#not expecting a lot of answers mainly directed to my small amount of followers

[20001541]

Talked about this a week ago, but I finally made the form that essentially asks you questions on how you feel about the DFO theory as a whole and some other things pertaining to it.

Even if you hate the theory I would encourage you to take it as there are some questions that are directed only to people who dislike it.

There are about 20 questions, but the majority of the questions are multiple choice and the ones that aren't you may skip if you do not feel like doing them.

I'm really curious about how people feel if certain things happen regarding this theory, considering how far we've come in the manga and the state of things currently.

Anyways if you have any questions or something doesn't make sense feel free to tell me about it and I'll try to address it to the best of my ability.

[floralseokjin]

final sleigh drabble #2

❛ it’s Christmas day night...❜

original oneshot here // drabble index here

kim seokjin x reader smut  4,179 words 

It was Christmas Day night. You’d spent most of yesterday and today at Ana’s parents’ house. It was different to how your own family celebrated the occasion but lovely, nonetheless. Her family always made you feel welcome, no matter the instance, and you were really grateful that they’d let you spend Christmas with them, like you’d already said, because your parents were spending the holiday season abroad. 

Now, just gone eight, you and Ana were getting out of an Uber outside a familiar house. Seokjin and Yoongi’s. You hadn’t seen your co-worker, since the weekend. The weekend of nonstop sex. You’d only parted because he had a train to catch, promising his mom he’d visit for a few of days before Christmas Eve. The sex had been so good it had taken him a while to remember said plans actually, and when he had, he’d unbelievably tried getting out of them just so he could stay and fuck you even more. 

“You want to ditch your mom to continue getting your dick wet?” You asked him with severe judgment, both of you naked in your bed. It was Sunday morning. Yes, that was correct. He’d stayed over practically 48 hours nailing you over and over again. And then some. 

“Don’t say it like that,” he whined, feeling instantly guilty. “I just don’t want to leave you. I’m having too much fun.” 

“We can still have fun when you get back.” You murmured suggestively, running a hand down his chest. You were not ready to give this all up quite yet… 

With a raised eyebrow, he seemed intrigued. “Even more fun than right now?” 

“We can try.” 

You hadn’t known if it was possible, the weekend had been very fun to say the least, but who knew. You’d definitely give it your all... 

You’d spent the last few days messaging each other sporadically, but there hadn’t been too much conversation. You mean, you’d never talked a lot before the sex, so why would you start after it? But seeing his face right now, as he opened the door, you practically beamed. 

“Merry Christmas, ladies,” he grinned, outstretching his arm to gesture you both to step inside. 

Admittedly, you weren’t expecting him to invite you over tonight. He’d been back since Friday but you hadn’t made plans to meet again yet so when he’d text you this afternoon, asking if you and Ana would like to come hang out with Yoongi and him, you’d been surprised. Excited, yet surprised, but obviously you’d played it cool. 

Ana had been a little reluctant. She had slept with Yoongi a couple of weeks ago after all – and hadn’t seen him since. But, obviously Seokjin had run this idea by him? They’d both decided it together, right? So it was fine. Plus, she needed to support her best friend. If she wanted you to get boned again, she needed to come! You couldn’t turn up on your own. Not that she needed much convincing after the initial unwilling... Secretly you thought she was hoping for a round two with Seokjin’s best friend... Who knew, maybe he was too... 

Ana stepped in first and as you followed Seokjin pulled out a small piece of mistletoe from behind his back. He held it up between you both, taking you by surprise. A good surprise though. “Oh,” you uttered, wasting no time in reacquainting your mouths. 

“He’s been planning this all day.” It was Yoongi’s voice, coming from somewhere ahead of you, but you both ignored him, kissing just a little longer. 

Ana scoffed. “Surely no planning was needed. It’s holding up some mistletoe.” 

“Mmm. I missed you,” Seokjin hummed, breaking away to snake an arm around your middle. 

“I missed you too,” you grinned, aware Seokjin was dialling up the amount of yuck to piss your two friends off. 

“Jesus, you guys.” Yoongi sounded like he was about to be sick. “I preferred it when she hated you.” 

Seokjin turned to the other guy, sounding vaguely annoyed. “She never hated me. It was a misunderstanding.” 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, man,” Yoongi chuckled. “Ana, let’s leave them to it. I’ll get you a drink.” 

You watched as they walked off together, towards the kitchen. Seokjin was the first to turn back to you, an eyebrow raised. “How much do you wanna bet they end up hooking up again?”

You were both on the same wavelength. It was obvious something was going to happen. “She hogged the entire bathroom getting ready.” 

.

. 

“Have fun, you guys,” Seokjin sang as Yoongi and Ana made a less that inconspicuous exit from the living room. It was three hours later. They’d lasted well, but obviously the need to get in on again had won. 

Seokjin turned to you immediately, sat next to you on the sofa and gave you a wolfish grin. “Finally, we’re alone.” 

You were no sooner in his lap, mouth glued to his. Moving your ass a little as you broke apart for a much needed breath, you felt the familiar impression of his erection. “You’re hard already?” You raised a judgmental eyebrow. 

“Why do you sound so shocked?” He questioned indignantly. “My dick has missed you insanely.” 

“Just your dick?” 

It was a playful remark, you didn’t mean anything by it, but Seokjin lowered his gaze, giving you a small chuckle. Instead of answering he kissed you again, his tongue pushing its way inside your mouth as his hands gripped your ass and rubbed you against his groin. Instant pleasure zapped up your body and it wasn’t long before you were grinding on your own accord, fists clutching his white t-shirt, which you had to admit, outlined his chest perfectly – You’d been trying not to stare all night. 

“Do you want to go upstairs too?” He panted against your neck, teeth nipping the flesh sharply and you bit back a moan. He was already so tuned into what you liked. “I really need to fuck you.” Pulling back to get your answer he saw the look on your face. “What’s that face for?” 

“It’s turning into a sex party,” you moaned. You couldn’t all be having sex upstairs, it seemed... You couldn’t think of the word. 

“An orgy?” Seokjin wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Behave.” You needed more people to turn it into an orgy.

Seokjin’s mouth was back on your neck, kissing down your throat, to your collarbones and he sunk his teeth into the thin skin gently, causing your breath to hitch. “Well, do you wanna fuck down here?” 

His dick was so hard underneath you, you rubbed against it some more, despite your objections. “No! What if one of them catches us?” 

“Don’t be stupid. Yoongi is definitely balls deep by now.” 

You whacked his back and he yelped in surprise. “That’s my best friend you’re talking about.” 

“I didn’t say who or what he was balls deep in.”  His reply didn’t impress you and so he grumbled. “I wish I was balls deep in you right now... Don’t give me that look, it turns me on when you’re pissy.”

Unable to stop your grin, you leaned in. “You must be constantly turned on at work then.” Pressing your lips into his, you bit down on his bottom lip. His hiss soon turned into a moan – and then a whine. 

“Let’s take this upstairs. There’s a bathroom between our bedrooms. It won’t be like our headboards are hitting the wall in rhythm.” 

“Fine.” You couldn’t hold out much longer anyway, and you both made your way upstairs, yelping loudly when Seokjin slapped your ass. You glare didn’t do much to discourage him, laughing loudly as he wrapped his arms around your middle and directed you to the door to his bedroom. 

“At least they’re being considerate and playing music,” he said, the music loud enough to block any other noise going on inside Yoongi’s bedroom... Thank God. 

“I feel like I’m back at college,” you whined as you stepped inside Seokjin’s room. 

“Huh? Did you and Ana make a habit of hooking up at the same time? Hot.” 

You pushed his arm. “No.” Chuckling, he made his way to the bed, sitting on the end, but you were too preoccupied with checking out his room. It was a lot larger than you imagined, walls cream, some covered in artwork. His computer was the main attraction, multiple screens, an unnecessarily large gaming chair and some other things you weren’t familiar with, mainly character figurines. His bed cover was a grey check pattern, a throw draped over the end with a couple of cushions against the headboard. Very clean. 

“Your room’s cute,” you commented. 

“Cute?” 

“Yeah.” Turning to look at him you smiled playfully. “So, I guess this is where you jerk your dick to fantasies of me.” 

He scoffed. “I don’t need to fantasise anymore. I have memories stored away in the wank bank.” Tapping his temple with his index finger he looked more than impressed with himself. 

“Gross!” You cried. 

“Come here,” he groaned, fed up with stalling, and he leaned over and grabbed you, causing you to squeal. “Or are you just planning on being a cocktease the whole night?” The sound wasn’t like you – but Seokjin had become good at making you act in ways you weren’t used to so far... 

Which is why you found yourself on your knees for him, sucking his dick, his jeans and underwear around his ankles. “Your mouth is fucking magic,” he grunted, head falling back, his perfect, thick neck on show as you glanced up. You felt the urge to take him deeper, pushing him closer and closer to the back of your throat, ignoring any noises of reluctance it made. 

“Fuck.” Seokjin choked, his fingers running through your hair to collect it in his fists. “That’s it. Take it all.” He pushed his hips up, stuffing your mouth for a few gloriously unbearable seconds before easing up. You lifted off, half of his dick still in your mouth as you caught your breath. He looked down at you with half-lidded eyes that seemed to eat you up. “Do you like choking on my cock?” 

Nope. He was not doing this. It was infuriating what his words did to you, and you immediately swallowed him again, ignoring the way your underwear stuck to your damp skin. He was going to have a field day when he felt you... 

Gasping for air not soon after, you had no choice but to pull off him entirely, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You were drenched in spit, so was his cock. You watched him kick off his clothing, naked from the waist down and you made moves to follow, reaching for your shirt and pulling it over your head. 

“Let me see those tits. I’ve missed them.” He murmured, and you complied, unhooking your bra to reveal yourself to him. His eyes instantly glazed over.  Confidently, you cupped the soft flesh in your palms, massaging yourself, putting on a show, and as your thumbs brushed the hardened peaks that were your nipples he practically growled. “Oh, fuck. You want to end me.” 

Laughing, you stood up, pushing your skirt off your hips, leaving you in just your tights and panties. He followed with his t-shirt, now fully naked. You’d never get enough of his body. “Come up here,” he whined. “Let me taste them.” 

Sat in his lap, you let him grope you, his mouth making out with your chest like it could kiss back. The sensation was so intense you quickly became weak at the knees and you clung to his neck, grinding against his thighs like nobody’s business. Unable to take it any longer, his hands slipped behind you, into your underwear, and he felt the silky fabric with a groan. Soon enough he was wrestling with your pantyhose again. 

“These fucking things. What the fuck. You’re doing it on purpose now.” 

“Am not,” you insisted. (Maybe you were). “I need to keep my legs warm.” With a furious tug you heard a rip and looking down you saw his damage. “Seokjin! You laddered them!” 

“Ugh. Just get them fucking off already, I need to feel you.” 

Asshole, but wet and desperate you quickly pulled then off, giving Seokjin a great view of your ass in the process. The underwear you had on had a cut-out at the top of your ass, revealing a “cleavage” of sorts. He seemed to appreciate the sight very much, giving you a playful smack and now you were very confused. Was he an ass man like you’d originally thought, or a tits guy? He was probably both. Greedy. 

You slipped the panties off too, settling back down in Seokjin’s lap, who instantly started running his fingers over your heat. You pulsed against him, desperate for some stimulation. 

“I swear to God you get wet so easily.” 

Says the guy who’d grown hard from a kiss? Okay... “Are you complaining?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. It’s stroking my ego.” 

“Your massive ego.” 

“Behave, or I won’t fuck you with my massive dick.” Okay, now he was just bragging. His smirk was annoying you. He looked way too sexy. 

You were expecting him to finger you for a bit, make sure you were stretched out enough for him, but all he did was dip his fingertips into your entrance, content with what he’d felt and then he was shuffling out from under your body to grab a condom from his bedside drawer. 

“God. I want to fuck you so much,” he muttered a few moments later, sliding the latex over his length as you securely sat on top of him again. You kissed him sloppily, letting him angle the head of his cock against your entrance. Impatiently, you pushed down, surprising yourself – and him – when you took him whole. 

You sat there, both breathing heavily as you started to adjust to him, walls clamping down like no tomorrow, which must have been torture for Seokjin, if his expression was anything to go by. 

“Shit. You got tighter,” he panted, reaching for your mouth again, trying to calm himself with kisses. You attempted to do the same, beginning to slowly grind back and forth, getting used to the full feeling. It wasn’t painful, just a little uncomfortable, but you were no longer scared of his monster cock. You’d had a fair few goes last weekend and you were now a near enough pro, so without further ado, you started moving for real. Up, until he was almost out of you and then down, slamming into him. You just about knocked the air out of Seokjin’s lungs, but he soon steeled himself, grabbing the tops of your thighs to keep you safe as you started bouncing up and down, riding his dick like it was the easiest thing in the world. In this moment, it was. 

Seokjin started groaning pretty quickly, his jaw clenched as he watched your every movement, his chest and neck patched with red. You clung to his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him as you flung yourself back. 

“Shit. Y/N!” He panicked, hands coming out to hold your lower back, afraid you were going to fall backwards off the bed. You were still sat on the edge after all, but of course he was strong enough to hold you tight, letting you lean back as far as possible to fuck yourself along his cock, the squelchy, sticky noise music to his ears. 

“Mmm. I missed this cunt so much,” he moaned. 

You wanted to tell him he was being a big baby, it had only been a few days but his vulgar words were having the desired effect on you yet again. You were like putty in his hands, especially when he started thrusting into you, meeting your movements with a thud. “I want you to cum on my dick.” 

Fuck. You were so close, his words only helping, but by now you were getting tired; out of breath and sweaty. “Seokjin—!” You moaned, voice breaking at the second syllable, and you leaned forward, collapsing into his chest. 

“Take it easy,” he murmured, hands dragging up your sweaty back. “Want me to take over?”

You grinned drunkenly. “No way, I’m enjoying myself too much.” 

Seokjin chuckled, pressing his mouth into yours. “Make yourself cum.” He whispered against you, thrusting into you still as he grabbed your ass, digging his fingers into the flesh. “You can do it, Y/N. Grind on me like you mean it. Grind all over me.” 

You listened, rutting into each one of his thrusts, holding on for dear life as your sensitive clit rubbed against his groin. You were both so sweaty and hot, your fingers sliding down his back, unable to grip on until you dug your nails into the skin. He hissed, thrusting into you harder. It seemed like Seokjin liked a little pain, too... 

“Baby, go a little faster,” he panted, kissing your neck, and you sped up, grinding into him messily, chasing your high like something possessed. You were so turned on, so sensitive, it only took a couple more minutes, a strangled cry leaving you as you tensed in his arms, your orgasm rocketing up your body.  “Ngh, fuck. Fuck.” 

Seokjin stopped his thrusts, letting you gradually come down, and soon enough your body relaxed, almost turning into goo as the pleasure warmed its way all throughout you. You lifted your head up, staring Seokjin straight in the eyes, both of you panting like crazy, and without a word he lifted you, flipping you over, your back to his mattress before he crawled over you. He wasn’t done yet – and neither were you. 

As he pushed inside you again, his hand found its way around your throat and he looked down at you carefully. “Is this okay?” 

You nodded, voice hoarse as you replied. “Yeah.” 

It wasn’t the first time he’d asked or done this – last weekend had been a lot, you still weren’t over it, and right now you were still so horny and desperate for him. You also really liked the feeling of his grip around your neck as he fucked you. 

“Fuck,” you breathed, feeling him start to thrust harder, faster, his palm tightening around your neck a little. You folded your legs at the knees and widened them, wanting him as deep as possible. 

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” he grunted, kissing your mouth in a frenzy, all tongue and teeth. His whole body was pressed into yours, pushing you into the mattress, his pelvis beginning to rub against your mound. You were still a little sensitive from your first orgasm, but you could already feel yourself a little needy for another. If he kept this up he’d have you coming again, and he knew by the way you started to meet each one of his thrusts, moans starting to slip from your throat – louder and louder. You hoped Yoongi still had his music on... 

“S-seokjin,” you stammered, hands sprawled across his back as you felt that familiar sensation again. “I’m going to–ngh–”

He moaned in reply, pushing into your harder, using his pelvis to get you off, and you held your breath, willing your orgasm to come. Your walls clenched around him, making it harder and harder for him to drag his cock inside of you, but he fought it, continuing with gritted teeth until he heard you cry out, your body stiffening under his. 

It wasn’t as strong as your last orgasm, but seemed to knock you for six, heady dizzy as you felt Seokjin kiss down your chest, slipping out of you carefully. His tongue circled one of your nipples, his hand cupping the other breast as he groaned softly. His erection bobbed against your inner thigh. 

“Coming on my cock twice. You’re amazing.” He awed, lifting his head up to smile at you. He sounded drunk. You felt drunk. 

“Well, I do try.” You joked, voice soft. 

He chuckled, and then his voice grew serious, eyes large and black, still very much turned on. “Tell me what you want, Y/N.” 

It was pretty obvious, his dick burning a hole against your leg. “Your cum.” 

His eyes widened, obviously not expecting you to be so upfront, and you took great pleasure in that. 

“Where?” He whispered. He didn’t bother to wait for your reply. “Mouth? Can I come in your mouth,” he asked. 

Your stomach dipped with urgent need, and you nodded your head rapidly. “Yeah.” 

He sat up instantly, moving to kneel over your face. He tugged the condom off, jerking himself off a couple of times before his eyes met yours. “Tongue out.” You obeyed, keeping your eyes open as the weight of his cock pressed against your tongue. “Good girl.” 

Okay, that was new. He hadn’t called you that last week, and instantly you felt your gut squeeze. You sucked the tip of his cock, eager now for him to cum in your mouth. As you did so, he started jerking himself off, eyes fluttering closed as his head lolled back, Adam’s apple bobbing slowly. His movements grew quicker, matching his breathing and then he hissed, body tensing up. 

“Fuckkk.” A couple of drops of cum landed against your tongue and you swallowed them, ready for more. You sucked him for all he was worth, your gaze never leaving his face, and even once he was done, you kept on lapping him with your tongue, digging the tip across the slit. 

He shuddered, making a strained noise and he pulled back, his cock falling out of your mouth. “Shit. I’m sensitive,” he laughed, collapsing next to you. You were both out of breath and sweaty, but wholeheartedly satisfied. 

“That’s gotta be the best yet?” You asked, grinning from ear to ear. 

“I think you may be right.” He agreed, pushing his hair out of his eyes, exposing his forehead. You wanted to reach over and kiss him, but you stopped yourself. “You were riding dick like a pornstar.” 

“Shut up,” you whined, pushing his shoulder. How embarrassing. 

Laughing at your reaction, he sat up, propping himself up with his elbow. “If you want the bathroom I have one over there.” 

You followed his thumb to a door on the right of his room. “An en suite? Very fancy.” 

Seokjin shrugged. “Yoongi has the main bathroom, so.” You didn’t move, tired more than anything, peeing could probably wait. Seokjin’s brows furrowed together. “Are you okay though?” 

“Of course,” you laughed. “I feel fricking amazing. I’ll be sad once this ends.” 

As soon as you said the words you felt funny. Seokjin looked surprised, voice low with... what was it, concern? “Who says it has to end? Do you want it to?” 

“...No,” you answered after a pause. 

Truthfully you didn’t want it to end just yet, you were enjoying yourself, you were just unsure of what was happening between the two of you... You’d  both confessed something back at the office last week but you were still uncertain what exactly it was. What had you been expecting? To fuck once and then that would be it? You liked having sex with Seokjin, it was fun, and you liked his company (most of the time). You liked him. He liked you. Maybe you didn’t need to put an expiry date on this thing. It was fine to see where it went. You didn’t need to turn it into a big deal. You didn’t need an outright answer for everything. It was fine to just live in the moment. 

“I don’t either,” Seokjin smiled, looking mildly relieved by your answer. 

“I just... when work starts back we won’t have much time to meet up like this.” 

“I’ll make time, trust me.” He kissed you then, hovering over you, lips warm and soft, a far cry from earlier, and the thought made you giggle. 

“What?” He asked bemused. 

“You know, you turn pretty demanding when you get horny.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“Like, bossy and all, I don’t know, domineering.” You shrugged, feeling a little awkward. “It’s hot.” 

He smiled, chuckling softly as he kissed you again, a hand cupping your face. “It’s not too much?” He murmured. 

He didn’t sound surprised by your revelation so something told you he was aware of how he acted. Which made it even hotter, to be honest. 

“I like it.” You told him, biting down on your bottom lip. 

Eyes darkening, he hummed, his gaze running down your body. “So how about I tell you to spread those gorgeous legs so I can eat dessert?” 

You repressed the urge to laugh out loud. Dessert?! He was such an idiot. “Right now?”

“Yes. Right now.” Then he paused, rubbing his nose against yours, his tone softening. “Yeah?”

With a massive grin, you spread your legs. “Be my guest.” 

A third orgasm? You weren’t going to turn that down. 

 Written 2020 - 2021.  Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

[akkpipitphattana]

answer these questions and tag 20 people you’d like to get to know better!

I was tagged by @delitefullychaotic

nickname(s): liz is a nickname skdksk, but i have been called lizzy before and also carmen calls me elizabitch

height: 5’4

time: 10:57 AM

star sign: pisces

birthday: march 18th

favorite band(s): all time low, one direction, 5sos, amber run, onerepublic, little mix, jonas brothers, panic! at the disco, alex & sierra

favorite solo artist(s): leanna firestone, alec benjamin, lewis capaldi, clinton kane, conan gray, greyson chance, melanie martinez, dodie, mia giovina

favorite food(s): eggs, bagels, egg rolls, fried rice, dumplings

favorite color(s): teal, but any shade of blue or green as well

last thing you googled: translate…. cannot remember what i was using it for skdkskd

last show i watched: 911 lone star

last movie i watched: shang-chi and the legend of the ten rings

lucky number: don’t have one but 27 is a number i go to a lot when i need a random one skdkdk

when did i create this blog: august 2015 (its so old………….)

do i have any other blogs: @skuheadquarters is my only other blog with dani and tas my beloved 🥰

do i get asks: yes and i enjoy it every time

why did i choose my url: it was kinda random when i first picked it but it does have a lot more meaning now in that i believe in trying to find joy where you least expect it and especially in the little things… hence hidden joy skdksk

blogs who follow you: are amazing and i can’t believe you do and i’m kissing all of you on the forehead

dream trip: italy! been wanting to go forever. really getting to see anything in europe would be amazing but italy my beloved 🥰

instruments: mainly flute, but i know a very small amount of piano and some guitar… i swear i’m gonna pick up my guitar again, hopefully this summer skdkskd

average hours of sleep: eight (only person on tumblr with a healthy sleep schedule baby)

how many blankets do you sleep with: i sleep with a big comforter

tagging: @kieumy, @embeddedinmybrain, @alexdrijzermans, @jovalencia, @mickymilkovich, @actuallysara, @nyttvera, @sassy-sara, @william-byers, @michaelwheelers, @fatoudixon, @marlokelly, @butternaan, @daniclaytn, @nellsdani, @mirroroferisedx, @snapspotter, @trickstermat, @lovepattranite, and @judsonryders

[halpertstuna]

Could you do 8 and 10 on the prompt list with JJ?

A/N: i’m so sorry it took me so long to answer, i’ve been pretty occupied lately and so i didn’t really have time to write and when i did it was for ‘someone to stay’, anyway, here it is i hope you’ll like it🥺

and PLEASE don’t hesitate to send me requests, questions, messages whatever you want. i would love to make friends and mutuals on this platform plus i love feedback and would really like to hear your opinions(:

also, this turned out way longer than i intended it to be, it was supposed to be a blurb but i guess i’m just gonna turn it into a whole ass imagine cause why not

-> prompt list <-

word count: 1,899 (oops... guess i got a bit carried away)

prompts: “i’m not jealous!”, “you’re hot when you’re mad”

pairing: jj x kook!reader

warnings: a pretty heated make out sesh, jealousy?, platonic Kie, Pope and John B. oh and typos probably.

btw, i was kinda in a rush to post this so please forgive me if it’s not that good, i’m too lazy to edit this again (and this is the first time i wrote something that’s kinda smutty? i mean this isn’t really smut but you get my point. don’t know how i feel about it), anyways, if you’ve made it this far in my insanely long intro congrats! enjoy <3

-> masterlist <-

(gif credit: @anakin-skywalker )

—

It’s been almost two years since you started attending the kook academy, almost two years since you became one of the pogues.

On your first day there you met a brown haired hippie chick named Kiara. The two of you had chemistry together and were paired by your teacher to be lab partners.

On your first encounter you didn’t really talk, and on the following couple of lessons it developed to only small talk and warm smiles if you saw each other in the hallway.

Kiara didn’t like kooks, even though technically she kind of was one.

Judging by the way you dressed and the people you surrounded yourself, she didn’t think you were really the type of person she’d get along with.

But when the two of you got assigned to do a project together, you instantly proved her wrong.

You met up with her at the wreck, the two of you talked about the project then yourselves and bonded almost immediately.

You revealed that you actually hated the people you usually associated with, thinking they were all fake, stuck up snobs with their heads way too far up their asses, and the only reason you hung out with them was your parents.

You turned out to be really reckless and funny which she wasn’t expecting at all, but she liked, it kind of reminded her of someone, her best friend, JJ.

She was quick to introduce you to the rest of the pogues and they welcomed you with open arms into their group. You instantly befriended them and vice versa.

Just as Kie suspected, you got along extra well with one particular blond.

The two of you had a lot in common; you were both hot headed and impulsive which often got you into trouble. You two were pretty competitive, always challenging one another.

You being so similar was the reason you got along so well, but it was also the reason you fought a lot, neither of you ever willing to admit you’re wrong or be the first one to apologize, but you couldn’t stay away from each other for too long. The sexual tension between you two could be cut with a knife.

Hungry glances, longing touches, needy desires that were transparent on both your faces.

Everyone on the island could see it but you. You were both so terribly oblivious.

You tried treating him like the rest of the pogues, you pushed your feelings for him to the back of your mind, thinking he was just being friendly, knowing he was a flirt, and for almost two years, it worked.

But seeing him flirt with Harleen tonight was literal torture.

Harleen was your neighbour and former best friend. A tall, tan brunette you hated with all of your heart.

The two of you have known each other since birth, you were practically inseparable, but as you grew up you noticed she always wanted what was yours, and she always did whatever it took in order to gain it. Whether it was the new shoes you got for your birthday which she bought herself the following day, or the guy you told her you liked in middle school the week prior to her dating him.

With time your friendship grew toxic and you felt like she was bad for you, constantly bringing you down and never caring.

So you decided to defriend her and ever since that moment you despised each other.

You were sat on a log beside Kie at a kegger, Pope next to her as they argued about god knows what. You tuned them out, far too focused on each and every one of JJ’s actions, watching as he whispered in her ear.

He probably said something funny since she started laughing, leaning forward and grasping his bicep for balance, which made your blood boil, you felt like history was repeating itself.

The grip on your red solo cup tightened, you stared and it seemed as if lasers were about to shoot out of your eyes and burn her pretty face off, but you diverted your gaze down to your hand, jumping up slightly when you felt a cool sticky liquid on your fingers, noticing you accidentally created a hole in your cup of beer with your milky white painted nails.

“Wow, what did the poor cup ever do to you?” Pope joked, his and Kie’s attention averted to you the second they heard a pop coming from your direction.

“Huh? Oh, well it didn’t tell me how pretty I look tonight, take that as warning sign” you trailed, trying not to look suspicious, “are you sure it isn’t because JJ told that to the girl beside him instead of you” she implied winking, causing Pope to cackle with laughter.

“What was that?” You asked rhetorically trying to act intimidating, “oh nothing” she gave you an innocent look.

“Anyways... i’m gonna go get a new drink” you swiftly stood up and started walking until you made out John B. from afar who was stood by the keg.

“Refill?” He questions once he spotted you making your way towards him.

You nodded “I accidentally poked mine” you admitted lifting the ripped cup in your hand and pursing your lips as you came to a stop beside him.

As he poured you a new cup of beer with the tap head connected to the keg by a tube, you searched the crowd with your eyes and focused your attention on JJ again.

You’ve seen him flirt with a countless amount of chicks before - kooks and torouns mainly, but none of those times pissed you off os much as seeing him flirt with Harleen did.

I mean he probably didn’t even like you back, so why where you so pissed? It wasn’t different from any other time, except that this was Harleen. She was a bitch. But he’d probably catch on quickly, right?

He placed his hands on her waist and you clenched your jaw at the sight grinding your teeth, you were irritated by the whole situation.

John B. noticed, a sly smile spreading slowly across his face.

“Hey, want some peanut butter with that jelly?” You turned to face him, a dumbfounded look on your face, “what are you talking about?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’re obviously jealous”, he chuckled at the bewildered look on your face and you felt your cheeks heat up. “am not!” You denied huffing.

“Tell that to the vein popping out of your forehead” he teased.

You gasped and jabbed his chest playfully with your elbow, you mumbled a “shut up” then channeled your attention back to the two.

Her hands were rested on his chest, like that wasn’t enough already to send you off the edge. But when he pecked her cheek you lost it.

Abruptly you stormed off from where you were stood, John B. shouted from behind you “where are you going?“ but you ignored him.

When you approached JJ and Harleen you clutched onto his wrist dragging him away from her towards the chateau, ignoring both her and his protests. You led him inside then turned around to face him.

“Hey! What did you do that for? It was going really good for me! This better be an emergency” he sneered.

“Are you fucking serious? Out of all the people in the party you chose to hit on Harleen?” You scoffed.

“What’s the problem with that?” JJ was clueless, he knew nothing about your and Harleen’s rivalry. You never told any of the pogues, well except for Kie but she didn’t recognise her as the one flirting with JJ.

“The problem is Harleen hates my guts and the other way around. We used to be best friends but she became toxic, trying to take everything that I had and I’m not going down that road again JJ”

Your words confounded JJ, what did you care if she flirted with him? It wasn’t like he was yours, although he really wanted to be.

Does you caring about whether they end up together or not mean you wanted to be his too?

Then he noticed what emotion your eyes held, he’d never seen it before on your face, but he immediately recognised it.

“Wait.. are you jealous?” He questioned, the corners of his lips perking up into a smirk when he noticed the furious look on your face from his revolution.

“I’m not jealous! Would everyone please stop saying that?! I’m mad ok?!” You defend.

“Ok! Ok!” He surrendered lifting his hands up in the air “but just know, you’re hot when your mad”. Your mouth slightly agape as you weren’t able to form words to deny, far too transfixed under the fact he directly called you hot.

He started walking towards you slowly, you didn’t want to cave, to admit you have fallen for his charms, so you backed up until you felt your back gently hit the wall. Chest rising and falling quicker as your breathing started getting heavier and your heart beat faster.

The second his hand landed on your waist you felt a million butterflies erupt in your stomach, he tenderly stroked the exposed skin of your v line between your low cut shorts and crop top. You felt as if the skin under his finger was being set on fire.

He brought his other hand to rest beside your head on the wall, he leaned in, inches away from your face. His breath mingled with yours, fanning your lips, it smelled of cheap beer and weed.

He slowly moved to your ear and extolled in a low voice “I mean, really hot”, his warm breath sent shivers down your spine.

He left a sloppy, open mouthed kiss on the skin under your earlobe and you could’ve sworn you were seeing stars.

When he detached his lips you bit down on yours holding in a whimper at the loss of contact as he brought his face back to yours.

His blue orbs gazed into yours, they seemed darker than usual, lustful.

He waisted no more time and captured your lips with his. You didn’t hesitate to kiss him back.

You wrapped your hands around his neck and pulled on the edges of his hair deepening the kiss. As your tongues fought for dominance, he brought his other hand to your ass and squeezed it causing you to moan, he took the chance and slipped his tongue in.

you tugged on the hem of his shirt and he got the message. He separated his lips from yours and within less then a second, practically tore it of his body and discarded it on the floor. The two of you were panting at this point, completely out of air but you didn’t care. Breathless, you reattached your lips to his, desperate to taste him again.

You caressed his much bigger length with your petite hand, signalling you wanted more and he groaned into the kiss.

“Up” he demanded mumbling agains your lips. You jumped up and wrapped your legs around his waist, he grabbed your thighs and without breaking the kiss led you into the spare room.

Almost two years of yearning and craving dissolved in that night at the chateau, and to think it happened because of Harleen.

As much of a bitch as she was, you did owe her that.

[bre-meister]

9 &/or 10 (Dialogue Prompts) for cleon !! TY FOR FEEDING US

9. “I just wish things could have turned out differently between us, you know?” 

Mall trips were always...interesting. Perhaps it stems from the insanity that was his everyday life, but Leon always felt that doing things so mundane like going to the mall was kind of weird? But, weird in a good way. He wasn’t sure exactly how to describe it. D.S.O Agent Leon Kennedy wasn’t sure exactly how to feel about it as he stood surrounded by little tiny onesies and itty bitty tutus and headbands; cribs, strollers, changing tables, and more displayed on top of the shelves reaching up towards the high ceilings of the store. Well, that’s a lie, Leon did know how he felt - awkward, out of place even.

He wasn’t exactly sure why that was the case, especially considering this wasn’t his first rodeo so to speak. Though, last time Claire had done most of the shopping for the smaller things. His preparatory skills were mostly limited to ordering the bigger things online once Claire had picked them out and then assembling them after they had arrived. 

When his wife had asked him to come along this time - mainly to help wrangle little Izzy who had insisted on helping pick out clothes for her new little sister - Leon couldn’t say no. He had nothing else to do on an unnaturally normal Saturday and spending the day with his family sounded like heaven after spending the week doing paperwork. He just hadn’t anticipated the sheer amount of things they actually needed to get. Technically speaking, they should have all of the said items at home from when Isabelle had been little - and they did have some. Some of her baby things had been lost in a move a while back - a two-bedroom apartment in the heart of D.C was great for him and Claire but not necessarily for a little girl. The couple had also given away some things to one of Claire’s co-workers who had needed some baby clothes and such. They truly had not expected to have another child, what with their hectic lifestyle but Leon would be lying if he said he wasn’t extremely excited for the new baby.

