#square face also kind of chubby but not in the looks young way. his hair is kind of greasy and dirty blonde/light brown and unevenly cut

[puphoods]

i know exactly what all three of them look like i can see them in my mind theyre so real. but i cannot draw that good to be able to get it right

[willothewispwisteriadawn]

We need to talk about Tartt’s character descriptions

More Donna Tartt praise.

She writes human physical descriptions in the most genuine and true-to-life ways. I didn’t even realize how many books do not go into the actual nuance of human appearances until I read TSH and Goldfinch.

I think most books kind of categorize people as pretty, ugly, or plain then lean into what generally makes people pretty, ugly, or plain plus hair and eye colors. I love how Tartt’s books make characters appear how the majority of people really do: an assortment of specific details. There’s Boris’s bitten nails and how Henry is big and square but does not carry himself as if he is. Bunny is a once-muscled guy (now more chubby) whose naturally good looks are starting to get a little sloppy. His nose is also a bit small/sharp for his face shape. Camilla is pretty, and we hear about her thick ankles and the way her curls rest at her temples. Francis is nice-looking because he carries and styles himself well, but we hear that those things compensate for his kind of beaky nose and boney angles.

Pippa is another great example! Theo describes her looks as tender and precious. She comes across as very cute in a homely way. But we hear that her eyes look “naked” because her lashes are so pale (I can imagine this so well!) and that her nose is long. Her cheeks are thin. Theo notes these things, and thinks she’s pretty anyway; he assumes he must have some personal affinity for her and is given a wake-up call when Everett also finds these traits cute.

OH actually let me squeeze in Mr. Barbour here. Because lol???

His eyes were a queer unstable gray and his hair was pure white, which made him seem older than he was until you noticed that his face was young and pink — boyish, even. His ruddy cheeks and his long, old-fashioned nose, in combination with the prematurely white hair, gave him the amiable look of a lesser founding father, some minor member of the Continental Congress teleported to the twenty-first century.

This is so specific and so easy to see. It stuck out to me when I read it, and my mom mentioned it to me when she read it. She said she was really hit by Andy’s dad’s description and thought it was funny but did a really good job delivering an image.

It’s just so real and gets at how normal people actually are: not always pretty in a “safe” way. Tartt has the guts to give you a description of an actual unique, textured person and say “This is nice.” Or, in Bunny’s case, give someone who is basically handsome but not necessarily pleasant-looking. Theres so much nuance, and it’s honest.

It kind of made me rethink how I write human descriptions. There are “safe” things to point out that become a little insubstantial if you combine too many of them: “The pretty girl has glossy hair and curves and bright blue eyes.” And then there’s going into actual shapes and the way people carry themselves and how some features look against others. It honestly just makes the characters really pop and they’re easy to envision.

[spinbitchzu]

citrus kisses

Darling, you don’t need to say what you mean, ‘cause your kisses taste like tangerines. Aka: cole’s love language is tart and sweet and reminds Kai of things he thought he’d lost. 

hey uhhh so. I don’t write ninjago fic often but apparently when i do, it’s about the inherent romanticism of peeling an orange and also action-oriented love languages. anyway you know the drill. lavashipping, a bit over 2k words. unbeta’d bc we die like men. 

The oranges that grew in Ignacia grew in huge groves.

It’s one of Kai’s only memories with his whole family: walking between his parents in the long aisles stretching between the lines of trees, Nya’s tiny, chubby hand clasped carefully in his own as she toddled along beside him. The smell of oranges was everywhere, and that day they picked enough to last them for weeks and weeks. 

He can still recall his dad’s hands braced around his ribs as he hoisted Kai up to pick a Valencia orange bigger than his head from a high branch, eyes squinting against the bright sun on his face. He’d felt such pride that day, as he carried his treasure around for all to see.

He remembers summers of frothy fresh-squeezed orange juice in the morning, afternoons of fragrant orange cake, and evenings of carefully-partitioned segments that exploded juice on his tongue. His mom used to make ambrosia for Saturday morning breakfast, the orange slices piled high with coconut shavings and thick, fluffy whipped cream. She’d scold him when he peeled the oranges himself; his forceful little thumbs always dug too far into the flesh and sent the juice squirting everywhere. Instead, she clucked her tongue and peeled it for him with easy, deft movements while he sucked the stickiness off his fingers.

