, leading him over to the bar.

Meanwhile, you stood backstage listening to Jordan and her girls, feeling guilty for snapping at her earlier. James brushed by you, catching your hand and giving you a wink on his way by, on his way to do god knows what with god knows who. He didn’t even notice when your hand quickly pulled out of his as though it were a hot flame. You wanted everything to be okay, but it was still too fresh in your brain. Before you knew it, Jordan was brushing past you with the other girls, giving you a soft smile. You smiled back, feeling a bit of relief that she wasn’t too upset with you for your outburst.

“Next up, our Lady of the Night: Miss Daisy!”

You quickly slipped into your role, a pout on your lips as you strutted on stage. The feeling of hungry eyes didn’t even phase you anymore. However, your heartbeat quickened slightly as you imagined one certain pair of eyes. You pushed that to the back of your mind and focused on the feelings bubbling in your chest. A thought came to you suddenly, and you turned on your heel to bend down to whisper into the drummer’s ear. He then, in turn, murmured down to the rest of the band while you returned to the mic. “Good evening, how is everyone doing so far? Everyone have a drink?” Your voice was low and sexy, the crowd curled into the palm of your hand as they cheered and whistled for you. “Well, I have a little something special I think you all are gonna like tonight alright?” You looked to the drummer, and he gave you a nod of confirmation that you returned.

Timothée leaned against a wall in a more secluded part of the club, eating up the swagger that poured off of you. His imaginings of what you’d become after all those years had far from given you justice. You were not at all shy; you never had been, but seeing you right where you had told him you wanted to be made him bubble with contagious pride. His eyes widened when you growled out the first note over the nearly silent club. Once everyone recognized the tune, cheers and hollars joined your voice, many girls hopping up and pulling their dates over to dance. All he could see was you.

“You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog snoopin’ round the door..” Your body rocked to the percussive beat, your face scrunched up in emotion. “You told me you was high class, but I can see through that..”

You dug up the rage bubbling in you and growled it into the microphone, feeding off of the audience’s shouts and howls. Your hips snapped to the beat as you danced and sang your heart out.

Timothée watched you with a nearly predatory gaze. Hunger bubbled up in him; he was greedy and desperately wanted to pull you away from all the lustful men in the audience to be his and his alone. He wanted to feel you up against him again like the many escapades you two had had in college.

Your last note rang out over the crowd of cheers and catcalls, your chest heaving from not only the exertion of your performance, but also the emotions rushing around your mind. You stayed in character despite it all, but found your eyes searching the audience.

Suddenly, there he was, his eyes already on yours.

Timothée was deafened by his heartbeat in his ears as his eyes met yours. Somehow, he managed a small smile.

You quickly came to, realizing you were staring on stage. Your eyes flitted away, but you were clearly distracted as you waved and slipped off stage. You easily let Jordan pull you out and down the stairs and into the alley outside to get a little break. Everything felt like a blur.

Nick, who had been mingling around the club, watched as you two bolted outside; he knew this was his opportunity. He looked around for Timothée but couldn’t seem to spot him. He figured he was probably drinking somewhere and headed the direction you had left, weaving between the dancing bodies. He was met with a big man in a bowler hat blocking his path.

“And where exactly do you think you’re going punk?” he questioned, his thick New York accent making him almost unintelligible.

“My name is Nick Carraway. I’m a cousin of Y/N’s, Miss Daisy,” he explained, trying not to cringe at the brute’s horrid smell.

After a moment of contemplation, he stepped aside. “You best keep your hands off the ladies or I’ll bash your little head in, ya hear me?”

Nick nodded quickly, hurrying past him and out into the alley. Girls in skimpy feathers, jewels, velvet, and silk stood about in little groups, gossiping and sucking on cigarettes or cocktails. It was a lot of the young bachelor to have to take in, but eventually he spotted you. Girls shot him dirty looks and muttered things from “whatcha you lookin’ for? your ma?” and “who is this little peeping Tom!’ to “Hey, sugar. Wanna ride?” and many other crude things that made him blush hotly.

“Cousin Nicky? What are you doing back here?” you said, spotting the tall boy weaving through all the girls and looking incredibly uncomfortable. You heard Jordan laugh softly behind you, clearly amused by how flustered he was.

“Y/N! You were fantastic as always!” he smiled, giving you a small side hug. “You and Jordan were both uh, stunning! Yes, you were stunning.” He flushed, shaking his head as he stumbled over his words helplessly.

Both you and Jordan just laughed and thanked him. However, you could tell there was more to what he had to say.

“Anyways, Y/N. I wanted to ask you something, um, privately,” he stammered.

You gave Jordan a little look and she politely excused herself, brushing by Nick and making him blush again.

“Go ahead,” you ushered, curious as to what was so important.

“Well, I was hoping you’d join me for tea and luncheon tomorrow,” he said.

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing a bit. Did he know? “And you needed to ask me this in confidentiality because..?”

“Oh well, I um, have a… male house guest currently. I wouldn’t want to start any sort of rumours or anything.” It was a lame cover up and you both knew it.

“Will this ‘house guest’ be joining us?” you asked, trying not to be too conspicuous.

“Well, I suppose you’ll have to just wait and see,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck.

“Alright, Nicky. What time?”

[whispersafterdusk]

Lost in Time - ch 16

It was hard to take his eyes off the contraption attached to his wrist.

The Hi-Def was a tiny computer that was held to him with a comfortable canvas and leather wristband; the screen was two inches square, sleek and shiny, and edged with a polished steel casing.  The device had two small buttons on one side but, as Eli was demonstrating, the majority of the computer's functions were controlled either by touching the screen, poking at the hard light projection that came from the screen, or using voice commands.  So far the only button function he knew how to set whether the device operated exclusively with screen-touched commands, hard light commands, voice only, or any combination of any of them; that had been the first thing Eli had taught them, even before they'd finished the elevator ride down.

They were now all gathered within the facility, standing together around a computer console on what they considered the "ground" floor (which was the bottom-most floor the main access elevator could reach) and on the monitor was a larger image of the Hi-Def's screen.  Eli was frequently switching between projecting out of her own Hi-Def and using the computer monitor, depending on what she was instructing them to do - it was a lot easier for them to see on the larger monitor than it was in the projection without crowding one another. ((Continued below cut))

"So here," Eli said, gesturing with her free hand at the monitor, "is the communications panel.  You can set up a quick-response voice command to open it without needing to manually navigate here in the same area for all the other voice commands I showed you earlier.   It's fairly self explanatory on this landing page -- you can see the list of Hi-Defs in range here.  I've already programmed in the "names" of your Hi-Defs, using your names, to make it easier."

Asher looked down the list and could see his name along with Eli, Arlo, Sam, Remington, Adam, Mali, and Gale's name was there as well (though Gale wasn't presently in the room with them - his name was outlined in bright red).  There seemed to be loads more empty spaces left but he knew Eli had only made nine of these so far...she must have thought ahead and programmed with the intent of making more in the future.  Neat.

"I've set it so, by default, it'll always broadcast to all Hi-Defs within range.  If or when I ever add more to the network I'll start programming in some set group defaults but for now we don't need that."  Eli turned away from the screen briefly and rapidly navigated to the communication page on her own Hi-Def, then set it to project into the air in front of her.  "If you aren't wanting to talk to everyone all at once you can select a specific person or group from the default list, or create your own personalized groups of people -- and, like everything else, you can set up voice commands to get here quicker.  Anyway..."

He watched as she reached out and "tapped" (it was so weird to be tapping on light that was solid...) Arlo's and Sam's name, which highlighted them in a bright green.

"So I've got my recipients selected," Eli said, smiling a bit as they turned toward Sam and Arlo - her voice was coming out of their Hi-Defs now (it was a weird effect hearing her from multiple places at once).  "All you have to do then is just talk.  It's pretty decent at picking up your voice even if your hand is down at your side as well as filtering out background noise but there's still a chance other things might be heard through it so be mindful of that.   You can adjust your incoming and outgoing volumes here-" she indicated a double pair of up and down arrows, "-and there's an element of proximity when it comes to outgoing broadcasts." She raised her wrist to her mouth then.  "If you need to be very quiet, for example," she went on in a bare whisper, "just get it closer to your face if you can."

Asher couldn't hear the words coming from her lips but could hear her clear as day coming through on Arlo and Sam's Hi-Defs - a whisper that was coming through at a normal volume.

Eli then reached out to tap Arlo's and Sam's names again, returning them to the dull tan color they'd been before she'd selected them, then demonstrated sliding both incoming and outgoing volumes down to zero.  "If a Hi-Def is out of range the name will be in red and if you try to select it it'll give you its best estimate as to how far away you are from being in range.  This will be based on the last time you WERE in range, so it's not going to be completely accurate -- normally these would be tethered to a satellite and could give you measurements down to the inch but we're in short supply of those.  One thing to keep in mind for the future is even if we get all the signal towers up there may still be areas where you're considered out of range because the signal can't reach. Places like being in deep valleys or underground, or if you're somewhere there's a lot of metal or 'things' between you and the towers like trees, dirt, concrete... Again, wouldn't be much of a problem if we had satellite support too but we'll have to make do."

"Can these be accidentally turned on?" Asher asked.  He waggled his wrist slightly.   "I'm not going to start broadcasting my snoring if it turns on while I'm asleep?"

Eli shook her head.  "Accidentally?  No. It can detect heart and respiration rates so if you hit a certain threshold it'll assume you're asleep or unconscious and will disable all outgoing broadcasts and turn on a tracking indicator.  If I NEED to I can turn the outgoing back on from here-" she patted a hand on the computer console "-so we can get audio of your surroundings, assuming you're within range.  Incoming broadcasts won't be muted if you're asleep or unresponsive however."

"Neat. Can we set up alarms on this thing?"

"You mean to wake yourself up, or to alert others?"

"Both?"

Eli pointed to a spot on the projection that had a large exclamation point on it.  "That there will send out a distress signal by default if you double tap on it.  If you press and hold..."  She jabbed it with a finger and held it there; the button flashed from red to yellow, then expanded out into a new menu that was overlaying the communication page.  "It opens up this secondary menu where you can set up custom ones with your own messages and sounds.  If you're looking for an alarm clock that's in the clock and calendar functions."