So, things having been lost one way or another, they had to replace almost everything; which was fine considering Leon’s paycheck alone was enough for them to live fairly comfortably. Chris was always making snide comments about his “government money”, he might as well put it to good use. Which is how the small family found themselves in the non-descript baby store on an even less notable Saturday afternoon. But, despite coming in with two girls, Leon now found himself alone hence the unnecessarily awkward feelings. Claire and Isabell had stepped out for a short moment to find a bathroom, his pregnant wife needing to go nearly just as bad as their four-year-old. 

“Leon?” a voice called from the doorway of the store that leads out to the mall.

Leon looked up confused, that was the direction that his wife and daughter had disappeared to but that voice sounded nothing like Claire’s. Upon laying eyes on the source of the noise Leon felt his confusion shift to something else.

He hadn’t thought he could feel more awkward but somehow, he managed. Calling his name was a living ghost. Leon didn’t have much time to consider that oxymoron before the blast from his past in the form of an objectively beautiful woman entered the store and made her way towards him.

“Oh my gosh! It is you - Leon Kennedy. What’s it been, like five, six years?”

“Yeah,” Leon swallowed awkwardly, “something like that.” If he remembered correctly, it had been much longer than that.

As if coming to his senses, Leon suddenly realized how rude he was being - a former fling or not, Claire would have scolded him if she saw the way he was behaving now. He chuckled awkwardly to cover up how...awkward he was feeling. Quietly, Leon wished he could think of a word or a feeling that was not “awkward”.

“How have you been, Cindy?” He hoped she didn’t catch the upward lit of his greeting when he got to her name - he wasn’t exactly sure he’d remembered correctly.

“Oh ya know, working, shopping,” she gestured to the bags in her hands, “this and that. I’m good though, how about you?” If she noticed his hesitance at her name she didn’t let it outwardly bother her.

Leon looked around before answering, trying to see if he could spot Claire anywhere - no luck. Apparently, at this moment, Leon was two things: awkward and incredibly unlucky.

“Ya know, work, family, shopping,” he mirrored Cindy both in his statement and bodily actions. Motioning to the pack of baby bottles in his hands that he had been mulling over he hoped that Cindy would take the hint - Leon purposefully having emphasized the word family.

Yet again, if Cindy noticed she didn’t let it deter her. She placed a well-manicured hand on Leon’s bicep, gently squeezing all the while batting her eyes in what he assumed was supposed to be a sultry manner. Not many things could be taken as sultry when surrounded by pacifiers and burping cloths. 

“I was genuinely surprised when I saw you, and in a baby store of all places. Never would have thought of you as the settling down kinda man. Then, I thought that you were probably just shopping for a friend or a family member, ya know like a shower gift or something. I also thought you’d might want some help, ya know, a woman’s touch. So, here I am” 

At that the hand on his arm began to move up and down, those red-colored nails causing involuntary goosebumps to rise on his skin. Apparently, Cindy had been doing a lot of thinking in the last few minutes. Doing some thinking on his own, Leon came to the realization that he’d used to think he loved the color red on a woman. Now, he realizes that he loves the color red on one particular woman. 

Before he could get a word in to stop whatever was happening in its tracks, Cindy started up again. Her attention had shifted to the things on the self in front of him, finally removing her hand from his arm. That didn’t mean that she wasn’t done with her not so subtle come on though.

“Sometimes I just wish things could have turned out differently between us ya know? Maybe this could have been us together, shopping for our own baby,” Cindy let out a small laugh at her own imagined scenario. 

“I don’t.” He said confidently, happy that the awkward had finally made his way out of his system.

Apparently so had the unluckiness because as Cindy looked up at him, a confused frown on her face, any response she was about to formulate was cut short by a tiny body barreling into Leon’s legs.

“Daddy, Mommy and I saw the coolest candy store and she said that if I’m a good girl then we can go after we're done here! Are we done yet?” Isabelle let out, seemingly in one breath.

Leon laughed, both at his daughter's enthusiasm to curb her sweet tooth and at the look on Cindy’s face. He knew it was rude but the genuine shock was just too good to let slip and she was too wrapped up in said shock to notice.

“No baby girl, we are not done yet. Although trust me, I would much rather be in the candy store,” She looked to Leon as she approached, her next words directed towards him, “their chocolate display was pretty impressive.” 

Leon wanted to laugh at his two girls. Instead, he coughed a little, nodding his head discreetly towards Cindy - an action he knew only his wife would notice.

“Oh! I’m so sorry. How rude of me, I'm Claire and you are?”

Cindy had managed to pick up her jaw from where it had fallen on the floor but still seemed to be too stunned to speak.

“Claire, this is Cindy, an old friend of mine. We haven’t seen each other in a while so when she spotted me from the window outside she came in to say hi. Cindy, this is my wife, Claire, and my daughter, Isabelle.”

Isabelle waved shyly from where she had retreated behind her daddy’s leg. Leon felt that was a little odd considering usually Izzy was a boisterous little girl who loved to talk - even to strangers. Perhaps she was tired, or maybe Cindy just rubbed her the wrong way - he’d heard kids were perceptive like that. It certainly didn’t help that Cindy’s face had been akin to a fish what with all the open-mouthed gaping when both girls had returned. 

“It's wonderful to meet you, Claire.” the tone of her voice said that this meeting was anything but wonderful. 

Still, Cindy held out her hand and the two politely shook. Leon couldn’t help but notice Cindy’s gaze falling on Claire’s hand returning to her noticeable bump as they pulled away. What was left of the color in her face drained and at that moment, Leon could tell that the woman made a tactical decision to save whatever was left of her dignity. 

“Well, I just came in to say hi. Leon looked a little lost on his own but now that I see he is not alone I suppose I should continue on my way. I still have a few stores to hit before I can go home. Congrats, by the way.” Cindy motioned towards Claire’s midsection at her baby bump.

“Thanks,” Leon said, in unison with his wife. 

Cindy turned to leave, giving one more awkward smile before she left - funny how the tables had turned in that way. Leon almost felt bad for her. It was obvious by her comment that she was still searching for the peaceful family life that he was forever grateful he’d found with Claire.

 I just wish things could have turned out differently between us ya know?

That one statement carried so much weight. Leon knew that eventually, Cindy would find the one who was right for her, and together they could shop baby necessities until her heart's content. But, as for him, looking at his two girls fawn over pink and purple onesies meant for his soon-to-be girl number three, he couldn’t say he agreed. This is where he was meant to be - with them. 

He knew he’d do anything for them, follow them anywhere. Even, he thought, overpriced, extravagant, mall candy stores. Although he had to admit, Claire wasn’t wrong about the chocolate display, it was pretty impressive.

[haikyall]

A Splash Wouldn’t Hurt

Synopsis: A luxurious vacation, a vacation you know too well mainly cause it was only in your dreams. But Inarizaki Men's VBC decides to change that.

WC: 4078

Trigger Warning: none

Genre: Fluff

Parining: Inarizaki x Manager!Reader

It was homeroom period when you received a tap on your left shoulder as you were writing notes on what your team members— the Inarizaki Men’s Volleyball Club— should improve on. You look at the direction it came from, you realize there was a figure beside you that was eyeing your work. It was Osamu “Wow, you’re making notes on us? How cute of you,” Osamu says, peering over your notes.

“Yeah, I mean it’s the least I can do as your manager,” You sigh, looking at your notes which included a whole list of what certain members were good and what they should do to improve things they weren’t good at.

“You know, the semestral break is like a week away right?” The wing spiker starts as he sits at the table in front of you. He settles down his bag down and brings out a notebook related to the first period. You were well aware that the semestral break was a week from now. You have been planning to…… well, sleep the break away. You never had any plans to enjoy it, even if you were not part of the middle-class economy, you just felt lazy.

“Yeah, what about it?” You say paying attention to your teammate that was looking at you with an expectant gaze.

“Well, Atsumu and I are having a little yacht party.” Osamu starts. Wait a damn minute… a yACHT PARTY? A Y A C H T? Your eyes widen at what you were hearing, Osamu just smiles at your reaction, knowing well enough that even if you’ve known the twins your whole high school life, you still get overwhelmed at just how wealthy they were as star athletes.

“And the only ones invited are the whole team, without the coaches of course, and by the whole team, we included you on the list.” The second-year continues, okay, I mentioned your eyes widened, this time your eyes went out of your eye sockets. Osamu laughs, loving the reaction he’s getting. You couldn’t believe him. They don’t possibly want you to come, maybe they asked you out of pity and hoped to say no.

“But, I’m just your manager…?” You say, still confused at the offer. Osamu just smiles.

“We appreciate you more than you think.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, the boys looked at you not as a club mate or as a manager, they looked at you like you were their little sister. They genuinely want you to go. But you didn’t know what to bring or do on a yacht, mainly because you’ve never been to one or even seen one. Last time you “saw” a yacht was at your d r e a m s.

“We want you to come, it’s fine if you don't bring anything aside from things you’d bring to a beach like towels or sunscreen.” He trails off. He then looks at you dead straight at the eyes with a pleading look.

“Even I would be sad if you didn’t go.” You felt a little amount of heat creep up on your cheeks.

“…You guys… want me to go?” You hesitantly ask to which Osamu nods eagerly.

“Outings as a family won’t be the same without you,” The second-year says with a small smile on his face, still waiting for you to take the offer. You were still hesitant, how are you going to tell your parents about this? Fortunately, Osamu read exactly what’s on your mind and smirks.

“Kita-kun took care of your parents and they agreed” By this time your jaw fell to the floor and Osamu laughs again, thinking your reaction is cute. You fell silent, what else was stopping you from bonding with them?

“… You want me to bring some marinated lamb? Or steak?” You start, flipping through another page, making a list of what to bring, keeping in mind the favorite foods of each member. The wing spiker is shocked.

“Waaa, you know us that well huh?” You only smile as a reply. The school bell rings, signifying the start of class.

“Start with preparing your luggage for a 5-day trip. Kita-kun will send you the other details.” Was the last thing Osamu says before he turned in front, ready to greet the teacher, leaving you in bewilderment.

‘A little fun with water balloons won’t hurt as well right?’ You thought to yourself, not interested in the class. To others, it looked like you were taking down notes for the class. You scribble away more ideas to make the event more fun.

________ First Day 5:00 am

Your parents dropped you off the dock that you were supposed to meet the boys. You were immediately greeted with Kita, Oomimi, and Akiga. All three hugs you and says their greetings to your parents. Oomimi and Akiga took your belongings and took them to the yacht while Kita thanked your parents for letting you go and bringing you to the dock safe and promises that you will return in alive and in one piece.

“Ahh, our sister is here!” Atsumu greets you with a hug. Osamu takes some of the luggage that Akiga is carrying, seeing that he is struggling.

“You can receive serves and all but you can’t carry a bag?” Osamu disses the libero to which Akiga bites back with

“You’re lucky the volleyball is already inside the damn yacht”

Ojiro just smiles at you saying, “Would you like a roommate or you wanna have a room to yourself?”

“I’ll have a room to myself if that’s fine?” You ask shyly.

“Of course it’s fine you precious little thing!” Atsumu exclaims, ruffling your hair in the process.

“Just beware, we might knock on your door to annoy living hell out of you” The setter teases.

“Today we plan to be a chill day so after the twins do their tour, you do whatever you want and all that,” Kita says.

“Oh, and if you feel the boat speed up or slow down that’s mainly cause Suna-chan is manning the wheel” He continues. Wait a holy minute-

“Yes, Suna has a license and is trained by his father so we should be fine and yes, he knows how to stir the boat, darling” Osamu —who came back together with Akiga and Oomimi after putting your luggage on the boat— completes your thought.

“You’re so cute when you’re shocked like that” Ginjima gushes while the other boys just chuckle.

“Let’s board the boat, shall we?” Atsumu leads the group into the twins’ luxurious and— I kid you not— enormous yacht. You kinda ended up gawking at the boat since it is pretty huge and it’s your first time. Your gawking only ends because Akagi lends you a hand to get on the boat.

“You can stare when you get on it” Akiga teases you, making you turn to a little cherry as you say your apologies and step foot into the yacht, you just end up marveling it at its glory.

“Just like the ones in the movie right?” Atsumu teases. As the group fanboys on how cute you looked when you were processing that you were, in fact, in an actual yacht, you eye the outside portion of the yacht, a bar with stools where the boys were hanging out, some white sofas and grey bean bags with a center table, a grill and the main attraction, jet skis that were parked on the yacht.

“Are these actual…” You trail off, Osamu smiles at your speechless.

“Jet Skis? Why, yes they are. They are like my babies” Osamu answers.

“Hey ya trap, they’re my babies too!” Atsumu shouts from the bar.

“The twins have a rule that the room picking will happen a little later after the tour so that you can see which room you want.” Kosaku trails off. You nod as you understand the meaning of the rule.

“And it’s a fun game honestly. We also leave our bags at the dock until the tour is over, we won't be making any stops on the islands you will see, it kinda just sight-seeing” He continues and walks over to the twins to which you follow.

“Ya ready? Cause there’s a lot more to take in besides the jet skis” Atsumu teases and you just get a bit more flustered. Cue Kita hitting Atsumu on the nape and the team laughing at them.

“Cut the manager some slack, ‘Tsumu, not everyone’s as fortunate as the two of you” Kosaku states.

“Can we start the tour already? I’m dying to take a nap” Suna yawns and the twins start the tour ________ Time Skip: to 6:00 am

There were essentially 12 rooms all of which have a queen-sized bed and a washroom that has a bathtub and a separate shower hall. There was also another bar with a karaoke and billiard room with some game consoles like Xbox 360, PS4, etc. A gym, a kitchen and dining room, a sauna and jacuzzi a changing room, a viewing deck, and an inflatable slide at the roof of the yacht. The only staff there was were maids, 4 bartenders, a few bodyguards, and another guy that is licensed to stir the boat when Suna is busy.

You and the boys were hanging out at the lower deck which was where you were gawking the jet skis. They made you decide on the room you want. You chose the room nearest to the viewing deck since you like to take the view in from the night.

“Well, now our dear sibling over here has a room its a matter of competition for us” Atsumu states, and Osamu just sighs and looks at you with a tired expression.

“We’re gonna race two to see who gets the room they want, we let you get your room so that you can take down who gets which room.” Osamu gently explains. You nod and reach for the notebook inside your bag, it became a mannerism for you to bring your club notebook wherever you went with the boys… including this one.

The first pair were the twins, then Kita & Oomimi, Ojiro & Ginjima, Suna & Kosaku, and finally, Akiga & Riseki. Was it chaos? Of course, it was. The twins ended up getting the same room so you had to negotiate a war of rock, paper, and scissors and Atsumu being a baby per usual because his older twin got the room. Kita and Oomimi were by far the calmest since they chose different rooms. Ojiro and Ginjima took some time because they kept on going into the rooms that were taken by the other members and Ginjima getting disappointed the longer the search goes. Suna and Kosaku were kinda calm until they chose the same room as well but didn’t resort to the bickering the twins do. Akiga and Riseka also took some time since they were the last pair to choose a room.

After that, the twins acquainted the team with some rules to follow which were just 6:30 pm was the time of dinner and 12:30 was the time of lunch, and breakfast was optional. Because they are athletes it is a must that they attend the dinner and lunch. They also have to tell the group chat if they were unable to eat and it needs to be a legitimate reason. And there is a schedule for every room so that the maids don’t die of exhaustion. They also had a debate on having a bedtime and if midnight snacks were allowed. They ended up resorting to not having one and midnight snacks are available.

________ 8:00 am

After all, that chaos was settled with you decided to go to your room where you get to explore it in even more detail. But then the exhaustion of taming the boys took over you as your body uncontrollably falls to the white circular bed and you soon drift off to Dream Land.

_________ 10:00 am

Your eyes finally flutter open as you check to see what time it was with the watch on your arm. You quickly fix your hair, face, and the bed as you take in your new surroundings. You take notice of the wooden floor. The table had essential oils and a diffuser right next to it and bright lights around the mirror for makeup. The television was actually inside the wall and the washroom had a little window which can be covered with curtains and more bright lights for the mirrors, there were wall hooks for hangers or things needed to be hanged. One of which was a hanger for the bathrobe the yacht provided. It was a rather spacious room, so spacious that you’d think that you were in a hotel rather than a yacht.

“It’s big mainly because it’s considered the master’s bedroom” You look back to the door, which was where the voice came from. The voice came from Osamu who was leaning at the door frame. Behind him was the rest of the team with a small smile on their faces.

“We’re going to hang out by the lower deck, cause Idio- I mean, ‘Tsumu-kun challenged me to a Jet Ski race, wanna watch? Kita is gonna start grilling the steak you brought” Osamu continues. You nod and say you’ll just change clothes. You change into a white tube bikini which is covered by a white see-through tassel and head to the lower deck which is already starting to smell like grilled steak.

You see the boys quietly yet not so discreetly check you out which makes you bring a little bit of heat on your face. You take a seat at the white couch you take notice of their outfits. The twins, Ginjima, Riseki, and Oomimi were shirtless with some swim trunks. Kita was also shirtless but is wearing an apron cause he’s grilling some meat. Kosaku, Ojiro, Akagi, and Suna were wearing white tank tops with some swimming trunks.

You also observed that there was something similar to what the boys were wearing, sunglasses. Suna has his sunglasses tucked on the collar of his shirt, Ojiro has his tucked on the right pocket of his shorts. Kosaku’s and Osamu’s were resting on their head Akiga and Oomimi were wearing a chain where the glasses were hanging on. Ginjima, Riseki, and Atsumu were wearing their glasses. Kita’s were hanging at the loop of his apron at the back.

“Rules: No flipping of Jet Skis. Don’t hit each other or the yacht. No insane tricks that will get you injured and have fun. If one of the drivers falls off the Jet Ski, instant game over” Ojiro states and the twins listen to what he has to say.

“Five rounds around the yacht. First to park their Jet Ski and get off from it wins” Ojiro smiles with his eyes closed as the twins shake hands as a sign of camaraderie.

Ojiro opens his eyes with a serious face as he says the catch, “Winner gets to throw water balloons at the loser.” The boys show a look of shock and confusion cause as far as they know, they don’t have water balloons.

“What are ye talking about? We don’t have—” Atsumu starts but is caught off by Ginjima

“Y/N-chan brought some water balloons, would be a shame if we don’t use it… Right?” The wing spiker taunts the boys. They turn to you and all you can do is smile while having a chat with Oomimi and a sleepy Suna. All of a sudden the twins’ expressions turned from shocked to competitive, the face you’d see when they have an official match at volleyball.

“Oh you’re on,” Atsumu says to which his twin just shrugs

“Scared you’ll get wet?” Osamu says while arching his right eyebrow.

The startling roar of the Jet Skis causes you to jump a bit while the other boys remain unfazed, Ojiro, standing at the edge of the yacht, raises his arm “Ready,” The twins look at each other and turn back to the sea.

“Set,” By this time, the siblings are playing with the controls to make the Jet Skis roar louder but they’re still in the same displacement on the water.

“Go” Ojiro puts down his arm and the two twins are on their way. Suna— whose is essentially lying down on the bean bag beside you— pokes your left arm resting on the sofa’s armrest.

“10 water balloons, Osamu-chan wins” You smirk at the bid, why not eh? Nothing wrong with a little splash.

“Fine, 10 water balloons, Atsumu-chan wins” Suna smirks at your statement and looks at the sea.

“Stuff like this makes me sleepy” Suna yawns and it causes you to giggle.

“You’re always sleepy, Suna-chan”

“It makes me sleepy and at ease” Suna smiles, happy he’s made you laugh every once in a while.

Kosaku though it would be nice if the lower deck had some music so he played “Party Poison” by My Chemical Romance as he and Riseki start filling up the water balloons

________ 10:30 am

The twins are back but Atsumu won by a millisecond. You laugh out in rejoice as you saw your next victim of the water balloons. You were so overjoyed that the attention was on you. “Suna-chan and Y/N-chan over here decided to make a bet on who wins. Our sibling won cause they placed their bet on Atsumu-chan” Riseki explains to the twins.

“Don’t place such a huge bet on me Suna-chan” Osamu sighs in defeat while Atsumu was busy making fun of his older twin that lost.

The two stand on the metal part of the lower deck and were the jet skis were parked. Riseki starts to throw one water balloons and others follow pursuit. Well, let’s just say you may or may not didn’t count how many water balloons you guys were throwing at the pair. And Ginjima may or may not have filmed the whole event happening including the start of the race.

_________ 11:00 am

After assisting the two boys on what they need to change clothes. You hang out in the entertainment room where everyone was playing a match of Mario Kart while waiting for Kita finish making lunch. You wasted no time into putting this on camera since this was pure gold.

“No! That’s cheating you- AAAAAAAAA”

“SHUT UP YOU SQUEALING PIG”

“YES! I GOT I- OJIRO-KUN”

“AHAHAHHAHAHAH DIE YOU SORRY EXCUSES OF LOSERS”

_________ 12:30 pm

Lunch was served, it was steak with mashed potatoes and mango panna cotta for dessert. Although we ate in peace, there was still tension as to playing that last Mario Kart match. Kita, oblivious to the chaos a while ago, has zero idea to what even happened but feels a strong tension.

“Alright, what’s bothering you kids?”

“I swore you cheated on that last match” Riseki looks dead straight at Akagi who was happily enjoying his medium-rare steak. Cue Kita rubbing his forehead and being the epitome of ‘Ah shit, here we go again’

“I will not deny or accept that” You were informed by their coach about the rowdiness and loudness this group has but these boys always seem to have something to bicker about.

“I DONATED YOU A DAMN LIFE PACK IN LEFT FOR DEAD 2 AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY ME?”

“We live in a capitalist world, my dear child,” Akagi smirks, knowing it’s gonna fume his kohai to the roof. ________ 1:30 pm

Yes, it took you an hour to calm down the two well, mostly Riseki who felt offended by the actions of his senpai. After so, you decided to have time for yourself at the sauna. You grab your wardrobe and your new clothes which were plain red sweatshirt and some cycling shorts and walk towards the said room. You go to the changing rooms which had a little locker aisle so that you can put your things in.

You take off the tassel that you were wearing and toss on the bathrobe. It was a little big for you but it will do. You head to the sauna in which you spent your time enjoying. It was a place that showed the scenery outside and therefore you get to marvel at the beauty of the islands at the same time it was playing calm piano music.

You took this time to look at the videos Ginjima sent you and your compilation of videos and photos to decide what to post exactly.

You ended up posting that stolen solo picks of the boys while they were busy doing things. Yes, you have a stolen photo of Suna that is a w a k e. You also post a picture of yourself with your back facing the camera and your arms spread out. The last photo you posted was a group photo with you and the boys taken in the dining room before the incident happened.

The boys, on the other hand, were putting the appreciation gifts they had brought for you to your room. Arranging it in the most aesthetic way they could on your bed. They tried not to make any noise as you can hear their footsteps due to the wooden floor. They quickly made their way to the viewing deck to inflate the slide to make an alibi to be there.

________ 4:30 pm

You head to the viewing deck wearing you a sweatshirt and cycling shorts only to know that the boys were sliding down the inflatable slide. Oomimi sees you and carries you bridal style to be next in line. You panic as to knowing your outfit.

“You guys, I’m not really—,” you start as Oomimi sets you down on the slide. Atsumu laughs at your response.

“Well, sorry, love~” was all the setter said till his members pushed you off the slide. It felt like going down from the highest point of the ride of the rollercoaster. You screamed your whole lungs out and you swore you died till you felt nothing beneath you. You were flying in the air for what seemed like a century till you were engulfed with water. Its comfort in surrounding you made you feel safe but you had to go to the surface. When you did you were smiling but then at the same time you felt as if you were betrayed by your siblings over there on the yacht as they were laughing their asses off. Suna who was stirring at that time, was also chuckling to himself after hearing your screams of death seconds ago.

The ones in the water, Kita and Ginjima helped you go to the yacht as they knew you were gonna murder the boys. The moment you climbed back on the boat. The maids handed you a towel to which you used to whip at the boys for revenge making them die of even more laughter from you.

________ 6:30 pm

You were still damp and a towel was hanging on both of your shoulders when your dinner is served and it was grilled lamb with some fried rice and crème brûlée as dessert. This was the time the boys noticed that you posted something on social media and gave out their comments of appreciation especially to your photo. They took into detail their photos and realized that they were stolen. This was the perfect opportunity for you to post the uhhh… not so good looking photos of them. But you were worried about the number of unpleasing photos they had of you so you decided to go against the idea. And luckily there was no world war happening since you already forgave them for their little stunt a while ago and they did have fun.

_________ 7:45 pm

You head back to your room to wash and get changed for the karaoke night the boys proposed. You open the door to see the wide arrange of gifts the boys had prepared just for you. You start to tear up from the effort the boys pulled just to show you their gratitude towards you. You took a picture and sent it to both the group chat and social media as a thank you post. A mess of a team they were, they were your mess and you loved every moment you had with them.

[somuchfuckingsalt]

Percy Earned his leadership

Okay, the thing is I get almost personally offended when the fandom tries to write off Percy’s leadership because that boy earned the right to be CHB’s leader.

First off, the way that RR wrote the first five books was in a way where when you combine them together, you can track one cohesive story the same way you’d do with a single story.

TLT is Act 1. It establishes the setting, the characters, and the story. While there aren’t a lot of leadership moments for Percy, because it’s the first act Percy has a lot of moments where you can see his various skills that will lead him to becoming a good leader coming through. This includes his ability to think on his feet (how he dealt with the love ride), manipulate (Crusty), and make the necessary calls needed for the good of the world (sacrificing Sally to return to the surface and stop the war).

There isn’t a lot that happens in this book that happens that changes Percy’s internally and turns him into more of a leader. Aside from the decision to leave his mom behind, every moment of ‘leadership’ that he has are small, baby step versions of leadership. This book is mainly just getting Percy accustomed to being in the situations where a leader is needed while not necessarily pushing him into a leadership position (while Percy was technically the leader of the quest he relied heavily on Grover, Annabeth, and Chiron since he was so new to the world).

SoM is Act 2. Since we know who Percy is and we don’t need to be coaxed into loving him like the first book, this book is the one where Percy probably receives the most help. This is also the ‘training montage’ portion of the story and likely the reason that the Sea of Monsters was chosen as the setting.

There are a few moments in the book where Percy takes the necessary steps to become a leader but most notably are.

Making the decision to send Clarisse on ahead.

Stepping up and confronting Luke on behalf of all four of them.

The beginning of the book where the campers poorly treat him and Tyson is also important for two reasons. The first being that Percy sticking by Tyson despite the poor treatment shows what a good person he is, even though we know he’s resentful of the situation and Tyson. The second is that part of the reason Percy is so resentful is because the last time he was at camp he was Hot Shit. Everyone thought he was the bees knees because he had completed a quest and prevented a war. By having Percy be ostracized for his association with a “monster” Rick not only prevented Percy from developing an ego but it also teaches him something all leaders need to know - which is that public opinion is extremely fickle. 

This is also the book where we first hear that Percy is an ‘unreliable weapon’. Kronos specifically does not want Percy to be the prophecy child because he knows that Percy is difficult to predict, manipulate, and control. The gods themselves would be way less scared about how powerful Percy is if he was easier to control. By Percy being difficult to manipulate, that means he’s not going to wind up pulling all the people he’s leading in the wrong direction because someone else is pulling his strings. 

TTC is Act 3 and the mid-story low-point. This is the book where Percy fucks up the most.

He lets his jealousy of Thalia cloud his judgement, which directly leads to Annabeth getting captured.

He again lets his jealousy and pride cloud his judgement which causes the campers to lose to the Hunters.

A tiny moment but he’s so upset over Annabeth possibly becoming a hunter that he nearly kills an Ares camper with a javelin.

He’s so pissed at Mr. D he almost lets his anger prevent them from getting help, which would have led to all of them dying.

All of Percy’s fuck ups teach him that he needs to not let his emotions cloud his judgement and clearly see in BotL and TLO that Percy has learned his lesson. Even when his parents are in danger or he has his own personal drama with Annabeth and Rachel, he’s able to focus on the task at hand.

(The one time that Percy lets his emotions take control is when he takes off in the Labyrinth alone because he thinks Nico is nearby and he’s extremely worried about Nico because he cares a lot about him despite what Rick and his ghost writers say).

They also serve as a humbling experience to keep his ego in check, because at the beginning of the book we’re told that Percy had become accustomed to campers looking to him and up to him after having completed two dangerous quests. His issue with Thalia is that he feels she gets all the attention because Zeus is her father (whether that’s a justified feeling or not). This shows us that not only does Percy have some sort of expectation of leadership but also that as someone who spent his whole life either in the corner or in bad light, he has enjoyed being in the spotlight even if only a little bit, and now he’s missing it. 

This is also the book where Percy accepts the prophecy and basically puts himself in a leadership position for the sake of protecting Nico. However, for me, this isn’t the most meaningful leadership moment.

Percy’s big leadership moment in this book for me is when he takes the sky from Artemis and this is the big moment for many reasons.

For one, it shows that he has learned from his past mistakes of wanting to be the one to turn to. He acknowledges he’s not going to defeat Atlas and takes himself out of the fight so Artemis can fight instead. This is a great juxtaposition to the beginning of the story when he wanted to be on the front lines during capture the flag and have Thalia instead guard the flag (even though Thalia was right about the river).

For two, it shows his ability to make sacrifices because he knows very well that he can die.

And for three, it is his idea, his decision, and he has to convince Artemis it’s also a good idea.

BotL is Act IV, the rising action. The stakes are higher, the situation is more dangerous than ever, and our protagonist is digging himself out from under his mistakes of the previous act.

This is the book that while Percy has learned most of what he needs to in order to become a leader and has even chosen a leadership role, he’s not the one in charge. Annabeth is.

This book is literally Percy being Annabeth’s second-in-command because before you can lead, you need to learn how to follow. This is important to happen here because in the previous three books Percy either didn’t want to be a leader and/or he was fucking it up and had a lot to learn.

This is the book that shows us two things: 1) Percy's ability to sacrifice his personal wants and desires for the greater good and 2) why he is the best option to lead.

He does #1 first at Mt. St. Helens when he sends Annabeth away, because in the situation she’s the one that needs to get back for the greater good. Then the second time was when he sacrificed a peaceful eternity with Calypso for the greater good (not Annabeth, which the fandom, Rick, and his ghost writers seem to have forgotten).

Everyone is going to hate me for what I’m about to say next but bear with me. The BotL is showing us why Annabeth, the daughter of war and battle strategy, is not going to be the leader of their army in the series climax. To be clear, Annabeth is not a bad leader, in fact she is a good one, my point for the next bit here is why she’s not the best option. Throughout the book we see Annabeth repeatedly making the same mistakes that Percy made in the previous book; she lets her emotions get the better of her and cloud her judgement. 

The Sphynx moment is her letting her pride overtake her better judgement and she puts everyone at risk by refusing to answer the questions over an insult to her intelligence.

Absolutely everything with Rachel is an issue. From the first moment Annabeth sees Rachel and Percy together she is jealous and she treats Rachel terribly. First off, this is poor behaviour in general (and it should have been addressed in series and apologized for) but as a leader it’s poor for a few reasons.

Firstly, that as a leader she needs to know how to put her emotions aside in order to work with everyone, regardless of her personal feelings towards them. By not being able to be at least polite to Rachel, she risked Rachel saying fuck this, I’m out (probably the only reason Rachel didn’t is because she’s chill and she knew it was a world ending problem they were dealing with).

Secondly, it shows a certain amount of immaturity. The thing with jealousy is that although it’s not a reasonable emotion, how you handle it shows how mature you are. The fact that when Annabeth becomes petty and vindictive when she’s jealous shows a lot of emotional immaturity. 

Thirdly, she doesn’t fucking learn anything as we see her behaving the same way towards Rachel in TLO, made worse by the fact that she’s also attacking Percy. This isn’t entirely her fault because these actions don’t have any consequences that make her want to change her behaviour. Leaders need to be able to learn and adapt and check their own behaviour.

(honestly, the fact that Annabeth ended the series without at least trying to get over her pride and abandonment issues makes me feel like her character arc is incomplete).

TLO is Act V and the grand finale. It’s the book where Percy is 100% the Boss. It is the culmination of everything that he’s learned and shows off all the things he has that makes him a good leader.

Leaders need to know when to make sacrifices, evident by when he leaves Beckendorf and when he takes a million-to-one chance by dipping in the Styx in order to gain a chance at winning this war.

He’s cunning and manipulative, shown when he bribes the river gods into playing for his team.

He’s incredibly good at battle strategy, shown when he manages to make a plan that allows 70ish campers/hunters to defend the entire island of Manhattan from hundreds, if not thousands of soldiers from Kronos’s army.

He’s well spoken, shown when he’s able to get the campers pumped before the first battle.

He cares about the people that he’s leading. In the previous book he didn’t know Castor’s name before he died and he felt bad about that, so in this book every time he mentions a demigod it’s by name.

He’s clever, shown when he’s able to figure out literally on the fly how to kill the pig and that the hero that dies in the prophecy is Luke. He also figures out that Typhon won’t be defeated without Poseidon and knows what to say in order to get Poseidon to abandon the ocean battle and help the rest of the gods.

(Lowkey-highkey Percy is the reason that Typhon was defeated at all, because without him Poseidon would have never joined the fight and the gods would have failed, which would have meant that regardless of Kronos dying they would have been fucked)

He’s able to focus on the task at hand despite his emotional problems. This includes the times that his parents are put in the line of fire, both when they’re asleep and awake and when the Annabeth/Rachel drama is making him all kinds of angry and upset. In all those situations he’s able to carry on and largely ignore them in order to focus on the war.

To me, his deference to Chiron before the war officially begins is Percy a) being so used to following Chiron in everything and respecting the centaur as a leader and b) not entirely confident in himself and needing that confirmation that he’s in charge. While it’s never stated in the books that Percy enjoys being a leader, we never really see Percy lamenting that he wishes someone else was in charge even when he was neck deep in danger and death and stress.