Those days—patchworks of hot nights and sunshine through the kitchen windows and the smell of citrus on his mother as she leaned in to kiss him goodnight—they’re days Kai can hardly remember the older he gets. 

After his parents disappeared, no one took Kai and Nya to the Valencia groves; no one whipped the cream for ambrosia; no one lifted him to the highest branches for the best oranges. He simply had to wait until he was tall enough to reach them himself.

He doesn’t think about those memories very often, and Nya was so young, he doubts she remembers it at all. It’s not like he ever gets a summer off to return home either, so instead he lets the memory fade until it’s almost entirely forgotten. He locks it in the part of his brain that he’s sectioned off because it’s too painful to keep clinging to when things were that good. It’s okay. 

The past tastes like oranges and coconut cream, and Kai has left it behind.

...

Kai forgets why they’re making a stop over Ignacia, but it just so happens that the nearest rural area place for them to moor is over the Valencia groves he had nearly forgotten about. 

He stands at the front of the ship, leaning over the railing with his chin propped up on his pillowed arms to study the trees extending in every direction, the dark leaves bejewelled with not-quite-ripe January oranges. The sun overhead is more of a pale, cold disk, and Nya is somewhere below-deck, but it makes him melancholy anyway.

Footsteps approach from behind him—heavy but soft: Cole. He leans over the railing beside Kai, bracing his forearms against the wood as he surveys the landscape. “Hey. Whatcha doin’ out here, stranger?”

“Just lookin’,” he murmurs back. He hums to himself. “Did you know I used to come to this grove with my family as a kid?”

“I didn’t even know you liked oranges,” Cole replies, giving him a sideways glance. He smiles when Kai glances back, dark eyes crinkling. “Do you want to go down now? I’m sure we could grab a few and no one would miss ‘em.”

“Nah, that’s alright,” Kai says with half a grin. “They’re not ripe. And I don’t like oranges that much anyway. Too hard to peel. They just made me think about—things I hadn’t let myself think about for a while.”

“What kind of things?” Cole asks, nudging him with an elbow.

The touch grounds him and he’s grateful for it. He shrugs in a way that’s neither here nor there. “Just things. Home, I guess. My life? Before all the...ninja stuff.”

“Is that a good thing?” Cole tilts his head. In this light, his eyes turn from obsidian to sunlight through whiskey as he waits for an answer.

Kai makes a contemplative noise. “I don’t know. Hurts less than I expected, after everything. It’s bittersweet.” He sighs then, shoulders falling with the motion. “It really is making me miss oranges, though. I don’t know why I lied before—I really do like them.”

He looks back at the groves below and misses the look Cole gives him—measured and curious.

“What about you, do you like oranges?”

“Some. The sweet ones.”

“You’d like these ones, then,” Kai tells him, cheeks rising as he smiles. “The oranges from Ignacia are the biggest, sweetest ones around. They’re good just by themselves, but my mom made a mean ambrosia with them.”

“I bet Zane could replicate the recipe if you told him what it was,” Cole replies.

Kai just shrugs. “Maybe so. He’s sharp like that.”

They fall silent. Kai can physically feel Cole worrying about him and his rare bout of melancholy, so he squares his shoulders and musters up a grin. “Hey, Cole, you—,”

“You don’t have to,” is what Cole interrupts him with, paired with a weighted look that settles around him like a blanket. “I don’t mind the quiet. You’re allowed to, Kai.”

All the feigned bravado drains out of him. Kai stares at him for a second and wonders when Cole got so good at gauging his moods. There’s so many words unspoken inbetween what he says and that earnest, draping look in his eyes and Kai kind of aches with it.

“Okay,” he says instead, shoulders slowly falling. His chin dips to rest on his crossed forearms again and he leans into it when Cole slips as arm around him. “Okay.”

The nippy January wind dances around them, stirring their hair and whipping at their gis, but Kai tips his head against Cole’s shoulder and feels warm down to his toes.

...

“Holy crap, what the hell did you do?” Kai can’t help asking a week later, as Lloyd and Zane walk into the kitchen carrying groceries.

“There was a sale on tangerines at the grocery store,” Zane answers primly, setting his paper bag on the counter. “I thought it prudent to take advantage of it.”