"Wait, you said there's a tracking indicator?" Arlo interrupted.  "Even if we're asleep?"

She nodded.  "Yes. There's no way for these to tell the difference between sleep and unconsciousness so a tracking indicator will turn on no matter what."

"That's...a bit weird, isn't it?" Sam asked, looking between her Hi-Def and Eli.  

"Is it?" Eli asked.  "I know where you all live so I already know roughly where you sleep."

"...true," Sam replied.  "I guess it's not so weird when you put it that way.  Does it track you any other time?"

"Not automatically, and it's not something that just anyone would've or will have access to," Eli answered.  "I can, from either this computer or my Hi-Def, track any of you at any time.  Normally I'd have no reason to and there were really, really, REALLY strict rules on how and when you could use the tracking function and, if we were back in my time, you could be thrown in prison if you were found to have misused or abused access to it.  It's meant to be a safety feature - if someone goes missing or silent unexpectedly I can look to see where you are and if need be we can head out to do a rescue."

"So not everyone will have access to the tracking thing but will WE have access?" Asher asked, gesturing to everyone standing about.  "It's not much use if you're the only one who can and you're the one who goes missing."

"I'm giving you all permission to do so but only from here," Eli said, patting the top of the computer.  "It's another security thing - if someone takes you out and gets your Hi-Def we wouldn't want them figuring out how to track the rest of us - which is also why I want you all to definitely set up the voice lock command like I showed you.   That'll minimize the risk even further."

"Could Paulina do the tracking if asked?" Sam asked then.

Ha...Paulina.  Pauline's successor, in a way.  Technically Paulina was an altered copy of Pauline that didn't need a name (because it wasn't a living AI) but they'd all agreed to renaming the working console just so they could refer to it and have everyone know exactly what was being discussed. Paulina ran both the computer as well as all of their Hi-Defs - one big copy of Pauline and nine more tiny ones.

"Yes, and no," Eli finally replied.  "I'd have to program her to be able to do that.  As of right now no, that's not something I have her set up to do because of all the variables that would have to go in to it.  She SHOULD, in theory, be able to do it just fine since Pauline tracked people within the facility but there'd be a difference between the check point sensors and signal towers that -- well.  I'm not going to get into the technical aspect.  Let's just leave it at 'yes, possibly' for now."

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sam nodding, looking satisfied with that answer; he looked up again as Eli turned back to the computer.

"A couple other things here - this button will mute your outgoing, double tap it to quickly mute both incoming and outgoing, and then double tap it again to unmute them.  This one here opens the menu to set up your own communication groups.  Press, hold, drag and drop, then hit the title bar here and either verbally or manually name it.  When you do that it'll appear here..."

Asher watched as she backed out of the new menu and landed back on the main communication page, then she gestured at a smaller button that had what looked like a capital V on it; when she poked at it another menu opened and it had blank text fields on it that looked identical to the ones on the main page.

"This is where your created groups will be stored - like with individuals you can set up quick or verbal commands to broadcast to a group."  She let them all get a good look at it then closed it, and then quickly flipped all the way back to the main screen of the Hi-Def.  "That's all for now - don't want to overload you all with information.  Feel free to play around with it, there's nothing you can do to these that I can't reverse."

Remington tapped a few fingers against his screen.  "How sturdy are these things?  I'm worried I'll scratch or break it somehow."

Eli chuckled.  "You'll probably break the casing its in before you actually damage the screen.  I don't have access to the alloys the casings were originally made out of so they're not quite as indestructible as they used to be. -- but don't get me wrong, breaking them IS a possibility, just not a very high one.  You don't need to treat them like spun glass but also don't be using them as hammers or whatever - just wear them normally like you would any other article of clothing and you'll be fine." As she spoke she set the computer into a stand-by mode; the screen went black but not the dark black that indicated it was powered off entirely - that had been another concept to get used to...a "black" that still put out light.  

"So...how do we start mapping Portia?" Asher asked after a pause.  "This thing has some sort of scanning function, right?"

She nodded at him.  "It does but we're not going to worry about that right now.  We only have two signal towers up at the moment - the one here attached to the elevator platform that's interfacing with the working sensors in the facility and one that Selene attached to the schoolhouse's roof that currently is too far away to communicate with anything here but will still work if YOU all are within its range.   Until we get the other towers up and figure out how to power them you'll be relying only on your onboard storage and, when it comes to mapping, that's not going to count for much because the data that generates the maps -- ...ok, again, not going to get technical, but suffice it to say that it won't be possible until we get the entire thing up and running."

"Gotcha," he replied.  Honestly he was most looking forward to the mapping part...it'd give him an excuse to pick a direction and start walking during those times he wasn't on guard duty.

Asher had been born in Ethea and raised in Highwind; in a few ways Portia reminded him of Highwind - of home - so he assumed that was probably why he liked it here so much, and why he was itching to go poke around.  All the wide open spaces, the beach access and harbor, the neighboring desert...all of it was something he'd been hoping he'd get a chance to fully explore before he had to go back to the Pigs's headquarters in Lucien.  Now that he was carrying a Hi-Def it seemed like he had a really good reason to stick around even longer - once he'd helped get this spy problem under control he'd then be free to help map out Portia and the surrounding region, and then if these things got expanded across the continent...

Eh, well.  He shouldn't get ahead of himself.  The only reason he even had one was because Eli had the parts to build it; they could cover the continent in the needed signal towers but that wouldn't make more Hi-Defs appear out of thin air.  And if expansion was out of the question then he probably wouldn't get to take his Hi-Def out of Portia -- and even if he wanted to keep it and leave there'd be zero reason to since all the useful stuff he was excited over wouldn't work once out of range of the signal towers.

He tapped his screen to turn it off and looked around; the others were fiddling with their Hi-Defs and Eli was still sitting on a stool next to the main computer console - she didn't seem to be paying attention to anyone or anything in particular at the moment though she had one hand resting idly across her own Hi-Def's screen.

After a few breaths she looked up suddenly and met his eye - must have sensed he was looking at her, or something. "When do you think the rest of the towers will be up?" he asked.

She took a moment to consider, then shrugged.  "Hard telling.  Selene is having to make molds and cast some parts, then we'll have to test strength and durability.  We could technically make do in the short term but we can't guarantee we can dig up the right parts forever.  And I'd rather not have to dismantle a ton of things," she added after a moment, waving a hand around herself to indicate the facility.  "I'd like to...actually utilize this place.  Don't know what for just yet but..." She fell silent then offered up another shrug.  "We were always taught to use whatever we had at hand if things went south...I'm as far south as someone can get but it feels like tearing my own house down.  I want to keep this place standing - find a reason to bring life back to it."

"Maybe as a school?" Remington offered, without looking up from his Hi-Def.

"Nah.  We're moving Stewart to the clinic, remember?"

Now Remington did look up.  "I remembered, yeah, but medical stuff isn't the only thing folks could learn."

Asher looked between the two of them as they spoke and was able to watch the slow progression of Eli's expression from confusion to a guarded curiosity.

"What do you mean?" she went on finally.

"Well..." Remington started, drawing out the word as he closed all the menus he was perusing.  "You're teaching all of us some ranger things, and fitness and strength training.  And you know all about the Old World since you lived in it.  I bet people would flock from all over the continent to meet and learn from you."

Eli's expression went neutral.  "True.  But I'm not exactly a school teacher.  I'm a soldier, and I imagine your church would have more than a few things to say about my teaching anyone on a large scale."

"They don't hold any authority within Portia or the rest of the Free Cities," Arlo said into the brief pause that followed.  "They can hold all the opinions they want but they'd be inviting a lot of trouble if they tried directly interfering in a town's business or with their citizens."

Eli shrugged again.  "Even still, I'd rather not kick the proverbial hornet's nest.  Just because they don't have authority doesn't mean they can't or won't try something, whether that "something" is them riling up the populace against me or directly taking action to remove me from the picture - which is what would have happened in my time, and often did if someone was trying to incite something without regard to the laws."

Asher clenched his jaw at that last part; the Church Enforcers were a...particular lot.  They traveled around and destroyed relics they deemed dangerous (which usually meant ANY relic they could get their hands on) and had been known to get into conflicts with civilians on the regular.  The conflicts were violent at times but not usually fatal on either side; he couldn't think of any accidental deaths that had happened within recent years but could see the potential for them if the Church thought Eli, her knowledge, and anyone she shared that knowledge with was a threat.  If similar had happened even back in Eli's time when, as history detailed, the world had been living in what amounted to a utopia...guess humans really hadn't changed much in three hundred years.

"Yeah, well, we just make sure that doesn't happen," Asher found himself saying, and then immediately stopped as all eyes shifted to him.  He'd...not actually intended to say that out loud since it was only a half-formed thought but too late now.  "Not...not that I'm suggesting we pick a fight with the Church or anything.  Or have a gaggle of body guards following Eli around-"

Eli snorted.  "By the Three I'd hope not."

He grinned at that.  "-BUT, what we CAN do is take some steps to make sure a confrontation doesn't happen, or doesn't have a reason to happen.   That means keeping people away from places they don't belong - which is something we do now anyway - and also not turning a blind eye to churchfolks who like to make up stories about things or people.  I know Arlo's dealt with that here already," he added after a breath, looking to the man.

Arlo in turn nodded and crossed his arms.  "I have.   Thankfully Lee understood early on exactly where Gale and the Civil Corps stood on the topic -- the few things he spread around were squashed quickly and, to my knowledge, he's back to his usual sermons without 'embellishing' them."

Asher looked back to Eli.  "Yeah, that - squash the lies, and just be careful about things - Portia might have opened all her other ruins for exploring but there's a lot of them across the continent that're closed, period, because they're too fragile, dangerous, or too many people rely on whatever's in them to be fairly distributed. It'd be up to Portia to set rules on who gets to come in here and why but if you end up turning this place into something everyone can use then we'd know who's here and for what reason, and anyone without a good reason can be shown the door.  An Enforcer is going to stick out like a sore thumb if they come anywhere near Portia anyway. And the Church HAS come around on stuff like water filtration, powered tools, electric generating gadgets...they're definitely trigger happy on everything they come across but even they can be made to see the benefit to things eventually."

"And besides," Sam picked up, "it's not like the enforcers are assassins or anything.  At most they can arrest people in the regions they have jurisdiction in, and at best they get arrested themselves for causing problems."