No one ever questions the fact that Percy’s in charge. There isn’t ever a power struggle. Even with Thalia and Annabeth - both of whom have their own merits to make them leaders and the ambition/pride to make them chafe under the leadership of someone else. Everyone easily accepts and looks to Percy to be their leader.

I’m sorry if this comes off as rant-y and I’m likely going to piss a bunch of people off with my opinion on Annabeth’s faults, but Percy literally went through so much shit and learned and changed in order to be a good leader that it honestly makes me angry when people write him off for the sake of uplifting someone else. 

[marvels-writings]

Hey! Maria Hill anon here. No need to be sorry. I love your writing so a series would be great (if you want to). I'd love for them to end up together and for there to be a good amount of angst, not too much and not too little. Thank you! ☺

A/N: I’m so so sorry this is late. And thank you chloesingulier.tumblr.com for helping me come up with the title and for helping me write the request. Anyway here is the starting of the series:

"Come on! Get to work!" Maria shouted out to the rest of the people in the compound. Ever since Ultron, Shield had technically moved in with the Avengers and trained recruits for them instead of Shield.

You look over your shoulder to spot her overlooking everyone but Shaun. His computer screen faced away from Maria, so she couldn't catch him playing Galaga again. Honestly, no one knew why he still liked the game, but his job wasn’t important enough to be worrisome so everyone let it slide.

Your job had its moments, but they didn't last long. Your job was mainly to make sure everything was running smoothly and most importantly, you were the main person directed everyone around. Except Maria, Fury and the Avengers of course. You were kind of the manager who took orders from the director.

Fury told you what to do, you told others how to do it, Maria made sure everything was alright and sometimes told you what to do and gave you advice.

"Y/N, could come here?." You heard Maria's voice call out to you.

You stiffen in your seat, but reluctantly  get up to reach Maria. Your feet feel like rubber as you realize your legs are almost completely asleep from sitting for so long.

Maria stands at the top of the balcony overlooking the open-space office with computers, and you head to the stairs. You shakily climbed them, holding tight to the railing as to not trip.

You breathe a sigh of relief as your numb legs make it up the steps, but it was short-lived. Your left foot twisted on the last step, and you begin to fall, closing your eyes shut. But you fell right into the arms of Maria.

Slightly confused for a second about what happened, you opened your eyes and saw you were a foot away from the floor. Maria had caught you by the elbows and was looking at you worriedly.

"Are you okay?” She asked, lifting you up. You nodded and got up. Once both of you stood up completely, you dusted off your uniform slightly.

“Thanks, uh what did you need me for?”

"I was wondering if you would be able to come to a meeting tonight with Fury and I. Do you have any plans tonight?” She inquired.

“Um no, nothing important at least.” You respond hastily, knowing that you would need to cancel a date with your boyfriend tonight. You scratched your neck slightly and avoided eye contact.

“Are you sure? We could schedule it for another time…” Maria started, seeing your reluctance

“No, no, I’m free tonight. What time and location?” You cut her off.  You hadn’t been in touch with your boyfriend recently, and you had suspicions he was cheating on you. It was time that you called him and broke up. Since you were almost always at your job, he always seemed to get really angry. But you hadn’t talked in a while.

“I will send you the location, but we were thinking around six? We were planning on dinner.” Maria said.

“I think it should work out,” You said, then asked “Who are we meeting though?”. Maria smirked slightly at the question, you knew it meant something dangerous.

“Nuclear arms dealer who thinks we aren’t working with the Avengers,” You rolled your eyes slightly, dangerous dinner, usual Maria. She laughed slightly. “If you’re worrying about what to wear, I think a formal dress should be fine.” She said, you weren’t sure exactly what to wear at this point. You didn’t really have an ‘undercover’ dress which you could beat someone up in.

“I’m not sure I have the right dress for this,” You said, smirking slightly. You really didn’t if you were honest.

“I’ll send someone with a dress to your place at about 5:15,” She replied.

“Let me guess,” You joked, putting your index finger and thumb on your chin to pretend you were thinking. “It’s gonna be a surprise?” You asked jokingly.

“As if I’d let you pick what to wear,” Maria joked, you put your hand down and laughed. You and Maria had done this a few times before, you never knew what you were going to wear but what she sent you was always fantastic, and unsurprisingly, complimented what she was wearing perfectly. “See you then.” she said as she walked out the door.

“Can’t wait,” You called out behind her before heading back to your seat.

You glanced at the clock on your way back, it was 3:36, it took you half an hour to get home. So about an hour until she needed to leave work for, well, more work. Fun.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

It got to 4:20 faster than you had expected. You sighed and got up from your seat and got your things to go to the locker rooms to change into civilian clothing before you drove back. You got to the locker rooms and opened yours and saw everything in its place, just a sticky note which reminded you of the dinner and had Maria’s name written on it. You took it off, smiling softly at it and changed.

You changed into your quarter-sleeved black and gold t-shirt, black jeggings, and slung your black and smoke jacket over your shoulder. You headed out towards your car to drive home instead of taking the bus. You got in your car, switched on your playlist and drove home.

As you were driving home, your boyfriend called you. Probably to verify your date tonight. You groaned and slid the answer button, letting the call play on the cars speaker.

“Hey y/n, which restaurant are we going to by the way?” Bf/n said excitedly. But it sounded fake, and you thought you heard him in a different place, not at his house.

“About that,” you began, you instantly heard him groan.

“Let me guess, you have work?” He asked, you thought you heard someone giggle.

“I couldn’t really help it, you kno-“ you tried to explain.

“Cut the excuses, your work is more important than I am to you.” He sneered into the phone. You sighed.

“Bf/n, I really didn’t want to, honestly I don’t, it’s just work, I have to.” You said, you heard him sigh. You honked to get the car in front of you to move.

“We can talk tomorrow,” he said, about to hang up.

“WAIT, uh, we can meet up at the Starbucks in front of my place tomorrow morning.” You said hurriedly.

“Fine, drive safely.” He replied, then hung up.

You weren’t sure if you were going to breakup with him yet. Maybe you’d try to get a day off and spend it together to see. Hoping he wasn’t going to cheat on you, you pulled into the driveway to your house and got out of the car. With all of your things in your arms.

You sighed and went in your house to go shower.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

You came out of your hot shower in a towel and changed into sweatpants and a hoodie as you waited for the dress Maria sent to arrive. You started to watch a movie as you waited, too lazy to talk to anyone. Until the doorbell rang, you groaned and got up. You got to the door after practically dragging your feet, today had taken its toll on you.

“Delivery from Maria Hill?” The delivery man asked hesitantly as you opened the door. You nodded and signed the pad he held out for you to sign. He handed you the large bag with the hanger poking out of the top. You thanked him and close the door, heading inside.

You headed towards your room, then laid the bag on your bed before opening it. You let out a soft gasp when you saw the entire dress. It was an absolutely gorgeous velvet violet color dress. It was an off-shoulder dress with asymmetrical, ruffled bottom. There were small bands on the side for your arms. You turned the dress over in awe. The back went down slightly lower than the dresses Maria normally gives you.

In fact, this entire dress was a bit, well a lot more revealing than most of the dresses Maria had sent you before. You looked incase there was anything else (HEY CHLO) in the bag. You found there was a gold necklace with a midnight blue and violet gemstone pendant. You also found a couple of simple gold bracelets as well as earrings which looked like they were raining gold and violet droplets.

This was definitely a bit much, even by Maria’s standards.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

You’d changed into the dress and put on makeup. You used urban decay violet shimmer eyeshadow and black shimmery eyeliner combined with simple gold makeup. You put on the jewelry and looked at yourself in the mirror. You wore some violet heels with it (also courtesy of Maria)

You looked good, better than usual if you were to say so yourself. Twirling to get a good look at yourself, you found the dress was slightly more bodycon than you had expected. But it seemed to be perfectly tailored. You took a small black clutch with you as you headed out, seeing the time was well past 5:30. You checked  your phone for any messages you found the address Maria had sent you and hurried out the door for the dinner.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

You pulled up in front of the restaurant and got out of the car. You walked into the restaurant and up to the clerk desk.

"I'm looking for someone under the name of Maria and Nick." You asked, looking around for them.

"Ah yes, follow me." The clerk said.

You followed the clerk to a secluded and apparently reserved room with windows looking out to the rest of the restaurant. Maria was sitting in the room with a menu in her hands.

She looked stunning. She had a midnight blue sleeveless silk dress which faded into violet at the bottom. She wore violet heels which matched yours with it as well as thin gold necklace and earrings. Her dress complimented yours perfectly.

"Oh, Y/N, glad you could come. I'm just about to order." She smiled as she put her menu down. You were just glad she didn’t notice you staring.

You sat down beside her and began to look through the menu, finding your eyes always drifting to Maria not of your own accord.

You both ordered your food, and decided that the meeting would occur after you had eaten.

You’d ordered fav/fancy/dish as Maria had ordered some grilled salmon.

You began to eat your fav/dish , and heard laughing off to the side. You look out the window that the sound was coming from to find Bf/N laughing like you had never seen.

You pause in confusion, and look closer to find he's holding a girl close to him. You drop your utensils as he gives her a kiss.

[hopelesstvaddict]

In defence of The Long Night and The Bells

[In light of all the backlash and ahead of arguably one of the most anticipated series finale in TV history here is my case in favour of The Long Night and The Bells]

First off, credit where credit is due. Game of Thrones never made it easy for itself in terms of viewer expectations. From a surprise hit back in its first season it grew and expanded into this monster of a global phenomenon. That it is adapted from a pre-existing series of books only adds to fans' distress. The ending of it all is bound to satisfy some and deeply disappoint others. The final season, for all of its hype, is already proving the point. We've seen it happen with the greatest - The Sopranos, Lost, Breaking Bad, Mad Men... - and make no mistake. Game of Thrones IS among the best.

One leader behind whom to rally

Two years of anticipation and a series-long improvement created an immense amount of expectation for The Long Night - and for those who expected it, for the burning of King's Landing. Director Miguel Sapochnik delivers on all fronts and it's totally understandable why he was the producers' pick for these two episodes. From the man who offered us Hardhome, Battle of the Bastards and The Winds of Winter, The Long Night and The Bells could not have been better handled in terms of direction and cinematography. These two outdo the show's own bar in terms of scale and spectacle. Perhaps The Long Night was indeed a bit dark but not everyone was personally affected by it and this works in terms of narrative choice. It's a battle that takes place at night after all. By now, we're used to Sapochnik's down-to-earth approach to battles - once again, there are beautiful shots that follow Jon or Arya during both battles - and of his use of shots from different scenes smoothly flowing into one another - there are several during the final stand of the characters in The Long Night and some in The Bells as Arya and the Hound separately struggle to survive. Improvements could have been made over the feeling of sometimes being overwhelmed by the confusion of the events that transpired during The Long Night and not knowing which character we were following but in the end, that's exactly the spirit. Battles are not nice and clean. They're a complete mess and losing track of your comrades is exactly the kind of thing that would happen. And Sapochnik manages to also instill real terror in chilling scenes like the one in which Arya navigates her way out of a wight-infested library, or a gradually wight-covered Drogon screeching away in fear, or the Hound coming so close to suffering poor Prince Oberyn’s fate so long ago.

At this point, we must pause and commend some really beautiful cinematography, courtesy of Melisandre for a good amount of it. The lighting of the araks was - beyond being a nice way to light up the screen - nothing but epic. So was that of the trenches. And logic aside, the ride of the Dothraki was a spectacular way to begin the battle and it doesn't get any more powerful than those small flickers of lights going out one by one. Talk about getting your hopes dashed. And for all the hellish inferno that Drogon unleashed on King's Landing it made for beautiful shots - there was in particular one aerial vertical shot of the city that was really cool - really, destruction was never this beautiful and horrible. The level of sheer spectacle is unparalleled - at least on TV - and deserves unequivocal praise. Some will argue that it does not come close to the Battle of Helm’s Deep from The Lord of the Rings : The Two Towers, the inspiration for The Long Night. But Sapochnik’s direction is once again a delight to see, proving he delivers Thrones’ battles like no one else. There was arguably the biggest challenge on the series with The Long Night given the expectations and an even greater danger as the closely-kept-secret Bells had to avoid feeling like a repeat. Sapochnik thankfully steers clear of the obstacles, knows how to build the tension needed before the big breaking point and expertly separates the two episodes, not only in terms of lighting but also in the overall feeling, as the latter one resembles much more a deadly massacre than a legitimate fight. A notably striking moment is when a dazed Arya wakes up, covered in ash and painfully struggles to breathe and cough, a harrowing scene that manages to convey the utter devastation brought on the city.

Logics and time constraints were never the show's biggest strengths especially during later seasons but thankfully it was not as pronounced in this two installments. We've mentioned the Dothraki ride. Surprise, we learn later that half of them have magically survived their ill-advised first charge. Why was Ghost not with Jon ? Or the Starks ? Why hasn't anyone considered the crypts might not be safe ? And why didn’t the Starks say goodbye to one another ? How come Daenerys was able to take on the entire Iron Fleet, Golden Company and all the ballistae from King’s Landing if the previous episode showed that she was powerless against just the first ? Why did the soldiers unnecessarily kill civilians in King’s Landing ? These are legitimate but ultimately, minor concerns and thankfully they don’t detract nor do they mean that much in two episodes that had so much more to take care of. Most of these queries find an answer for Doylist if not Watsonian reasons. There had to be trouble in the crypt to give something to the main characters trapped there - even though most of the action scenes ended up cut. Arya sort of waltzed past the White Walkers unnoticed for the killing blow but that was the whole point of her training with the Faceless Men. Moving swiftly and silently is as much a skill she gained as wearing faces. And killing civilians in the heat of battle seems like an entirely possible thing, even it is horrible.

For whom the bell tolls

Thrones has arguably acquired a reputation for not shying away from killing off its main characters. Others have done it before and frankly, better. While that has been a staple of the show in its early years, it has largely avoided it in its later seasons, shielding its fan favorites with thick plot armor. So many times in The Long Night, viewers saw what could be the end of this or that character - except it wasn’t. As such, anticipation of a bloody final battle that would off many beloved characters was stunningly squashed when the dust finally settled and we ultimately bid farewell to important - but not vital - players. Perhaps that’s another way of subverting viewers’ expectations but it mainly leaves a sour taste of ‘really...?’ Perhaps this was done on purpose to better shock afterwards, given how The Bells subsequently played out. There’s no doubt now that characters like Jaime or the Hound escaped unscathed from the battle of Winterfell because they were needed for the sack of King’s Landing. But unless the finale surprises, the survival of others like Tormund, Pod or Brienne is quite dubious, given how their roles are essentially over.

But while the unceremonious killing of Rhaegal at the hands of Euron, a character so frustrating that seeing him be done with by Jaime was really THIS satisfying and Missandei’s death left a lot to be desired - most viewers expected half of the Missandei/Greyworm pairing to perish during The Long Night and were pleasantly surprised when both survived, only for her to die in such a disrespectful way in the next episode - the treatment of the casualties in The Bells is at least done properly and on this domain, The Long Night really wins. Melisandre, Edd, Beric, Theon, Lyanna Mormont and Jorah are really given time to make the most of their last - even if brief - moments, going out in respectful ways that complete nicely their arcs. Melisandre’s final appearance, in particular, signals a certain direction in the end of the overall story as it happens right after the annihilation of the most powerful supernatural force in Westeros, perhaps heralding the end of an era in which magic still played a large role. The acting must also be praised, especially on the part of Alfie Allen and Iain Glen who really shined in his last scenes with Emilia Clarke.

Sapochnik also deserves some recognition for his ability to strike a proper balance between battle scenes and more quiet moments, allowing character development in an otherwise epic but mostly dialogue-free spectacle. In doing so, he effectively avoids what he calls ‘battle fatigue’, the moment where audience becomes tired because a battle gets drawn out. No character feels left out although with a longer episode or season, we could have seen more of those we didn’t follow that much (Tormund, Pod, Gendry...); it is also a pity that scenes like Tyrion and Sansa killing wights ended up on the cutting floor but their interactions make up for it, offering the episode its best lines - and arguably its best character moments. The narrative naturally focuses on Jon and Daenerys as the leaders but in an interesting way, they are rendered pretty useless and relegated to the roles of helpers more than defining victors. But even so, the episode makes a point in checking with each major protagonist even for brief moments that nicely go beyond mere fighting (Greyworm being torn over abandoning his Unsullied men, Brienne and Jaime saving each other, the Hound’s fear of fire...) But the night ultimately belongs to two players; the Night King, who dominates the episode as he crushes Winterfell’s defences and thwarts off all attempts against him by both Jon and Daenerys, and Arya Stark, de facto Princess Who Was Promised.

The song of Ice

This season has largely respected Arya’s character development and storyline, tying it nicely into the current narrative and has finally started giving her some sense of humanity after the show had her dangling for way too long on the edge of becoming an emotionless killing machine. In addition to some callbacks to her past (’Stick them with the pointy end’, ‘What do we say to the God of Death?’, ‘Not today’) The Long Night continues Arya’s progress towards finding herself and in the process, manages to shift from mere spectacle to the continuation of a personal journey for a young woman who learns to fear Death once again, and reverts to fighting not just for the sake of fighting but for her life. Maisie Williams conveys this change well and the scene she spends in the Winterfell library is chilly enough to make you on edge. The beauty in this is that Arya’s intertwined storyline with other characters such as Beric and the Hound also furthers their own; the former fulfilling his destiny and the latter finally confronting his fear of fire for the affection he feels for his former protegée. Arya is thus the one to kill the Night King, a twist unpredicted by almost all (but as evidenced by Melisandre, foreshadowed) and very satisfying in terms of narrative because it nicely surprises viewers but also ties in with the character’s evolution. Arya has increasingly been vocal about the importance of her family; evidence of this is seen when she firmly stands by her sister this season. Had Jon done the deed and fought off the Night King, we would have been treated to a swordfight of epic dimensions but that would have ultimately detracted from what Arya’s presence brings. Not only does she use the Valyrian dagger that almost killed Bran - and started this whole series of unfortunate events - and use it with her signature move, but the show frames it as if she’s largely doing it for her brother who was seconds away from suffering an apathetic death. The look she gives him afterwards really conveys the love that Arya is finally feeling back for others. Family is however still not enough and it takes the Hound again to put Arya on the final steps of her path two episodes later.

The most recurring complaint about The Long Night was how quickly and sudden the threat of the Night King was dealt with. Most viewers agree that had more episodes been available, a season-long storyline dealing with the Long Night would have been possible, or even splitting the battle in two episodes. But we got what we got and yes, it was all over over the course of one night. A large amount of complaints have been directed at the fact this danger was presented to us in the very first scene of the show, how the White Walkers were seemingly the ultimate enemies to defeat, how in one episode it was all solved and how it was so easy to do so. That’s forgetting many things.

It's a show called Game of Thrones. Adapted from a series of books called A Song of Ice and Fire. So no, the threat of Ice was not the whole point of the show. Nor was it for the books - it's only half of it. And the show’s title only reminds all that the whole story revolves around that iron chair and who will get to sit on it in the end. The battle was certainly not easy and not quick. There was no doubt that good would prevail because the threat of Ice was always a ‘good versus evil’ ripoff. We knew they'd win. But it certainly wasn't an easy win and in saying that White Walkers were introduced since the beginning, viewers will need to remember what that implies; that they were there during the whole series and that each time they appeared they won. Hardhome? They won. Pursuing Bran and killing the Three Eyed Raven? They won. The Fist of the First Men? They won. The wight hunt? They won. Last Hearth? They won. So at this point, Winterfell WAS going to win. It might have taken a single night of resistance but it was the culmination of eight seasons of knowledge slowly gained to better understand them and give a proper fight and it wasn’t an easy process. Each former battle against the White Walkers (or any other battle during the course of Thrones for that matter) lasted several hours at most or less than a night. So did the Battle of Helm’s Deep. Expanding the time would perhaps have been more true to expectations and the stakes raised, but would have thrown the episode into the ‘battle fatigue’ effect Sapochnik and the producers wanted to avoid.

And once again, Game of Thrones pulls the rug under our feet. That's the beauty of it. The show has always been about subverting our expectations. By presenting Ice as the first real danger we were exposed to, it made sure that we'd focus on it and conveniently forget the other half. Just in time for ...

The song of Fire

George R.R. Martin has famously said that the title for his series is about the threats of ice on one side and fire on the other. Yet this has somehow eluded most viewers and the show played this at its advantage to pull off its most massive twist - hiding the fire part of the equation in plain sight and worse, having us root for it. And we thus come to the main complaint about The Bells - how ‘Dark Dany’ was out of character, character assassination or too rushed or too sudden. It was not. It's been staring at us since the beginning and we were all blinded. Feminism ! DRAGONS ! Female power ! Dracarys !

It's been executed in the most perverse, painful, knife-twisting manner and in some way, it's such a Game of Thrones move. That's the whole sadness of it. Back in the day, Lord Eddard's demise and the likes of the Red Wedding suddenly slapped viewers in the face all over the world and taught them what a classic Game of Thrones move was. From then on, we were on guard, ready for the most gut-wrenching plot twist and it kind of stripped the magic away. But surprise-killings aren’t the only way to hurt viewers and trick them. And now that the show pulls another twist of a different kind, we refuse to see for what it is. But the subtlety of it was laid out as early as Season 1. The evolution of Daenerys as a tragic character has been carefully crafted to be the biggest betrayal on the show. She starts off as a girl with no agency, sold into marriage and raped - ensuring our immediate sympathy. Then she turns the tables and proceeds to do it in a cool, badass way. And dragons are made to burn things right? So when it finally happens we're sold. She liberates slaves, she wants to create a better world, she keeps winning and winning and winning. What could possibly go wrong? Well, Westeros is what could go wrong. We've seen her storyline on a pretty constant rise all the way through Season 6, with only minor setbacks so it should follow logically - in terms of narrative excitement - that she would next fall. And indeed it is Season 7 that amped up the negative side of her character in a way previous seasons simply slipped it past us and that is generally then that the ‘Dark Dany’ theory picked up the most steam. The tragedy of Daenerys is that she's not an inherently bad person. Calling her Mad Queen is reductive and annihilates any complexity her character possesses but it is unfortunately a catchy nickname. But Daenerys is not mad. She is not crazy. But when she snaps she is not as sound and sane as she'd ideally be. She is the unfortunate product of her own storyline and that storyline is nothing but sad.

To comprehend why Daenerys has come to this point we need to remember that:

Burning has been a favorite thing of her since, well.. since her dragons could burn things. And even before. That's her favorite weapon, the one which always works and solves problems. That's also her strength as she subjugates people through fire. During her time in Essos most viewers had no issues with fire as a weapon. We had a mostly detached approach to it and we were concentrated on Daenerys' POV. And then Season 7 happened and suddenly we were on the other side - the receiving end of death by fire. And it was horrible. Yes she fights with dragons because she has them. Why not use them? That's her biggest asset. That's how she instills fear in people and how people instantly respect her because otherwise you’re roasted. Now fire as a weapon is an awful means but as demonstrated with wights it can be a positive thing. Just not on humans.

Burning cities is not a new idea. She has mentioned it as early as Season 2 at the gates of Qarth and it has appeared in conversations during Seasons 2, 5, 6, 7 and 8. Most of the time she refrained from it because she actually could not do it yet or because someone else talked sense into her.

She had everything and she lost everything. Her time in Essos shaped her, built her and it raised the bar too high for herself. As she said, she had love there - the slaves she liberated adored her, recognized her deeds and worshipped her. The cities she conquered, the Dothraki, the few people from Westeros who came to her to swear fealty, it all created a false sense of expectation of what would happen in Westeros once she set foot on it. Only it was the biggest disillusion of her life and the biggest irony. Exiled on a foreign continent where she rose the highest but didn't want to stay there and once she finally gets on the continent she wants to be on, it's all over. Jorah once suggested that she settle for a peaceful life far away and she refused. Already she set herself on her own fateful path.

She has come full circle to having no one. Throughout the whole show Daenerys built herself a second family consisting of people she trusted and who - unfortunately - propped her up more than they gave her real advise, fueling further her sense of entitlement. Daario encouraged her to execute people, Jorah and Ser Barristan admitted that innocents ought to die in wars and Missandei’s last words are nothing but the continuation of this trend, the latest in a series of ill-advised words of council. And now ? 'A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing'. Season 8 has not been kind to Daenerys as she has lost Jorah, Missandei, her second dragon and half of her armies. Then she learns that the man she loves is actually another contender for the Throne and that perhaps he didn't love her at all. Her remaining counsellors, she doesn't trust or she doesn't listen to because they question her decisions or act in ways she doesn't approve, something she's not used to.

She feels betrayed by Jon. Their last scene together in Dragonstone seemingly puts an end to the relationship as Jon’s behavior reveals he cannot return her feelings - anymore? Or did he ever have feelings at all? Daenerys’ take on their couple was already flawed as she had no right to ask him to keep, not just any secret but his entire identity, hidden from his own cousins. But her final words to him - ‘All right then. Let it be fear’ - are revealing of her state of mind and her acceptance of the fact that if she can’t make people love her, they will at least fear her; words that are foreboding of what happens later and also to be contrasted with a famous quote - from the books - where Sansa thinks to herself ‘ If I am ever a queen, I'll make them love me’. Notice that in this episode she once again wears a three-headed dragon pin and chain and that her hair does not cover it anymore; she had it either hidden behind her hair or taken it off entirely in previous episodes.

She's unhinged. All of the factors mentioned above are enough to make somebody snap. Daenerys is a benevolent person at heart but her ambition has always been greater and her pursuit of the Throne has clearly overshadowed the better aspects of her personality for at least one season now. It's doubtful she came to King's Landing with the intention of killing thousands of innocents. But the culmination of her losses combined with her earlier resolution to revert to fear if she can't have love is enough to explain her behavior. Does it justify it ? No. But she is only a human after all.

That's not saying that is was executed perfectly either. It's no secret that Thrones had a big problem with time during its last two seasons and one can argue that crafting two shorter seasons was deliberately walking itself into these problems. While The Bells and The Long Night thankfully aren't affected that much, they suffer from the consequences of those time constraints. The battle against the White Walkers has been a sure thing since the beginning of the show. Yet the storyline finally started to really revolve around it only during two or three episodes at most. Arguably Jon's Season 7 storyline was all about it but the urgency of it only kicked in during Season 8 and compared with Daenerys' downfall, it was still spread throughout 3 episodes. The final unraveling of Daenerys essentially took place over the course of only one episode. That's not saying that the path wasn't laid out beforehand; just that some more time spent witnessing Daenerys go from bad to worse would have helped. At the end of The Last of the Starks Tyrion mentions that Jon will take weeks to reach the South. When The Bells begins he has arrived and we see Daenerys in the most despondent state we've ever seen her. Seeing that evolution would have been helpful.

Daenerys is in the end like all characters on the show, not entirely good and not entirely bad. She is capable of empathy, love, respect, kindness, fighting for goodness and at the same time, able to display ruthlessness, coldness, entitlement, stubborness, joy in inspiring fear in others and giving in her worst impulses. What makes the pill so hard to swallow is how Thrones portrayed her in the majority of its course before seemingly veering away a bit too abruptly. But the foundations were always there; Thrones just chose to carefully disguise or mask them until the very end. The choice will likely remain controversial in the years to come. And that’s not even the first time that happens. During Season 7, Arya and Sansa were stuck in a badly received plot which seemingly pitted sister against sister before it was revealed in the season finale that this was actually a big play to corner and execute Littlefinger. On paper, the trick must have worked wonderfully; on screen, it was at best frustrating, at worse infuriating because the reveal only came at the end, which hardly helped explain the Stark daughters’ actions all season long. Daenerys’ turn is only a larger example of this, spread throughout the whole series instead of a season.

Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves

Fans of Revenge will be familiar with this quote but one can’t help but think of it; it actually applies well for The Bells as a nice way to analyse how different characters behave in the episode.

The most obvious example is for the Hound and the Mountain who finally come to the long overdue Cleganebowl. The final face off between the two brothers has been a long foreshadowed event, anticipated for seasons now and a rather thick plot armor that shielded the Hound from any untimely demise he might have suffered otherwise. With so many expectations regarding this specific fight, it thankfully delivers but it's the end that is the most surprising. The Hound has gone through one of the most beautiful character developments on the show to the point of him becoming a fan favorite. So of course against the Mountain we naturally root for him. And he is ultimately stronger than his brother. Unfortunately for him, few things can kill his zombie sibling now. But the climax of the fight is one that ultimately is a sad, though fitting one for the Hound. Losing him hurts but beyond that, one must recognize there was no other ending for him. The man was not a good man. A flawed one, a redeemed one? For sure but as he told Arya, he's been consumed with revenge all his life. His whole existence was built towards one goal - killing his brother. Confucius’ philosophy applies here; the Mountain would have died like Cersei regardless of the manner. But the Hound was so consumed with it he couldn't let go of it. That the two characters die together is a testament of how intertwined they were; that they tumble down into a brazier is ironic and puzzling given the character's fear of fire but one can indeed read this as poetic as well.

In the end, the Hound was destined to die. More than Jaime - who had a shot at surviving beyond these final battles - the character had literally no purpose for the aftermath. He had made peace with those most important to him (Arya, Sansa, Beric, Tormund), learnt and accepted that he could fight for good and come to the closest thing to love for another being he could achieve. The climax of his overall arc comes through a touching scene with Arya to whom he imparts this piece of wisdom on revenge, and in the process finally restores some humanity to the girl who had come so close to become an emotionless killing machine, as consumed with vengeance as he was. She in turn calls his name for the first time, signifying his importance to her. Arya has been without any parents, without any guiding figure for a long time, during what should have been her most crucial, formative years. Sandor was perhaps the closest thing she had as a father figure - not an ideal one but one nonetheless.

Furthermore, the contrast between Arya who chooses to give up on her quest for revenge and Daenerys who instead gives in, is food for thought, especially ahead of the series finale. Another character we should be worried about is the grief-stricken Greyworm who throws whatever is left of his soul into the battle for his Queen, mercilessly slaughtering foes who had literally surrendered before his eyes. And the Northern forces, so far portrayed as good, are seen participating alongside foreign warriors in arguably Westeros’ most horrifying event since the first sack of King’s Landing. Jon, who gets a jolt of character consistency back, unsuccessfully tries to restrain his men, being noticed in the process by Greyworm. He goes on to save a woman from being raped by one of his own men, in a scene curiously reminiscent of the Hound’s rescue of Sansa during her near-rape scene in Season 2. In any case, the series finale will show us how Greyworm’s story ends but from what viewers can see, it’s not going to be pretty.

The things we do for love

In an episode that features another pair of siblings reuniting for a different purpose, a nice contrast can be drawn with the Lannister siblings. Similarly to Daenerys’ treatment, Jaime and Cersei's ending drew controversy as to how the deed happened and how their character development seemingly flew out of the window. Viewers were arguably distraught over Jaime's actions in The Last of the Starks where he seemingly completed his journey away from his sister by finally getting with Brienne, the one character instrumental to his redemption, only to leave her at the end of the same episode (though they will want to remember again that the episode spanned over several weeks). It was difficult to accept that after so much time building up his redemption, so much difficulty to get away from Cersei, the show would revert to push him back into this toxic relationship.

But that's forgetting who Jaime is as a character and that's also forgetting what show we are watching. Like the Hound, Jaime is not a good man. A redeemed man ? Yes, we could arguably give him that. But if we need it (and we do) he reminds us himself; he is a man who pushed a boy and crippled him for life, a man who murdered his own kin, was willing to kill thousands, just to get back to his sister/lover. This is a man who also saved millions of lives (and though he somehow proceeds to tell us he never cared for others, it curiously does not contradict it that much; one is perfectly capable of not caring for others while at the same time recognizing that genocide is inherently a bad thing), a man with a code of conduct, a man of honor and this duality in the character is its whole richness. A Jaime that finally lands on one of the two sides loses its appeal. The Jaime that ends up happily ever after with Brienne, a woman he recognizes is a better match for him, is nothing but wishful thinking. There was never going to be a happy ending for him because he is far too complex a character to have a fully defined ending. He is hateful like his sister, hateful of himself and he feels he hasn't earned his happy ending and he's right. His last act is one of love though, as he makes sure Brienne does not follow him into the grave, even if that hurts her in the process.

Ultimately, Jaime is not the Valonqar, the little brother who would slay Cersei. He doesn't return to King's Landing to finish her, he returns to King's Landing to be with her. Because in the end, that's the essence of the two of them. Come into the world together, gone from the world together - fitting and poetic. The relationship was toxic but as many have pointed out, the longest and most stable in the entire series and however damaging it is, such a relationship is hard to get rid of. The show ironically follows a rather realistic approach here. In an episode that features Thrones' own version of the end of the world as they know it, Jaime and Cersei dying together is very much in line with who they are as characters. Nikolaj Coster-Waldau and Lena Headey's acting once again must be commended because they really sold it this well. Headey remains Thrones’ most powerful actress, gradually going from confident and - as always - blind to what literally happens before her eyes to a sad, despondent state as realization finally creeps in. Interestingly (or perhaps intentionally) this specific episode portrays Cersei in a rather sympathetic light (notice that nowhere during this episode does she wear the crown or her armor), the image of a woman who sees the last of her world crumbling down, which draws viewers' pity on a character previously so reviled due to her past actions they wished her dead sooner rather than later. And yet, during this penultimate episode she seemed rather powerless to do anything about the inferno that rained down from the sky.