“We have like a hundred pounds of these things,” Lloyd adds, setting his own bag down. “We’re going to be eating tangerines until we get old and grey.”

“Zane, man, you know I love a sale as much as the next guy, but this is a little overboard,” Cole says as he comes in, two more bags of tangerines hoisted on his shoulders. Kai does not stare, thank you very much, as much as he’s been finding it kind of hard to avoid when it comes to Cole and lifting things recently.

“Proper intake of vitamin C is important in preventing scurvy,” Zane replies, though he’s blinking the way he does when he’s getting embarrassed. “It’s a common illness in sailors.”

“Does that still apply  if the ship can fly?” Lloyd wonders.

“Or if we’re in the twenty-first century?” Kai adds wryly, eyebrows high.

“I’m sure we’ll find some way to finish them all,” Cole pipes up. “Don’t worry about it, Zane.”

“I was not.” Zane turns away to put away the rest of the groceries while Kai and Cole exchange an amused look. As he bustles back and forth, Kai grabs a tangerine from the bag behind him and turns it over in his hands, studying the way the light catches on the dimpled rind.

“Hey,” Kai says quietly, leaning across the kitchen counter. “Did you do this?”

Cole just shrugs with a crooked grin. “I didn’t do anything. You know Zane and sales. Can’t resist ‘em.”

“You did,” Kai deduces, eyeing his teammate’s reddening ears. He feels his expression soften. “You didn’t have to.”

“Maybe I wanted to,” Cole says in response. He reaches over Kai, coming very, very close, until their noses are close enough to brush. His eyes are very dark and very close and Kai would very much like to kiss him right now.

“Um, uh,” Kai says, very eloquently.

“Not in the kitchen, please,” Zane calls from the pantry, because he hasn’t a romantic bone in his body (or any bones, to be fair to him).

Cole just grins and pulls back, displaying the tangerine he’d grabbed from behind Kai with a flourish. “I’m heading to the training deck. See you around, Hot Stuff.”

“R-right,” he mumbles (like an idiot), fighting the heat settled in his cheeks. He watches Cole go and feels distinctly like an opportunity has sailed over his head.

...

Cole smells like oranges these days.

Kai only notices because that isn’t his normal smell, which is much more organic soaps and something earthy and fresh. It’s a smell that clings to the hoodies Kai keeps pilfering from his closet—comforting in its familiarity. 

The abrupt invasion of tangy citrus makes him do a double take the first time he smells it. And then he reaches into the pocket of the hoodie and finds a tangerine. It’s store bought, with a little sticker on the side, and it’s not exactly a strange sight for any reason, but it sort of confounds him.

“Hey,” he says, walking into the kitchen, the object of confusion held gingerly in his hand. “Is this a tangerine?”

Cole looks up from where he’s making a sandwich and raises an eyebrow. “Is that my hoodie?”

“I asked first,” Kai replies quickly, before he has time to pink up.

“I mean, yeah, five points for powers of deduction,” Cole says cheekily. “Congratulations, it’s a tangerine. We gotta finish them somehow, don’t we?”

“I—yeah,” Kai says absently. Cole holds out a hand for it and he tosses it over wordlessly, before he even thinks too much about it.

“You said they’re hard to peel, right?” Cole asks, digging his nails into the rind. He peels it in the shape of a flower and then splits the orange in half with his thumbs to hold out to Kai. “Here.”

Kai looks down at the segment being offered to him in an open palm and then back at Cole with his earnest, crinkly-eyed smile, and feels something stutter fatally in his chest.

“Thanks,” he manages to say, as his heart cracks open to let sunshine stream all in, filling his ribcage with warmth.

He bites into the fruit and feels his mouth fill with juice and thinks about how his mother used to peel oranges when he was too clumsy to and then about how Cole leaves tangerines in the pockets of the hoodies he knows Kai will steal and peels them for him in the shape of a flower, even though it turns his nails all yellow. He thinks of it so hard he forgets to make a face that doesn’t show about seven years of adoration on it and when he looks back at Cole, he’s already looking back with realization blazing across his expression.

“Kai?” he asks, voice wavering as his throat bobs with his nervous gulp.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and then grabs Cole by the collar of his shirt and kisses him, soft and open-mouthed, across the kitchen island. He’s so filled up with sweet oranges and sunlight and the heat of Cole’s skin that he forgets to even be afraid of this, as much as it’s frightened him in his fantasies. He stops being afraid of it altogether when Cole sighs into his mouth and cards a hand through his hair.