Adam grunted. "Threat of jail hasn't stopped 'em from arresting in places they don't have power in.  There's a lot of bullhonk out in the world that you lot don't see in a town like this.  They're not friendly."

"They're NOT murderers though," Asher interrupted, shooting Adam an annoyed look.  "But accidents do happen when they get a bit...overeager in their work and yeah, sometimes they do try to step out of bounds if they feel threatened or justified."

Eli looked between the two Pigs.  "I think we need to have a chat on what these enforcers are, what they do, and what they're SUPPOSED to do.  Are they reigned in by law at all?"

"Of course.  Doesn't mean they stick to it," Adam answered.  "Same as anyone."

Mali shook her head and gestured for Asher and Adam to quiet.  "WE," she said, gesturing to the Pigs, "would be happy to discuss the politics and laws of the wider world.  Whenever you'd like to just let us know."

Eli nodded.  "I appreciate it.  I'll be busy this afternoon so maybe later tonight, or even tomorrow."

Asher could see her glance over to Arlo and give him a barely perceptible nod; guess whatever she was up to this afternoon included him, or the Civil Corps, or both.  After another pause in the conversation Eli stood up and again invited them all to play around with their Hi-Defs, reminded them to set their voice locks, then headed out of the room with Arlo following along a few moments later.

For one brief moment he contemplated following them; everyone else had their attentions back on their Hi-Defs so he doubted they'd even notice if he slipped out.  But, it was pretty clear, when neither Remington or Sam moved to leave, that whatever Eli's plans were for the afternoon they included Arlo and just Arlo...if others were welcome she probably would have said something.   He looked around at everyone again -- whether he followed Eli and Arlo or not he did know he wanted to get back out on the surface and into fresh air; the Research Center, with Stewart's help, had fully repaired the air system down here so he logically knew that fresh air was always circulating but it didn't stop the feelings of mild claustrophobia and stuffiness he got when he was down here for awhile.  He'd give Arlo and Eli time to get back to the surface then would head that way himself and tuck himself into a quiet corner of the tent while he fiddled with the Hi-Def.

Asher flipped through the screens back to communication and sorted Mali and Adam into a separate group he labeled "Flying Pigs," and then slid all three of the Civil Corps members into their own group as well.  Setting up the voice commands were easy ("call Pigs" and "call Civil" respectively, since Eli had suggested "call" as a command word to use) and then he found his fingers hovering over Arlo and Eli's names; after a moment to consider he slid the two of them into another custom group.

Adam and Mali might be his fellow Pigs but he wasn't especially close to either of them - before now he'd not even had a chance to talk to them much since they were always doing their own things; he was closer to Greg than he was to anyone else in the Flying Pigs but only because they'd shared a bunk room at headquarters up until Greg got married and moved in to a house with his wife.  Arlo reminded him of Greg in a lot of ways and, despite having watched him fail the entry exam multiple times, Asher was still convinced that Arlo would make it eventually and was looking forward to being there when he finally did (and hey - he hadn't had a bunk mate since Greg moved out and Arlo would be expected to spend his first two years living at headquarters as a rule).

And, when it came to Eli... Well.

He titled their group "Buds" but held off on setting up a voice command.  For now.

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

"Hey you!"

Harrison took a moment to reply (he hated being interrupted mid-sentence when reading) but found himself smiling up at Lily as she leaned over his pile of books.

"Hello there - I didn't hear you come in."

She giggled and patted a hand on top of what was basically a barricade of reading material lined up along the outer edge of the little table he studied at.  "Gee, I wonder why."

He felt his face go a bit red but he laughed quietly all the same and quickly moved a few stacks of books down to the floor near his feet.  "Sorry.  What are you up to today?"

"I came by to ask if you had any letters or anything you'd like me to take back to Lucien."

"Back to Lucien?" he repeated.  A sinking feeling hit him - she was leaving?  

Lily nodded.  "Uh huh.  It's about time to head back home to check in with mom - I try to stay away only a couple months at a time. If I come home at regular intervals then she worries less."  She paused and squinted at him, then waved her hands frantically.  "But I'm coming back!  I'm going to come back!" she added in a rush.  "I just have to let her know I'm ok!"

"Oh," he said, letting out a loud breath.  "Ok.  Yes, that - that sounds like a good thing to do.  Um..."  

He'd had a pad of paper here somewhere...  As he started sorting through the folders and remaining books on his desk Lily stood there and rocked back and forth from heels to toes, like she usually did when standing still (well, not STILL - she seemed incapable of not moving some part of her when standing around idle) and then she bent to yank something out from under a pile on the corner.

"Here you go-" she held out the writing pad to him with a grin.

"Thanks."  He grabbed it and leafed through the pages inside; there was a half-completed letter in here somewhere...ah.  Carefully he pulled the page free and flipped it around to show her.  "I sort of do.  When did you plan on heading home?"

"I'd planned on heading up to Sandrock today and catching the bus north but I can wait until tomorrow."

"I can have this done here in a few minutes if you really want to leave today."

Lily wrinkled her nose and sighed.  "I don't REALLY want to leave but I have to.  BUT, like I said, I'm going to come back.  I even have a job lined up for when I come back, too!"

Harrison blinked at her.  "Oh?"  How long had she planned on leaving without mentioning anything to him...?

"Mmhmm.  That old lady farmer is willing to hire me on as an extra farmhand to help with the spring planting and all the little baby animals that'll be born or hatching here soon.  That'll earn me enough that I wouldn't have to worry for awhile."

"How long will you be gone?" he asked as he fished around for a pencil.

"I'll probably be back within a week."  She hummed to herself for a breath, then spun on a heel to face the door.  "I'll be back in a bit for that, ok?"

"All right."

Harrison watched her skip out of the clinic and huffed out a sigh.  He shouldn't be too surprised or disappointed that she'd be going home but logic and sense rarely went hand in hand with... The "L" word felt a bit too much at this point but he was definitely interested in her, and she in him.  It was highly unfair for him to expect her to stay here, just because he was here, without giving any thought to her own needs or obligations.

Quickly he skimmed over the letter; he'd been halfway through detailing everything he'd done so far in Portia - this wouldn't take long to finish.

Not long after Lily had left the doors opened again; Dr. Xu came in leading someone with a heavy bandage taped to their chin.   Harrison paused in his letter writing and watched as Xu led the man over toward the Uplifter, and lifted the machine's dust cover while directing the man to pull over a stool.

"Would you like a hand, Dr. Xu?"

"That would be welcomed, Harrison, thank you."

He got up and came around to help the patient position the stool in front of the Uplifter.  "Here, just sit here and -- yes, like that, and sit up straight.  Dr. Xu will lower that part there that looks like a plate and adjust it near your face."  

"And this thing'll be able to fix it?" the man asked.  His voice was obviously pained and also slurred, as he didn't seem willing to move his mouth and jaw more than he had to.

"It'll close the wound and there shouldn't be any scar visible, yes," Xu answered.  "Go ahead and take the bandage off while I get the last few steps completed. This will sting briefly as it starts up but will numb soon after-"

Harrison looked from the man to Dr. Xu as Xu cut off mid-sentence; the doctor was patting at the side of the machine and looking confused.  "What's wrong?"

"Hmm.  The manual for it isn't in its usual slot.  Have you seen it?"  Harrison shook his head and Xu hummed to himself.  "Well.  I have the steps memorized but I had wanted you to follow along in the manual as I worked."

"Perhaps it accidentally got mixed in with Phyllis's things when she moved to her new practice?"

"It's possible," Xu replied, nodding to Harrison.  "When we finish here would you mind walking out there to check?"

"I need to finish something quickly before that but otherwise I don't mind at all."

Xu smiled and began to input the commands into the Uplifter's computer panel; Harrison leaned over to help the man on the stool remove the bandage, and then winced when he saw the injury -- it was a deep wound, with jagged edges, and he could see the white of bone beneath it.  Once Xu had all the commands in place he settled the headpiece of the Uplifter over the man's head fully and hit the Start button.

"No talking," Xu said then.  "This will take several minutes."

Harrison could see the man flinch as the machine whirred to life but afterward the man sat calmly, unmoving, as the Uplifter did its work.

Since there would be some time to kill while the machine mended the injury Harrison returned to his table and went back to his letter.  Assuming there weren't any other emergencies or distractions he should have this done well before Lily came back for it.

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

"How many keys were on the keyboard I was using?"

"Fifty six.  Fifty seven if the secondary power button counts."

"Good. How many birds over there?"

"Fo- no, five."

"And what are they?"

"Sounds like common house sparrows."

"Right. Cows in the field?"

"Unfair question - McDonald said one was in labor."

"Assume the calf hasn't made an appearance yet."

"Fourteen."

"Horses?"

"Three.  The rest were in the barn still."

As they walked along Eli nodded approvingly at him; these early techniques she was teaching him were hard to describe but when put into practice Arlo found they weren't so impossible as he'd initially thought.

"How far off is the Dee-Dee?"

Arlo paused; he was certain he hadn't seen or heard the Dee-Dee that ran between here and town yet but if Eli was asking, then...

All right, so maybe he shouldn't feel so confident in himself just yet.

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

Harrison's letter was safely in her pack; he'd written out his parent's address and on the back of the envelope he'd even given her a crudely drawn map of how to get there from Lucien's town square.  

It was going to be a really simple matter to find his family.

The bus had dropped her off at the stop just outside of Lucien's border; a group had gotten off with her and as they all filed through the little turnstile to get off the platform Lily tried to tamp down her irritation at being jostled by all the careless people around her.

And then finally she was out into the night, and free.  No one in the near vicinity, and no one paying any attention to her when she passed.

There was a run down shed on the northern side of Lucien that held old, rusted gardening equipment.  The padlock looked equally as rusted but she knew that was just for looks; her key turned soundlessly in it and, after making sure no one was around, she slipped inside and picked her way among the clutter until she came to an empty workbench with a heavy burlap rug pinned underneath the bench's front two legs.  She flipped the rug aside to reveal a trap door and used a second key to open it before sliding down the ladder and into a cramped, barely lit tunnel that led to a considerably more comfortable room with padded chairs, a few bunk beds, and a tiny kitchenette.