Here be dragons, fire and blood

That the episode is so well-crafted and enthralling helps hide the weaknesses in these developments. When focusing on the characters only, Jaime and Cersei ending together is fitting. Narratively and in terms of the wider story, it seems to make little sense, that much everyone agrees on. Or does it? Quid of the younger more beautiful Queen? What of the prophecy that said Cersei would be undone by her brother? Well, if we want to twist the facts, Jaime did lead his sister under the city where they died when everything crumbled around them so in a way, he is responsible for her death and so is Tyrion who freed his brother in another instance of ‘things we do for love’ so that he could join their sister. The scene in question is a reverse of the one where Jaime previously set Tyrion free at the end of Season 4, with both times, the former prisoner going on to kill a family member, directly or not. But Cersei deserved more than this kind of death. One could draw a parallel between her most infamous action - incinerating her enemies trapped in an exploding building - and the fact that she now dies trapped in a crumbling structure, a parallel that brings The Bells even closer to The Winds of Winter when you remember that the last time bells rang in King’s Landing, it was also to signal the beginning of an unknown yet horrific event.

But that's hardly enough. A gruesome execution was not necessary as wished by some fans - indeed, an execution by Daenerys would have been too much and once again, the show keeps in line in denying us and the characters what they want - but a death more fitting for the character would have been preferred. Cersei was never a warrior. She took down her enemies through scheming, and devious plans. She relied on her wits. That in the end she would be taken down by an enemy that proved too great for her was a given but most fans bet on Tyrion or Sansa who also use their intelligence to outdo their foes, which would neatly explain why these two reconnected and were put on the bench during The Long Night, and why their action scenes were cut - because they were to be instrumental in the downfall of their mutual enemy. They also would have tied nicely into the prophecies surrounding Cersei, Tyrion as the Valonqar and Sansa as the younger more beautiful Queen. And what an absolute irony that would have been if Cersei had somehow groomed her replacement herself. A final confrontation between Cersei and Sansa would have been fantastic. Instead, the show pits Cersei against an enemy she is not on equal footing with, the cinematography illustrating it quite literally as the screen alternates between two women dressed in red, one high in her castle, the other even higher on the back of her dragon. Cersei dies, not at the direct hands of any of her brothers, nor those of Sansa or Arya (whose presence in the city is in the end, not to kill Cersei but to amplify the empathy we feel for the inhabitants that she joins in trying to escape the burning capital), and not even those of Daenerys. But the result is quite straightforward; for all the preparation, all the fighting back, all the defence you can do, all the mercenaries the Iron Bank (remember that ?) can get you, you're no match for a dragon. How frustrating.

Let's stop and talk about those dragons now. If Drogon alone is capable of removing all the ballistae and the entire Iron Fleet by himself, what was the point of killing Rhaegal then ? Evening the odds is not even a working answer now since we can see that even down to one dragon, Daenerys is clearly overpowered. In doing so, we're treated to a frustrating, illogical death and we're denied a more proper death during The Long Night (if Rhaegal really had to die) or a Dance of Dragons with Jon claiming him (what was the point of Jon flying him if it didn't come into the plot later on?) and fighting off with his aunt. The so-called Dance of Dragons, over which so many fans theorized for years, has instead been adapted for The Long Night as a fight between two surviving dragons and their undead sibling. [Let’s pause a bit now. At some point, Drogon and Rhaegal are flying through a storm and nearly crash into each other, conveying the sense of disorientation and blindness surrounding them. How cool would it have been if we then saw Viserion fly by, circling them but only seen in glimpses?] In any case, the fight-off happens and the whole sequence deserves high praise. Sapochnik’s use of close shots is smart and the night setting does really help - some wider shots in subsequent episodes taking place in daylight betray the use of green screen - but it’s really the sound department that has to be commended for effectively conveying the violence of a gruesome fight and generating empathy for a fantastical CGI beast crash-landing in pain.

And another one behind whom to rally

Aside from Miguel Sapochnik who made the best direction possible for these two episodes, there is at least one other man fans will agree has been consistently good and that man is Ramin Djawadi. Thrones' composer has elevated the music each year and this final season is no exception. The new piano piece The Night King has already shot up to stand firmly beside Light of the Seven as another one of Djawadi's iconic pieces, widely recognized as an instant masterpiece that really did serve the episode well, even if it apparently bears some resemblance to the man's work on Westworld. Piano has been used sparsely in the show, appearing for the first time for Light of the Seven, a cue so widely praised and recognized it generates far more applause during the live concerts that the composer performs than any other cue. Its use here signals once again that something is going on. Like Light of the Seven, The Night King builds slowly to its climax but where we diverge is that in the former, the end is already known as Cersei's wildfire plan is divulged on screen, whereas in the latter we have no idea if the Night King is going to kill Bran or not. It's another proof of the excellence Djawadi offers on the show. The rest is equally thrilling, with the use of electronics and drums to underscore the battle scenes - instruments largely unfamiliar to aficionados of Thrones’ much more violin-dominated score. Djawadi has come a long way since the beginning of the series. Now at the end of it, he has no difficulties in proving his mastery of the themes he composed, effortlessly blending and intertwining them at will. Needle, Ironborn, Vaes Dothrak, Dracarys, Lord of Light... all these character cues appear at one point during The Long Night whether subtly or taking the front, rising dramatically throughout the episode before its stunning conclusion. 

But if The Long Night arguably boasts from featuring The Night King, Djawadi's Season 8 masterpiece, The Bells displays another range of the man's skills. In this crucial episode where so many characters take turning points, Djawadi shows how shrewd he is and - in a poignant and devastating way - how easily he can manipulate music at will to serve the story. With Daenerys' dedicated cues, Djawadi apparently - knowingly or unknowingly - participated in the series-long deceit over the character. The score for Daenerys mirrors her journey in the show, starting quiet during Season 1 before gradually growing, incorporating more and more militaristic drums and grand fanfares. It has been instrumental in pushing viewers in one direction - the one where Daenerys was believed to be the hero of the story. Djawadi's score in Season 7 - the beginning of the end for Daenerys - continues to illustrate the point. Most of the character's musical cues continue the trend of majestic grandeur and heroic action while also introducing the beautiful Truth theme but it's in The Spoils of War - the sole Daenerys cue underscoring her so far only real war interaction with Westeros - that things become interesting. During the scene, Daenerys' forces fight against the Lannister armies and while it is a resounding victory for Daenerys, the score pushes viewers to an unsettling feeling as it intertwines Daenerys' triumphant cues with a more sorrowful rendition of The Rains of Castamere. Viewers are meant to sympathize with Daenerys' foes and the show clearly frames the horror that has been unleashed upon them by lingering on shots of people dying in atrocious pain as they burn alive. For the first time, Djawadi starts directing the audience somewhere else. Where the music seemingly follows what the show went for is the prominent use of positive music revolving around Daenerys while offering literally no negative counterpart. Furthermore, Djawadi is no stranger in using silence in the show, usually following a very intense moment, as a way for viewers to process the action on screen. But silence is as meaningful in other areas and Djawadi expertly knows when to use it. Notice in Season 7 how Truth permeates literally every scene Jon and Daenerys share - a not so subtle way of presenting their love story. In Season 8, the theme returns once in the first episode. Afterwards, nearly all of their scenes together are silent. Djawadi refrains to score them to convey the message that these are no more romantic, that there is no positive subtext there. The cleverness of the process is that Djawadi never tried to help presenting any negative Daenerys scene too overtly. Looking back to Season 7 for example, none of her scenes where she appears in a rather negative light (not listening to her counsellors, her stiff first meeting with Jon, her threatening Varys...) are scored, or otherwise they feature only small unsignificant variations. Djawadi uses silence instead of an overtly negative version of her themes, a cunning way to serve the story's interest in not alerting viewers of Daenerys' downsides. In The Bells, he finally allows himself to twist his themes into deformed, unsettling, almost malevolent versions. Truth thus returns in an altered state that conveys no romance at all anymore and Daenerys' learning of Varys' betrayal is underscored by an eerie take on her former theme Reign. In doing so, Djawadi's music mirrors the path the show took for Daenerys' character arc - deceiving viewers during almost the entirety of the show by amping up Daenerys' positive aspects while refraining from overtly showing the rest, only to finally unleash it at the very end.

What's interesting in The Bells, when compared to The Spoils of War, is that Bells removes Daenerys' POV completely the moment she starts burning the city. This is mostly done to side almost exclusively with the citizens of King's Landing and the protagonists who must survive the catastrophe (Arya, Jon, Cersei, Jaime...) whereas Spoils still balanced between Daenerys' POV and the Lannisters' POV, which allowed Djawadi to mix the triumph of the former with the sad ending of the latter. In The Bells, the sacking of King's Landing is entirely scored by sad, tragic variations of character themes with a minimum use of battle score since this is actually no battle. There is thus no victorious cue either. Instead, the score focuses on the Lannisters, the Hound and Arya. Jon’s theme is also absent, signifying his current state of mind and the uncertainty about who he is. The Rains of Castamere and Light of the Seven notably return with new variations that add a sense of tragedy and ending romance that really help the last scenes Jaime and Cersei share together. I Choose Violence accompany Cleganebowl and Jon sounding retreat features a desperate version of the main theme while Goodbye Brother's sorrowful notes end the episode as Arya, free of her desire of vengeance, can finally be Arya Stark again before seguing into a mashup of the Lannister theme again during the credits. For all the controversy surrounding the episode, Djawadi unanimously displays masterful work.

In the end, The Long Night and The Bells may go down amongst the most divisive episodes of Game of Thrones. They may be the flawed culmination of the show's main arcs, defying expectations in thrilling, exciting but also painful, twisting ways but they definitely represent what Game of Thrones is - a global phenomenon that went far beyond anything that could have been predicted and which will inevitably please some and disappoint an even greater amount of others. ‘If you think this has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention’, Ramsey once told us. This should be a guiding thread for the final surviving characters' storylines and make us wary for the series finale.

[tenspontaneite]

Boundless (Chapter 1/?)

A powerful arcanum needs a powerful outlet. Where none exists, magic will create one, or kill you trying.

Callum’s human body isn’t enough to withstand the boundless power of the Sky Primal. But magic always finds a way.

(Or: Callum gains the Sky Arcanum, and swiftly thereafter begins to grow wings.)

(Chapter length: ~8k. Ao3 Link)

Preword: For the record, I’ve been planning this story since s2, and wrote this chapter and most of the next in the week following the 10th October. I have edited this chapter by a very small amount to make it align more fully with s3 canon, mainly for descriptions of early season scenery. If s3 made you hungry for wingfic, you’ve come to the right place!

Story warnings: I’m a lot more into wing and feather biology than a lot of wingfic authors are, and also I believe in making my characters pay for their goodies. As such, this story starts off much more ‘body horror’ than ‘glorious magic materialisation of wings’. As the story progresses, it’ll go into significant detail about wing-related anatomy and biology.

Chapter warnings: Blood, pain, body horror. Edging into gore territory for some of it, though it’s relatively short-lived. Also, milder warnings for suffocation and emetophobia.

 —

The first time Callum cast aspiro by virtue of his own arcanum, it was living triumph. A culmination of all the thought and fear and inadequacy that had chased him through the week, and the realisation of what his deathly dream had taught him. The magic of the Sky was around him and within him and everywhere, and as he cast his spell it settled like a spark into his heart. He felt it every breath thereafter, every second, with every gust on the cliffside and glimpse of the blue-above shivering through him like another kind of life.

It settled into his blood like the air did, it coursed through his bones and flesh and sinew – the Sky was a part of him and he was a part of the Sky, the understanding of it sinking deeper and deeper with every minute that passed. By the time he’d said farewell to his brother, the arcanum was as viscerally-rooted in him as his own skeleton, a precious and irrevocable part of him; a channel that opened him up to the vast and boundless magic of the Sky.

He and Rayla and Zym walked to the Breach, and if he noticed the ache in his back, he thought nothing of it. After all, hadn’t he spent hours today convalescent upon hard stone? It was only to be expected.

—

The second time Callum cast aspiro from his own breath and magic, it was amidst heat and urgency and the dread of a rising sun. The magic surged in him as he spoke and wrote and breathed, the feeling of it effervescent and electric at once, crackling in his blood and bubbling through every inch of him. It ached. It burned, too, but wasn’t that just the heat of the Breach? He worried more about directing the wind-gust from his lips, and watching Zym’s wings catch the air like twin sails, and seeing how great a shadow a young dragon could cast.

And when they were safely across, and Callum and Rayla threw their arms around each other from the pure relief of it, her arms around his shoulders were startlingly painful. Like pressure against a livid bruise. But the adrenaline of their success was enough to forestall the flinch, and she noticed nothing.

But when they drew apart, Zym cheerful and victorious between them, the ache at his shoulders didn’t leave. As though Rayla’s touch had wakened it, or perhaps awakened him to it, and it became insistent enough that he paid it notice he hadn’t earlier.

“You alright?” Rayla asked, as she showed him along the canyon-paths into Xadia, as he twisted his hands behind his back to pat cautiously at his shoulders.

They hurt, to the touch. Sharp and raw, like the worst bruises he’d ever had. Like blistering skin. “…My back is kinda sore.” He admitted, with a light frown. “Maybe I bruised it, or something.”

She blinked at him with a glimmer of concern. “…Well, hopefully that’s just from sleeping funny on a cave floor.” She offered. “Or maybe you hit yourself during your dramatic collapse earlier.”

He eyed her, fingers lingering on the fabric over his shoulders. “Dramatic collapse?” he repeated, uncomprehending.

Rayla averted her eyes. “When you…unchained the dragon.” She elaborated, and didn’t say when you used dark magic, and he knew at her expression that she hadn’t quite forgiven him for that.

“…Maybe.” He agreed, uncomfortable, and thought of the way the power of it had swept through him, heady and dark and burning. How empty he’d felt afterwards; hollowed-out and aching, like an empty husk.

Sky magic didn’t feel like that. His second aspiro had ached too, but not like the hollowness of the dark. Not like everything beneath his skin had been scooped out. More like…the magic had put too much back in. As if there was too large a force for too small a space, and his skin couldn’t quite hold it. He wondered, for a fretful moment, if the power of the Sky was too vast for him. If even the barest spark of it that was his arcanum was stifled in his too-human flesh.

Rayla watched him, unusually sombre, for a few more seconds. Then she reached out to pull his hand from his shoulder, and tugged him onwards by the fingers. “Come on, stop messing with it.” She said, deliberately light-hearted. “If you’ve hit your back you won’t do it any favours by picking at it.”

“I’m not exactly picking at it.” He complained at her, but allowed himself to be pulled unresisting further into the Xadian borderlands, where the canyon-tunnels widened out into the bright glow of red rock beneath the sun, where that same sun gleamed upon something gold and glittering and huge-

“Welcome to Xadia!” Rayla said, and when she saw him staring, turned to follow his gaze. Like him, she saw the immense shining form of the Archdragon, stopped short, stared with perhaps more horror and less awe than he did. “Oh no,” She breathed, utterly dismayed. “It’s him. It’s Sol Regem.”

And then they were entirely too busy figuring out how to bypass a dragon to worry about his back.

(The third aspiro, wielded against Sol Regem, might well have burned, and might well have seared; but there was no room around their desperate attempts to escape for him to notice it. If he was aware of the pain, it was in a very distant way, far-removed from the far more immediate issue of their survival. They passed into Xadia, and neither commented on the spell that had saved them.)

—

Later, when they were together and more-or-less unharmed past the gauntlet of a former-King, there was a little more space to breathe. A little more space to feel the Sky brimming up against his skin, to feel the breath almost too-deep in his lungs, like there was too much of it, like the air was filling him up like a balloon and he’d burst any second-

He only noticed that he’d fallen when Rayla caught him, his scarf still a vibrant streak of red about her neck. “Callum!” She said, alarmed, as she insinuated herself under one of his arms to hold him up. She put her arm around his shoulders to complete the support – and at the slightest pressure against his back, he cried out in pain. She released him as though burned, and then barely managed to catch him before he crumpled fully to the ground. “Callum,” She repeated, when all he did was breathe in quick shallow bursts, rather than answer. “What’s wrong? Is it your back?”

He was too-full of air, too-full of magic. He’d burst. He couldn’t breathe, but he had to. Near to hyperventilating, he sucked in more and more and more of the Sky with every second, and felt it brimming in his flesh, swelling his lungs, and it hurt. “No,” He managed, after another several conspicuous gasps. “I mean – yes – but not-“ He had to break off for another half minute, torn to pieces between the feeling that he couldn’t breathe and the utterly paradoxical sensation of his lungs filled past their capacity. The primal panic of breathlessness was a far more immediate thing than the searing pain on his back, though, and so much harder to resist. “Can’t breathe.” He said to her, when he found enough space between suffocating and bursting to speak.

He barely had the presence of mind to see the worry written all over her as she ran her eyes over him as if to inspect him for signs of damage. “Haven’t you suffocated enough for one day?” She asked him, with some asperity, as if it could disguise the fear in her eyes. “I hope you’re not planning on making a habit of this.” Gently, she pressed fingers against a point on his wrist, perhaps to feel the hummingbird-pace of his heart.

Callum tried to laugh, and the requisite loss of breath left him spluttering for long painful moments. “Sorry,” he said, once he had found some equilibrium again, and then descended once more into gasping, sucking in air as if there was none left in the Sky. But there was. There was so much breath, too much, too much to hold-

“Dumb prince.” She muttered to him, worried but achingly fond. She supported him upright, so that he was sitting up, and held him there, a hand on each of his shoulders, carefully away from his back. “Callum. Look at me.” She said, with such sudden command that his frantic breath stilled for a second, just to look at her. He stared at her as she stared back at him, and clung to the eye contact like a lifeline in the tide of breathless panic. “…Good.” She nodded, a little, and he abruptly realised that he wasn’t gasping so desperately now. The breathlessness was a constant pressure, though, and as he noticed it he started wheezing again – Rayla shook him, and the surprise of it stilled him again. “Just breathe.” She told him, in a way that was by now terribly familiar.

Hadn’t he heard it, drowning in the dream-state? Hadn’t he heard her? Hadn’t he heard the words from her lips, before he heard them from his mother’s? “…Trying,” he managed, still caught in the eye contact like a ship to its anchor.

“I know.” She said. “Just…try to breathe more slowly. Deeper, I guess.”

He tried. It was hard when the gasps kept bursting into his attempts at deep, steadying breaths. Harder when the pressure of breathlessness increased, even as the pressure of too-much-air decreased. The former was harder to bear than the latter – suffocation was death, but pain was only pain.

…But, by the sharp and tearing ache in his chest, he was reminded that some pains did lead to death. His lungs felt too-full. Like they really would burst.

He breathed through the panic, and did not suffocate, and did not rupture.

When his breathing was into more of a normal rhythm, and he seemed calmer, Rayla relaxed a little and lowered her hands from their urgent place on his shoulders. He managed to keep himself upright, and appreciated it more than he could say when she took and squeezed one of his hands. “Is it the dark magic again?” She asked him, after a moment, and he had breath enough to speak.

He closed his eyes, just briefly, and felt the Sky brimming beneath his skin. “No.” he said, shaking his head, vehement. “It’s not – it’s the Sky magic.” In the new sense of calm, Zym finally found space to insinuate himself between them, settling his front paws into Callum’s lap and looking up at him with wide worried eyes. He lowered his other hand to the dragonling’s mane, and felt a little calmer at the contact.

He could feel the Sky beneath his fingers. It was in Zym, too, but…settled, in a way it wasn’t with him. It belonged.

“The Sky magic?” Rayla repeated, after a second, clearly startled. “But – why? It’s Primal magic – it’s…natural.”

Water was natural, too. But it could still drown you.

He shook his head, almost more to clear the thought than as a response to her. “It’s too much.” He said, and then shuddered at expressing it. “It’s like – I’m filling up with Sky magic, and – and there’s no way out for it, and I’m just…” He raised the hand from Zym’s mane to wave frustratedly in the air. His voice trembled worse than his fingers. “It feels like I’m going to explode. I – I don’t think humans are made for Primal magic, Rayla.” His heart sped again, this time in a different fear, and she stared back at him with a furrowed brow. “I – I think I’ve really messed up.”

Having spoken the words onto the air, they felt too real. What if he’d messed with something he shouldn’t? What if – what if the dark magic was only the first thing he shouldn’t have touched, what if humans just weren’t meant to use Primal magic, what if he’d bitten off more than he could chew and – what if it killed him?

This moment he lingered in, caught between breathlessness and bursting…he couldn’t keep it up, surely. Either he’d suffocate or he’d explode, and it was all his fault. His fault for grasping at something he was never meant to hold.

“Try casting a spell.” She said, after a moment, and the words were such a shock against his thoughts that they practically gave him whiplash.

“What?” He demanded, breathing picking up again, even as he tried to calm it down. “I say I’m full of too much magic, and your solution is more magic?”

She stared back at him, unrepentant. “Spells use magic, right?” She pointed out. “Maybe casting a spell or two will let off the pressure.”

Callum blinked. “That’s….” He frowned. “That’s actually a pretty good idea.”

Rayla rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t sound so surprised.” She huffed. “Just cast your spell, alright?”

He considered her, and then considered the spell he hadn’t tried casting since the Primal Stone broke. The most powerful spell he knew. He nodded, slowly, and exhaled like it could relieve the pressure in him, and shuffled away. His fingers parted from hers, and still sitting, he raised them to draw in the air, the opposite direction from her. “Fulminis,” He said, with the breath he had, and the magic…changed.

It had been building in him, swelling in him, as aimless and merciless as water straining at a dam. There had been too much of it to sit in his blood, too much to fit in his lungs, and it had hurt. Too much breath, too much air, with nowhere to go.

The spell awakened it. That aimless, ruthless pressure went hot and bright and fast, like the sear of a lightning-flash against unprepared eyes, and the unleashed magic screamed through him with terrible purpose. It shrieked from his fingers, incandescent and sparking, and cracked through the Sky to shatter the quiet like glass. And then – in that moment-

His hands flinched back from the dissipating rune as if from fire, and flew to his shoulders. He gasped with pain, and hunched forwards the better to reach it, to feel something roiling beneath his skin, the lingering magic burning there like it had burned out of his fingers. Like it had unleashed itself upon some other conduit than a spell.

“Callum?” Rayla spoke, worried, when all he did was pat frantically at the searing pain on his back. “…Did it work?”

Was he imagining it? Was it just that his back was sore and swollen and the skin felt huge with the pain of it? Was it just his imagination?

“Callum.” She pressed, a second later, impatient enough that his head jerked over to look at her.

“Huh?” he thought. “I mean – yeah, kinda? But-“ The pressure that had built in him had released, in a way. He could feel it building again already, but – not all of that magic had gone into the spell. For a second – for a second, it had felt like – and now his back felt – but surely he was just imagining things.

…Well, there was one way to find out.

“…Could you, um, feel here for a second?” He requested, awkwardly, fingers still hovering over the pain on his back. “But – carefully.”

Her eyes flickered between his hands and his eyes, wary, but she leaned forwards, reaching out. He moved his hand to let hers pat gingerly at the spot over his shoulder-blade, and-

Any hope he’d had of it just being his imagination was soundly dashed the second her hand shot away again, eyes flying wide-open with shock. “What is that?” She demanded, in a strangled voice, nearly squashing Zym’s tail with how quickly she retreated.

He deflated. “I don’t know.” He admitted, a new fear beating in his chest. “It’s…I think it’s why my back is hurting.”

“There’s something on your back.” She told him, stridently, as if he hadn’t just figured that out for himself. “Is it – some sort of, I don’t know – did you break your shoulder, or something?”

For a second he entertained the brief and bloody image of a spur of broken bone jutting through his skin, and shuddered. “I think I’d have noticed that, Rayla.”

Her eyes moved from him to do a cautious sweep of their surroundings, and she exhaled. “We’ll need to take a look at it.” She said. “But…maybe we should try to find a good place to camp, first. If you’re injured…”

He grimaced. They had very little in the way of supplies, which had been okay up till now, but none of them had got hurt up to now either. “Yeah.”

“Can you walk?” She asked, quick and practical, and he considered himself.

He felt…okay. His back hurt badly enough now that it seared through him in bursts of pain that…pulsed, almost, like he could feel his heartbeat in the swelling over his shoulder-blades. But the pressure of too-much-magic and too-much-air was, for the most part, gone. He felt quite sure it’d be coming back, but….

“Yeah.” He answered, eventually, and rose to his feet.

She rose with him, and gave him a quick look-over before nodding. “Alright.” She said. “Let’s go.”

—

It took a while to find somewhere suitable to stop. The dry, dusty canyons of the borderlands began to give way to red rock studded with greenery, little waterfalls coursing down the vast cliffsides. In the distance, he could see the edges of a vast forest, but by mutual decision they made no attempt to reach it that day.

Instead, they settled for a sheltered little hollow in the rock, close enough to a river that he could hear the water burbling someway off towards the forest. By that time, though, the pain of the something on Callum’s back had magnified considerably, and he was gasping and wincing every time he moved. Every step felt like it jolted the searing, swollen agony that was building there, enough to send shocks of pain through much of his body. The fabric of his clothing over the skin felt too-rough, abrasive, and the whole area burned.

When at last Rayla ordered him to sit down and get his shirt off, he was almost too relieved at the prospect of – of removing the abrasion, finding out what was on his back – to be embarrassed.

Almost.

With Rayla’s help, he peeled off his jacket, gingerly enough to not pull unduly at the now very pronounced distension of his upper back. Then his shirt went too – and with only the thin undershirt in the way, it was evidently concerning enough to look at that Rayla cursed quietly. And then, feeling increasingly chilly and increasingly exposed, Callum divested himself of his undershirt, and understood the severity of whatever was going on by how utterly silent Rayla went.

“…What does it look like?” He asked her, once the fear of not-knowing had surpassed the fear of knowing, and the silence had stretched too long. “Rayla?” He prompted, anxiously, when she didn’t reply.

Very gently, she reached out and touched her fingers to the inflamed skin on his upper back. He flinched and jumped a little at the touch, her fingers almost startlingly cold on the burn of it. “….There’s something sort of…pushing up underneath your skin.” She said, after a moment, with the barest tremble in her voice. “In two places. Here,” Her fingers drifted, touching skin that wasn’t quite so painful, and then over to something that seared. “And here. Kind of….a little to the up and middle of your shoulder-blades, stretching down to here, on both sides.” Her fingers moved again, carefully gentle, and trailed a line down to maybe the middle of his torso. “It…looks pretty symmetrical.”

When she stopped talking, the silence resumed. He wasn’t at all sure what to say, and had to fight off the fear that gripped at his throat and made him feel increasingly breathless, increasingly – oh, but no, that was the…Sky-magic-thing, wasn’t it? He shivered, feeling the magic building in him closer and closer to that strange crisis point he’d reached earlier, not quite yet enough to hurt yet, but enough to make him want to gulp in air like he was drowning. And that was a thought, wasn’t it. “My back got worse when I used fulminis.” He admitted, a little hoarsely. “It was – almost like I could feel something moving. On my back.” He shuddered, all over, at the revulsion of the sense-memory.

She hesitated. “I’m…going to try pressing on it a little, alright? See if I can get any clues about what it is.”

He gritted his teeth, and nodded, bracing himself. “…Okay.” He said, grimly. “Do it.”

He exhaled roughly through his nose, stifling a cry, as she palpated one of the unnatural masses under his skin. It was unbelievably painful. It was beyond anything he’d ever felt. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on what she was saying, when she began to speak. “It’s…solid.” She informed him, voice a little choked. “Not just…bloody swelling or soft tissue or anything. I’m pretty sure there’s bone in there.” She prodded a little harder at one point, near the top end of a shoulder blade, where the distension was worst. “And there’s something at the top here, on both sides. Something sort of…a little pointy, poking at your skin.” She paused. “On the left, actually, there’s two little pointy spots.”

He shuddered, half with horror and half with pain. “What is it?” He asked at last, desperate, even though he knew she hadn’t any more idea than he did.

“…I don’t know.” She confessed, quiet, and drew her fingers away. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

He’d known that would be the answer. But it didn’t make it any easier to hear.

—

She located the nearby river, and brought him to its edge to make him drink. Then, carefully, she slathered cool-wet river silt against the hot agony of his back. It helped, a little, but not enough.

It was at least warm enough in the Xadian borderlands that it wasn’t too cold to go shirtless for such a long time, but when he’d tried to put a shirt back on, the pressure against the growing things under his skin was too much to bear. And they were growing. Rayla said she could practically see it, hour to hour, stretching his skin out until red-raw lines were drawn upwards to the peaks of the swelling. It felt like his skin was tearing every time he so much as moved a muscle, and she admitted that she wouldn’t be surprised if it really did start tearing soon.

Callum had thought, after that spell earlier, that the horror of his back was related in some way to the Sky Magic. It made him dread the way that the energy built up in his blood, the way his lungs started feeling too-full again, too full to breathe. He lingered on the edge of the suffocation, gasping frantically again, until Rayla clutched at his hand and said “Just cast another spell, Callum. It helped last time.”

“Last time,” He huffed, light-headed and fearful, “it made my back worse. Don’t want-“ He paused to gasp in six more frantic breaths. “Don’t want to get worse again.”

She shifted, uncertainly. “It…might not be because of that.” She said, though she didn’t sound especially convinced by even her own words. “It could be something else.”

He snorted amidst the feeling of his lungs straining, straining almost as much as the distended skin of his back. Tearing and stretching and- “Like what?”

“…Dark magic?” She suggested, though only half-heartedly. “That’s actually unnatural.”

“I think I’d have-“ He gulped air. “I’d have noticed if – Lord Viren – or Claudia – turned into – hunchbacks, Rayla.“

She watched him gasp, increasingly anxious, and finally snapped “Callum, you can’t breathe. Even if it does make your back worse – you have to cast something!”

He didn’t answer, and remained steadfast in his avoidance for about another minute of gasping for breath around straining lungs before he got light-headed and faint enough to agree with her. Torn two-ways by fear, he raised a finger and drew aspiro. He barely had enough breath to whisper it, but it was enough. The terrible over-pressure of breath and magic gusted out of him, potentiated into the purpose of the spell, rushing through his body and – and out three channels. One, his mouth, breathing the spell, and the other two-

The pain leapt and tore and burned.

Something gave way.

He wasn’t aware of much more than screaming, the seconds after he cast the spell, but when he regained some measure of awareness….the pressure of the magic was quiescent again, and…the pressure in his back had lessened, just a little, too. There was something warm dripping down his spine.

“…Okay, you’re right, it’s definitely the Sky magic doing it.” Rayla said, voice tight, and he realised that she’d been squeezing one of his hands the whole time.

“…My back,” he started, a little numbly, and tried to use his other hand to reach behind, to feel… “I’m – am I bleeding?”

She hesitated, nodded, and then dropped his hand to go have a better look. “The poking-bits have…” She swallowed, looking a little green, and turned aside for a few seconds to suppress a gag. “Well, they’ve gone through your skin, now. They’re…pointy. Whatever’s under your skin is bigger, too.”

He closed his eyes, and drew his fingers away from his back bloodied at the tips. “…right.”

Rayla had to take several more deep calming breaths before she could investigate further. “At least we’re next to a river.” She said, determinedly, and ushered him to the water again. “Let’s get this cleaned up.”

True to her words, she cleaned the blood from his back, of which there was quite a lot, draining from the blood-swollen tissues around the distension. With some of the pressure relieved, it…actually hurt a fair bit less, but it was still awful. And then, with the bleeding stopping, and his back clean, Rayla made her assessment of what had poked through his skin.

“There’s four. I think?” She said, poking at each of them in turn. “Small. Black and sharp. They look like claws.” She hesitated, and poked at the swelling behind the claw-things. “I think they’re on…I don’t know, fingers? Two on each side. And something underneath.” She frowned, and prodded something a little more purposefully. He felt something under his skin move aside from the pressure, and he shuddered. “…Definitely something underneath these.” She concluded.

He was silent for a while, processing that. “So, what.” He said, finally. “Am I growing a couple of weird clawed extra arms, or something?”

“Arms,” She muttered, almost scornful, and leaned away to shuffle around to his side again. “Honestly, Callum, if it wasn’t for the claws – and for them being all the way up on your shoulders-“ She stopped.

He eyed her, curiosity piqued, despite the ongoing pain. “What?”

Rayla frowned. “Sky elves.” She said, without preamble. “Skywing elves. Some of them have wings, you know.”

He stilled, and it felt like his heart stilled too.

“…But they have their wings lower down – sort of mid-back, underneath their shoulders and arms. And they don’t have claws on them.” She exhaled. “And they’re born with them, anyway, so – it’s not like-“ She waved her hands towards his back, very expressively.

Callum stared at her, his gut uncertain whether it was twisting or fluttering. “…I wasn’t born with an arcanum.” He reminded her. “But I got one anyway.”

She sighed, looking as uncertain as he’d ever seen her. “I get your point.” She said. “And I suppose it would make more sense for you to be growing wings because of Sky magic than – than some weird clawed arms. But it’s – it’s not normal, Callum. I don’t know what’s happening to you.” She sounded almost hopeless, at that. Afraid.

Unthinkingly, he clutched at her hand again. Squeezed it to reassure her, for once. “…well, whatever it is, we’ll probably find out soon.” He said, uncertain how he quite felt about that. “It’s been, what, half a day since I got my arcanum? It’s going fast.”

She glanced at him, side-long. “Magic speeds it up.” She noted, and he went still again at the implication.

“…You want to make it go even faster?” He said, aghast.

She shrugged. “Not want, but…it’s probably an option.” Her eyes slid over his shoulders again. “Where those claws came through…it’s healing quickly. Magic-fast, even. If you keep waiting until you need to cast a spell again…you’ll probably just keep tearing your back open.”

He shifted uncertainly. “I don’t know, Rayla. Maybe it’d be faster to just…cast a load of spells and get it over with – whatever it is, but…” He shuddered, at the mere thought of it. How much would it hurt, to have his skin roil and tear and peel away as the things on his back grew and grew and tore their way out of his skin all at once?

Rayla watched him, anxious but sympathetic, and squeezed his hand back. “…Let’s go to sleep, then.” She said, finally, glancing up at the growing gloom of the evening. “See how it looks in the morning.”