When they finally draw back, Cole’s pupils are blown huge and dark and he’s looking distinctly Kissed with a capital K. Kai would very much like to continue that endeavor.

“You taste like oranges,” Cole chuckles as he tugs Kai around the island to pull him closer.

You taste like home, he wants to say, but then Cole leans over him to cup his jaw and kiss him breathless, and Kai decides to let it go unspoken. There are more important things to attend to.

…

In the early summer, Cole and Kai negotiate with the others for a three-day vacation in early June. They drive in a rented car to the Valencia grove outside Ignacia and pick enough oranges to last the ship for weeks. Cole boosts him on his shoulders to help him reach the huge oranges at the tree tops and they laugh the whole time, chasing each other through the orchard and trading citrus kisses. Kai wonders if it’s possible to burst with happiness.

“I’m sick of eating oranges,” Lloyd complains when they come home bearing the (literal) fruits of their labor, newly sun-tanned and smiling.  

“Really?” Kai tilts his head, considering. “Seems to me like I can never get enough of ‘em.”

“Was that some sort of romantic metaphor?” Lloyd asks with a wrinkled nose. “Gross.”

Cole laughs from where he’s watching and sidles up from behind to rest his big hands on Kai’s hips. 

“Yeah,” Kai says affectionately. “Gross.”

“Not in the kitchen,” Zane calls from the next room, but Kai just leans back against Cole and closes his eyes to drink in the moment.

It’s worth it, he decides. All the fighting. All the losing. All the danger. It’s worth it to eat oranges in the kitchen with people he loves.

“What are you thinking about?” Cole teases, his voice rumbling low in his chest against Kai’s back.

“Nothing,” he says with a smile, opening his eyes. “I just love oranges.”

[wastelandcrown]

logan lark’s adventures in trying to appease his parents

CHAPTER 4: a tight-knit family

Summary: Logan Lark is a fairly average high school student. By all means, he should be impressing his parents on all grounds. Except...he doesn’t exactly have a social life. So after his parents give him puppy dog eyes, he decides to join the local theatre's youth production. Good grief...His life is about to get weird isn’t it?

Warnings: Potential ooc behavior, Roman is a theatre brat to the highest degree (Sorry Roman stans), Remus being Remus, (If I miss something please tell me!)

Notes: This fic is based off an idea from @under-the-blue-moonlight. If you wanna be tagged in chapters, please dm me!! This chapter we see a LOT of Patton, a little of Virgil, and some Roman being an ass behaviour. I apologize if this chapter is lackluster, it’s important I promise!! Also I just finished chapter 5...its 3295 of intrulogical fluff 

Pairings: Eventual Intrulogical, Eventual Rociet, Eventual One-Sided Logicality, Platonic Analogical, Platonic DRLAMP

Word Count: 2269

Tagslist: @under-the-blue-moonlight @why-should-i-tell-youu2 @im-actually-ok @hauntedturkeycalzonedreamer

After a few weeks, not disappointing Remus was a weak reason to be here. 

Though he never considered himself a quitter, god he would love to just quit one thing in his life. The thing being theatre. 

When Thomas arrived Roman bombarded him with questions. Turns out, Logan was cast as Hamilton due to his exceptional rapping. Roman, weaker at rapping but a very confident and strong singer, could provide the extremely skilled vocal performance required by Washington. If Logan were to get sick, Roman would play Hamilton and Remus would hand over Maria’s part to his understudy. Which made sense, of course. The beginnings of rehearsals were, by all means, not entirely awful. They were going to learn the music to the show, song by song. The first problem arises with Logan’s absolutely awful stage fright. After the first run-through of the title number, Alexander Hamilton, Logan almost threw up again. People looked directly at him whenever he sang or rapped. The musical director, Jamahl, assured him it was fine. Jamahl, as nice as he was, would be receiving a solid two on Logan’s chart. It’s okay, Logan, Everyone gets stage fright, Logan. That, quite frankly, sounded like a bunch of bullshit. Especially since every time Logan got too nervous and messed up, Roman laughed from off to his side. 