Normally there would be three or four people here, waiting; tonight there was only one - a dark haired man, short and squat, with a ruddy complexion and face dotted with pimples and acne scars.  He was listening to a small radio and when Lily stepped into the room he spun around with one hand going for a gun holstered at his side.  When he finally registered who she was he visibly calmed, then an instant later growled at her angrily.

"What are YOU doing here?  Captain Xan didn't-"

"Shut up," Lily snapped.  She stomped in and yanked Harrison's letter out of her pack before letting the bag drop to the floor.  "Through sheer dumb luck I stumbled on something that we can't pass up.  Call him down here."

Grunting and puffing the fat man got up out of his chair and shoved passed her to go back up the tunnel she'd just come from.   Lily yanked the envelope open, took the letter out and flattened it across a table, then carefully opened the envelope's seams so it too could lay flat.

She waited longer than she wanted to but soon the scarred man came back, huffing and puffing and with his face even redder with exertion; behind him trailed a rail-thin man with a shaved head, seven piercings in his left ear, and what could be mistaken for smile lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes.  He was dressed in old, stained clothing, and had a heavy apron tossed over one arm -- it would seem Xan was still working his cover job as a butcher over on the southern side of Lucien's market district.

"What brings you back early, Lily?" Xan asked.  His tone was smooth and calm but Lily could tell by the way his jaw bulged a bit that he was gritting his teeth -- she didn't know what he'd been told by the fat messenger but it was clear he was mad at her.

"An opportunity fell into my lap," she answered.  With a light touch she turned the letter and envelope with its map around to face him, then pushed it across the table toward him. "There's a doctor in Portia, with a student who sounds just like him. And that machine we've heard of exists and does exactly as rumored - I have the manual to prove it.  Doctor and student are roughly the same size and height as well."

Xan's face broke into a cold smile as he gingerly picked up the envelope and studied the map; that was one thing Lily liked about Xan -- he understood her ideas and plans without her having to painstakingly spell it out for him.  "Have you acted on it?"

"Not yet.  I think it best if we have some bargaining chips first.  I've charmed the student so it won't be odd for me to be seen in and around the clinic -- and besides, the lock on their doors as well as on the doctor's desk are ridiculously easy to pick.  We can take out the doctor and force the student to replace him once we have the appropriate motivation in place for the student."

Xan nodded slowly, tapping the edge of the envelope against his lower lip as he thought; it was several minutes before the man spoke again.  "We'll prepare a place to hold everyone -- we will, after all, need ready access to the doctor so we can feed information to the student, so that the illusion holds.   When will the All Source be moved into the clinic?"

"That I'm not sure.  I found all the information about their plans to expand the clinic but construction hasn't started yet, nor was there any hint as to when it would."

"Wait until construction is under way, then you may act," Xan ordered.  "I'll send Marcus and Evangeline to back you up directly, and will have others standing by to get the All Source secured and away when the time comes. Leave the hostages to us."

"What do you want me to do in the meantime?  They know someone has been keeping an eye on the facility."

"Do whatever you have to to keep your current cover intact," Xan replied.  "Is the suit secured?"

Lily jerked her head toward the pack on the floor.  "I need a few replacement wires - one of the Flying Pig bitches shot me in the arm."

Xan turned around toward the ruddy-faced man.  "Tell Steven we need the filament wires, immediately."  When the man nodded Xan turned back to her.  "You've done exceptionally well -- I'll make sure you get a bonus.  Take some time, rest - actually visit your mother if you so choose.   Leave the suit here for Steven though."

Lily nodded.  "Understood.  Is anyone staying here tonight?"

"Just Howie," Xan said, gesturing toward the fat man.  "-who SHOULD have already left to fetch Steven, yet here we are."

At that Howie about fell over himself to scramble from the room again; Xan let out a short chuckle that trailed into a sigh.  

Lily wrinkled her nose and picked up the letter, offering it to Xan who took it and carefully folded it with the envelope.  "I will go home then.   I'm in no mood to share a space with an ugly idiot."

"Fair enough.  Tell your mother I said, thank you for the chamomile.  It made a very pleasant tea."

"I will. You know where to find me."

Wordlessly Xan nodded and turned to leave; Lily gave him plenty of time to have disappeared into the night before she too left the underground hidey hole and headed out into the evening air.  Steven had repaired the suit before so she wasn't concerned about leaving it behind.

She took her time walking home and stopped at the front gate to take a steadying breath and get her mind back into "happy go lucky airhead Lily" mode.   It was so exhausting to keep up that facade but knew if she didn't play the right part then her mother would ask questions she'd rather not answer.

With an inner grimace but an outward smile Lily pushed the gate open; the front windows were open to let in the night breeze and the lights were still on.  "Moooooom," she called out as she walked up the path toward the front porch.  "I'm hooooooome!"

[aphrodites-law]

A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (3/?) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction.

[part 1] [part 2] 

A week after parting ways with Niylah, a sudden sense of loneliness hit Clarke. It wasn’t that she regretted the decision, but the possibility had always been there and that in itself had been enough to avoid confronting the glaring emptiness of her apartment. Her celibacy had felt more like a choice than it did now.

Clarke knew that the vision was the main culprit for the sudden realization that she had built her dream life but had no one to share it with. Wells had Raven and his passion for theater keeping his life beautifully busy outside of the café, while Gaia had the next five years mapped out thoroughly - her own dreams soon to be achieved. They didn’t have time or space left to fill, and Clarke had fooled herself into believing the same applied to her. She had menus to think of; new coffee beans and bakes to taste test; ingredients to purchase. She had events to plan; social media accounts to update; phone calls to answer. It was a headache most of the time, but she had a long list of successes to be proud of.

It wasn’t easy to admit that she’d neglected a part of her life - that she’d never had anyone to come home to in years. Sometimes, she couldn’t even be sure she’d ever felt a fraction of what Wells felt for Raven - if she’d ever gazed at anyone with such adoration. It would happen eventually, she’d always thought. She had time for that. But the truth was that the future had already come, and Clarke was alone. Alone and no closer to understanding a vision that she wasn’t even sure she could trust anymore.

It was a gloomy thought for a gloomy evening. Clarke enjoyed her plate of homemade ravioli nonetheless, a Saturday treat for an otherwise dull week. She had expected it with so many logistics to deal with before the café’s upcoming 3-day event, but it didn’t help that time had seemed to slow to a crawl. It was pointless to deny the source of her disappointment though:

Lexa hadn’t showed. Not even once for a croissant or an early morning espresso. Clarke had secretly hoped she would, unable to stop thinking about their brief encounter at the party. Something had changed and she couldn’t shake the feeling that Lexa knew it too. Which only made her absence more nerve-racking. Clarke had taken to reading the Gazette again, scrolling down the app mindlessly during breaks. She'd caught Lexa's name a few days ago and read her most recent articles, unable to stop herself once she'd given into her curiosity.

Her most engrossing story had been a special report on the Mountain Men, a group of people who had lived in isolation in the Costial mountain chain for a hundred years. They were a very particular case - their bloodline seemingly passing down a deathly allergy to the sun, or solar urticaria. Yet they had chosen to live in isolation rather than accept any aid, building their own bunker in the 1900s, a complex network of rooms and tunnels. It was only ten years ago that the last of them had finally emerged from underground, pale and weak creatures but otherwise strong willed. In her story, Lexa was remarkably descriptive yet respectful of their privacy. They lived on the outskirts of Costial now, helped by modern medicine and custom-made protective clothing, though never quite able to stand the sun regardless. Lexa had written that she'd met with them at night, and had been surprised when next she knew the sun had risen and they'd spoken for hours. The Mountain Men were neither a cult nor a mystery to solve - they were human beings who craved human contact like anyone else, only dealt with a different set of circumstances at birth.

Reading her words had given Clarke more insight into Lexa's work, but hardly anything on her as a person. And Clarke couldn't help but crave more of her.

The hope for some clarity came on Sunday morning. Clarke went to the farmer’s market for fresh ingredients and a bag of quince, planning to tempt Wells into using them. He was the only person she knew that was so fond of quinces he could be bribed with them, though it could be an acquired taste.

The farmers’ market was always busy; the sort of organized chaos that Clarke lived for. She stopped at her usual stands - first the vegetables and fruit, and later the meats and cheeses. Her bags were nearly bursting when she decided to leave, having been tempted by olives and a few sachets of spices at a new stand. It seemed like a couple had cropped up in the past three weeks. Sundays were never a rush, and there was still time to head back home before the café.

Clarke stopped short when she looked toward a honey stand and noticed Lexa chatting with the vendor. She had a dark brown jacket on and a long knitted scarf wrapped twice around her neck, the only sign that she might be bothered by the chilly morning. Colder winds were starting to sweep through Costial, but Clarke didn’t mind how quickly winter was approaching. It had always been her favorite season - and it was good for business too.

With the busy activity, Clarke knew that she couldn’t stand still in the middle of the alley. On impulse, she walked toward the stand.

“Lexa. Hi.”

Lexa turned to her, eyebrows rising in surprise.

“Busy market today,” Clarke said, trying to appear more casual than she felt.

Lexa looked between her and the man behind the stall. “It is. Hm. Clarke, this is Gustus. His bees make the best honey in the state.”

Gustus laughed heartily. “Flattery won’t get you a third pot.” He spoke with an accent Clarke couldn’t place, but his tone was strangely comforting.

Lexa’s ears seemed to pink, though it might’ve been from the cold.

“I’m just trying to help your business,” she countered.

“Sure, sure.”

Lexa glanced at Clarke. “Gustus was stubbornly staying on his apiary with a cardboard sign a few miles away. I convinced him to apply for a stall here.”

“A whole five feet of space,” Gustus grumbled half-jokingly.

Clarke smiled. “I know the struggle. They turned down my business partner and I a few years back.”

“What were you selling?” Gustus asked.

“Well that was the problem - nothing consistent. We wanted to do sweet and salty bakes, but we don’t grow any of the ingredients ourselves. They didn’t like that - said we ought to just open a bake shop. It worked out pretty well in the end.”

Lexa nodded, but her eyes stayed on Gustus and the stall. “Clarke owns a coffee shop,” she clarified for him. “It’s very good.”

Gustus’ expression shifted from a frown to amusement. “Very good? From you, that is high praise.”

Clarke didn’t have the time to question the statement. Lexa shouldered her full bag with a glare at him. Clarke realized then that Lexa had yet to fully look her way, let alone address her directly.