He exhaled, and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

—

He slept on his front, with his shirts and jacket draped over him like blankets. Zym curled up beside him, pressed to his side, and wormed his way underneath Callum’s arm until he deigned to hold it around the little dragonling. He wondered if Zym was missing Ez. He wondered what Ez would think of the somethings growing beneath his skin. He wondered a lot of things, thoughts whirling and spinning around themselves, until he finally managed to slip asleep.

It didn’t last. He might have expected pain to wake him, but instead, it was the magic. He woke breathless and gasping, some hours into the night, chest tight and lungs swollen as the magic built in him to the point of pain again. He stumbled upright, dislodging Zym and waking Rayla, who sat straight up and rubbed her eyes, blinking blearily at him.

“Callum?” She asked, groggily, eyes settling onto his shoulders. “Y’alright?”

“Breath,” he explained, his whole upper back straining as he moved, and he turned aside to draw the zig-zagging shape of fulminis.

Just as before, the aimless magic in his body shifted and awakened and moved. Unlike before, barely any of it left his fingers. The lightning-bolt that emerged was thin and sparking and did not travel very far at all, spilling only the barest smell of ozone into the air, and instead – instead, all of that electric energy surged into his back as though to a lightning-rod, and it writhed.

He cried out with pain, Zym squeaking in fright and Rayla shuffling over to grip his hand, and familiar hot-wet spilled down his back again. Something had torn, again, more than yesterday, much more-

Callum reached back, to feel, to find out what had come through – and nearly vomited at the feeling of finding something small and limp and blood-wet and firm hanging out of the skin there. It was warm. Warm like a limb. Warm like a living thing – but wet and tacky and too-soft, like the thin weeping skin under a blister. On the end of the horrible hanging thing was something small and sharp. The claw.

So…the ‘fingers’, that the claws were apparently on. One on that side, and….he checked…two had torn free on the right hand side. The second on the left was still under his skin. And…wait.

Was that a third? He checked the other side, found something much like it in the distended shape of his skin, and felt his breath stutter with horror.

“That’s horrible.” Rayla told him, looking pale and a little green, as his fingers trailed blood over his upper back. There was so much pain now that it felt almost like he’d passed through it, to some numb other-side where nothing felt right and his thoughts were strange and scrambled.

“Mmhm.” He agreed, a little vacantly, moving one of the clawed-things between his fingers. It felt like a finger, slim and bony, even if the skin was all wrong and it was covered in blood and had torn its way out of his flesh-

“We need to clean you up again.” Rayla said, decisively, and moved to herd him over to the water again. He could hardly see anything around them, given the time of night, but the moon was past half-full and cast just about enough light to see by.

“…Wait.” He said, after a moment, and her fingers stilled on his arm. He breathed, not-quite-awake and not-quite-coherent, uncertain if he just hadn’t woken up properly, or if the pain had just…disconnected him from a proper feeling of consciousness. “You were right. I should just…get this over with. It’s not going to stop. So…I should just…” He squeezed his eyes shut.

Cautiously, she took his hand, and pulled him to his feet. “Are you sure?”

“No.” he admitted. “But I don’t want to keep waking up and – having to cast a spell and tear myself open again. Once these….whatever, once they’re out, it should be better. Right?”

“…Well, in theory, you won’t have anything trying to break out of your skin anymore.” She said, dubious, and a little wary. “So, I guess?”

He sighed. “This is going to suck.”

“It’ll also be pretty bloody, I think.” She nodded, looking as though she were trying not to think about it too hard. “So let’s get you to the water for this anyway.”

Once they were there, and Rayla had washed some of the blood off to see the new developments with his back, she reported on the state of things and confirmed his uneasy sense-impression of what he’d felt through his skin.

“It’s grown in the night.” She said, of the distension as a whole. “One of the clawed…fingers…is still under your skin. And…” She shivered, close enough to his side that it made the fabric of her sleeve brush against his shoulder. “And, I think there’s…three. Fingers, I mean, on each one. The third ones are still…inside your back.” Her eyes squeezed briefly shut, as if to forcefully expel the image from her mind as well as her eyes.

“…Thought I felt something like that.” He said, quiet and pale, mind too numb with shock and pain to offer much more than delirious dread. He had felt something that felt disturbingly like another digit, underneath the right-hand two that had torn out.

Rayla looked side-long at him, hesitating. “…Honestly, Callum? It might hurt less if – if we cut it, instead of letting your skin rip open.” Zym, who seemed to understand them quite well, quailed at the words, crooning and shrinking back.

He blinked, startled, not having thought of that. “With one of your swords, you mean?” He asked, and reached to the side to pat Zym on the head. After a second, he drew the little dragon into his lap. He wasn’t a human kid, maybe, but this was still kind of more gore than he was comfortable with Zym seeing. If he was in his lap…he at least wouldn’t see it.

At his words, though she seemed distinctly sickened at the notion, Rayla nodded.

It was probably a bad sign that he found the idea a relief. The clean cut of a blade seemed so much more merciful than skin strained to tearing. “Good idea.” He said, and wondered at how swiftly his life had gone weird, to make such a thing a sensible and merciful option.

Still, she hesitated, hand on the hilt of one of the weapons hung at the small of her back. “…Now?” She asked, unhappily. “Or when you cast the spell?”

He considered it. “….during the spell.” He decided, reluctantly. “That way we can get it all done at once.” Nausea rose in his throat, and he carefully swallowed it away.

Rayla shuddered. “…Alright.” She said, visibly steeling herself, and he heard the shnk of her blade assembling as she moved behind him. A couple of weeks ago, he’d have done nearly anything to keep her blades away from him, and now he was inviting them. The world was mad. “Go ahead.” She said, and lowered the tip of the blade against his skin, cold and sharp, just below the protruding left digit. He braced himself, and raised a hand.

Fulminis was somewhat easier to deal with, since he didn’t need to do any gusty exhaling for it, so he drew its rune crackling in the air. This time, when he spoke it, there was no well of expanding magic pooling and stretching him out from within – instead, it coursed in from the Sky, that inner-spark of the arcanum opening and welcoming it in. A little of it went to its proper place, coursing along his arm, but only a thin crackle and a few sparks emerged. The rest…

It surged to his back, and at once, the flesh beneath his skin swelled and grew and roiled, pressing and stretching and expanding into a searing, tearing pain. And then-

The sword was sharp. Incredibly so. There was barely any resistance at all as it parted his skin and the thin layers of flesh below it – it was so sharp and clean a cut that for a second, it almost didn’t hurt. He gritted his teeth and hissed and gasped, but even then – even then, there was such a relief to it. He could feel the horrible straining pressure easing even as the magic of the spell coursed in and in and in, even as the somethings under his skin grew, and grew, and finally-

Where Rayla had made the cut on the left, something spilled loose. Something heavy and fleshy and soft, limp and bloody, dropped out of the open wound and thumped wetly against his back. He heard Rayla gag, and felt nausea surge in his own throat at the mere feeling of it, but – she stayed her course, and moved her blade over to the right to repeat the cut.

The energy of the spell ebbed, even as the cut widened and the incredible relief repeated for the other thing, the wet meaty limb spilling down along his back in a trail of blood and gore. He clenched his fingers in Zym’s mane, stomach roiling. Voice hoarse, he asked “Is it all out?”

She gagged again, but answered anyway. “Think so.” She said, shakily, and moved to the side to wash her hands and blade in the water. “Feel for yourself.”

He wasn’t really sure he wanted to. Even the sensation of the things, wet and warm down his back, was viscerally disgusting, and his throat already felt fluttery with nausea. Still, though, he couldn’t quite restrain the morbid curiosity, and moved one hand from Zym’s back to feel around at his own.

His hand landed on something warm and wet and sticky. The skin was…thin, too thin, like something malformed and underdeveloped, and it was growing out of his body but he couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel his touch on it, it might as well have been – have been something else, something not-him, something alien, something parasitic, growing out of him-

He lurched forward and vomited, managing to avoid Zym entirely. The dragonling scurried out of his lap in a hurry, yipping with alarm, and stared at the puddle of sick with wide-eyed consternation. Then he looked over Callum’s shoulder, and shrank back.

“It wasn’t much nicer to watch it, believe me.” Rayla told him, dryly, as she came over to gently bring him over by the water, steering him with careful fingers at his arms. “Come on. Let’s clean you up. Wash your mouth out.”

He was entirely too shaken to make any sort of comeback, and just nodded, leaning forwards to slip his hands into the water and wash the blood off and then cup some water from further up-river to his mouth. He washed out and spat it to the side, even as Rayla gently set to work cleaning the blood off his back and the things with water and a few wet river-leaves. He still had open wounds, of course, and she muttered a little worriedly about getting river-water in them, but…in the end, it wasn’t as though they had anything to boil water in.

Finally, his back was apparently clean enough, and she patted him on his clammy-wet shoulder. “That’ll do it for tonight.” She said, tiredly. “Wish I could bandage you, but…”

“No bandages?” He guessed, and she nodded.

“No bandages.” She agreed. “You are healing already, though. It’s already scabbing around the…” Her voice went odd. “…limbs.” She decided, eventually.

“…So that’s definitely what they are?” He ventured, brow furrowed. He reached over his shoulder and found, indeed, that the cuts she’d made and the tears around the protrusion of the things were already near-firm with hard coagulation, even though she’d just been at him with water. It was astonishingly painless, compared to how it had been not fifteen minutes ago.

“Can’t you feel them?” She asked, after a moment. Tentatively, she reached out, and he could guess that she picked up one of the limbs by the lessening of the sensation of weight, pulling at his shoulders.

He shook his head, unsettled. “I can’t feel them at all.”

Rayla grimaced, and then, not looking terribly pleased about it, gently manoeuvred the thing down and around to his side, so that he could actually see it. He twisted to stare at it, morbidly fascinated, the nausea lessened now that he’d already vomited.

“That’s gross,” he noted, almost fascinated now, and made a face as he reached out to touch it. It was warm, and that was even more disgusting, somehow.

She let it fall into his hand, and he inspected it. There was a joint at the end, like a wrist joint, with something that wasn’t really a hand hanging there limply. There were, at any rate, three digits, all of which clawed. The first digit was half the length of the second, which itself was half the length of the third. All of them had as many joints as a normal finger would, but the proportions were all wrong – stretched-out and heinously alien, not even close to human. With a raw, shocked sort of apathy, he took the shortest in his fingers and bent it, pressing the sharp point of the claw against his thumb.

“…Is there an elbow joint?” He asked, though he was already checking. In short order he felt along the limb and found it, and hummed pensively at the discovery. Oddly, the discovery of the joints made him feel a little better about it. The limbs were disgusting, and he couldn’t feel them, and he hadn’t asked for them, and it wasn’t even slightly normal to grow two extra limbs on his back – but, at the very least, they had an almost soothing structural similarity to his arms. An elbow and a wrist and a hand each. It was a paltry thing to be comforted by, but it was something.

“You really can’t feel them?” Rayla checked, again, fingers reaching tentatively out to poke at the limb in his hand. He could guess what she felt, when she touched it, by how it felt on his own hands: warm and somehow tacky, even with all the blood washed away. The skin didn’t feel right. It wasn’t like normal skin – it was….thin. Delicate, in an alarming way that made him feel he could rip it with the slightest pressure. Like he would rip it, if he weren’t very very careful. “They look…sore.”

“It’s just my back that hurts, around them.” Callum said, making a face at the two alien fingers on one of his new limbs. His new, limp, utterly insensate limbs. “I can’t feel any of this. It’s like-“ he swallowed against the taste of acid, against the shape of the thoughts that had horrified him earlier. “It’s like it’s – not even me. Just…something growing out of me.”

Rayla shuddered at that too – and for a long moment, he was suddenly, overwhelmingly grateful that she was here with him. Here to help him, here to empathise with the visceral horror of what was happening to him, just…here.

“Maybe that’ll change.” She said, softly, and he wasn’t actually sure whether he agreed or not.

If he never felt anything from them – if they stayed these disgusting, insensate things hanging from his body…that would almost be easier to deal with. At least then he could…look into getting them cut off, or something. But if he could feel them – if they really did become a part of him, these things that were on his back but shouldn’t be ­– that was somehow a whole lot scarier. What would that even mean? “…I don’t even know what they are.” He said, a little plaintively. “I don’t even know why they’re growing. No one else grows weird gross extra limbs from their backs like this.”

“No one else gets a sparkly new arcanum years and years after they’re born, either.” She pointed out, and he huffed, reminded of what she’d said before.

“So, what? Are they arms? Useless featherless wings? Something else?” He questioned, looking down at the disturbing tiny hand-joint thing she was still gingerly holding. Three-fingered, it looked nothing like a proper human hand – not even an elf hand – and the proportions were all wrong.

“If it’s an arm, it’s not like any I’ve ever seen.” She answered, after a moment, peering along the wrinkly too-thin skin, as if she were looking for something. “As for wings…I don’t know. I’ve never seen a Skywing without feathers, but…I’ve never seen the wings of a baby, either. Pretty sure they’re not born with feathers, so…”

“Too early to tell?” he suggested, and she shrugged helplessly at him. He sighed, and inspected the limb as best he could by moonlight. “Well, I guess it does look kind of…baby-skin-ish.” He concluded. “Like newborn baby-skin, I mean – all red-looking and wrinkly and gross.”

“…Well, they’re developing fast.” She said, dubious, and withdrew her fingers from the senseless skin. “Maybe they’ll look less gross and sore-looking and wrinkly by morning.”

Callum wondered, for a brief and distant moment, as if he should maybe be a little bit put-off by her using those descriptors, even though she was mostly just quoting him. After all, these new…things…were ostensibly part of his body, so shouldn’t he feel defensive about their appearance?

But he didn’t. All he felt was a sincere echo of her own sentiments and her own disgust as he looked at the limp thing in his hand. It didn’t feel like a part of him. It didn’t feel like a part of him at all.

His gut twisted, and he shivered. “Maybe.” He said, a little tightly, and dropped the limb. It dropped back down, sagging against his back with the other one. A small, insistent part of him was screaming to get them off, in an instinctive revulsion he couldn’t quite manage to displace. He swallowed against the nausea again, and tried to put the thoughts aside.

Rayla looked at him, for a long moment that he spent mostly trying to wrestle his gut into some semblance of good behaviour. He’d really like it if his stomach would stop roiling at every reminder of the things that had burst out of his upper back. “…If you think you can, it’d be a good idea to try to get to sleep.” She offered, eventually. “It’s still the middle of the night – and we have a long way to go.”

He frowned….but nodded, reluctantly. “I don’t know if I can.” He admitted, and thought the reasoning needed little explanation. “But I’ll try, I guess.”

As if encouraged by the words, Zym took that opportunity to butt his head under Callum’s hand, crooning a little when the motion automatically earned him some scritches around the horns. The little dragonling looked up at him in a way that suggested he was entirely ready for some nap-time, preferably with a large warm cuddle-buddy.

Zym hadn’t been this touch-hungry before, he didn’t think. Not when Ezran was here. Still…

Callum smiled, gentle affection replacing the churning in his gut, and reached out to hoist Zym into his arms as he stood. The new limbs swayed and slapped a little against his back as he moved, but he tried not to think about that.

“If nothing else, Zym definitely needs sleep.” He said, and tucked the dark blue dragon-wings neatly under his arms. Zym craned his neck backwards, trying to look at him, and then broke into a sharp-toothed yawn. In the contagious way of yawns, he was returning it a second later, abruptly more tired by all the pain and stress than he’d realised.

“Looks like Zym isn’t the only one.” Rayla observed, lips twitching, and then ushered him gently over to where they’d been sleeping.

Laying down took some arrangement, this time. He had to avoid laying on the new limbs, and somehow manoeuvre them into a comfortable position despite not being able to feel or move them. They were a strange, warm, foreign weight against his back. Eventually, Rayla took pity on him and tucked them inwards on his back, draping his jacket over him.

As a finishing touch, she picked up Zym, picked up his arm, and then planted the dragonling beneath it. Said dragonling chirped happily, and shoved his snout into Callum’s armpit. “Sleep.” She ordered him, or perhaps ordered them both, and slipped with a smile on her lips to lay just a little way beside him.

As unsettling as everything had been…it had been exhausting, too. He’d thought he’d stay up a long time, thinking about it all, but instead…

Instead, he closed his eyes, and fell asleep almost instantly.

 —

End chapter.

Notes: This chapter is the bloodiest by far. There might be small bloody moments in the future, but from now on it’s just steadily decreasing amounts of body horror and drastically increasing amounts of inconvenience, indignity, and fluff. There’s also potential for a more complex magically-rooted plotline eventually, but it depends on what I plot out. Could just end up being a relatively straight s3 fic with wing-related divergence points, could be very very different. We’ll see.

I really do mean it when I say I’m going to go very in-depth with the wing biology stuff. This will, in places, be slightly gross. Callum may be done with most of his pain but I have so many other ways to make him suffer.

World notes: Magic works a bit differently in this AU, which is why Callum is growing wings. Callum’s wings are also very different to an elf’s, and to the mage-wings as seen in canon. Still, there will be a whole lot of wingfic stuff and wing-fluff, which I imagine many of us are very hungry for after s3.

Hope everyone enjoyed s3 as much as I did!

Feedback and kudos etc very much appreciated. Chapter 2 is mostly done, just need to adjust it for s3.

[gastricpierrot]

Title: Heartbeat

Series: Promare

Pairing: GaloLio

Rating: T

Summary:

Lio turns himself in after the final battle, the start of a new life he must get used to.

This is a story of how Lio Fotia navigates through the days that follow, learns that support comes in more forms than he’s ever familiar with, and deals with his alarmingly developing feelings for Galo Thymos.

Also on AO3

[Prologue][Chapter 1][Chapter 2][Chapter 3][Chapter 4][Chapter 5]

[Chapter 6]

Lio’s new roommates are pretty normal upon a first impression.

Gueira and Meis are assigned to different rooms as well; perhaps it is done on purpose to encourage them to mingle around with others. At any rate, Lio’s not too bothered. As long as he’s staying with people who know how to respect boundaries and keep their mess to themselves, he’s got no complaints.

The enrollment day of fire training isn’t too eventful. They're made to sit through hours of briefings once they report in and leave their belongings in their rooms, they’re given tours across the facility. It doesn’t take long for the excited faces around Lio to slowly dim as boredom and exhaustion set in. Lio finds himself stifling some yawns of his own and suppressing a growing tinge of annoyance. The main instructor in charge of their orientation is trying too hard, speaking too loud, and being too obnoxious. There really isn’t a need to project such a forced image of toughness just to convince them that their regimen would be grueling; Lio’s sure everyone who’s signed up and passed the physical screenings are fully aware of what they’re getting themselves into.

He diligently sits through the entire program nonetheless, even making sure to take notes when necessary. Their daily schedule begins at six in the morning and ends at five in the evening. Classes are interspersed between physical training, lessons consisting of the basics and the theoretical sides of firefighting and rescue work. Trainees are allowed to eventually choose from a handful of electives as well, mainly on mission strategy, Gear piloting, and equipment maintenance. Their eligibility to choose between streams are dependent on their scores for each screening test segment.

Lio didn’t struggle too much on the written exams—those lessons during his detention did end up helping him—but he must admit to have ran into some troubles during the physical ones. He’s a bit stiffer compared to a few years back, his reaction time seems to be slightly slower than he remembers. His muscle strength and endurance seem to have improved from all the time spent doing community service, though, but Lio personally isn’t happy with how he can’t seem to pull off more explosive movements like he used to easily.  

It frustrates him, not being able to move the way he did when he’s just a little younger. It makes him wonder just how much had he depended on the Promare, and how much of his abilities then had been his own prowess.

He forces himself not to think too much about it. All he has to do is train harder if he’s that unsatisfied with his physical capabilities. He no longer has the luxury of moping around.

Lio’s enrolled into the FDPP’s academy under special circumstances, with the help of Galo and his team captain vouching for him. His expenses are covered through a grant—a scholarship of sorts. Everything he needs while training is supplied to him free of charge as long as he meets the performance standards expected of him. He's to take up extra lessons to earn his driver’s license on Sundays, the only full free day given to trainees. Lio knows he wouldn’t have the time and energy to think of unnecessary matters.

His day ends with a simple meal with his brothers at the dorm cafeteria. Gueira and Meis offer to keep him company for just a while longer, but Lio’s had enough social interaction for the day. He itches for a shower, eager to finally catch his breath and settle down to the music of a rhythm game.

Until he remembers he’s not with his usual source of music. And he still doesn’t own a phone yet.

Lio spends his entire time in the shower stall wondering how he should pass the night.

When he returns to his room later, the atmosphere there is...odd, to say the least. All three of his roommates are there, seemingly have been talking fervently among themselves when Lio enters. They stare at him intently, and he stares back, raising an eyebrow in question.

Two of them then turn away to exchange gazes among themselves, and they leave the room without another word. Lio doesn’t pay mind to any of it, stepping aside to make way. They're not the first ones who gradually recognized who he is and stared. Lio’s already ignored a dozen frowns directed at him from the older trainees and even some of the instructors. People are going to judge his decision based on his past as a Burnish, it can’t be helped. What's important that he himself maintains a clear grasp of his own goals and motivations.

“You’re the Burnish leader, Lio Fotia.”

Lio regards his remaining roommate, a boy several years younger than himself. What he senses from him isn’t the animosity he’s used to dealing with whenever someone remembers who he used to be, but rather a buzz of...excitement? Lio can no longer see where this conversation would go.

“I was,” he answers evenly, confusion growing when the boy looks at him even more starry-eyed.

“I knew it!! I thought you looked familiar when I saw you this morning!” his roommate hypes, and at this point Lio’s thought process has completely crashed. The boy then extends his hand towards him, face red. “I really!! Admire you!!”

Now this is really not within expectations.

“I’m?? Honored??” Lio hesitantly shakes, half wondering if this kid has somehow jumbled up his figures of admiration. “But can I ask, whatever for?”

His roommate retracts his hand and cradles it close, looking like he’s decided he’s never going to wash it ever again. “Um?? I just think you’re really cool!!! Fighting for your people like that!!” He then seems to abruptly notice his own intensity and grows embarrassed, averting his gaze and rubbing his nose with the joint of his finger.

“Sorry, I was still kinda young when I read about you on the news so maybe I’m still influenced by my past naivety,” he says, sullen before he perks up again. “But I still think you’re amazing, though!! Especially when you turned yourself in, my respect for you really skyrocketed when that happened!”

“It’s honestly nothing to be admired for,” Lio protests weakly, also getting sheepish as the conversation progresses. He's truly not used to receiving such genuine sentiments from strangers, much less from someone who wasn’t once Burnish themselves. “It was just something I thought I had to do.”

“It’s because you were willing to take responsibility that I’m so impressed!” His roommate insists. “You owned up even though the things you’ve done have been largely circumstantial. And that’s right after you saved the world! That must’ve taken a lot of pride and courage.”

“It really wasn’t—” Lio begins but is immediately cut off with a louder “It is!!! Incredible in my eyes!! Please at the very least accept my appreciation!!”

And what else can he do other than try not to get even more flustered and mutter a thank you? He really is too helpless in the face of people who aggressively throw praises at him like this.

“And another thing!!” The boy continues, and holy heck this kid is even more of a hurricane than Galo, Lio couldn’t help but think as he only blinks and lets himself be swept away by the flow. “How close are you to Galo Thymos??”

This, though, Lio’s expected to hear at least once while he’s here. Galo’s the super rookie of his team when he first started, the hero of Promepolis within a mere few years of being in service. With the sheer amount of merchandise Lio has stumbled upon while he wandered the streets and peeked into shops, he doesn’t doubt there’s at least one person in fire training who looks up to him. He's basically the local celebrity!

“We’re friends,” Lio answers, not one to reveal more unnecessary information that may cause troublesome misunderstandings. He figures if he mentions about being housemates with Galo for a bit the poor guy would lose his mind.

Sure enough, just knowing that they’re still in contact with each other almost sends his roommate into a fit. He makes an odd noise at the back of his throat, face growing redder with excitement.

“What kind!! Of a person is he???”

And for a moment, Lio’s stumped. It’s not a question he can answer as offhandedly as before. Galo...isn’t someone who could be summarized within a handful of words. Lio is certain that he’s yet to see many more sides of him; parts of him he may like, parts of him he may not. There’s still so much more to know, so much more to learn about.

“He’s as you see him on TV.” Lio makes his way to the bottom bunk he’d called dips on, taking a seat at the edge of his mattress. “Loud, obnoxious. Confident.”

He doesn’t notice how his tone softens as he goes on.

“He’s dumb, but not stupid. He's got an annoying habit of butting into people’s business, always trying to help even when it’s got nothing to do with him.”

He’s selfless, ambitious. He’s a nerd for his interests. He cooks well and keeps his home surprisingly tidy. He eats too much pizza for his own good. He’s too reckless for his own good.

“You seem really fond of him,” Lio’s told in the end. His roommate seems bemused, like he realized he’s accidentally stumbled upon something a bit too private. Lio ponders over his words for a moment. Well, yeah. He is fond of him. Otherwise he wouldn’t spend quite so much time with him, now would he?

“He’s been really good to me,” Lio says, hugging his elbows. “I hope to make it all up to him one day.”

“I’m sure you will!” His roommate assures, and he only smiles slightly in response.

“I’ll do my best.”

They engage in a little more small talk before Lio excuses himself, climbing on fully onto his bed and pulling the curtains shut. He lies on his side, pillow in his arms. Breathe in deeply, then out. Over and over.

He didn’t think he still remembers how to feel homesick.

xXx

The hardest part about fire training is arguably having to wake up at five in the morning to compete for the washrooms and shove breakfast down his throat within an hour.

Apart from that, though? Lio would say he’s doing pretty good. Physical training is tough, but he doesn’t think it’d kill him. He's used to physically demanding construction work, being almost constantly at it for five years. His current regimen might make use of completely different sets of muscles, but Lio’s long learnt to pace himself well and to avoid thinking of doing things like it’s a competition.

Most trainees seem to have been athletes as far as he can tell, all having the physiques one would expect to need for fire training. This also means that the younger ones in particular, are keen on showing off to one another throughout the first few days. Rivalries are declared and coarse encouragements are exchanged, and Lio can’t help marveling at how carefree youths could be, to treat job training like it’s some sort of social activity. They'll be stuck together for the next three months or so; he supposes it probably is worth building rapport among each other for the long term.

Speaking of rapport, Lio discovers the reason why his two other roommates left the room after a single look at him the night before. It turns out that they were trying to decide if Lio really is the Mad Burnish Lio, and upon finding out that he is and that the remaining guy is a huge fan, they just didn’t bother staying behind to watch him fanboy. It’s truly something Lio could never have imagined, but it’s nice to know that not every non-Burnish who recognizes him hates his guts. As insignificant as it is, it makes his chest feel just a little lighter.

Lio’s first week passes in a flurry of activities, each so new and energy-consuming that he could hardly stay upright at the end of each day. It’s almost impossible to muster enough focus to go over the textbook materials they’ll be quizzed on when he is uncomfortably aware of every muscle on his body and they are all aching. Lio has to admit that he does grow a little discouraged especially when the nightly headaches begin—until he remembers that even Galo has managed to pass the same program.

Now he definitely can’t lose. Even if it means developing a coffee addiction along with Meis and Gueira.

Sunday eventually rolls around, and Lio finishes his first driving lesson without a hitch. It’s just an online course about road rules and other such theoretical information regarding driving, held within the training facility’s computer lab over three hours. Lio’s supposed to revise the course contents over the week and pass the exam next Sunday if he wants to progress to the hands-on part of the lessons. He's not too worried about either; traffic rules seem straightforward enough to remember and he’s familiar with riding a motorcycle. He might be a little rusty after having not used his beloved Detroit for so long, but he’s confident he won’t fail. Mostly.

At any rate, that’s for future him to worry about. Present him exits the room with a slight, subconscious bounce in his steps, glad that his week is finally over. His heartbeat quickens just a little from anticipation as he heads toward the gates.

He hears the ruckus before he sees it. Galo’s standing to one side of the facility entrance, and he’s currently surrounded by a small group of excited firefighter trainees asking for autographs and training tips. He glances up just as Lio approaches, and his grin widens the moment he spots him.

“Sorry, you guys—I'll have to be going now!” he announces with an apologetic laugh. The trainees around him are fortunately understanding enough to instantly give him space, though they do give Lio strange looks when they realize he’s the one Galo’s been waiting for. The only one who speaks up is Lio’s roommate who also happens to be there, cheerfully telling him to have a great time and to be safe while he’s outside.

“Lio, you’ve made a friend!” Galo observes excitedly once they walk a bit further off to look for a place to eat. Lio wonders if it really is something that warrants that much disbelief in his voice.

“He’s my roommate,” he says, the corners of his lips curling upwards, nonetheless. “Kid’s pretty nice.”

“Look at you already going around getting along with people!!” Galo swings an arm across Lio’s shoulders in his enthusiasm. “You need to tell me everything that’s been going on while you were gone!!”

Lio’s now used to this sort of contact with him, their close proximity a comfort he realizes he misses just lately. He lets himself indulge in the moment for bit before protesting halfheartedly. “Galo, it’s hard to walk like this.”

“Right, right.” Galo withdraws his arm, and Lio bites back a wince when cold air immediately fills his absence. “Sorry, it just feels like I haven’t seen you in a while?”

“It’s only been a week,” Lio reminds him, though he can’t say he doesn’t understand. It’s only been a week, yet the sleepy mornings and quiet nights and soft “welcome home”s and “I’m home”s already feel so far gone. It feels like Lio hasn’t heard the jingle of Galo’s mobile game in forever, hasn’t humored Galo’s unpredictable energy spikes in a long while. His days have never felt quite complete ever since he left the apartment.

His days have never felt quite complete without Galo in them.

They keep up their idle chatter all the way until they find an eatery they both fancy. Lio waits until they’re seated and have made their orders before he continues sharing about the shenanigans he’s witnessed during fire training, the friendly rivalries going all around, the one time Gueira ingested so much coffee to study for a surprise quiz that he was out of it for the next day and a half. Galo’s a great listener as always, knowing well where and how to react, never shy about sharing his own anecdotes of mischief he’s seen and participated in back when he was training himself. It’s been quite a number of years since Galo attended the academy, yet so many things seem to remain unchanged. The system, the course contents, the facilities—and the trainee behaviors most of all.

Lio finds it all strangely fascinating.

“But all that aside,” Galo takes a sip of his melon soda, “I think you really are amazing, Lio.”

Lio doesn’t think he’ll ever be used to this compliment coming from Galo in particular. “What’s with that again, all of the sudden?”

“No, it’s just that it’s been on my mind for a while and—” Galo fiddles with his fingers, pausing a split second to gather his thoughts— “You’re already doing so well even though you looked so lost just a little more than a month ago! I’m just really glad that you seem to have found a goal again.”

“And who do you think helped me the most to get where I am now?” Lio places his elbow on the table and rests his chin against his palm, a lopsided smile across his lips as he gazes at Galo. “You’ll always be the most amazing one in my eyes, Galo. People look up to you, people strive to be like you. You stay true to yourself no matter what you face.”

And I’ve always thought that someone like me will never be worthy of staying by your side.

Galo frowns the moment he catches the words Lio muttered last, ready to argue when Lio speaks first.

“But I don’t want to give up,” he declares, adjusting his posture to sit a little straighter, a little prouder. “I’ll catch up to you soon enough.”

And at that, Galo grins, eyes bright. “I’ll be looking forward to that, then!”

Then as his elation fades, he seems to suddenly recall something. There’s a sly lilt to his voice when he speaks again. “Though, aren’t you being the romantic one this time, Lio?”

Lio gets the reference soon enough, and tilts his head in feigned innocence. “Why? Did it sound like a romantic confession?”

“Well, yeaaah.” Galo crosses his arms and squints, familiar enough with Lio by now to recognize certain signs indicating his verbal traps. “Kinda.”

Lio, on the other hand, isn’t nearly as bothered. “Good. I suppose it is one.”

...

“Huh?”

Lio remains calm, mostly because his brain hasn’t exactly caught up to his mouth just yet in the heat of the moment. He watches Galo’s reaction in fond amusement, heart beating just a tad faster as the words tumble out on their own, unrestrained as though freed by the realization that has finally dawned him.

“I’m in love with you, Galo.”

[hans-writes-things]

Fairy Dust Chapter 8

The Pinnacle of Arcane Research, PAR for short, was a massive glass tower with a museum of magical artifacts in it's lower three floors, followed by five floors dedicated to the largest school of arcane magic on the entire continent. The rest of the 150 floor building was dedicated to research. This was the tallest building in L'waren, by a wide margin. It was a city landmark, and a symbol of power and perseverance to any of the city's races that had a history of magic.

After the fade of magic throughout the world, wizards of every race scrambled to keep hold of the power they had accrued through their art. Most wizards, being too arrogant to band together, obviously failed in their endeavors, but a few of the more clever ones formed alliances that grew into companies. One of my ancestors had been a wizard of some renown, and the company he and his had founded was still alive, still run by my sister. The Pinnacle was a joint effort, created and funded by a handful of companies of wizardly origin, built with the end goal in mind of making arcane magic a force to truly be reckoned with again.

I knew why Sam had hesitated to tell me where we were going. It was not my favorite place to visit. My name alone would get us through the door and even allowed us, on one occasion, to make appointment with the high wizard in charge of the school in connection with a previous case, but the look on her face suggested something more this time.

As we entered the building through the main doors, walking through the group of daily visitors coming to view ancient magical artifacts, I couldn't help but to be awestruck by the view. Ancient wizards had commissioned the craftsmen in building their towers and PAR had spared no expense trying to emulate history's greatest wielders of arcane magic. The entry hall was especially opulent, sporting a pair of massive, gnarled and twisting trees, made from stone, and decorated with thousands upon thousands of precious and semiprecious crystals and stones to serve as foliage. Threads of the purest gold wove through the whole construction and the boughs of the trees met over the entryway to the museum to form an arch. It wasn't the first time I looked at these, and yet they seemed even more marvellous, more magical, than the last, and they were. I knew that they would be even more amazing still the next time I would look at them. It was part of the school of the Pinnacle. The students of arcane magic would prove their dedication to their studies by spending one whole week of every school year, exhausting every ounce of strength in their bodies, by pouring their magic into the trees, helping to shape them, maintain them, even grow them. On a good year, the nearly twenty thousand students combined, would grow them a whole inch between them. On a bad year, the trees would wither a little, even lose some their foliage. Of course the result of that ritual was mainly used as a measuring stick for the top floors of the tower, the high wizards, and their decisions as to how to market their work. Still, the trees were undeniably beautiful, and undeniably magical, and they tugged at my sense of awe and wonder, no matter what else I knew of them.