“My baker loves honey cakes,” Clarke brought up, trying not to worry. She hadn’t done anything to warrant a cold shoulder... had she? “I’ve been trying to get him to switch from his usual brand - and honestly it would be much easier for me than trekking to the East bank.”

Gustus brightened and wrapped a pot in newspaper. “Try it. See if he likes it.”

Clarke took out her wallet, but he declined.

Lexa scowled. “That’s not how you turn a profit, Gus.”

He scratched his long beard. “But it is how you cultivate interest and loyalty.”

When a couple arrived at the stall, Clarke moved to the side and Gus excused himself to answer their questions. Now stood much closer to Lexa, Clarke felt the need to fill the silence.

“How was your week?” She asked.

Lexa’s whole body seemed to tense. “Busy. Yours?”

“Long.” She bit her lip. “I read your piece on the Mountain Men. Crazy story.”

Lexa finally looked at her, as if suddenly jolted. “You did?” She sounded surprised, but there was a spark in her eyes.

Clarke nodded. “I’d heard about them obviously, but I’d never realized some of the family still lived near Costial.”

“They keep to themselves.”

“But you got them to open up.”

“It’s my profession. Besides, I’ve found that few people can actually stand to die with their secrets. Eventually we yearn to be heard.”

Clarke’s heart raced under Lexa’s gaze. There didn’t seem to be an in-between with her - she either didn’t look her way at all or stared at her like she might undress her. Though Clarke was aware her reading of Lexa’s expressions was likely very skewed.

“I don’t believe that,” she replied. “We all have stories we’d be happy to bury forever.” 

“Maybe I'm just too boring a person to have any," Lexa said quietly. She didn't expand on it and Clarke suddenly felt like she couldn't hold her stare any longer.

“I should get going,” she said.

“Did you drive here?”

“I did.”

“I’m that way too.”

“Oh okay,” Clarke replied, though Lexa had already started walking after a quick wave at Gustus.

Clarke fell into step beside her. “I’ve never seen you at the market before,” she said.

Lexa shook her head. “I usually just come in the last thirty minutes.”

“When they’re more amenable to haggling - smart.”

Clarke swore she saw the ghost of a smile on Lexa’s face, but she was well-aware she couldn't just keep staring at her profile for much longer. She glanced at the top of her bag. “Margie’s brie is really good.”

Lexa let out a little hum of agreement. "Her blue cheese is even better.”

As they passed the parking lot, Clarke threw caution to the wind. She had to at least try to understand the walking enigma by her side.

"So... last year we had an open mic weekend to drum up some publicity for the café. Friday to Sunday. We’re doing it again next week."

"Starting a tradition?" Lexa asked.

"Hoping to. People can sign up in person or through our website and perform some original stuff. We've already got a decent list.”

"That's a great idea."

Clarke tried not to think too much about her erratic heart. "It should be a fun time if you wanted to drop by; get inspired…"

Clarke herself had gotten an itch to be creative after last year's event. Being surrounded by aspiring musicians and comedians had reminded her just how much she needed her own art as an outlet for stress. She'd put her drawings to the side for the café but picking up a pencil again had felt like coming home. She figured Lexa, who had seemed quite comfortable surrounded by comedians the night of the play, might feel the same way about such a setting.

But her reaction was odd. She stopped with her brow furrowed. "Inspired?" She asked.

"To write?"

Lexa’s body immediately stiffened, almost like she was upset. "I see. I'll try to find the time."

"Great," Clarke said in relief, choosing not to worry too much about her interpretation of Lexa’s reaction. It was clear by now she couldn’t read her very well. "I'll put a slice of cake on the side for you."

Lexa shook her head. "You don't need to bribe me, Clarke.”

Clarke frowned. "I wa-"

Lexa looked at her watch. "I should get going. I'm interviewing someone in an hour."

"Have you found any patterns yet?" Clarke couldn't help but wonder, though the question was also a poor attempt to speak to Lexa longer.

Lexa glanced up at her, her eyes lighter than Clarke remembered in the glow of the morning sun. Yet it reminded Clarke of the party too - how close Lexa had been, when now it suddenly seemed like she couldn’t wait to get away.

"I guess you'll have to read the article."

And with that, Lexa was walking to her car, leaving Clarke with the distinct feeling that she wasn’t any closer to understanding her.

* * *

With the ongoing preparations over the week, Clarke barely had a second to herself. Her interaction with Niylah on Monday morning had gone well though, awkward for just a few minutes before Niylah had cracked a terrible joke about starting a band called the Rolling Scones for the open mic.

The makeshift stage arrived in two pieces early Wednesday, and with Wells, Gaia and Harper's help, Clarke was proud to say it didn't look too shabby - and definitely a step-up from last year's. Raven had come around to help them with the sound setup, a task she had essentially summed up as 'nobody touch my cables or I'll electrocute you.' And far be it from Clarke to question a professional sound engineer.

Around 5pm, with a tired back and sore arms, Clarke had again drifted toward the end of the counter and started drawing. It was a character this time - a scraggly woman atop a mountain staring out at the horizon. She'd started it after reading Lexa's article, wondering how one could stand to live hidden in the dark for so long, and what they might've felt after leaving the comfort of what they knew for complete uncertainty.

She glanced up toward Lexa's spot, trying not to think about her. It was such a strange shift - from being a regular customer to not stopping by once in two weeks.

"Hello."

Clarke dropped her pencil and walked back to the other side of the counter, smiling at the young man standing behind it.

"Hi, what can I get you?"

"Are you Clarke? I mean- the owner?" He asked with a slightly nervous stammer.

"Co-owner, yep."

He extended his hand. "I'm Aden Baltimore. For the Polis Gazette."

His handshake was limp, but Clarke could tell he barely even knew what to do with his body. His checkered shirt was too loose and his tie too long, like he had ransacked his father's closet. His dirty blond hair was neatly combed and he smelled strongly of cologne. Clarke guessed he was eighteen at most.

"What can I do for you, Aden?"

He pushed his glasses up his nose. "I'm here for the article? Lexa said that late afternoon was a good time."

He dug into his messenger bag, trying to find something. It looked very similar to Lexa's satchel and Clarke wondered if he was a protégé and maybe very eager to resemble his mentor.

"Here's my ID," he added, showing Clarke his Gazette badge. It was endearing, to say the least, but Clarke wasn't sure what to do with it.

"What article are you talking about?"

"To boost the mic event. Didn't you set it up with her?"

Clarke’s smile fell.

A puff piece. Lexa had sent a teenager to write a puff piece on the café. Clarke wasn't sure what was more embarrassing: that Lexa had assumed her invitation had been a request to advertize the open mic, or that she'd sent someone else to do it. It hadn’t even crossed Clarke's mind. Was that what Lexa had thought of their interaction? That it had been a means to an end?

"It'll go up tomorrow morning in This Week In Costial," Aden said, then looked around anxiously. "Did I mess up? It starts Friday, doesn't it?"

"Yes, absolutely, it does," Clarke assured him as she shook off the lingering feeling of vexation.  

Aden relaxed. "Can we sit down for a few minutes? I just want to make sure my notes are legible."

Clarke glanced at Wells and Gaia in the kitchen, both laughing about something. She didn't feel much like laughing herself. But the sooner she gave Aden what he needed, the sooner she could occupy her mind with something else.

"Sure. Let's do it."

They sat at one of the center tables. Aden took out his phone, a notepad, and three different pens.

"How long have you been at the Gazette?" Clarke asked him curiously.

Aden tried the first pen on the notepad but discarded it when the ink barely came out. "I just started a few months ago. This is my first time reporting," he admitted bashfully. "I'm taking a gap year before college and wanted some real experience."

“That’s smart. How do you like it so far?”

“I love it,” he gushed, looking more like a boy at Christmas than a teen fresh out of high school. "It’s so much easier to learn through practice.”

Clarke nodded. “So you’ll be writing the piece?”

“I’ll structure the notes and work with Lexa on it. She has to approve everything I do."

"Hm. Do you like working with her?"

"Lexa's great," he said, coming out of his shell the more confident he was in the topic. Clarke couldn’t fault him for his awkwardness - everyone had to start somewhere. "We were both new at the Gazette around the same time, so she says we need to stick up for each other. I like that. Lexa doesn't care about rank, just what a person can bring to the table."

Clarke had stopped counting the ways Lexa surprised her. But in the last few weeks she had learned that the reserved, serious woman who sat in her café was one hell of a poker player, related to the owners of the Polis Hotel, and revered by a teenager. Not to mention, in all likelihood, a particularly intense lover. Clearly, Clarke still knew nothing about Lexa Woods, and it seemed like that was precisely Lexa's doing.

It stung. Clarke understood that she was only a café owner, barely a blip in Lexa's routine, if at all these days, but it was Lexa who had initiated their first conversation. Clarke had hoped it meant a step closer to being friendly. She had thought maybe Lexa just naturally kept to herself, but it seemed like everyone and their mother - quite literally, in Gaia's case - knew a side of her that Clarke wasn't privy to.

"So, what can we expect from the open mic?" Aden finally asked, forcing Clarke to sweep away any other thought.

* * *

The article was short and sweet, though one of the longer ones in the entire section that spanned three pages. Clarke had to admit the publicity wouldn't hurt, and it didn't hurt either when the Gazette also tweeted about it.

What did hurt, early on Friday, was Wells coming into the café with a grimace.

"What's up?" Clarke asked him, barely awake. Today would be a long day, but they were ready for whatever may come. Or so Clarke believed.

Wells took out a folded flyer from his pocket and slid it on the counter. "You're not going to like this."

Clarke opened the flyer, her heart dropping in her stomach when she read it: FINN'S COFFEE & BAGELS OPEN MIC EVENT. FRIDAY TO SUNDAY, 10AM TO 6PM. 50% OFF EVERY PURCHASE.

Clarke gritted her teeth. "I'm going to murder him."

Wells cringed. "I guess now's not the time to add he finalized his deal with Titus & Son to sell his bagels?"

Clarke crumpled the flyer in her hands. "No, Wells, now is not the best time."

Feeling a blind rage course through her, Clarke grabbed her coat and went out the back of the café, passing a baffled Gaia.