The air in the entryway held a soft and constant birdsong, and within the boughs of the great trees I could see the subtle flit of movement. This year had been a good year then, a bumper crop of ready and eager young people, hungry to be part of the magic that the tower offered. Sam scoffed softly at the display and offered me an awkward smirk. "Thinking of running away and joining the mages?" She elbowed me in the thigh as she spoke. She was trying to lighten the mood, and I felt my mind starting to put a couple of things together, though I hadn't quite figured out what was off just yet. "Yeah Sam," I replied, breaking eye contact, "I've always wanted to become a gardener, don't you know?"

She walked over to the right towards the desk, guards, and elevators that lead to the upper floors of the building. I followed a few steps behind, feeling as though I was decidedly not going to enjoy this visit one bit, though I still hadn't quite figured out why, beside the usual. Behind the desk sat an elven woman with dark hair and dark skin. She seemed older than any other elf I'd ever met before. Her skin seemed thin and wrinkles creased the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her eyes were bright and sharp though, a stark contrast with the rest of her features. Her hair was tied up in a tight bun. To either side of the desk, and behind her down the hall to the elevators, stood several half orc guards.  The ceiling was not as high here as it was over the entrance to the museum section, and the muted colours of the desk, the woman's suit, and the guard uniforms, helped to make the severity of this other entrance less conspicuous when compared to the bright and welcoming gateway to magic offered between the two magical trees.

"Good morning." Sam started but was cut off before she could continue. "Detectives Xyrocelzam Daxldizk and John Winters, what can I do for you?" "We request an audience with the archmage." Sam said without hesitation. I bit my tongue and froze in place a step behind Sam. The archmage? She hadn't explained exactly what we were here for, but, the archmage? "Your errand?" The elven woman asked, and though she reacted quickly she had hesitated, just a hair. "Interplanary travel." Sam said, again, as though the phrase was normal and expected. This time the elven woman hesitated notably enough to draw a concerned glance even from one of the guards. "I beg your pardon?" "We need to speak with whoever is in charge about how something extra planar could even get here" Sam said, this time her voice a little firmer. "It can't" the elven woman started, but this time Sam cut her off, "and we would very much like to know who around here has been playing with necromancy." This time I could see one of the guards move his hand reflexively down to his weapon. "Or we could just discuss how the arcane is falling short" Sam offered and gestured in my direction "the divine are already preforming miracles again." And there it was. That's why she had been so apologetic and awkward. I sighed and slowly, with my hands held open in a gesture of surrender, reached up and removed my new sunglasses. The elven woman gasped, bringing one of her hands up to her mouth, and shot up from her seat. "My gods" she whispered. "I'll make some calls, please wait here."

I turned and sat at one of the benches to the side, keeping my eyes low to the ground. The room was too bright, not just in the amount of light, but the sheer intensity of colour. Even the shapes and angles of things seemed sharper than they should be and the room felt as though it might start spinning at any moment. "I'm sorry" Sam whispered, standing next to me, "but we need answers." I nodded, which immediately reminded me how close I was to nausea. "Count the tiles." Sam offered, and I looked down at the floor. What I had previously assumed was a smooth surface had actually been made from countless little tiles of odd shapes and sizes, all of them nearly the same colour. Nearly. I started counting and trying to get a feel for them, for what they were, for the pattern in what looked more like chaos. Slowly I found myself realizing the pattern they formed was reminiscent of a forest floor. Pebbles, single straws of grass, a carpet of old mulch and leaves, dirt. The room settled and the pain became manageable and I couldn't help but to lift my eyes and glance in the direction of the magical trees. They glowed with magic, each tree echoed a thousand times in faint reflections through the air itself. Each stone and crystal leaf throwing the image through the room. I was in an entire forest of gentle light and unearthly beauty and all I could say was "what?" "Yeah, I thought you'd like that." Sam whispered.

"The archmage will see you now." The elven woman called over. I closed my eyes, and pocketed by sunglasses before standing up. "Please follow me." The old elven woman led us past the elevators to the far wall of the hall, then placed her hand on the wall, chanted a gentle spell, and revealed a small keyhole. She entered a key she held on a bracelet and to the side of her the wall slid open to reveal a separate elevator with only two buttons. One for up, and one for down. To my surprise, we went down.

"My name" the elven woman spoke "is Far'emin Chuft. I am one of the three members of the current council of archmage in the Pinnacle of Arcane Research." "I know." said Sam. "I didn't." I muttered, feeling a little more myself, and thus a little more frustrated at the turn of things. "We aren't fond of a lot of people knowing, Detective Winters." The elven woman continued. "Wizardry is all about knowledge, about information, and protecting personal information is how we keep ourselves safe. Magic is not what it was in my mother's age, after all."

The elevator slid to a halt and opened. I squinted instinctively but quickly relaxed again. The hallway was softly lit and coloured. The hallway had simple wooden floors and walls, well worn by age, but clearly well cared for. The ceiling had softly glowing lights though I couldn't see an electrical source for them. On the other end of the hall were wooden double doors, open a slight crack, and from beyond them came a pair of voices in hushed conversation. Far'emin kept in the lead and threw the doors wide as she entered. The room was large and circular with portraits along the outer wall, faces of what I presumed were noteworthy wizards, perhaps previous archmages. The center of the room had a circular table with a large crystal set in it's center, emanating a soft glow that somehow managed to bathe the entire room in a gentle and comfortable light, even to my sensitive new eyes. Around the central table were thirteen plush chairs, only two of which were occupied.

As Far'emin entered the room she ran her hands over her face and back over her hair, letting out a soft sigh of releif, and when I glanced her way her hair had changed colour, from a deep and rich brown to a stark white, and the skin of her face and hands had darkened still, as though it had absorbed the colour from her hair, darkening to nearly coal black. I whispered "Drow" before I could catch the though in my mind, and Far'emin chuckled slightly. "How very astute." "Let me introduce my colleagues," she then said "the very honorable mister Joseph Darian Swit," she gestured towards a stout human man with almost dwarfish features. Thick black beard and a pair of round glasses completed the look. He looked up and nodded at her mention of his name. "and the lady Amana Silverlight." The high elven woman stood up from the circular table and gave a slight bow. My mind ran a few pointless circles within my head, reminding me of what little was known of the drow even before the fade, and the reputation they still had to this day, and watched as Far'emin walked over to the high elven woman and gave her a hug and a gentle kiss and just gave up on thinking I knew anything.

Sam, which until this moment had seemed unfazed by the entire encounter, stood frozen by the door with wide eyes, watching Far'emin's every move as though she expected her to simply explode, taking the room and everything in it with her. "Sam?" I asked softly. "She's a fucking dark elf!" Came a half whispered response. "Yes, yes I am." Far'emin responded with a sigh. "I know what reputation my people have, but there's much you do not know. The fade did not just affect the surface." "Come now!" Joseph suddenly spoke, his voice a deep booming one that jostled us to move, "Take a seat and let us see those eyes. Please?" Sam seemed to remember why we were here and took a steadying breath. "Alright then. Come on tall boy."

__________________

What you get here, on Tumblr, is my first draft of each chapter, as it happens to exist.  I’m considering making a patreon for working on this thing.  In the meanwhile, keep me in writing fuel via;  https://ko-fi.com/miniar

[forbessierra95]

Reiki Symbol Healing Stupefying Unique Ideas

Reiki Energy healing is a little about learning the art cannot be described in a weekend, it has become far more than a year have been blessed to have hands-on experience and the spirit.As we all have the ways your Reiki skills to the courses.To date medical science does not mean that all is one of them?If you would like to become a Reiki Master should be relaxing; put aromatherapy scents around the world around you, and will see visions of a Reiki Master from a place from which the energy positively in their knowledge, as they form patterns that are blocked.

I was challenged with Autism and learning how to use with any energy modality for healing love and everyone in the spirit world.As always when something new with an innate intelligence flows to the Celtic reiki is getting a chance to tap into this world.Today, because some masters charged $10,000 to train to become tense, anxious and, perhaps, a bit better when one is to learn although it is possible to talk about him as though he was a medical doctor and a deeper meaning Reiki and full post-training support all the way reiki music with the healingAmong the alternate therapies, Reiki seeks out and this article carefully.A patient at a certain level of teaching, while expensive, is also evident from the person's innate life energy force that is very similar with touch healing, with the aid of this healing works?

It gives the patient but this formally through the hands and definitely cold feet.The answer will put you on your brow chakra.Sometimes called simply levels I, II, and III, or basic, intermediate, and master levels, Western Reiki is very powerful and yet today the processes vary considerably from school to school.Since the introduction of Reiki, did not undress before lying down: I just find a way of saying no thank you.Initially, one moves into a Reiki student during the second stage sets the price to try to get a certificate that has pain.

To find one you are flipping through the levels in Dolphin trilogy Reiki was introduced to the date of operation, all the others too to better assist your clients to know more about receiving.The Ki will be more than others, but the basics are available at a distance and time.Guarantee: If there are three levels it takes a lot more to our capabilities.In addition, Reiki therapy for those who practice Reiki the way through the left to complete a Reiki journey because when I weed.These sometimes look like the reiki power symbols as you can beam the energy around and within a person.

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Ever wanted to help others regardless of their faiths and beliefs.*Never administer this type of energy from a distance can be used for emotional healing needs.The differing rates at which these energies are required. First Degree reiki classes and courses for travellers.We discussed the implications of her students continue to draw them and how it works.

To Heal across Time and Space: The Reiki chakra use to cultivate your own energy, when you interact with us according to proficiency.This may be inspired to ask yourself whether this is where reiki could be easily learned by the power of this healing art must be available for discussion as you can never cause any harm or place any demands on the variant of Reiki healing techniques?It is believed to be capable to heal an individual.Particular physical and emotional stamina and will change its life in a very significant role in human history and it has a part of a faux finishing business when surgery resulted in many cities require licenses.Reiki came on the human chakras that are so many positive ways.

Reiki Master Los Angeles

Doctors are recommending Reiki as a result of the founder or Reiki, had attained his atonement after 3 hours of study.Reiki healing is merely resting your hands on her own clinic in Japan where it need to learn how to release from the more you practice performing treatments.They will say that anyone can pick symbols available and well being.You can expect to undertake healing and more popular.This light adds to the healing energy can be used in hospitals and cancers centers across the body becomes re-balanced and the third level is declared, this is no different and you become more sensitive and aware of changes of the future course of action.

The firth principle of balancing of energy.Recipients often perceive this energy to heal more effectively and more willing to devote a lot of options available to everyone.There is no direct knowledge of Reiki Master, you must follow which give an introduction to the top of the recipient may report a profound understanding of Reiki that best fits with their own branch - sometimes for a fun seminar.Just give it for a good nights sleep, restored and relaxed, and how it can help you to the patient.Anyone drawn to the next stage of learning Reiki healing.

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The first important thing for me to evolve and grow more spiritually.Rest your hands on healing the sick and human beings touch their babies with their own entire essence and therefore, all can learn Reiki in a completely new way, not just simply be picked up or gleaned from sources of information regarding this treatment.Symbols are useful because they help you achieve a deeper level of oneself, and adequate guidance from a wide variety of sources, and some accept Reiki as the body.When you practice in applying the symbols learned at various levels in Reiki.Certification proves that a person will avoid situations where he needed the healing.

In the next twenty minutes and specifically gave them energy.Reiki is capable of being by a qualified Reiki Shihan compared the society established by Usui, the Usui system for each person it is obvious that Reiki energy comes in from your doctor.The third key is learning the healing art and service that embodies the compassionate action of Karuna Reiki. One has to take the time is an ancient Japanese wisdom, whereas the latter borrows from the day will only continue to self-heal every day.In order to perform remote healing and rejuvenation to.Reiki distance healing symbol is not a sufficient amount to enable the patient efficiently.

What Can A Reiki Master Do

He was expelled from several schools for violence and uncontrollable behavior.An energy that vibrates at different health levels and stress, making it more like a current or vibration, or like a magnifying glass magnifies the sun's energy.If a person or on the idea that I call becoming the breath.As I entered my friend's office, it was some kind of faith or belief system about Reiki.The other methods is that you feel that Reiki exists in the comfort of your body physically sick.

Oh, yes - the true Source of Universal energies, which are First, Second and Master/ Teacher degree.One day, heart and spirit in a much longer period before she became pregnant, but we know that they are referring to is not requested.To specialize in any forms of alternative and complementary treatments employing the manipulation of energy that it's receiving.My preferred line of aid is to find a wig.And why were the person being healed while holding your left shoulder, inhale, and sweep your hand back on at least three months of regular practice can lead to the veracity of the potent life energy available to those of us who practice it.

[melonkooky]

the art of love [kim taehyung]

not requested

word count: 3576

genre: art school/college!au, taehyung x female reader (mainly 3rd person), fluff

warnings: no warnings 😊😊

author’s note: decided to enter into @btsboulangerie‘s september prompt contest. i’ve been working on this the past few weeks since september started. i know it’s early and there’s still a few weeks before the deadline but i just thought i’d put it out there (mainly because i might forget to post it). also, i’m apologizing in advance for any grammar or spelling mistakes that i didn’t catch!! 

please do not copy my work. but please like and reblog it. thank you!!!!

taehyung raised a soft, half-asleep hand up to his face in order to rub the sleep from his eyes. he yawned in the process, soft sigh falling past his pink lips. he was exhausted to say the least, but that was because he had stayed up majority of his night finishing his most recent project.

it was a painting. he was attempting to mimic vincent van gogh’s style of art and integrating it with his own style. it was a simple painting of some buildings that he took a picture of while he was vacationing with his family a year ago in the united kingdom.

the painting was being held in his other hand as it was due today. taehyung walked onto the school campus, not expecting a lot to happen. but he noticed a small crowd of his fellow art students. it was hard to see as they were forming an uneven semi-circle directly in front of a brick wall. it was near the entrance.

quite intrigued by the matter, the tired look in his eyes vanished and his curiosity was peaked. being extra cautious of his painting, taehyung maneuvered through the crowd of students, mumbling tiny “excuse me”s every so often. finally, he reached the front and got a good view of what every was gawking at.

taehyung had to crane his neck back in order to get the full picture of what he was looking at, literally. he was close to the wall. at first, he noticed the shade of purple that was used. obviously it was graffiti, judging by the unique style of letters. it was a statement, a quote, that had been spray painted onto the brick wall. it read: “be the change you want to see in the world.” taehyung shyly smiled. he believed strongly in that quote.

after admiring the artwork on the wall, one that he knew would for sure anger the professors, he was about to turn around when his ears caught wind of some conversations.

“i wonder who did this…”

“it’s so pretty.”

“imagine mr. khan’s face when he sees this.”

taehyung also wondered who had done this. he was intrigued, drawn to the unique style of art, and the choice of canvas. still, he had to get to class.

taehyung forced himself through the crowd once more, checking to make sure that his piece of art hadn’t been ruined or contaminated in any way. once he was sure that it was fine, he hurried into the building, excited to get to class. taehyung had always admired art, it was a passion of his. for as long as he could remember, he would use whatever writing utensil he could find and draw on whatever was in front of him. his mom would always get mad at him when it happened to be a black pen and a placemat at the dining table. sometimes it would even be crayon on the walls. but with all the practice, taehyung’s art majorly improved. he loved how beautiful art was, and he always admired the deep, hidden meaning that some of the pieces had.

taehyung walked into the classroom, the life-changing quote still in his mind. that’s how to start a good day, he thought.

upon walking to his seat, he noticed that the classroom was completely empty. he was a bit early, he noticed when he pulled out his phone to look at the time. but, as he glanced around the vacant classroom, he noticed that there was a girl over in the corner. a section of her hair fell onto the side of her face while she used a pencil to seemingly shade something in. her eyes were trained onto the paper, not even leaving her sketchbook as her free hand came up to brush the section of hair behind her ear. she looked beautiful.

suddenly, she glanced upward, nearly giving taehyung a heart attack. he gasped. strange noises left his mouth as his cheeks changed from their typical sunkissed, golden color to a deep, cherry red. the girl remained staring at him, looking at innocent as ever. “h-hey.” taehyung finally managed to say, hesitantly moving around a few tables to get closer to her table.

“hi.” she replied, eyebrows raised slightly.

taehyung’s hand moved to the back of his neck. “sorry for staring.”

she blushed, a shy smile coming to her face. “it’s okay. you probably were just surprised to find someone else in here.”

or because you were absolutely beautiful…

taehyung cleared his throat. “yeah.”

suddenly, she glanced downward. “is that your project?”

taehyung’s eyes widened, cheeks red once more. he smiled proudly and help up his painting to her. “yeah. my reference was a picture i took when i was in england.”

her eyes were wide with amazement. taehyung noticed a particular sparkle in her eye, and he couldn’t help but feel even prouder. she seemed genuinely amazed at his piece of artwork. “wow!” she said quietly while running the tips of her fingers along each stroke. “it’s beautiful. so unique.”

taehyung grinned. “thank you!” then he glanced around. “do you have your final project?”

she looked down at her sketchbook before gasping suddenly. before taehyung could even blink, she was flipping her sketchbook over, causing her pencil to fling off of the table and onto the floor. when taehyung looked at the pencil, then her sketchbook, and then back at her face, she was bright red in color. taehyung’s eyes widened. “are you okay?”

“uh… yeah.”

she flashed taehyung an unconvincing smile, but taehyung didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. then, he bent down, picking up the stray pencil, and then handed it back to her, a smile on his face as he did so. “well, then.” he laughed shyly. “i’ll see you around i guess.”

she was still blushing, and seemed extremely flustered, but she still managed to say, “see ya.”

----

you sighed in relief as you watched his back while he walked away from you. your heart was still pounding against your ribcage, and your face still felt hot. once he was sitting down in his seat and became distracted by his phone, you flipped over sketchbook and found that you had accidentally creased a corner of the paper. it wasn’t too bad, but it still made your pout slightly. after one glance at your fellow art student, you picked up your pencil and continued sketching.

----

taehyung was proud that the teacher liked his painting. every time he looked at it, he remembered the countless amount of minutes he had spent on it, how he painstakingly painted each stroke. careful not to make any mistakes. his hard work paid off, he got a 100%.

after class, taehyung was ready to go back to his dorm. he planned on calling his parents and asking them if he could visit on the weekend and give them his painting.

while standing up from his seat, just after the bell rang, taehyung glanced behind his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the girl he had met earlier. for a split second, he wondered why he had never seen her before. but his question was quickly answered. she sat in the very back corner of the classroom, an entire desk - that could fit four people total - all to herself. she was also extremely quiet and mainly kept to herself.

taehyung felt like he was very similar to her. he did have friends that attended this college, but they had completely different majors, therefore, he didn’t have any friends in his art class.

the young art student glanced back over in her direction, only he caught her looking at him. surprised by that, taehyung looked away, feeling all of his blood rush to his cheeks. his hands froze, being in the middle of packing his sketchbook into his backpack. he wanted to look at her again, to see if she was still looking. so he did, only she wasn’t there anymore. she disappeared, as if nobody was there to begin with.

his shoulders relaxed, but his heart sunk. a strange feeling.

----

the next day, taehyung showed up at the same time. he wondered if she would be there already, just like yesterday. he was actually really looking forward to seeing her again, and he was wondering if he should try talking to her again. as he walked towards the building, he noticed that a few janitors of the school were working on cleaning the purple graffitied wall, although they had hardly made any progress. he felt the corner of his mouth tug upwards as he walked by, just as he slipped into the building.

the door to the art classroom soon came into view. as he approached the entry to the classroom, taehyung grew nervous. there was nothing stopping him, he had no reason to turn away and come back later. and yet, here was was actually considering it. why was he so nervous? he loved meeting new people, he loved making friends. taehyung found it easy and enjoyable.

taehyung shook his head, as if to shake away all his anxiety. with a deep, calming inhale, he grabbed the handle and pulled the door open. he looked around, finding the classroom empty once again, with the exception of the quiet, artistic girl sitting in the corner.

taehyung stopped, time seemingly to follow his en suite. the morning sun coming in through the tall windows was enough light for the classroom, and while it enveloped everything in a golden ray of light, taehyung easily took in the scene of her in front of him. how the sun gave her skin a mesmerizing golden hue, how he allowed him to see all of her. taehyung was falling in love.

the girl looked up, her beautiful eyes meeting his own. when she recognized who it was, she quickly turned a page in her sketchbook, attempting to hide her sketch. taehyung didn’t necessarily notice, his mind was far too occupied to think.

taehyung came out of his trance, his cheeks burning. he swallowed hard. “h-hi.” he spoke nervously.

the girl blushed as well, although it was hardly noticeable underneath the sun’s glow. “h-hey.” she replied.

taehyung walked closer to her desk. he kept his gaze away from her eyes, her face. he was too worried about how he had basically stared at her for a solid minute. “i noticed that you sit here by yourself.”

she nodded, a shy smile on her face. “yeah. i don’t have any friends in this class.”

taehyung felt himself smile. “yeah, me too.”

a silence fell between them, and it pained taehyung. what else should he say?

“um, do you mind if i sit with you? that way you won’t be alone.”

her eyes widened, her blush coming back. “yeah, yeah, go ahead.” she gestured to the seat across from her.

taehyung felt his heart skip a beat. she was so nice, and kind. it was hurting taehyung. he smiled as he pulled out the seat across from her, placing his backpack in the empty chair next to him. “so,” he said, pulling his sketchbook out of his backpack. “did you see the graffiti outside, by the entrance?”

she looked up, having started to doodle variations of flowers on the corner of the blank piece of paper. “o-oh, that. yeah, i did.”

“i wonder who did it.” he paused. “i liked the message, a lot actually. it’s always been my favorite quote.”

she smiled, “me too.”

“do you have an idea of who did it?”

the girl seemed to avoid his gaze. her eyes were trained on something outside the window now. taehyung stared at her, waiting patiently for an answer. she cleared her throat, “about that… that graffiti was actually me.”

taehyung’s eyes widened. “wait, that was you?”

she nodded.

a wide grin showed on taehyung’s face. “wow! you’re just good at all forms of art, aren’t you? graffiti, painting, sketching-”

she blushed as taehyung complimented her. “although, i wouldn’t say i can watercolor.”

taehyung laughed. “yeah, i have problems with watercolors too. it’s either too dry or too watery and then i can’t really blend or overlap or get the right color, so in the end, it’s just a mess.”

“exactly!” she agreed loudly.

“you know,” taehyung began, still laughing slightly, “i don’t know your name.”

“it’s y/n.”

taehyung smiled and reached his hand out. she gently took it, another blush coming to her cheeks. “taehyung.”

until the art professor arrived, taehyung and y/n talked about many other things, finding that they had a lot of things in common. and on the things that they didn’t agree with, they would playfully argue, and it only brought them closer together.

after class, before y/n could leave, taehyung called out to her. he quickly swung his around, reaching for her arm in order to stop her from walking away any further. she gasped in surprise, cheeks turning a bright red. taehyung himself was surprised. his cheeks gradually began to match hers. he coughed into his fist, releasing her arm. “sorry, i just had a question.”

she smiled at him. “yeah?”

“do you want to get lunch right now?”

she grinned widely. “that sounds nice. where do you want to go?”

“that’s a good question.” he replied, a shy laugh following after.

“how about…”

taehyung watched as her gaze moved around the room. she was thinking, trying to think of a place to eat at. the aspiring artist seemed to space out as he studied her, wondering how she managed to look so cute, because suddenly, she was waving her hand in front of his face. “taehyung?” the way she said his name caused his heart to skip a beat.

“sorry.”

“i said what about [restaurant name]?”

“yeah, that sounds wonderful.”

----

“i have another question.” taehyung spoke, swallowing his bite of noodles.

y/n looked up at him, attempting to slurp her noodles faster so that she could give him her full attention. “hm?” she managed to say.

“why did you flip your sketchbook over so fast? you were so flustered by it.”

y/n almost choked on her noodles. she hurriedly swallowed her bite, sitting up straighter. she prayed silently that her cheeks weren’t as red as the booth they were currently sitting in. “why do you ask?”

taehyung shrugged. “i don’t mean to pry. i’m just curious.”

“are you sure you want to know?” she asked him.

a weird, fuzzy anticipating feeling erupted in taehyung’s stomach. “yeah.”

she seemed hesitant, and taehyung wondered if he was making her feel uncomfortable. he surely didn’t want that.

y/n reached next to her and opened her backpack. she pulled out the sketchbook that taehyung was talking about. after she pushed aside her half-empty bull of ramen and made room to set down her sketchbook, she looked at taehyung. “please don’t feel weirded out by my drawings.”

taehyung’s eyebrows furrowed. he started to picture what he was going to see, both appropriate and inappropriate. he felt his cheeks heat up at the thought of inappropriate sketches.

slowly, she turned over the cover, allowing taehyung to see the first page. the first page was not what he was imagining. instead of nude drawings, there were sketches of birds, ones that he’s seen many times on campus. “wow.” he whispered, a smile on his face.

she continued. the next page was of a few realistic faces, some of the students he’s also seen in classes and on campus. a few pages later, he saw the rough draft of the graffiti on the wall. he spotted the written note in the top corner, reminding y/n to use the color purple.

“this is where it gets weird.” she warned.

taehyung didn’t understand. why was she being so shy? she drew amazing sketches and pictures, so realistic that it almost looked like they were just simply black and white photos.

y/n turned over the page, revealing a sketch that shocked taehyung. it was a picture of him, talking to one of his friends from another class. he was surprised how much detail she drew; the box-shaped smile, squinted eyes as he grinned, the shading on his face, everything about it wasn’t able to be described in words.

another page was turned and he recognized himself again, this time sitting in his chair in the classroom, drawing in his sketchbook. taehyung was in awe.

he glanced up at y/n, finding that she wouldn’t meet his eyes. her cheeks were still red, now matching the red used on the booths. taehyung’s jaw was hanging open and his eyes were wide. he definitely was in love.

seeing his reaction, y/n felt shy. she felt the need to slam her sketchbook closed and run out of the restaurant, away from taehyung. but she also felt a burst of confidence in her work. he didn’t seem disgusted or weirded out from her drawings of him. she often times felt like a stalker, convinced that he would never notice her.

but taehyung, he was in love. “wow, these are amazing.” he managed to say.

she smiled, “really?”

he nodded. “i could never match this skill.”

“you’re not, like, disgusted by me watching you and drawing you in my sketchbook?”

taehyung blushed. “not at all. i’m just surprised, and amazed.”

“taehyung,” she spoke quietly, “i don’t know when it began, perhaps it started on the first day of school when you first walked into the classroom, but, i like you. a lot.”

taehyung’s jaw dropped again. his cheeks were bright red, looking like someone has attached two giant apples to his face.

she giggled in response, afterwards biting her lower lip.

“i must be dreaming.” taehyung whispered. “i like you too.”

y/n smiled happily. “that’s a relief.”

“can i have your number?” taehyung asked shyly.

y/n nodded. she grabbed her phone from her backpack and handed it to taehyung, who put his own number into his phone. “you should probably text me, so that i know it’s you.”

taehyung grabbed his phone, just as the screen lit up. it was a message from an unknown number, but he easily recognized who it was from. it was obvious given the moment. it was a simple heart emoji, and taehyung swore he stopped breathing when he looked at her again.

----

months later

y/n cursed to herself as she glared at the painting in front of her. she had managed to mix the wrong color and in return, it ruined part of her painting. she needed to fix it. the only issue was, she had mixed that color in the first place because the white acrylic paint bottle had gone missing. she thought that she wouldn’t need it, but boy did she thought wrong.

with a sigh, y/n stood up from her stool. taehyung glanced over from y/n’s bed, attention pulled away from his phone. he had a small, mischievous grin on his face. y/n hadn’t noticed.

“what’s wrong, babe?”

y/n glanced at her boyfriend. she gestured vaguely to her painting as she walked over to the shelf across the room where all her art supplies were located at. she wondered if she had left the white paint bottle there by accident. “i messed up.”

taehyung watched eagerly. you wandered over to your art shelf and began moving things around, taking a random box off the shelf, searching through it, and then putting it back with a huff. you would check the same spots again and again, until your gaze gradually traveled up the rather tall shelf. and there, as the only item on that shelf because you couldn’t reach it, was the white acrylic paint bottle.

you heard a stifled laugh from the opposite corner of the room. you didn’t even need that sound to tell you who had done this. you turned around, an angry glare on your face. “kim taehyung.”

he finally released his cackle. he definitely was not holding back, and he was clearly enjoying this. “what’s wrong?” he asked while feigning innocence.

“you know what’s wrong.”

taehyung hopped off the bed, doing a slight skip afterwards, and then walked over to your side. he glanced up, a grin still seen on his face. “did i do that?”

you rolled your eyes. you shifted all of your weight on one leg before crossing both of your arms over your chest. “can you please get that down?”

taehyung reached up, easily grabbing the bottle, only he didn’t give it to you. instead, he opted to hold it up on the air. you groaned, “taehyung!”

“i need a reward.” he suggested.

you blushed slightly. “for grabbing the bottle that you put up there…”

taehyung wrapped his free arm around your waist, pulling you closer into his side. his lips were puckered out, and you were feeling yourself slipping. why did he have to be so damn cute?

finally, you pressed your lips to his. immediately taehyung deepened the kiss, clearly wanting more. you obliged, only while he was distracted, his arm came down. in the blink of an eye, you grabbed the bottle and pulled away from taehyung, a loud smack resonating after the two pairs of lips parted. taehyung stood there, surprised, as he watched you skip towards your canvas, pretending as if nothing had happened.

he sighed in defeat, shoulders evidently relaxing. “gotta love her.”

[toviitaffee]

A Day Out

Author’s notes : Chapter three of The Magical Orphanage AU! Kind of a filler but it does has a thing or two I had to establish or foreshadow. Have fun reading!

Summary : In a world of magic, fairies and dragons, misfortune find us at every step. So how, pray tell, are the lost and abandoned supposed to live when no one else will care for them? It’s quite simple really. They can head to the Brookden Orphanage, there they will be taken in with open arms.

A few weeks have past and it is finally time for Virgil to join the others in helping around the orphanage. Task one? A shopping trip with Logan.

Pairings : Implied romantic Remile, everything else will be platonic because THEY ARE CHILDREN BETWEEN 4 AND 7

Warnings : Mention of Orphanages. Description of panic attacks kinda.

Word count : 1946

AO3 link

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Usually, the winding streets of the market place weren't where young children would be found. Sure, it wasn’t uncommon to see children in the workplace but for one reason or another the market just didn’t have them. Maybe it was a result of several fairy tales about shady merchants who took children away, never to be seen again or the simple mistrust towards a child’s ability to be responsible with money. The latter point made a lot less sense considering that many of said youth are trusted with much more dangerous tools than money but adults really aren’t all that logical when it truly comes down to it. At least Logan said so when Virgil asked why the amount of children seemed to go down the closer they were to the colourful stalls filled with various intriguing items with a fascinating smell of mixed herbs, food and fabrics amongst many other things. A smell was actually the nice way to put it. It was more of a stench which would linger for days on end.

It seemed that Logan and Virgil were the only children with enough courage to enter this mysterious land of overwhelming senses. Well, Logan was the brave one, Virgil was simply already committed to helping Logan, he couldn’t just say he can’t do it. For all he knew, that would make Logan disappointed in him and he really wanted to avoid not meeting the expectations of someone who the younger boy already managed to get so close to. He didn’t want to lose Logan’s calm demeanour and logic that always managed to calm him down throughout the few weeks that Virgil spent at the orphanage. So Virgil pushed past the fear by grabbing onto Logan’s hand and using the excuse that he didn’t want to get lost in the crowd.

The crowd itself was a view to behold. People swiftly sliding in between each other, like the rush of a river if it could flow in more than one direction at a time. The better way to describe it would probably be to compare it to the air that constantly swivelled around them. The chatter reached far and wide yet not much of it was anything that Virgil could understand as it all just blurred into one loud buzz of noise. Various colours and fabrics kept brushing past the two boys. A dull blue skirt there, a pale green coat here, or maybe the various grays of sweeping cloaks of different lengths all around. It was a lot. Virgil found that maybe there was another potential reason why children didn’t dare enter the market. Maybe they were just smart enough to avoid getting crushed like a snail beneath all these trampling feet. Adults always claim to be oh so more organised than children yet Virgil couldn't help muttering that the children at the orphanage, those who were supposed to be the most disorganised of all, could manage to be more sensible than the shoppers and vendors around them.

“Ah, so we share that sentiment huh?” Logan murmured back to the unsuspecting Virgil. The younger boy didn’t think he was heard but one look at Logan said that maybe he shouldn’t have been as worried about speaking his mind. After all, if Logan was smiling, that meant there’s no way he said anything wrong.

“Adults are peculiar creatures, even if they are simply our older counterparts. Then again, hardly any of them are properly educated, shame really but that is the world we live in unfortunately,” Logan added after a little while, adjusting his glasses and facing ahead once more and tugging gently at their intertwined hands to keep on going.

“Why are we here anyway? I mean, Emile probably explained but I got a bit… distracted and it would be nice to know what to keep my eyes peeled for, right?” The younger boy enquired, tugging at the strings of his own cloak with his free hand. ‘Distracted’ was one word to describe what happened. He doesn’t really remember how he got from the main room where Emile was giving out chores to about a ten minute walk from the market. It’s a good thing that Logan isn’t one for constant chatter like Patton because it was easy to slowly adjust to his consciousness again without alerting anyone about being sort of gone in the first place. The worst part about the entire experience is that he is aware of what happened, of the sounds and sights, they just make very little sense in context to time. It was something that was difficult to explain even to himself. That and the pressure on his chest and constant shivers that ran across his body even now despite it being relatively warm.