She walked down the street with a fury in her eyes, fully intending on finding Finn Collins wherever he might be hiding. She’d wait him out at his house if she fucking needed to. But his shop down the street was a good start - his hideous coffee shop with the large letters of his name on every available surface, even the plastic forks.

When she opened the door, it was with the force of her anger. When she walked inside, it was with clenched fists. She scanned the moderately crowded area for a pretentious suit and a cocky grin, knowing he had to be expecting her. That bastard had made sure she'd only learn about his copycat event at the last possible minute, but she’d speak her mind. Oh he was going to hear her. 

Or he would have.

Clarke's resolve crumpled when she spotted the last person she'd expected to see. It felt like whiplash. There, sitting at a corner table, typing away, was Lexa. Clarke had to blink a few times to believe her own eyes, but there was no mistaking her. Whatever momentum she'd gained screeched to a halt.

And when their eyes met, when Lexa finally spotted her and stilled, equally surprised to see Clarke, it felt like time slowed. Clarke couldn't even explain why it hurt so badly to see her there, just that it did. Because of course. Of course Lexa would take her habit elsewhere. Of course she would go to the chain hell-bent on driving Clarke's business into the ground.

She hadn’t been sure what to make of Lexa's disappearance; if she was just too busy, cutting down on caffeine, or perhaps trying to save up on cash for the holidays coming up. It wasn't any of Clarke's business to know. But seeing her in Finn's shop, on the same street, typing away like she always did, drinking some green monstrosity… rational thinking flew out the window. Lexa had the sense to look away at least, though her hands didn’t move on the keyboard anymore. 

Clarke couldn’t even stand the sight of her, so deeply embarrassed that she’d invited her to come over when all this time Lexa had already chosen a different establishment. Embarrassed that she'd hoped to see her at her usual spot again. Embarrassed that she even cared.

With the taste of bitter disappointment in her mouth, Clarke left without even bothering to find Finn. Her body felt numb, like the sight of Lexa had replaced her anger with ice. It felt personal and Clarke didn’t understand it. Didn’t understand how a person could seem to care one day and look away the next. Could it truly be because she had refused the interview? Was that the way Lexa did things? Stuck around for a story until she was sure there was nothing to be squeezed out? Clarke couldn’t think of another reason.

Whatever it was, she was done seeking Lexa out.

-

[part four]

[elliotfm]

hey guys ! i’m jules and i’m super excited to open; i have two super clingy cats in case any of you ever need a visual pick-me-up, i’m a uni student in canada and a Big skincare and dark chocolate junkie, more than likely gonna be typing replies while indulging in either jsyk ! i tried to keep it short since i’m a rambly bitch, but links to elliot’s basic stats and her wc page will be up soon — though i have some under the read more — as well as a playlist whenever i find the energy to set it up here FLDKSJGSD also pardon the lack of theme, i forgot the url for the preview and code link for the one i wanted to use but i’ll have it figured out shortly ! anyways, without further ado:

◤  *  kim doyeon  ;  twenty-one  ;  cis female  ;  she/her  —  is  that  who  i  think  it  is  over  there  ?  outer  banks  very  own  kook  ,  elliot hong  .  makes  sense  ‘cause  i  can  practically  hear  into it  by  chase atlantic  blasting  through  their  headphones  .  plus  who  else  would  you  find  out  at  the boneyard  right  now  ?  some  say  they're  pretty  astute  ,  but  it's  the  imperious  reputation  i'd  watch  out  for  .  i  wonder  if  they're  still  a student / heiress  and  obsessing  about  keeping  up  with  their  bongs, random shoes and empty bottles of dom on the living room floor  &  a bite as big as her bark  vibe  .  [  ooc  ;  jules/21+/nt/she/her  ]

tw: drug and alcohol mention

the middle child of her parents, elliot is the fourth of her father’s five children

her mother is his second ( now ex — ) wife, though they remain cordial and have since moved on

grew up with a silver spoon, her dad being a wall street giant who would split his time between nyc and, once upon a time, connecticut — though it ultimately became a back-and-forth from nyc and the outer banks when elle was about four

her mother was adopted into an old money family ( on the lower end of that group ) in charlotte when she was a baby and had become something of a socialite when young, but shifted to becoming an entrepreneur. of what ?? i still haven’t figured that out LFJDGS

has a half-sister and half-brother from her dad’s first marriage, tallulah ( aka tally, a pain in my ass over on my indie fdlkjgs ) and bennett, and is basically a mini tally as all she really had were brothers and was Attached to her big sis whenever she’d visit

and as for her older and younger brother..... they might be wcs soon enough so we’ll leave that be for now DFLSGKJ

now onto ELLE ! she was the princess of the younger three hong kids, like the apple of her mother’s eye and her father’s Biggest tormentor

aka would hog the phone whenever he couldn’t come home for the night to tell him good night, hounded him to read her bedtime stories, pretty much always got her way in the most wholesome way when she was a kid

like i said before, moved to the obx when she was four because her mom used to visit when she was a kid and loved it; it was also due to its convenience in seeing her maternal grandparents regularly, its quieter nature in comparison to the affluent hubs for businessmen outside of manhattan and just in general

her dad just went along because it’s what his wife wanted and fuck it, at least the kids wouldn’t hound them to take them to places beyond their urban surroundings as often DLSFJDS

growing up, she wasn’t Too much of a brat but liked having the spotlight on her — she’d accredit it to tally’s influence AND her parents caving to her whims more often than not — and was very sociable and respectful even back in primary school

LOVED to explore, and, while not a tomboy per se, would take part in some activities her brothers or other boys in her grade participated in; be it to bond, trail along her siblings’ every move because she didn’t wanna stray far from action, or to prove that she can hold her own, she’d do it

uhhh overall a cute, if not high-maintenance, kid, but her teen years ?? yikes, people would be in for a ride bc this is when she REALLY started to emulate tally and shift her boldness towards riskier shit

basically could’ve been a main character on outer banks itself with her reckless antics and partying as a teenager…. and now, even SGDLKF

could’ve been considered a typical kook, save for her wild streak; she could hang with the pogues and wouldn’t let her slight superiority complex come into play unless she was challenged or something, otherwise she’d chase the party and the fun wherever she could find it

loves fashion and being the hottest in the room, didn’t need to step on toes to get further but would do so at times Solely to make a point/to call someone out on their shit

is now attending columbia u, rather she’s taking a Break as she makes sure she’s content with the path she’s taking ( aka being the trashy 21 year old she wants to be, chilling at the family home with just her siblings and daddy’s money with no Major worries involving the near future )

isn’t the most studious person, but she’d gotten far enough to begin wrapping up her major whenever she decides to head back

though.. the entire time has been mostly spent sleeping with some of her rich friends, drinking and smoking pot, with the occasional hit of whatever clean enough drug that one of her friends had on them

also spent a lot of her time meeting up with her socialite big sis as a plus one to some cooler events, so while she’s not famous, her name has made the rounds where it matters given her surname’s already established relevance in nyc

when she’s not getting an education and is homebound instead, she’s pissing off her neighbours with her house parties at the family home on the beach, doing dumb shit the second she’s inside of a gala or club — albeit with partial discretion that’s completely ignored whenever around other young adults — and just chilling poolside and staying hydrated fgkldjsg

personality and shit

if i were to use a label to describe her, she'd be a mix between the princess/baby doll, the hedonist and the reveller i think ?? i don’t even know where to place her LKSDFGJLK

self-confidence is through the roof, KNOWS she’s pretty and doesn’t really let rumours or negativity get her down — aside from wanting to unleash hell if someone keeps irritating her for whatever reason

she’s messy as hell, but around the uptight, live-through-your-kids parents of kooklandia she puts on the façade of a poised young woman who has Some fun because she knows it bodes well.. only even then, she doesn’t maintain it bc honestly, who cares —

she’s not a complete dick per se, but she can be snide and boastful when provoked

has something of a superiority complex, independent and lives lavishly with reckless abandon

non-committal yet sensible when it comes to who she sleeps with; typically has a couple of stable fuck buddies but has had some one night stands if she’s feeling it

keeps her true inner circle small, but gets off on attention and likes to stay cordial with some people, so she’s got quite a few friends all the same

like i said earlier, will hang with the pogues and thinks the whole class rivalry thing is kind of stupid when it means sticking with her own would mean dealing with parent pleasers, polo shirt enthusiasts and either being too straight-laced or too destructive for her liking

.. so she’s a far cry from her sister in that regard, otherwise rip GLSKJ

though that doesn’t stop her from unleashing her pompous attitude onto a pogue when it seems appropriate, aka doing anything to piss her off

there really isn’t much to expand on tbh, though i will say that her emboldened nature and need for a good time however she can get it comes out more than her uglier side ( except her vanity. that’ll never go away KSFDG )

some quick plot ideas

a childhood friend or two, pretty standard idea there

could carry over into a trio type of thing depending on where she stands with either of them, or they’re a different couple of pals she’s made over the years

family friends, aka nyc kids or people who’ve rubbed elbows with either of elle’s parents, though they don’t Actually have to be friends of course JGDSFKL

her best friend and confidante, someone she can have cute moments with between the chaos and one of the few people that elle would probably accost someone for if they hurt the other in any way

enemies are always fun ! probably rooted in a competitive streak more than anything else but i’m all ears for a more complex reason

ex-hookup(s), current hookup(s), throw it all at me klgfjd

a hateship/ewb would be fun with her too, oh my god sfdgklj

FAKE FRIENDS !! either in the past or currently, probably stayed friends for the sake of their appearances but have a lot of quiet disdain for each other — though elliot wouldn’t be too bothered by that situation beyond being around someone she deems soul-sucking, face value hype and knowing they probably need her more than she needs them gives her too much satisfaction fkskgls

an ex-something, open to anyone. either someone her parents forced on her to straighten her out a tad that she wound up liking…. after a good period of her telling them to fuck off sdglk or someone she’d been seeing for a while at her own accord, likely someone her parents wouldn’t approve of so readily. would’ve ended the same way: with her calling it off because she didn’t want to settle down, not even for a relationship ( and perhaps bc she’s scared of commitment with her cracked family dynamic that’s been a thing since birth, but that’s another story jsdfkg )

or we can just as easily do high school exes who only really stayed together until graduation bc their parents were being Some level of overbearing with how they’d be such a good couple — not that there was nothing there, just nothing beyond sex and being some kind of status symbol to each other, idk lfkgsd

her designated event pals would be super fun ?? sdgkflj like they go to all of these big parties and galas with their families, break off to do their own thing bc those events are boring as fuck, and head back to her place before she throws an after-party of sorts. they’d be decent friends beyond this though, them being someone she trusts a good bit compared to others in her circle

[daviesroger]

title: waited all my life pairings/characters: Fred Weasley/Hermione Granger warnings: canon character death a/n: this was written for @hogwartsonline’s songfic OWLs, for the prompt They Don’t Know About Us by One Direction. It’s my first time writing fremione so I hope I did them justice!! AO3

BEFORE.