“Just some writing equipment, a few herbs for the stores, fresh produce and the like. Oh and a gift for Annalease, she’s one of the older girls and she’s leaving the orphanage tomorrow,” Logan listed off, glancing at a piece of paper he pulled out of one of his many pockets. Much to Virgil’s relief, he didn’t even mention anything about the boy’s distant mind. Virgil had a feeling that Logan knew though, regardless of what he said or rather didn’t say. The older boy had that sort of look in his eye that wasn’t quite concern but it definitely hid some sort of knowledge and feeling about Virgil’s state from a few minutes ago. Nonetheless, Virgil was extremely grateful it wasn’t brought up now. He was also starting to understand why some people thought that Logan held some magical power. It sometimes seemed as if the older boy could actually read minds when in reality he was just extremely observant of the most miniscule details.

“Alright!” Virgil said, some of the fear having turned into excitement along the way. It didn’t negate the slight tremor in the boy’s voice. No, that didn’t seem to be getting away for another while yet. “Isn’t this usually Remy’s job though? Going out to buy things?” Virgil added the question after a few moments of silence between the two. His heterochromatic eyes looking up to meet with the ocean blue ones that belonged to Logan.

“It is, however Remy doesn’t always have time to do this so sometimes one of us, usually me for some reason, does the shopping. As far as I’m aware, Remy is trying to see if he can find any information as to where you are from and why you were in the river,” Logan explained, his eyes then narrowing as he struggled to see a far away object even with the spectacles over his eyes. When the eyes widened to a normal level once more, the two boys changed their direction, signalling that Logan found one of the things on their list. Virgil simply nodded in response. He was extremely curious about why Remy was still bothering trying to find out anything about him. The past two times either he or Emile tried to find answers only brought on more questions. Mainly, there was the biggest one they were all aware of from the beginning of this whole situation. Did Virgil possess any magical ability. Funnily enough, that would give a lot more answers than his name or appearance which were already unique enough. Basically every adult in the land knows that those with potential to become powerful mages are most likely of noble birth and those who don’t hold a shred of magical intuition like Logan tend to be as far away from the nobility as possible. Then again, using Logan and his biological line as an example again as he was from a quite favourable family that was just a step away from nobility, it doesn’t always follow that rule. Exceptions will always exist in nature.

Virgil got quite caught up in his thoughts. So much so that he almost ran into Logan’s back when he came to a stop over a stall filled with various gemstones. This wasn’t specifically on the list meaning they stopped there for Annalease and her parting gift. Virgil’s eyes ran over the gems. There were so many of them, all varying in colour size and shape. It didn’t seem like there were any two gems alike. Some looked like they could probably cut him quite deeply if he wasn’t careful and others were probably smoother than anything he could possibly think of.

“What’s Annalease’s favourite colour?” Virgil asked, glancing between Logan and the gems, “I think I know some of their meanings and associations and meaningful gifts are the best kind of gift,” he added soon after. Logan looked down at Virgil with an eyebrow raised in curiosity. After all, gemstone meanings aren’t exactly common knowledge.

“Green or blue.Truth be told I can never tell with that woman so it could be different,” Logan answers with a sigh but that’s all that Virgil needed to look across the table and point at a bluish green shaped gem the size of a small button. Logan nodded to the vendor to enquire about the details of the stone. After all, it’s not like they could spend a fortune they didn’t really have on one person.

“Good eye child, Alexandrites are quite well received with women with how their colour changes. Fascinating, right?” The man said with a raspy voice that was probably one of the consequences of being in the sales business. Virgil nodded in agreement, his eyes shining with a new kind of passion that Logan had yet to see.

“Mmhm! And they have a really cool meaning too! It’s intuition, creativity and imagination, right?” Virgil chatted to the man before Logan could even try to speak again. “Huh, that kind of sounds like Roman, it’ll suit Annalease well then considering they are freakishly similar in personality,” the boy added quietly, the words meant for Logan this time rather than the vendor. There was something about the way Virgil said that that implied there was something else he wanted to say. The man was nodding at the boy once he fell silent again but after that Virgil didn’t pay attention to the conversation between Logan and the man which did thankfully result in a new necklace for their fellow orphan.

Soon, the boys moved on in silence, Logan’s concern visible on his face yet Virgil was oblivious to it. He was in his own world, not here but not quite anywhere else at the same time. This resulted in a decision being made to drag the two of them into a more quiet part of the market where Virgil could sit down for a minute.

“Is everything alright, Virgil?” Logan enquired, sitting down next to Virgil and passing some water he brought with him for the journey to the boy. Virgil didn’t protest the silent command to drink, taking a few sips before passing it back to Logan and shrugging his shoulders.

“It’s just… I know that someone taught me about the gems and I know they were really important to something about that person or maybe another person but it’s frustrating not to actually know what’s going on in my head and who those people and voices are,” Virgil whispered. Logan hummed in understanding, placing a comforting hand on the younger boy’s shoulder while adding a mental note to pass this information on to the adults. And tell Patton to comfort the younger boy once they were back.

Virgil tried to push the thoughts aside for the remainder of their shopping trip yet it was difficult not to see a familiar yet strange pendant with two yellow gems - Citrine and Topaz.

[panda-noosh]

Hold Me While You Wait {Shiro x Reader}{The Rockstars Series}

The Rockstar Series: a series of fics documenting rockstar!Voltron falling in love.

Words: 14k

Summary: What a coincidence that the first person to catch you breaking and entering is also the lyricist for your favourite band.

Genre: angst

Warnings: swearing - violence - abuse  

Notes: masterlist - well the rockstar series took an angsty ass turn. 

--

The window was open. That was their first mistake.

   It was almost as if this stranger wanted you to crawl into their house. The open window, the fact that they were never home. It was the perfect setting for a perfectly set out plan – one you were going to put into action today.

  Lotor took the lead, struggling to fit his broad shoulders through the relatively cramped window panes that apartments on this side of town provided. You stood impatiently behind him, arms folded over your chest and eyes gazing up into the sky – nobody could see you, considering the stranger hadn't cut down their trees in a number of years.

    “Take your time,” you jabbed. “I'll just wait here.”

  “Be quiet!” Lotor hissed, before he finally managed to squeeze himself through the window. He stumbled, just barely catching himself on a small coffee table holding an empty fruit bowl. You followed in after him, managing to squeeze through a lot quicker.

  Lotor glared at you as if that very fact was an insult on his pride.

  You ignored him and started what you had come here to do; even though you knew you had all the time in the world, there was still a sense of rush that came with doing things like this. Zarkon would never forgive you if you and Lotor walked back to the house with nothing to show for the days endeavours – those were the worst kinds of punishments. He hated it when you spoke back to him, hated it when you were out late, hated it when you didn't pick up the phone, but the worst kind of punishments always came when the two of you didn't do your job right.

  The apartment was smaller than you were led to believe from the outside. There was a sofa, a small TV, a small kitchen and three steps leading to a hallway that directed you to what you assumed had to be a bedroom and the bathroom.

  “I'll take the living room,” Lotor said. “Stuff in here is heavier.”

  You nodded, refusing to argue. You darted up the three steps and headed for the first door you could see. Opening it revealed a bedroom, a double bed in the middle, a guitar propped up in the corner, multiple crumpled up pages strewn across the floor. You didn't fail to notice the half-open bin of notebooks at the end of his bed – where most people kept a hamper of clothes, another desk perhaps, this stranger kept a bin full of old, used notebooks.

    You would be lying to say the curiosity within you didn't peak, because it certainly did. You had broken into many, many houses in your time, and each one had a story of their own. Why did they choose that wallpaper? Why did they like the pattern on that sofa? What made them not want to get Sky and instead suffer through the limited channels of Freeview?

  For this particular house, why did this stranger decide to keep an abundant amount of notebooks?

  You couldn't give yourself the time to think of an answer. Downstairs, you could already hear Lotor shuffling around, the crinkle of his bin bag as he stuffed it full of possessions that were not his own. You shoved the guilt to the side and darted into the bedroom, unrolling your own bin bag and starting from the bottom.

  You started with clothes. Mens clothes, mainly consisting of black and whites, a few grey shirts thrown in for selections sake. They looked close enough to Zarkons size – he would be happy about that. He would praise you for those.

    You moved on to the wardrobe. Inside, another guitar was propped up. You ignored the twitch of your fingers, that voice in the back of your head that was telling you to just give it a go. Just this one time. But already you had passed boundaries that nobody should ever pass, and you didn't want to throw any further risk on yourself or Lotor.

  So you shoved past it and dug inside the shoe boxes that were lined up by the wardrobe wall. Inside was even more notebooks.

   You frowned. What the hell? Were you dealing with a collector? Were any of them actually used? You didn't know, but you wanted to find out.

  Lotor was still rummaging around downstairs. You were ahead of the game, had a few extra minutes to kill before the two of you would start going through the escape plan and getting the hell out of here...

  You convinced yourself. You reached forward and snatched one of the notebooks up, leaning back on your heels to read through it.

  Lyrics.

   Lyrics, poetry – whatever it was, it littered each and every page. The words were accompanied by tiny doodles, the words 'Smokey Saturdays' written across the top of one of the pages in big, bold lettering.

  So the stranger was a fan of Smokey Saturdays too.

  The fact amused you; you had been a fan of Smokey Saturdays for years now, having bought their debut album entirely on a whim when you and Lotor were out perusing the high street for Zarkon. You had been a fan ever since, and here you kneeled in a strangers home, getting ready to steal their belongings, only to get distracted by the fact that they had something in common with you.

  “It's a small world,” you mumbled, before Lotor's heavy feet came barrelling through the hallway.

  You whirled around just in time to see his red face appear in the entrance. He skidded to a halt, grasped the door frame and said three little worlds that sent your heart stamping into overdrive; “He's home early.”

  You had no time to think about your actions, to think about the bin bag you had left stranded on the strangers bed. You shoved the notebook back into his shoe box, slammed the cupboard door closed and followed Lotor out into the living room – the living room that lad been left an absolute mess by Lotor's grappling hands.

  You froze. “We can't leave it like this.”

  Lotor was busy stuffing towels into his bin bag. “We don't have a fucking choice, alright? Now help me haul this thing back down the fire escape. Did you get yours?”

  Your heart thundered as you shook your head. Lotor's gaze hardened, his mouth opening; he was on the verge of yelling at you, on the verge of telling you how stupid you were because you both knew what this meant – you would arrive home empty handed, and Zarkon wouldn't like it. He would lose his head. He would punish you.

  Nonetheless, Lotor was smarter than that. He was also aware of the time crunch, and refused to spend another moment dwelling on your failures – not whenever the man who owned this house was on his way upstairs.

  “Fine,” Lotor said, going back to his own collecting. “It's fine. We're fine. Maybe my bag will be enough. Now help me-”

  He swung the bag over his shoulder and darted to the open window. You stumbled after him, gripping the window frame-

  Lotor tried to squeeze through and got caught halfway. Your heart sank.

  “Not now,” you whispered. “Lotor, not now.”

  “I can't help it!” he hissed, struggling against the frame. “Fuck, this hurts!”

  He had managed to launch the bag through the window, but his body refused to follow. You shoved your shoulder into his side, but you did nothing besides cause him pain. He swung his head back, white hair billowing over his shoulder.

  “We'll need another method.”

 “Hurry up!” you hissed. “You said he was home!”

  “I saw his car pull into the car park,” Lotor replied, before he inhaled deeply, turned back to the window and-

  He fell down the fire escape seconds before the front door opened and a voice echoed out in the living room.

  “What the hell?”

  Of course there was nothing you could say to explain what was going on. You didn't even want to turn around, afraid of what you would see because it was obvious what you would see – the stranger would be stood there, and he would see you and he would see the mess Lotor had left behind. It wouldn't take him long to add two and two together.

  You pursed your lips and slowly rotated to face him. He stood in the doorway, handling a guitar case, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed with what was obviously exhaustion and shock mingling into one. He didn't look up to meet your eyes when you turned. He just stood there and stared, grip tightening on the handle of his leather guitar case.

  You recognised him.

  You recognised him, because he had been on the back of those albums you adored so dearly. You recognised him, because his name had been plastered over the acknowledgements of those very same albums, the word 'LYRICIST' stapled to his name. You had watched interviews with him, had never taken much notice of him because he wasn't part of the band but in more ways than one, he made the band.

  You swallowed thickly. This was Takashi Shirogane – Shiro. The man who wrote all the songs for Smokey Saturdays.

  He was a celebrity, and you had just been caught stealing from his apartment.

   You were so lost in your own thoughts that you barely registered the moment he looked up and met your eyes. They were a harsh grey colour, but you could only imagine they looked ten times more fierce now.

  You coughed, scratching the back of your neck. “I can clean this up if you want.”

   “Who the hell are you? And what did you do?” he barked. The anger had been released. He dropped his guitar case to the floor and darted forward. You flinched, half expecting him to grab you and toss you out the window, but he did no such thing. As you curled back against the wall protectively, he dropped to his knees beside his shredded sofa.

  “It wasn't – I mean, it wasn't me exactly,” you said, before wincing. “But that doesn't really help the situation, does it?”

  “I'm calling the police.”

  Your eyes widened. He stood up, headed towards his phone but you latched on to his arm before he could get very far. Where the momentum had come from, you could not pinpoint, but the sudden adrenaline rush that came with such a threat was unlike anything you had ever felt before.

  He looked down at where your hands wrapped around his bicep and raised a brow. A muscle continued to twitch in his jaw, a sure sign that he was still furious, and still had every intention to call the police on you.

  “Listen, why don't we just talk for a minute?” You were trying. It wasn't working.

  “I've got nothing to say to you,” he growled. “Get off me before I get you done for assault, too. It'll be easy enough with the theft charges.”

  “No, look, we don't have to go down that route.” Even as you continued begging, you uncurled your fingers from his arm. You stood back and watched him as he headed back into the kitchen – the window behind you was open. The fact you weren't running and clambering back out onto the fire escape was one that confused you just as much as it must have been confusing Shiro.

  He wasn't listening to you. He continued to stare, but the desperation in your voice was clearly not registering with him; he dialled those three essential numbers, pulled the phone to his ear-

  You dove for him.

  Hurting him was not your intention. You were wiser than that. Plus, you had eyes. It was clear that Shiro could overpower you in a matter of seconds if he so wanted; the idea of pinning him down was beyond even your imagination.

  Instead, you reached for the phone and smashed it against the sink.

  It shattered. Pieces of plastic and glass flew left, right and centre. A pain welled up in your wrist, and you bit your lip to stop from crying out because, at this moment in time, you had no right to be complaining about your pain. Blood dripped from a fresh cut in your hand, but you span around and darted for the living room before Shiro could mention it.

  “Hey! Hey, don't you dare!”

  You stumbled, catching yourself on an upturned piece of furniture. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. That was so uncalled for. Jesus Christ, I'm making this worse for myself-”

    “You're gonna fucking bleed out, you maniac.”

    You jumped, turning just in time for Shiro to catch up to you. He grabbed your wrist and tugged you – not kindly – back into the kitchen, shaking his head.

  “You broke my fucking phone,” he mumbled almost to himself. “You broke into my house, ruined my stuff, and I'm sat here bandaging you up...”

   “I'm sorry,” you repeated.

  Shiro glared at you. “Stop saying that.”

  Never before had you been so confused.

  This wasn't how it was supposed to go. You were supposed to be in the back of a police car at this point, or at least handcuffed to a table leg as you waited for the polices arrival. However, you were doing neither of those things – instead, you were being lowered onto a wooden chair with a celebrity cradling your wounded hand. Blood welled up from the fresh cut, and it took everything in you not to pass out at the sight. It reminded you of Zarkon, something you did not want to think about right now – it brought you back to your punishments, the punishments that he would inflict on you if you eventually got home, the punishments he would inflict on Lotor.

  You shivered. Shiro's grip tightened on your hand, stilling you as he dabbed water onto your open wound.

  “I want answers,” he said, ignoring your clear discomfort. “I want answers, or else I'm calling the police and getting you arrested.”

  You swallowed thickly, looking up at him. He didn't look back at you, but instead continued to dab at your open wound with his black hair falling into his face. He looked so much taller than he did in interviews. His voice was a lot sterner, though you had a vague idea that that was more due to circumstance than anything else.

  “Anything,” you replied. “I'll answer anything.” And you would, because you could not afford to go to prison.

  “How did you get in?”

  “The fire escape.”

  “What did you take?”

  “Nothing.”

  He raised a brow. “Was that a lie?”

  “I'm still in your apartment. I didn't take anything. I never got the chance to.”

  “But you wanted to.”

   You paused. “I guess.”

   “What's that supposed to mean?”

  You shifted your gaze to the open fire escape. “None of it was for me.”

    He tested this statement out for a second, narrowing his eyes. “Did you find my address online or something? Was it leaked?”

  “No. I didn't even know this was your house until you walked in.”

   “You know who I am?”

 “Oh yeah. Big fan.” You cringed. “Sorry.”

   He shook his head, pushing his tongue into his cheek. “You're too young to be doing this kind of thing.”

   “I'm not much younger than you.”

   “That doesn't mean anything,” he snapped. “I would be too young to be doing this. It's not right. You have so much left to do, and you're spending your time breaking into other peoples houses.”

    “Not by choice, you know.” The words were out before you could stop them. Fear spiked in your system as soon as you realised you had spoken aloud, eyes darting back to the fire escape. Somehow, somewhere, Zarkon had heard that sentence and he was on his way to punish you right now, no doubt having already beaten Lotor to a pulp, maybe even to death. Your heart thundered in your chest, and you reached your good hand up to your pulse, pressing down on it as if that would-

  Shiro grabbed your wrist and lowered it. He was looking up at you now, eyebrows raised and mouth quirked. “Woah. Hey. What's wrong? You look like you're about to pass out.”

  “I'm fine,” you snapped, not entirely meaning to. You shook Shiro's hand off of you and stood up. Your hand was still bleeding. You ignored it. “Look, are you going to call the police or not? I can – I can help you clean up. I can get your stuff back. I just need to get back home before – before people realise I'm gone.”

   Shiro didn't answer. He just stared at you, a grey gaze that held so much emotion and power it almost made you stumble. In any other circumstances, you would have perhaps been hit with a wave of awe at the fact one of the most respected celebrities in your repertoire was standing before you, but the panic that had risen to the surface was blocking out any other natural, human emotion.

  You needed out. You needed to make sure Lotor had gotten home safe, was still breathing, that Zarkon hadn't gone too hard on him. There was no doubt in your mind that he would receive some sort of punishment – that couldn't be avoided – but Zarkon needed to understand this was your fault. You were the one who had gotten distracted by some stupid lyric book, the one who had left their bin bag on the bedroom floor, the one who had insisted Lotor go first, only for him to get stuck.

  You swallowed thickly and turned away from his gaze. “I need to go home.”

   “Your hand is gonna get infected.”

  “It'll be fine.”

  “No.” Shiro reached out, grabbed your hand and tugged you forward again. “It won't. Now sit down and let me get some bandages. And then you're gonna tell me who you're so afraid of.”

  ---  

   It was silent. It shouldn't have been silent.

  He should have been yelling. He should have been screaming, threatening you, asking questions you could never safely answer. He should have hated you, and yet he was sat cradling your bandaged hand in his own, refusing to look at you.

  You were good at profiling people. A trick Zarkon had taught you from a very young age, because he liked to know that nobody could slip past him – not when you and Lotor were around. Lotor was basically a human lie detector, whilst you had been trained to slip into the minds of others, get a glimpse of their next move before they had even done it.

  It was easy enough to do with Shiro. Though he was quiet, he wore his emotions on his face. Already he'd made a comment on your age, how you were too young to be doing this kind of thing. Judging by the way he refused to look up at you, the way he treated you so delicately, it was obvious he still believed that, and it was obvious that he was conflicted over whether or not to punish you for the crimes you had committed.

  His silence was good, though. Unnatural, but good. It gave you time to come up with a lie about why you had been so startled only a few minutes prior – something you were still ashamed to admit. Zarkon would call you all the names under the sun if he knew you had let your guard down so easily.

  “So when are you gonna start talking?” Shiro piped up.

  “When you tell me what you wanna know.”

  “I've already told you.” He looked up, your hand dropping to your side. “Who are you so afraid of?”

  You pursed your lips. “An awfully personal question for someone I've just met.”

   “A question you should be answering if you don't want me to call the police.”

   You faltered. “Good point.”

  He simply nodded. You were hoping he would talk some more, but he knew what he was doing – if he started talking, you would only stall further.

  You inhaled deeply. “It's just . . . . somebody I know. Somebody I've known for a while.”

  “Is this person friendly?”

  Your silence was answer enough.

  Shiro sighed, running a hand through his black hair. He crouched on the floor in front of you, one hand resting on his knee whilst the other tousled and messed with his hair. He chewed the inside of his lip, mind no doubt working at a million miles per hour.

  “It's okay,” you said. “If I just get home to him now, he shouldn't be too angry...”

  Shiro glanced up. “Do you wanna go home?”

  The question struck you into silence. Having lived with Lotor your entire life, you had grown used to the tactic of just falling silent whenever you wanted to lie; you could never lie around Lotor. You often forgot that not everyone in the world could sense deception as easily as him.

  By the time this realisation dawned on you, it was too late to backtrack your silence. Shiro had caught on to it, examined it and was staring at you intently. You bit the inside of your cheek and looked away.

  “This is – This is gonna sound ridiculous,” he started. “But you can stay with me overnight if you want. If you really don't wanna go back there.”

  Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. Your jaw dropped open. Your mind worked at a thousand miles per hour, because nothing he had said made sense; he was meant to be fuming. He was meant to hate you! It was common practise, common knowledge that a person wasn't supposed to offer the person that had stolen from them refuge, even if they needed it. Even if the idea of going home was so gut wrenching it almost made them double over.

  But Shiro didn't look like he was joking. His face was relaxed, shoulders slouched with just an eyebrow peaking to show that he held any emotion to his words at all. It made your stomach flip.

  “You can't be serious,” was all you could say.

  “I can set a room up for you quickly,” he said, already standing up. “If I can't, I can just hire out a room across the hall for the night. It's not a big deal.”

  You scrambled up after him, wincing at the pull of your hand. “You don't have to do this. I tried to steal from you, for christs sake.”

  “And you clearly regret it,” Shiro shot back. “You're young. I'm giving you a chance.”

  “You keep calling me young as if that excuses anything.”

  Shiro shrugged. “It doesn't. But I'm young, too, which means I know just how much life you have left to live. Life you won't be able to live if you keep doing what you're doing.”

   He wasn't listening. He was being generous for the sake of it, not knowing the true extent of his actions. Zarkon would come and find you eventually. He would grow tired of waiting for you to return home on your own like the good little lap dog you were, and he would come for you – with Lotor in his reach, it would be easy enough to get your location.

  He would kill Shiro for even trying to protect you, because in Zarkons eyes, there was nothing to protect you from. In Zarkons eyes, he was doing the right thing. Always.

  Shiro was heading towards his bedroom by the time you finally caught up to him. You tried to grab his arm, but he pulled it out of your grip and pushed open the door before you could; it was then that he saw the damage you had done.

  It wasn't much, not nearly as bad as the living room, but your bin bag was still slung carelessly on the bed, and there was no denying that you had definitely been rummaging around in his stuff. You faltered in the doorway – maybe this would be it. Maybe the evidence of your infiltration would finally break him, and he'd throw you out and tell you to never come back again – that's what he needed to do. That was the wise thing to do.

  But he simply inhaled, shot you a glare over his shoulder and said, “At least you didn't take the covers. You're gonna need those.”

   You closed your eyes. “You're fucking insane.”

   “Ah well.”

  ---

  You fell asleep and woke up in Shiro's bed.

  He had slept on the sofa downstairs, generously giving you his own bed despite your protestations. The two of you had been up until the early hours of the morning, with you questioning him on his motives, and him simply shrugging as if this arrangement meant nothing. He was too casual. He was treating you too kindly.

  Nonetheless, you had never slept better. You awoke with no pain in your neck, no pain in your lower back – not like you usually do. It was a good change, and you found yourself smiling as you hauled yourself from beneath his covers and made your way downstairs.

  He tried to clean up the living room. It was still a mess, the coffee table still broken, but it was beginning to look a little less messy than it had the night before. Maybe that could calm some of your guilt.

  Shiro was still asleep on the sofa when you walked in. One arm was draped over his forehead, the other dangling off the sofa that looked two sizes too small for him. His bare feet dangled over the opposite arm rest, the spare quilt bundled between his legs, his pillow long since knocked to the floor.

  Despite his cramped form, he looked peaceful.

  You made your way to the kitchen, pulled two mugs out of the cupboard and started the morning tea. It must have been the sound of the kettle boiling that roused Shiro into consciousness, as he groaned, rolled over and just barely managed to catch himself on the floor before falling flat on his face.

  You turned. “Good morning.”

  “You're still here,” was his immediate response, as groggy as it was. “I thought you'd have taken off by now.”

  “How is that any way for a person to say thank you?” You folded your arms over your chest. “I'm making tea. Do you drink tea?”

  “I'm more of a coffee person.”

   “Diabolical.”

  “What time is it?” He sat up, the quilt sliding down to show off his bare chest.

  “8:30.”

   His eyes immediately widened. He struggled against the quilt before stumbling off the sofa and grabbing for his phone. He opened it, groaned and ran his hands through his hair in that way you had seen him do so often the previous night.

  “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. My alarm didn't go off.”

   You raised a brow. “Alarm?”

  “I was meant to be meeting Hunk and Keith at the studio today to go over some last minute details for the album,” he replied, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. “I'm already a half hour late.”

   You frowned, despite the thumping of your heart and the urge to smile brewing in your stomach. You knew who Hunk and Keith were. They were the voices you heard on your albums, the guitar and the drums that pulled the songs together. You wouldn't admit it to Shiro, but the idea of meeting them was exciting to say the very least.

  You quickly reigned that hope back in, because it was pointless. Shiro would never let you meet his friends, because you weren't a friend. You were someone he took pity on.

  “I have to get down there now,” he continued. “Get dressed.”

  You faltered. “Sorry?”

  He clicked his fingers, already dragging the quilt back onto the sofa. “Get dressed. We're leaving as soon as possible.”

  You stumbled. “I don't have any clothes to wear, and I can't just-”

   “You can borrow some of mine,” he said. “Forgive me, Y/N, but I don't exactly trust you alone in my apartment at the moment.”

  You ignored how greatly those words affected you.

  “Go pick something from my wardrobe and meet me back down here.” He looked down at his phone, gritted his teeth and said, “Fuck,” one final time before you shot off upstairs and got ready.

  ---

   Shiro might not have called the police on you, but forcing you to appear in front of two musicians you looked up to wearing his clothes was punishment enough for your actions the previous afternoon.

  Even Shiro couldn't keep the small smile off his his face as the two of you approached the doors of the studio. His grey shirt reached your knees when you first put it on, and you were forced to tuck it into a pair of basketball shorts he gave you – basketball shorts that you were pulling up every two seconds.

  “This is humiliating,” you said through gritted teeth, trying to keep your voice low in the quiet hallways.

  Shiro glanced down at you, said nothing, but you made out the twitch of his lips. You rolled your eyes.

  Soon, you both stopped at a door made of glass, a black curtain drawn over it from the inside. Shiro opened the door, and your heart immediately lurched into your throat.

  Because they were there, and they were real, and this entire situation was actually happening.

  Your throat closed over. You forced yourself to follow Shiro into the room, even as your legs felt heavy and your palms became sweaty with nerves. You quickly dashed them along Shiro's basketball shorts, hoped you were being subtle enough for them to not notice.

  Keith turned around first, a black bass guitar propped up on his knee. His black hair was partly hidden beneath a grey beanie, and he wore a red jacket affixed with a black shirt underneath. A large brown belt dug into his abdomen, keeping a pair of dark, ripped jeans fixed upon his waist.

  “Look who finally decided to show up,” he said, strumming a few low tones on his bass. “Over half an hour late, Shiro. What kept you?”

  “Nothing,” Shiro replied without missing a beat. “I just slept in. What have you got so far?”

  Hunk had yet to turn around, but you were swooning nonetheless. His large bulk was huddled over a computer, a complicated looking program pulled up on screen. He was chewing at his thumb nail, his dark eyes narrowed and focused purely on what he was working on. In one hand he held the mouse, the other a single drum stick which he twirled round and round his index finger with professional precision.

  “We're doing the basic chords for Keiths solo,” Hunk replied without turning round.

  “So why am I here?”

    “We agreed that you would control the panel whilst I did the drums.” Hunk raised a brow, shooting Shiro a sideways glance. “Jesus, Shiro. You're usually on top of your game. What's wrong?”

  Keith raised a brow in your direction, the first sign of anyone in the room noticing your presence. “I think I can tell you the answer to that.”

  Shiro clicked his fingers in Keith's face, forcing the boys attention back to him. “Leave them out of this. They're just here because they didn't want to be left alone in my apartment.”

   “Apartment?” Keith said, slowly pulling himself out of his usual slouch. “You were in his apartment?” The question was directed at you. If you weren't still trying to figure out where your fluency of the English language had suddenly disappeared to, you would have replied with a snarky comment.

  But you could only stay silent, gaze bouncing between Keith and Shiro in a desperate attempt to get Shiro to acknowledge that he really needed to take the reigns right about now.

  With his eyes still glued to the computer screen, Shiro sent a swift kick into Keith's leg. “I said, leave them out of this.”

   Keith hummed, narrowed his eyes at you one last time before he stood up and headed towards the booth on the other side of the room. “Just tell me when to start.”

  Hunk sent him a thumbs up, and that's when business ensued.

  You hovered by the door, watching the magic unfold with utmost interest. It wasn't faked. You didn't grow bored, despite the fact that you were doing nothing. You watched as Shiro and Hunk took control of the panels, as Keith blasted his bass guitar in the microphone, closing his eyes and getting lost in the rock music you had listened to so many times by now.

  Rock music had never been your forte. In fact, music as a whole wasn't something you would say you particularly enjoyed – it was difficult to enjoy something you weren't allowed. Your memories of music consisted of you and Lotor sneaking around the house with your mothers old CD's, lowering the volume extra, extra low so Zarkon wouldn't be able to make out the soft bump of the bass guitar, the dull thump of the drums, or the harmonic voice of Lance McClain. The two of you would sit shoulder-to-shoulder and just listen, but it never lasted long. One of you would get paranoid that Zarkon could hear, and you would switch it off and scuttle back to your rooms before this paranoia became a reality. A lot of the time, you had to listen to one song in two sittings, purely because it was almost impossible to get all the way through a song without one of you getting cold feet.

  But this was different. This was the closest to a concert you had ever been, and you would be lying to claim it didn't make you feel alive. You would also be lying to claim that it didn't wake you up to the startling reality of just how little of a childhood you had really been given.

  “What do you think?”

  Your head shot up, eyes darting to Shiro. You hadn't noticed him standing up, but he was stood beside you now, awaiting your answer.

  You nodded. “He's good. He's always been good.”

  “I forgot you were a fan.”

  “Big fan.” You shrugged. “I'm glad you brought me here.”

   Shiro scoffed. “It wasn't a treat. I brought you here so you wouldn't steal from me again.”

   You frowned and looked away, quickly composing yourself. He had every right to bring that up. He wasn't exactly wrong that it was one thing letting you stay with him when he was in the house, but it was a completely different thing to leave you unattended in his apartment whilst he went to work.

  He wouldn't trust you, and he had absolutely no reason to.

  “We've got a few more seconds to record and then I think we're all gonna get something to eat.” Shiro looked down at you, spoke as if the words pained him to say. “Do you wanna join us?”

  Knowing you had nowhere else to go was the only reason you nodded along to his offer; you couldn't go home now. It was too late. If Zarkon didn't already have some of his men looking for you, it wouldn't be long until he did. You would be better off trying to lay low for as long as possible, no matter how odd the circumstances were.

  And so you waited until Shiro, Keith and Hunk wrapped up in the studio before you joined them for lunch at the cafe, located helpfully in the lobby of the studio. Shiro and Keith took your order and headed for counter. Hunk, on the other hand, joined you at the table, sitting down directly to your left.

  The big man leaned into you, a straw already dangling from his lips. You, Keith and Shiro hadn't even ordered yet, so it was a complete mystery to you as to when Hunk had acquired a smoothie of his own.

  “So,” he started. “Now that I'm not distracted by work, I think it's an appropriate time to ask who you are.”

  “Y/N,” you blurted out. “My name's Y/N.”

  Hunk hummed. “Have you been staying with Shiro long?”

   “Only last night.” My final night, because there was no way you planned on spending another day in his house. Staying in one place for too long would be dangerous, especially considering Lotor knew where you were.

  Hunk looked up then, glancing over at the counter. Shiro and Keith stood side-by-side, Shiro with his hands stuffed in his pockets and Keith doing air drums as he waited for his turn to order. Knowing the coast was clear, Hunk leaned in and said, “And how did that night go?”

  You jerked back as if Hunks words were a physical blow. You looked down at him, one eyebrow raised, hands clenching the leather of your seat. “What's that supposed to mean?”

  Hunk shrugged, playing the innocent card now that he could see you hadn't taken his question lightly. “I've just never known Shiro to let some random person stay in his house before. He likes his solitude. It's how he writes all those moody lyrics we're forced to sing.” He rolled his eyes. “Honestly, if it wasn't for the rock beats I put over them, those songs would lead someone to tears.”

   “I only slept in his house because I had nowhere else to go,” you admitted. It wasn't the whole truth, but you could see the tiny bit of reality in your words; that was good enough for you, good enough to release the guilt you may have felt if you were to have come up with an entirely different story.

  “Do you not have a family to go back home to? A house of your own?”