The heat of summer had settled over the Burrow and, in an effort to combat it, the Weasleys, joined by Harry and Hermione, had decided to spend the day swimming in one of the ponds on the property. Hermione had brought a book along with her, content to sit in the shade of one of the large trees and watch the others swim. The heat wasn’t unbearable to her like it seemed to be for the rest of them.

“Come on, Hermione,” Fred called from the water. “Join us!” Hermione looked up in time t o see him waving her over, his trademark cocky grin on his lips.

Hermione couldn’t help but smile watching him, but she shook her head. “I’m busy!” She shouted back, and his expression twisted into the faux-puppy dog eyes he’d tried on her numerous times. She shook her head again, it wouldn’t work this time. She turned her attention back to the book in her hands.

“You look hot over here by yourself,” Fred was right in front of her now and Hermione couldn’t help but jump. She hadn’t noticed him walking up and she blushed at his words, hoping it wasn’t as obvious as she thought it was.

“And by that you mean…” she trailed off, a teasing edge to her voice.

“Temperature, of course,” Fred winked, flopping down onto the grass next to her. She moved her book away from him as he shook his head, beads of water flying from his wet hair.

“Good,” she replied, attempting to sound serious, “anything else would be inappropriate.” She fought back a smile. Fred didn’t even try to hide his grin.

Fred nodded with faux sincerity. “Obviously,” he agreed, unable to keep the laugh out of his voice. “But then again, I’m not known for being appropriate.” Before Hermione could react, he’d pulled the book from her hands and tossed it onto the ground beside them. She protested, but it fell on deaf ears as he hooked one of his arms underneath her legs and cradled her back with the other one, carrying her bridal style towards the pond.

“Fred!” Hermione shrieked indignantly, “Put me down right now!” She tried to sound authoritative, but she knew by the way her heart fluttered that it wasn’t working. He’d picked her up more easily than Hermione thought should be possible, and he made it seem effortless as he waded into the cool water. His smile was blinding and he had a mischievous glint in his eyes. Her skin tingled where he touched it and, though she acted otherwise - she had to put on a show for the others - she loved the way his body felt, pressed up against hers. 

“You just looked so hot,” Fred told her in a low voice. They were already almost waist-deep in the pond and he didn’t show any sign of stopping. “You need a little dip to cool you off,” he laughed, “hopefully you’re wearing your bathing suit under this pretty dress of yours.”

“Fred Weasley, don’t you dare drop me into this water,” she was mostly serious now. She wasn’t interested in getting all wet, but she knew that it was inevitable. Everyone was watching them, amused.

“Throw her in!” George called out, splashing towards them. The others joined in and, though she had tried to ready herself for it, the cool water was still a shock to her system.

She wouldn’t admit it, but the water felt nice against her flushed skin. She did her best to ignore the part of her that wanted nothing more than to be held by Fred again. She emerged from the water spluttering and gasping for breath. “I’m going to get you for this,” Hermione said once she’d regained her bearings, though her threat lacked malice.

“You’ll have to catch me first,” Fred winked before disappearing beneath the water, resurfacing a short distance away.

The rest of the day, Hermione did her best to avoid being too close to Fred, trying to maintain the right amount of space between them. It worked until supper, when Fred sat right next to her. He traced patterns along her thigh throughout the entire meal, which was both distracting and pleasurable. Thankfully, everyone was wrapped up in their own thoughts or conversations that no one seemed to notice.

Hermione waited patiently for Ginny to fall asleep before she crept out of the room and down the stairs, doing her best to be as quiet as possible. She’d made the trip enough times that she knew which spots to avoid, which steps creaked the loudest. Everything was louder at night, but the Burrow was never silent, so she doubted anyone would have noticed either way. She snuck out of the door and through the garden to their normal meeting place.

There was a part of Hermione that felt guilty - not for choosing Fred over Ron, but for sneaking around and hiding it from the people she considered her best friends. Fred was facing away from her when she approached, so she pushed herself  up onto her tiptoes and covered his eyes with her hands. “Guess who?” she whispered into his ear, noticing the way the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

He spun around slowly, trailing his hands along her bare arms, which she’d looped around his neck. A soft smile crossed his face and Hermione felt herself melting - it was the smile reserved just for her, just for these quiet moments between them. He pressed a kiss to her lips and she pressed herself against him. “You were late,” Fred murmured, “I was beginning to think that you were mad about this afternoon.”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh. “I am,” she said, putting on an exaggerated pout. “You owe me for that.”

“I think I can make it better,” Fred replied, his trademark cocky grin crossing his face.

“I’d like to see you try,” Hermione replied, an obvious challenge. Fred wasted no time before kissing her again, harder and deeper than the previous kiss had been. She tangled her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck - she never wanted this to end.

He pulled away slightly, leaving their foreheads pressed together. “Do you ever think of telling people about us?” he asked. His hands were on her hips, his thumbs caressing the delicate skin. The heat of the summer day hung in the air between them as Hermione searched for the words she wanted to say.

It wasn’t the question Hermione had been expecting, but she knew that they would have to have the discussion eventually. “Sometimes,” she answered honestly, “but I’m worried that it could change things between us. I like these moments with you, I don’t want to lose them.”

Fred was quiet for a moment and Hermione wondered how he would feel about her response. “Why does anything have to change?” he pulled back so he could see her face more clearly. “I love you, Hermione, and that’s not going to change because other people know it.”

Hermione could’ve sworn her heart skipped a beat and she could feel herself starting to blush. “You love me?” she echoed, clearly startled by the confession. It was the first time he’d said that, and it was the first time she’d heard it from someone outside of her family.

“Of course I love you,” Fred replied, a small smile crossing his lips. “I’d be mad not to.”

It was her turn to grin. “I love you, too.”

AFTER.

Early morning sunlight streamed softly through the open bedroom window and Hermione groaned, pulling the blankets over her head to block out the light. The voice in the back of her head told her that she should get up - there were things to do, people to help, a castle to rebuild. She didn’t have time to stay in bed, but she found herself unable to move. Her heart ached when she thought about what happened. It was wrong. They’d lost so many people, so many people had sacrificed their lives in the quest to stop Voldemort, it wasn’t fair. She didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to let her mind go there. But it was hard when she was staying at the Burrow, in his old bed, and it felt like she was about to break.

Usually, Hermione wouldn’t let herself slow down - she would force herself to focus on something, anything but her pain. There was always something that needed to be done, something else to think about. It was as though she was trying to outrun her grief.

Now it was as though her entire future had been stolen from her. She wasn’t a stranger to pain or loss - she’d lost her grandmother when she was young, she erased herself from her parents’ memories - but this was something else entirely. This was something she couldn’t avoid, something that would change the trajectory of everything she wanted in life.

Her entire body ached with longing. She would do anything to have him in her arms again, to hear his laugh, to kiss him one more time. This was not the way things were supposed to go. He wasn’t supposed to leave her like this. They had plans - they were going to get their own flat in London. He and George were going to continue to expand the shop, she was going to get a prestigious job at the ministry. They were going to be happy. They were going to love each other until they were old and grey.

Though he hadn’t slept at the Burrow since he and George had gotten their flat in Diagon Alley, the bed still smelled like him, slightly smokey, with an edge of sweetness. She hugged the pillow to her chest, inhaling as deeply as she could before the realization dawned on her - being wrapped up in his blanket was the closest she could come to being wrapped in his arms. She could no longer control the waves of emotions that welled up inside of her.

She felt the last dam break.

Her grief washed over her all at once, all of the feelings she’d been holding back were released. It was so immense that she thought she might drown in it, and she didn’t care anymore. Tears streamed freely down her face and she made no move to control them or wipe them away, allowing them to soak into the sheets. Her lungs felt like they were about to collapse - her breathing was ragged and hoarse and she was unable to draw a proper breath, lost in the overwhelming darkness of her pain.

The last words he said to her echoed in her head, playing on a constant loop.

“I love you, Hermione. Forever.”

[ddaengyoonmin]

Chapter one

Pairing: Club owner! Vampire! Jimin x Human! Reader

Genre: Smut(future chapters) , Angst, Fluff

Warnings: none? I think? Not yet...there will be though in later chapters 😂

Summary: You offer yourself to a Vampire in exchange for the promise of him turning you. Behind his charming demeanor, a monster lays... and the monsters intentions for you may go deeper than he lets on.

(I suggest reading the teaser first, though you won’t miss too much if you don’t)

Word count: 2.6k

You can’t believe how terrified you are.  Not because you are here offering yourself as a servant to a vampire in exchange for immortality.  But because you were scared he’d say no.

The handsome man was patting the seat next to himself on the couch for you to join him.  His face was serious and stern.  

You did as he said immediately not wanting to waste any time, you brushed your hands over your dress you were wearing to smooth it out once you’d sat down. 

You gave a friendly smile to the man, though he probably noticed the way your lips were quivering.  

He looked you over from head to toe, examining you like you were a sculpture in a museum.  Trying to understand you just with his eyes before he spoke. 

“So why would you want to become like me?” He spoke enchantingly, his words were simple yet they fell from his lips like sparkling champagne you felt your whole body grow warm and you shivered slightly at the change in temperature.  His question was probably normal for this situation, yet you struggled to find what the correct answer was.  In interviews for jobs you’d always just said what you thought the interviewer wanted to hear whether it was true or not. 

So you felt compelled by habit to do the same in this situation. 

But what was the right answer? 

Did he want to hear about how awful your human life was, and how much you wanted to leave it behind.  Did he want to hear that you were just being selfish and liked the idea of living forever, this deal was purely self preservation? 

Or did he want to hear you compliment him? Why wouldn’t you want to be like him? Look how amazing he is!

All of those contained some truths, but the real truth was...you just were bored, and that couldn’t possibly be what he wants to hear.  That this poor little human girl was bored of the idea of everyday life, the pressure to do well in college and get a job seemed dull.  You’d always been drawn to excitement, wanting to push the limits of life, escape reality purely for the fun of it.  

So what would you tell him…

“Human life isn’t for me.” Was what you settled on.  Truth for the most part. 

The man pursed his lips and thought a moment, he took a sip of the glass still clutched in his hand before speaking “So human life doesn’t suit you.  What makes you think the life of an immortal blood drinker is the life for you?” 

Because it sounds fun…

“I-I think that I’d be a good vampire.  I’d be strong,” and powerful “And the things I could do if I were to live forever would be endless.  I want to experience all of life, and there never seems to be enough time” 

The man chuckled and flicked he dark black hair that was falling into his eyes out of the way and stared into your eyes intensely. 

“So you would work for me, in exchange for me granting you this chance to ‘experience life to the fullest’.  I have to warn you, this isn’t life, this is death, and rebirth, and you should understand you aren’t just gaining, you are also losing the life that you did have” 

You nodded slowly “I want to work for you, I’ll be your best worker.  I don’t care about the life I did have.  I want this more than anything, I’ve thought about it for a while” 

The man's eyes narrowed as he considered your answers. 

“Alright, I’m going to give you a chance.  You will work for me for six months.  If you still want to be turned after those six months are up, I will grant you what you desire.  If you don’t want to anymore, you can go, I won’t stop you. I will erase your memory and send you back home.  No one should make this decision lightly” 

You nodded again, feeling a tingle of excitement in your belly. 

“My name is Park Jimin by the way, you’ll refer to me as Mr. Park.  I am your employer, not your friend.  The next six months you will obey me, and you must commit yourself to your work.  When you aren’t working I’m going to have to ask that you don’t leave my manor, I like my privacy and I’d rather none of my secrets get out” 

“Of course,” 

“So what can you do?” He sat relaxed on the couch, but he radiated power and confidence, you were entranced by him.  Maybe it was the vampire powers, but you felt that he would have easily been this intimidatingly enchanting when he was human. 

“For work? Anything you ask Mr. Park,” You replied instantly 

He chuckled lowly and smiled slightly “As much as I like that answer, I’d like you to be somewhere where your skills are best used, so what are they?” 

“I-I uh, I used to do a lot of gardening and yard work in the summers growing up, besides that I worked at fast food restaurants, so I wouldn’t really say I’m good at cooking” you looked down at your feet, embarrassed now that you realize you didn’t have much to offer. 

“Gardening? And you were good at that?” He seemed to get excited at that idea. 

“I think I was pretty good yeah, I designed and planted a garden for one of my neighbors one year and she was pretty happy with it” 

“Good.  I like that.  You will design me a garden, that’s what you will do over the next six months.” He nodded, writing the idea down in his mental notes. “You’ll pack your things tonight and I’ll bring a car to your place to pick you up in the morning.  We’ll discuss plans for what I’d like in the garden tomorrow.” He stood up off the couch and motioned for you to stand, he extended out a hand and you shook it. 

“Deal” you smiled widely. “You won’t regret this!”

“It won’t be me that suffers the most if I do.” He spoke coldly, but winked.  A teasing Vampire...it made your blood chill, and at the same time excited you, this was the thrill you had been searching for and you were sure of it. 

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You had packed all of your clothes and things that you felt you’d need, and set everything else you own on your porch with a note for it to be donated.  You were more than sure about leaving your old life behind.  You’d get all new things once you were a vampire, they always seemed to be rich right? You could only assume there was some secret to that you’d pick up on. 

A blood red stretch limo pulled up in front of your house. For someone who wanted to keep himself a secret, Mr. Park sure had a way of making things stand out.  You wondered if all of his servants got a limo ride to his home.  You start to realize the mistake you could be making, for the first time you wonder if he’s not bringing you to his home to turn you or to make you his servant. 

Maybe this limo is his way of serving you to himself on a silver platter. 

You try and fight back those feelings, and it actually wasn’t hard.  Especially when you realize there was a part of you that had felt some pleasure in the fear.  This was definitely not boring. 

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

The limo driver was silent and kept the divider up the whole drive.  You had no idea where it was that you were going, you thought you knew everywhere in your town, yet this area was odd.  You lived in a big city, how was there a giant woods in the middle of the city that you knew nothing about…

The further the limo entered into the woods, the more the excitement and fear you felt expanded. 

Finally, you were here.  A tan cobblestone driveway formed a circle in front of this giant manor.  It didn’t look like a vampire’s home.  More like some rich artist had made his home here in the woods.  The walls seemed to be made of a beautiful yellow stone, and the house was boxy with a flat roof.  It was enormous, round windows scattered all over the four floors of this building, it actually seemed whimsical.  A stark contrast to the dark club that you’d been in just the night before. 

Who was this guy? 

The driver finally spoke.  “Mr. Park is expecting you to meet him in the study, ask one of the other servants if you can’t find it.” 

You thanked him and exited the car, taking a deep breath, this was the beginning of a life changing adventure and you wanted to savour the moment. 

“Miss y/n?” A small squeaky voice called for you.  A short older woman was walking up to you and bowed slightly.  “I’m here to take your bags”  

“I can take my bags, thank you though...If you could just show me to Mr. Park” 

You were growing a little more suspicious of this situation.  If you were to be a servant, just like this woman in front of you, why the royal treatment?  You hadn’t figured that you’d be here as a guest, you had prepared yourself for hard work and criticism instantly upon setting foot here.  Yet so far, a limo, a servant to carry your luggage? 

The lady nodded “If that's what you wish Miss y/n.  Right this way” 

You grabbed your backpack and suitcase, it bumped wildly and noisily on the stone path as you rolled it behind you echoing embarrassingly in the whole yard.  You opted to just pick it up and carry it after a moment. 

The door was opened for you when you approached, another servant was holding it open.  “Welcome Miss Y/n” he grinned, this man was younger, closer to your age.  You wondered if he and the older women both had made the same deal as you had...were they just waiting to be turned by Mr. Park as well? You could only assume that was the case. 

You were led to the ‘study’ as the driver had called it.  It was a beautiful room, a giant round glass window in the middle of the dark black wall that reached floor to ceiling.  The remainder of the walls were covered in bookshelves filled with all kinds of subjects.  Mr. Park sat with his nose buried in a book on a black leather chair in one corner of the room.  His feet were outstretched with his ankles crossed on a glass coffee table in front of himself.  

“Mr. Park?” you announce your presence. 

“Ah Y/n!” his head snapped up and he stood instantly and motioned for you to sit at an identical chair a few feet from his own. 

You rolled your luggage over to the edge of the chair and set your things down next to it. 

“Glad you didn’t change your mind” he grinned, sitting back down. 

You smiled in return, still feeling like you were getting better treatment than you’d expected.  Jimin wasn’t dressed in the suit he’d been in the other night, you don’t know why you expected him to be, he is in his own home after all.  Just seeing him dressed so casually in grey sweatpants and a tight fitting black v neck shirt seemed...so strange. 

Jimin cleared his throat, and you had an odd thought of whether vampires needed to clear their throats, or if he did that out of habit from his old life. 

“So.  The garden.”  He spoke more seriously, putting his elbows on his knees and intertwining his fingers together, resting his chin on top of his two hands.  “I had a few ideas for what we can do.  Money isn’t an issue, I’ll make sure everything you need is provided.  Don’t be afraid to ask for anything you desire” 

You gulped slightly, you knew it was for himself, so obviously he’d let you use as much money as needed.  But the way he said ‘anything you desire’ made your heart skip a beat.  

Jimin pulled out a folder and set it on the coffee table in front of the two of you, opening it up and spreading out various photographs and drawings plans of gardens.  

“I was thinking something like this?” He pointed to one of the drawings, it had a design for a fountain, and many different flowerbeds lining a path that led to a large gazebo 

“I wouldn’t ask you to do any of the construction work for the gazebo, but I’d like it if you could help pick which flowers and bushes that would look well here.  I mostly want you to help me design it” He informed you. 

So you weren’t going to be just the gardener,  this actually seemed fun.  

The two of you discussed plans for the next hour.  It really felt like he wasn’t even your boss for a few moments.  He was smiling excited like a child over the designs he showed you.  And the way his face lit up when you suggested yellow roses to match the house made your heart flutter. 

“Well, I don’t want to keep you too long with work talk, it’s your first day here, I’ll have Miss R show you to your room so you can get settled in.  We’ll discuss this more soon” Jimin stood up and reached his hand out to you. “Good work today” he winked, and you swore you would have fainted at that. 

You stood and shook his hand hoping he couldn’t feel how sweaty you were from the nervousness he’d caused with that wink. 

Miss R, who was the same lady that had showed you into the house led you down some of the long hallways of the building, you knew you were going to get lost here many times before getting the hang of this place. 

She motioned to a white door, “This is your room” 

“So these are the servants quarters? You sleep near here too?” You asked, pointing to some of the other doors in the hallway. 

She shook her head slowly, a blank look on her face. 

So you weren’t going to be living near the other servants? Maybe he’d just run out of room there…

You opened the door.  The room was beautiful, all of the walls and carpet were pearl white and the bed had to have been at least a king sized bed.  It was covered in golden colored pillows and throws.  Everything about the room was elegant and well designed and thought out.

“Wow…” You whispered, taking a step inside. 

You turned to  Miss R, “Thank you” you smiled widely. 

Miss R didn’t return your smile though.  She instead looked rapidly to her left and right before motioning with one finger for you to come close to her.  Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you stepped towards her, lowering yourself close to her.  She brought her face close to yours. 

“Don’t stay here” she hissed “It’s not safe for you.  His plans for you…” 

All of the sudden she gasped and pulled back from you. 

Jimin had somehow silently appeared, his back was leaned against the wall and his arms were crossed. 

“Don’t scare the girl Miss R” he chuckled.  “Get some rest before dinner y/n.” he ordered, pointing for you to go into your room. 

Out of the corner of your eye you could see his friendly expression switch deadly as he stared at Miss R. 

And when you shut the door to your room, you swore you could hear an animalistic growl. 

What the hell was going on here...