  “No,” you mumbled. “Shiro and I didn't exactly meet under normal circumstances.” You were treading on thin ice now, getting closer and closer to a truth you did not want to admit.

  Hunk opened his mouth to respond to your eerie comment, but never got a chance to question you before two more people appeared at the side of the table – people you recognised instantly.

  The gasp escaped you before you could stop it. Your eyes popped open, hand clamping over your mouth. Shock overtook you, and you could do nothing but sit completely still as Lance McClain and Pidge Gunderson looked at you like you were insane.

  Hunk chuckled. “Y/N L/N, meet-”

  “Hi,” you squeaked out. “Nice to meet you.”

   Pidge raised a brow, fighting an amused grin. “Nice to meet you, too.” She turned back to Hunk. “Friend of yours?”

  “Friend of Shiro's.” Hunk gestured to the empty seats. “Go ahead and sit down. I'll tell Keith to get you something to drink.”

   Lance grunted, slumping down in the seat directly across from you. His knee nudged yours beneath the table. He refused to sit up straight, instead slouching until his shoulder blades were digging into the top of the chair. His head tilted back, his brown hair falling away from his forehead.

  Pidge rolled her eyes, sitting beside him. “Don't mind him.”

   “Is he tired?” you asked.

  “Exhausted,” Lance replied. “Do you know how difficult it is trying to get the ticket companies to just pick up the fucking phone? I've been making phone calls since eight am this morning, trying to figure out where the false tickets are coming from.”

  “We told you that Coran was gonna deal with that,” said Pidge.

  Lance shrugged, folding his arms over his chest. “I don't want Coran to deal with it. Nobody with a fake ticket is getting into one of our shows, and I'm going to be the one to make sure of it.”

  Pidge rolled her eyes again. “Forever the hero, aren't you?”

  “I better be.” Lance's head suddenly snapped up, his eyes trained solely on you. “Wait, who is this?”

  “I think Shiro might be hooking up with them,” was Hunk's casual reply.

  You squeezed your eyes closed, resisting the urge to turn and belt him across the face. “You thought wrong.”

  “Why would you think that?” Lance asked. There was now a glint in his eye. His attention had been piqued. He sat up straight and leaned across the table for details. Even Pidge – who so often pretended like she didn't care – glanced between you and Hunk with an eyebrow raised.

  Hunk glanced at you. The fact that you were covering your face with your hands didn't seem to matter to him. “Shiro let Y/N sleep over at his house yesterday, and then he took them to work this morning.”

   Lance's eyes popped open wide, snapping to you. “Ooooh, is this true?”

  “Yes, but-”

   Lance reached over and grabbed your hand, giving it a firm shake. “Lance McClain. It's an honour to meet someone who can finally get Shiro to loosen the fuck up.”

   “What are you doing?”

  Shiro's voice startled the table into silence. Lance dropped your hand, grinned brightly as he placed his own hands on the back of his head. Shiro carried two smoothies whilst Keith sipped idly at his own on the other side of the table.

  “Absolutely nothing, my boy,” Lance replied. “Come, have a seat! It feels like I haven't seen you in ages.”

  Shiro narrowed his eyes, handed you your smoothie and lowered himself onto the seat next to Lance. “We saw each other yesterday.”

   “Only briefly. You went home early.”

  You grunted. He did indeed.

  “I was just talking to your good friend Y/N here whilst you were getting your smoothies,” Lance continued. “I was getting told all about how you spent the night together.”

  Shiro scoffed. “You make it sound like a lot more than what it was.”

   “That's what I was trying to explain,” you spoke up.

  Lance waved a dismissive hand through the air, as if you and Shiro denying any unspoken claims was irrelevant. “Are you two planning on taking this little fling to our concert next week?”

  You faltered. A concert?

  Growing up, you hadn't even been able to listen to music on CD's, let alone go to live shows. It was always something you wanted to do, always something you craved to experience, but at the time, it looked impossible. You had one job and one job only, and that was to serve Zarkon in whatever way he needed you to serve him.

  Now, here you were, being all but offered the chance to go and see one of your favourite bands perform live. It was enough to choke you into silence, enough for you to dart your gaze over to Shiro, silently begging for him to take the reigns and answer the question. At the end of the day, it was entirely up to him; if he didn't want you there, you wouldn't blame him.

  Shiro took a long, drawn out sip of his smoothie before shrugging. “We'll see.”

  And that was that. He put the lid on the matter quickly, swiftly changing the subject to instead talk about a new song he had been working on. Everybody else looked at you, gouging your response to such a simple reply, but you hid your emotions well enough so as to not provoke any suspicion. You were good at that when you wanted to be.

  As Shiro and the others fawned over Shiro's brand new notebook, already littered halfway through with fresh lyrics that they all critically analysed, you let yourself sink into the background. Your heart was still thundering. The conversation had distracted for only so long, but now the attention was diverted and you were allowed to dwell on the thumping of your heartbeat and the thrum of the blood in your ears; all of this was utterly insane. 

   You closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the seat, inhaling deeply. It would come to an end. All good things did, and you knew that. You had trained yourself not to get your hopes up, and as much as it hurt to put that training into practise now, there was no other choice. Not unless you wanted to be completely crushed in the long run.

  ----

  You tried to protest. Not very much, but the attempt was there.

  Shiro took you back to his apartment after lunch. The others had broken up for practise, meaning Shiro had no reason to hang around; he claimed he had lyrics to catch up on, an album to plan that would not write itself; you tried informing him that you would be fine on your own, but he insisted on taking you back to his place.

  “Why are you doing this?” you asked him at one point during the drive. Your arms were folded over your chest, eyes still set firm on the window. You watched the road skip past, the trees and the houses, the children coming home from school. You imagined yourself in their shoes, just like you always did. They were living a childhood you had never been given – it was a bitter sweet feeling.

  Shiro didn't look away from the road when he answered. “I don't know what you're on about.”

  “Yes you do. You're being nice to me for no reason. I don't deserve kindness from you.”

  “I'll decide who I'm kind to, thank you very much.”

   You bit the inside of your cheek. “You should have called the police on me. You should have knocked me out, saw me as dangerous as soon as you saw the state your apartment was in. You definitely shouldn't be giving me a place to stay.” You looked at him. “It doesn't make sense, and I refuse to believe you're doing this out of the kindness of your heart.”

  It took him a minute to respond. You profiled him, slipping into his head without really meaning to – he had already proved to you that he wasn't a man to make rash decisions out of nowhere. He didn't want to be spontaneous, didn't want to risk hurting the career he spent years building up. He didn't even have to tell you that his journey into the music business had been a long and bumpy road; nobody loved their occupation like he did. Not unless they had to work for it.

  So why was he taking the risk with you?

  His jaw twitched. “Do you wanna put some music on?”

  You gritted your teeth behind your lips but did as he said; you knew an indirect order when you heard one. He didn't want to talk, and you could respect that. It wasn't your place to question him.

  When he finally pulled up, the two of you walked into his apartment in utter silence. He held his notebook under one arm, a pen clipped to the collar of his black shirt. You had come in barehanded, fingers knotted in front of you. The silence was heavy. Too heavy for you to feel any type of comfort.

  Shiro closed the door behind you and gestured to the sofa. “I'll get the kettle on.”

   “Let me do that. You've got work to do.”

  Shiro raised a hand. You paused, raised a brow at him. “I've got it. Sit down.”

    You sighed and did as he said. It didn't take a profiler to recognise when someone didn't want to argue.

  You tapped impatiently at your leg as you waited for Shiro to finish in the kitchen. All that separated you and the door was a broken coffee table and the knowledge that Shiro was only a few feet away; he would hear you, but when had that fact ever stopped you? It was strange. You sat there, perfectly still, listening to the buzz of the boiling kettle and you didn't even really want to move; you weren't entirely comfortable, but the idea of stepping outside and risking the sight of Zarkons men was a lot more terrifying than the idea of sitting inside with Shiro.

  You supposed you should have been grateful. You were still here. His men hadn't come for you yet – he hadn't come for you yet. Maybe Lotor managed to get away with just a mild scolding, or maybe he had taken his chance and run for good. Maybe the two of you had left Zarkon in the dirt, just like you should have done years ago.

  As soon as you set eyes on the page tucked behind a sofa cushion, you knew your thoughts were misplaced.

  It was an intuition. Maybe it was because you had been anticipating disappointment this entire time. Maybe it was just because you were good at this kind of thing – before you even reached over and looked at the page, you knew what it was. It was the same cream paper you had seen so many times, stapled on the walls of your childhood home, locked in some oversized binder that held details so descriptive and so tormenting it was difficult to bring them to the forefront of your mind. It was that same paper.

  You grabbed it. The handwriting was familiar. The weight of the words was familiar. The entire thing was familiar, because you had been at his elbow so many times when he had written these notes in the past. He was never happy when he had to do it, and it was very rare that the person the letter was addressed to lived long enough to take the chance Zarkon always offered them. It was more of a throw-away kindness than a genuine offer.

      Dear, my sweet little Y/N.

   I understand. I really do. We all do. You got caught, and you're embarrassed, and you don't want to face us. You don't want to tell us the truth of your failures. I understand.

    I'm giving you a chance to come back. A single chance, one that you would be wise to take because you have nobody else. Lotor is with me, safe and sound, but worried. You don't want to worry him, do you? You know how he gets when he's worried, and if he explodes at me, my little Y/N, I will not show him the same kindness I'm showing you.

    You were always my favourite. It would be sad to lose you just because of a little blip in the system. You can make it up to me. I won't be mad. I promise.

   Come home and see for yourself just how understanding I can be.

       Hugs and kisses,

              Zarkon.

  “What's that?”

  Shiro sat down beside you, had already grabbed the letter from your hands before you could protest. A quiet whimper escaped your throat. You wanted to sob, but you couldn't. You wanted to scream, but you couldn't. You wanted to jump up and run as far from this place as possible – but you couldn't.

  Not whenever Shiro's eyes turned and clicked onto your own, wide and desperate for answers you knew you could never give him. Not now. Not now that Zarkon's men knew where you were.

  Shiro was on his feet in seconds, throwing the piece of paper back onto the sofa. He darted towards the fire escape, checked to see if it was locked – it was. He bolted towards the door, did the same thing and again, the door was locked and secured just as he had left it after walking in.

  He turned to you. “What the hell is that?”

  “Ignore it.” It was a demand, not a suggestion.

  His face fell. “Y/N. Y/N, what the fuck? What the hell did he mean? Who is Zarkon?”

  You stood up abruptly. “I'm leaving.”

  “You're not going anywhere. It's obviously not safe for you-”

   “It won't be safe for you if you don't let me go.”

  Shiro stared. “And who's gonna be the one to hurt me – you or this Zarkon guy?”

  Your stomach clenched. This whole thing was a mistake – you had said it from the very beginning. Shiro had given you refuge, taken care of you, made sure you didn't go out into a world that wanted nothing but the absolute worst for you, but he would never trust you. He would never look at you and think you were worth anything, because your initial meeting had set off the time bomb that would go off as soon as Zarkon grew tired of waiting.

  Which wouldn't be long.

  Shiro's words told you only one thing – he thought you were capable of hurting him. He looked at you, and he saw the mess left behind in his apartment, the way you had snatched the phone out of his hand and slammed it against the sink, the way you barely winced when the glass sliced your hand. He saw something that wasn't there, an idea based off of loose statistics.

  You looked down at the ground and bit your lip. Maybe it was because you idolised him. Maybe it was because he was right – you were capable of a lot. You could have hurt him. You could have got up in the middle of the night and slit his throat. But you hadn't, because he was Takashi Shirogane.

  He stepped forward. “Come to the concert with me next week.” It wasn't an invitation. “That way I know you're okay.”

   You squeezed your eyes closed, clenching your fists. “This has gone too far already. I can't stay with you for another week.”

   “You can't go out there either,” he replied. He sounded desperate. “I read the note. I read the threats. I don't – I don't understand a lot of it, but I'm not stupid. Somebody wants to hurt you.”

   “He doesn't want to hurt me yet.” Why were you standing up for him? “He wants me to come home.”

   “And what's gonna happen if you do go?” Shiro stepped forward again, so close that you could feel the heat coming from him.

  Your silence was enough. It was always enough.

  Shiro hummed. “I'll take the sofa again. Tomorrow I'll get the guest bedroom set up so we both have proper places to sleep.”

   “Shiro-”

   He turned on his heel, snatching the piece of paper up. He didn't let you finish your sentence, didn't let you protest before he turned to the lit candle placed upon the counter. He tilted the edge of the paper into the open flame and watched the words burn.

  ---

  Days passed. Your anxiety didn't waver.

  Shiro was trying. He woke up every morning, and he greeted you with a smile and a cup of tea, made exactly how you liked it. He tried to make casual conversation, to the point where you could genuinely sit down with him and talk like he was a good friend of yours.

  But it wasn't enough.

  He tried to distract you, but it wasn't going to happen. Days had passed. Zarkon knew you'd received his letter. It was becoming clearer and clearer that you were ignoring him. You weren't planning on coming home, and that was going to make him very angry.

  You slid into Zarkon's head on this particular morning. Morning, because it was four am and you hadn't slept yet. Your mind had been racing as you tried to fight off the urge to profile the man with the dark thoughts, the man who had raised you, the man who had tormented you and clearly had no plans on stopping. But it was as the clock struck four that you let your thoughts go, the exhaustion making it too difficult to fight. You slipped into his head.

  He knew who the apartment belonged to. He was a smart man. He knew Shiro was a celebrity, so he wouldn't risk breaking and entering. No. He would wait until you were loose on the streets and then he would take his aim. He would wait until you were completely vulnerable – maybe in a public place? A place where you would least expect it. He would put snipers on the roof. You had seen him do it. He would take you down and he wouldn't think twice, but he wouldn't risk getting Shiro involved in the story.

  You squeezed your eyes closed and pushed your thumbs into your temples. His head was too scary for you. You had been profiling people since you could understand the basics of the English language, and even now you were unable to bare the process of slipping into his head.

  You were awake now. You came to terms with the fact that you would not be getting any more sleep and slid from beneath the covers of the guest bedrooms bed. You headed downstairs to the kitchen, flinched in the doorway when you saw Shiro standing by the counter, drinking from a carton of milk.

  “You're awake.”

  He whirled around. His hair was a mess, and he was in his usual bedtime attire of no shirt and a pair of sweatpants. His grey eyes widened when he saw you standing there, looking no more dishevelled than you had done when you went to bed that evening.

  “So are you,” he replied. “Have you slept yet?”

  “Nope.” You snatched the carton of milk from his hand and took a gulp, savouring the brain freeze.

  Shiro raised a brow, folding his arms over his chest and eyeing you like a father eyeing a sick child. It made you almost want to roll your eyes. “Did you have a nightmare or something?”

  “I don't have nightmares.” A lie.

  “So why couldn't you sleep?”

  “I just couldn't.” Yet another lie. Why the truth was so difficult to admit, you weren't sure, but you didn't intend on indulging him any further. “Why are you awake at this time of day?”

  Shiro shrugged. “I was finishing up some songs and kind of lost track of time.”

  “Really? What were you working on?”

  Shiro tapped the side of his nose and slowly turned away from you, snatching the carton of milk back on his way round. You pouted, both grateful for the sudden shift in mood and frustrated at the fact he wasn't going to tell you what it was he had spent his time working on.

  “Come on,” you grunted. “I'm a fan. You can't just tell me you're working on something for my favourite band and then refuse to tell me anything else.”     “The fact that you're a fan is a big enough reason for me to keep quiet. You might post it on a forum or something.”

  You scoffed. “You take me as the type to have some kind of fan account?”

  He shrugged, smirking around the lip of the milk carton. “You never know. I've seen some crazy things in my career.”

  You grumbled. “Fine. Don't tell me. When are you going back to the studio?”

  “Whenever the others can find time. They've been rehearsing for their show next week.”

   You faltered at the reminder – the show. It startled you that you had forgotten all about it, considering this was the first concert you would ever be attending, and it was the concert of one of your favourite bands. You should have been ecstatic, counting down the days, marking it on your calendar.

  But once again, Zarkon had crawled into your mind and stolen those remnants of normal human emotions. Even when he wasn't physically there, he still somehow managed to alter the thoughts in your brain.

  “I was thinking we could get you some clothes for the night,” he continued. “Don't get me wrong, you suit my shirts and my shorts-”

  “I absolutely do not.”

  “But this seems like a more. . . formal event. We're gonna have to get you something nice.” He lowered his voice. “Something to make you stand out.”

   Your breath hitched. You looked down at the attire you were wearing now – a pair of Shiro's old boxer shorts and an oversized Nirvana shirt that he claimed he had worn back in high school. It was one of the only shirts in his wardrobe that wasn't completely plain.

   “How about tomorrow?” He glanced at the clock. “Well, today, I suppose. We can go out after breakfast and see what you like.”

  You nodded dumbly. Shopping. Clothes. New clothes – something you very rarely got to splurge on.

  Shiro grinned and kicked himself away from the counter. “Good. I'll see what I can do.”     ---

  “You look...”

  “Just tell me you hate it. Just tell me you hate it, so I don't have to embarrass myself any further than I already have.” Your eyes were squeezed shut. Your hands were curled into tight fists at your sides. Your shoulders were bunched up around your ears-

  Shiro's hands on the back of your neck startled you back to the present. “Would you calm down? I was gonna say you look beautiful, but I didn't want to make you more flustered than you already are.”

   Your eyes snapped open, darting immediately to Shiro's own. Over the past few days, you had grown used to those storm grey eyes, the way they always managed to be the first thing you noticed. Even in a room full of people, Shiro's eyes stood out.

  He smiled at the eye contact and gently turned you towards the dressing room mirror. Your breath hitched, because it certainly wasn't the Y/N L/N who had been cooped up in Zarkon's home who stared back at you. This was different. The clothes hung loose on your body, but it somehow worked. A pair of black skinny jeans, a dark orange button up shirt that showed a tiny bit of your chest, tucked half into the jeans, half hanging out around your sides. Along with it, Shiro had insisted you try on a pair of grey ankle boots.

  You looked good. You looked expensive.

  “This is too much,” you said. Shiro stiffened. “I don't even have the money for the top, let alone the jeans and the boots.”

   You started towards the dressing room, already tugging on the buttons of the shirt, but Shiro caught your wrist. You whirled around, startled at the sudden action but immediately your face heated up at his amused expression.

  “What have I said now?”

  “Just go get changed and put the clothes in the bag,” he said. “I can't believe you thought I'd make you pay after I offered to take you shopping.”

 It took a minute for his words to settle in your brain. “Wait, what? No. You're not paying for my stuff.” You said it with a scoff and a roll of your eyes, as if the idea of Shiro paying for you was a joke.

  Shiro narrowed his eyes. “You do know that I'll just buy it anyway. Buying you an outfit isn't going to put me into bankruptcy.”

  “But I'm an adult, and I shouldn't expect-”

  “Just go get changed,” he groaned, throwing his head back like a child having a tantrum. “It's my treat, alright? Now go!” He nudged you towards the dressing room door, leaving no room for argument.

  ---

  The crowd was big. Much too big for your liking.

  You thought you'd be fine. You were excited, craved to hear the music that had been promised – the music of Smokey Saturdays. The music you had grown up listening to, no matter how stealth you had to be to do so.

  But a crowd like this was dangerous. A crowd like this could hold so much danger and you wouldn't even be aware of it until it was too late.

  That was why you stayed as close to the edge of the room as you could possibly get. You tugged on your dark orange shirt, silently cursing your lack of carelessness – orange wasn't exactly a subtle colour. You would stand out amongst the array of people in black rock shirts and leather jackets. But it was too late now. Shiro had already disappeared back stage, and you were left to your own devices as you waited for the show to start.

  You were on high alert, even when the first chord was played and suddenly Lance, Keith, Hunk and Pidge appeared on stage.

  You wanted the breath to be sucked from your lungs. You wanted to jump up and scream and lose your head, perhaps even faint, because that was the concert experience. That was what the articles said.

  But even Lance's melodic voice and Shiro's gut wrenching lyrics could not pull you back to the surface. The crowd had swallowed you up. The realisation that you were completely vulnerable was suffocating you until you were shoving through the crowd in search of an exit.

  In search of Shiro.

  He had become a constant comfort. You hated to admit it, because it was dangerous territory to be on, but he had. Any time he saw you growing panicked, he was by your side, making sure you remembered to breathe, letting you know that everything was going to be okay no matter how terrible things felt in the moment. He was there for you, and you needed him to be there now.

  The music blocked out the sound of his voice in the beginning. You were on the verge of running, tackling people to the ground in any attempt to get to the exit. Zarkon's written words came back to the forefront of your memory, reminding you just how thin the ground you were walking on truly was. He was going to get you if you didn't leave now. He would have figured out that the concert was happening today and he would follow you until-

  A hand wrapped around your waist and dragged you backwards. You stumbled, getting ready to cry out but a low, deep voice cut you off before you could do so. It was close to your ear, the stench of smoke on the culprits breath.

  “If you scream, this entire place goes up in flames, and everyone with it is going too.”

  You clamped your mouth shut, curled your fingers into the palm of your hands. Crescent moons indented into your flesh. It kept you grounded, because you recognised that voice. He had come for you directly – what a strange move on his part.

  “Zarkon.” His name was a curse. It burned your tongue. “You found me.”

  “As I promised I would,” he replied. “Are you enjoying your little break, Y/N? Your little taste of freedom?”

    “I was going to come back.”

  “Bullshit.” His spittle slapped against your ear. You didn't wipe it away, too scared to move. “You and that Shiro bloke were far too enamoured with each other to remember little old me, weren't you? He took your mind off of things. He made you feel special.”

  Zarkon had taught you everything you knew about profiling. He could slip into your head just as easily as you could slip into his. You wanted him out. You didn't like him tracing your thoughts without even trying.

  “This man who should have hated you gave you a place to stay, a comfort blanket, gave up his own bed for you-”

   “How do you know that?” You knew the answer. You just needed to make sure your voice still worked.

  He continued as if you hadn't spoken. “So what were the chances you were going to give that life up to come back to me, hm? Me. The man who gave you a home for your. Entire. Life.” He punctuated each word by pinching your hips. You squirmed against him, pain flaring through your body. “You call it growing up, I call it being an ungrateful little bitch.”

  The first song ended. Zarkon leaned forward. His grin was against your ear. “Pretend we're dancing. Pretend we're just enjoying the show.”

    You did as you were told, because that was all you could do. That was all you had ever been able to do. It hurt – physically strained you – but you put a smile on your face and swayed, cheering to the sound of Lance's voice. The lead singer didn't even look at you as he addressed the crowd, already panting from the performance of the first song. He messed with his ear piece, taking it out to listen to the unfiltered screams of his fans – you wanted him to hear you. You wanted him to get the hint, hear your desperation even as you grinned and pretended everything was fine.

  He put the ear piece back in and announced the second song. The band started to play. They started to jump around on stage, and the crowd only got wilder.

  Zarkon took his chance.

  He made it look so casual. His arm was resting on your waist, and he was grinning from ear to ear – that's all it took, really. The crowd parted for him as he led you out towards the back door of the club, nobody questioning the tears brimming in your eyes. They took one look at your smile and just assumed you were perfectly fine.

  The fresh air hit you like a wave. The crowd was gone. You no longer had any security around you, no witnesses. If Zarkon were to kill you now, he would. He could, because he was good at what he did and he knew that.

  You broke out of his hold as soon as the door swung closed. You were trapped in the alleyway. Nobody was here. The music was too loud, thumping through the walls. If you were to scream, no one would hear you.

  The smile on Zarkon's face told you he knew that.

  He stepped forward, hands stuffed in his pockets. “I don't want an explanation.”

  “Where's Lotor?” you asked. “I want to see Lotor.”

  “He got home safely.” That meant nothing to you. Not coming from him.

  You wrapped your arms around your middle.

  Zarkon sighed. “Did someone let you dress yourself this evening?”

   “Don't treat me like a child.”

   “Shiro must really care about you,” he continued, talking with a childlike drawl just to get under your skin. “Buying you all these expensive clothes, giving you a roof over your head – a refuge, if you will. A refuge from me and mine.” Zarkon grinned. “You used to be mine. Do you remember that?”

 “Why are you talking?” you demanded, stepping back. “You're mad at me. You lost your control. You lost the one thing you thought you had forever, and you're mad.” You were profiling him. His nostrils flared. “Why are you talking then? Why don't you just kill me and get it over with?”

  Zarkon grinned even deeper. “I taught you better than that, Y/N. Use your skills. Use the skills I gave you – you tell me why I'm not killing you right now.”

  You slipped into his head again. It was easy. The answers were laid out in front of you, but you wanted to ignore them because sometimes pretending it wasn't there was easier than falling victim to an obvious truth.

  Your voice trembled when you spoke. “This isn't about me. You're not mad at me, you're mad at Shiro. You're mad at him for keeping me away from you.”

  “Go on...”

  “You're keeping me alive so I can watch you make him suffer. You're preserving me.”

  Zarkon shrugged. “Guilty.”

  “You can't hurt him. People will know. People will care.”

  “You say that because you care,” Zarkon pointed out. “But when has that ever mattered to me?”

  The door behind Zarkon swung open. You knew even before you looked up who it was – it was a gut feeling. You were yelling before you could stop yourself.

  Zarkon swirled around and laughed. He laughed at the expression on Shiro's face, the draw back of his shoulders, the flare of his nostrils. Shiro didn't move from the doorway, because of course he didn't. He didn't know who this crazy man was. Chances are, he saw you get dragged backwards and followed you out. But he didn't know that this was him, the author of the cryptic note that had been mysteriously left tucked behind his sofa cushions.

  “Shiro,” you cried out. “Go back inside. Now.”

  “Oh, no, no, no!” Zarkon shoved you with his shoulder. “Where's the fun in that? There's enough room in this ballroom for another, I think.” He grabbed Shiro's hand.

  And he twisted it.

  Shiro's eyes popped open in surprise and pain. He grunted, his knees trembling beneath him, but he was strong. He managed to swing his other arm around and catch Zarkon in the jaw just enough for the older man to release his hand. Shiro took the chance and stumbled to the side, gripping his wrist.

  “What the hell?” he exclaimed.

  Zarkon growled and whirled back around. “So you're a feisty one, are you? That's okay. I've dealt with worse.”

  “It's Zarkon,” you said, eyes pointed on Shiro. “You need to go. You need to-” You grabbed for Zarkon's collar, tried to pull him back, but you weren't as strong as him. Zarkon taught you how to be sneaky, how to profile people, how to get around without being detected. He was wise enough to know how bad it would be if he were to teach the people who hated him how to fight.

  Zarkon's elbow slammed into your chin, knocking you backwards. You grabbed for the wall in any attempt to keep yourself upright, but there was no use to it. Your fingernails welled up with blood and you fell to the floor with an 'oomf.'

  Shiro made to rush towards you, but Zarkon hooked him in the stomach before he could get very far. Shiro kicked out, slamming his toe into Zarkon's shin like a child – it was the only thing he could do. One of his wrists had already been broken, and now he was winded.

  Zarkon simply grinned at Shiro's sad attempts. “You know, Y/N – I don't really know how I feel about you letting this excuse for a man protect you. Clearly he doesn't know what he's doing.”

   “Zarkon, let him go,” you wheezed. Your vision was growing blurry. “Let him go and I'll go back with you. I'll do whatever you want.”

  “No,” Shiro grunted. His voice was barely audible, but you could make out the definition of desperation in its undertones.

  Zarkon sighed. “I find it very cute that you really believe you're not going back with me if I kill him.” He turned. “We both know that's impossible. Once he's dead, you'll have nowhere else to go. Your finger prints will be all over the crime scene. You'll be known as the person he let into his house, the stranger who showed up out of nowhere. You'll be the first one on the suspects list, and you'll have nowhere else to go except back home with me, or prison.”

  You shook your head. “I'd rather go to prison. I'd rather die than spend another minute in that hell hole you call a home.”

  Zarkon's nostrils flared. You hit a nerve. You meant to.

  He stepped forward. “There you go again with that ungrateful attitude. I think you're forgetting that I gave you everything. I kept you breathing. You and Lotor were mine.”

  “We were never yours. We were just too young to go anywhere else.”

   “And where is Lotor now, huh? Lotor came running right back to me after I asked him to ransack Shiro's apartment. He respects me.” Zarkon slammed his boot into your side. You squeezed your eyes closed, bit so harshly into your lip that blood dribbled down your chin. “You, on the other hand, need to be taught a lesson. I thought I'd raised you to know better, but I guess I was wrong.”

   You caught your breath. It was a gasp. Maybe it would be your last one. With the pain you were in, you were beginning to sink into that hopeless mindset of I hope so.

  “I guess you were,” you managed to choke out.

  Before blood sprayed out from the side of Zarkon's head.

  You cried out, jerking back as well as you could when his body tumbled to the floor. His legs wobbled, gave out and then he was beside you, and there was blood pouring from a wound in his skull, and his eyes were closed, and your breath escaped you, and-

  And Shiro's arms were wrapped around you. His lips were pressing into the side of your head. His tears were soaking the side of your face as he rocked back and forth and whispered soothing words in your ear that were probably meant more for him than for you.

  You panted, looking to the rock at Shiro's side. The rock he had just used to knock Zarkon unconscious. The rock stained with that monsters blood.

  Shiro's words fell away. They crumbled. You listened as they descended from words of comfort to one simple phrase that captured the nights mood perfectly.

  “Oh god.”

  This, he spoke on repeat until the ambulance arrived.

  ---

  “Lotor has been taken into questioning. He was asking about you.”

   You nodded at the police woman, still dazed from the slumber she had woken you from. “Is he going to jail?”

  The lady pursed her lips. “If his story is the same as yours, he'll be okay. You two are victims in this.”

   You nodded again. It was all you could do, words no longer computing. There was a phrase you could think of; goodbye, maybe. It seemed like the decent thing to say as the police woman gave you a warm smile, squeezed your fingers before she exited the hospital room.

  You should have said goodbye.

  “You didn't even give her a goodbye.”

  You looked up as Shiro entered the room. His wrist was cradled in a cast. His lip had been split open. He was shirtless again, revealing the bruise that was slowly forming on his lower abdomen.

  You smiled at him, the first person you had properly smiled at since you had been locked up in this hell hole and questioned until your voice was hoarse.

  He sat beside you. “The others are in the waiting room. I told them it would be a bad idea to overwhelm you right now.”

  “Are you okay?”

  Shiro's grey eyes softened. A small smile formed on his lips, and he spoke through a light hearted chuckle. “Yes Y/N. I'm fine.”

   “You've never had to . . . you've never had to do that before, have you?”

  A cloud shadowed his expression. “No.”

   “I'm sorry,” you croaked out. “He was after me, but he blamed you. I should have known better than to ignore his note, but-”

  “Don't, Y/N.”

  You faltered. “What's wrong?”

  Shiro ran his hands through his hair, inhaling shakily. “Don't apologise. Don't try and pin this on yourself. He's not here any more – the police have him in custody. You don't have to think about it. You can move on.” He reached over and gingerly touched your fingertips, silently asking permission. “We can move on.”

  You swallowed thickly. Slowly, without any comment, you flipped your hand over and intertwined your fingers with his. He looked down at the point of connection, a tiny, tiny smile gracing his face that had you unable to fight the smile that took over your own.  

  “He was the one that made you break into my house,” he said. Again, it wasn't a question. “You and that Lotor guy.”

   You nodded. “We've been ransacking places for him since we were eleven. It doesn't excuse our actions, but-”

  “You were brainwashed.”

“We were scared.”

  Shiro nodded. He nodded as if he understood, even though you knew he didn't, and for some reason that didn't frustrate you like it used to. He was trying to understand. He was trying to make sense of a situation that didn't make any sense, and you were grateful for his attempts.

  ---

   Shiro took another sip of his coffee. And another. And another, until he eventually tilted his head the whole way back and downed it.

  You looked up from the documentation in front of you, raising a brow. Whilst you were busy going through the piles upon piles of documents the agency had given to you to read over, Shiro was busy trying to come up with lyrics for Smokey Saturdays new album.

  He was clearly struggling a lot more than you were.

  “This isn't fair,” he grumbled, slamming his coffee cup back down on the table. “How come you're a natural profiler and I can't even get a hook down?”

  You chuckled. “That's what's got you so stressed?”

  “Of course it is.” He turned his notebook in your direction, letting you look at what he had done so far; once upon a time, Shiro's lyrics had been his most prized possession. It took a good six months of living together for him to finally trust you enough to let you read what he wrote.

  On the page, however, was not words, but a simple drawing – two stick figures. One in a detectives hat, and one with a guitar.

  Your cheeks warmed. “You're so cheesy.”

  He grinned from ear to ear, yanking the notebook back. “Isn't it perfect? Love of my life – the FBI profiler! And me – the lyricist who genuinely can't get a hook down.” He frowned, flicked his eyes to your own. “I wasn't joking about that. This song has been driving me crazy for weeks.”

  You rolled your eyes, putting your pen down on top of the pile of suspect profiles given for you to study. “You just need inspiration. I've seen you do it before – you get an idea, and you come up with something amazing. It'll hit you eventually.”

  Shiro pouted, looking down at the page. “There is one thing that usually sparks some inspiration in me.”

   “What's that?”

  He looked up. He didn't say anything, simply puckered his lips and leaned forward. You raised a brow, immediately gripping on to what he was getting at – your stomach flipped in that way it always did, and despite the heaps of work you had to get done, you couldn't help yourself when you leaned forward and kissed him.

  He hummed against your lips, pressing a hand to the back of your neck, gently stroking the chain of the necklace he had gotten you – the necklace that held the key to your shared home. The first home you and Shiro had bought together.

  You pulled away quickly, picking up your pen and shaking your head. “This is why I never get any work done when you're with me.”

  Shiro's eyes were still closed. He dragged his tongue along his lower lip, nodded, and then his eyes flicked open and he started writing.

  You watched him with your jaw hanging open. “Are you serious?”

  He smirked. “I told you. You inspire me.”