Which shouldn’t bother him. It really shouldn’t. Except...Well, it was infuriating to be laughed at. For something he can’t control no less. He was ready to ball up his script and pelt him with paper until he stopped being a colossally egotistical idiot. Along with Roman’s frankly abhorrent behaviour, Logan also had to deal with feigning...romantic intimacy. Don’t get him wrong, Patton was a very nice guy. But...how would you feel knowing your first kiss would have to be fake for a theatre production? Bad. You would feel bad. So does Logan. Logan is sick of all of this, and by the end of the second week he finally snaps. 

When he hears that during Helpless he needs to kiss Patton, he doesn’t bother to hide his surprise. Of course, after he does, Roman decides to open his big dumb mouth. 

“What’s wrong, Microsoft nerd? Upset that your first kiss will be on the stage?” 

Patton reels back and glares at Roman almost instantly, opening his mouth to defend Logan, when Logan turns on Roman himself. 

“I am beginning to wonder if you ever just shut up,” Logan snaps, fists balled in anger.

“Because honestly, for the two weeks I have been in this theatre program, you have done nothing but spout off like a tea kettle about to boil over all because I happened to be better than you at one thing. So I am sincerely asking, do you ever shut up?”

Somehow, he has done the impossible. Roman is stunned into silence, his face goes red with anger. 

“How dare-” Is all he manages to get out before Thomas calls for a five-minute break. 

Thomas motions for Logan to come over to him, and he’s still fuming. If he were as dramatic as a certain hoity-toity theatre brat, he would be practically foaming at the mouth. Thomas is an adult, so he tries to pull himself together. 

“I apologize-” 

“Don’t. Roman kinda deserved that,” Thomas says with a smirk, “He’s a great kid, but he has a lot to learn.”

It’s his turn to be shocked into silence, because never in a million years would he expect an adult to enable such an outburst. 

“Really though, Logan, Just try not to let it happen again. I’ll let it slide this time, okay?”

With a nudge to the side and a kind smile, Logan is sent to have his break. 

Roman is quiet for the rest of the day. Logan could not be more pleased. Roman’s anger at him was unjustified and awful, he was overall awful. After today, he would need to add a negative rating to his charts. He doesn’t think he could ever get along with someone like Roman without eventually succumbing to his anger and strangling him. Logan knows his extreme anger is wrong, but Roman was just...just...absolutely, unbelievably, infuriating. Sitting in the lobby waiting for his father like usual, he is approached by Patton. Alone this time, without Virgil. Which is strange. 

“You look like you’re about to rip someone's head off,” Patton giggles out with a sympathetic smile. 

Logan sighs and gives him a little smirk, “My apologies, are you going to be getting a ride with Virgil tonight?”

“No, his dad is picking him up! I was actually wondering if you wanted to hang out!”

“I-” Logan thinks on this for a while, then shrugs. It may be for the best. Patton has been very kind, and he has defended him when Roman was being a jerk.

“Sure, let me message my father.”

Patton’s car is a beat-up looking second-hand thing that looks like it rolled out of a dump. Inside, it’s actually very well taken care of. Patton calls the car “Christine” and pats her lovingly. Hanging from the rear-view mirror is a small frog-shaped air freshener that makes the car smell of strawberries. The seats are comfortable, and Patton’s music is sweet. Eventually they pull into a parking lot in a townhouse area, and as they walk down the street Patton waves and says hello to all his neighbours that are outside. 

“You know them all?” 

“Oh, yeah! Lots of them have babysat me, or my sisters! And I’ve babysat for them too!”

Huh. He didn’t know Patton had sisters. Though, the second they enter his house, it’s entirely obvious. 

In the living room, there are three young girls. Patton’s shoes are barely off when the two youngest ones rush him and engulf him in hugs. The older one walks over and smiles at Logan first.

“Hi, which one are you?” She asks, and Patton laughs.

“Delilah Ann! That’s not nice!”

“I’m Logan, it’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m Lilah, I’ve heard a lot about you. Mostly ‘cause Pat doesn’t shut up.”

Patton looks a little pouty, but Logan thinks he likes Lilah. She doesn’t look much like Patton at all. Her hair is more wavy than curly, and a very nice strawberry blonde colour. She doesn’t have glasses, and dresses very tomboyish, the only thing that ties them together are their freckled cheeks. She’s only thirteen, but Logan finds her interesting to talk to. While Patton is dealing with the younger ones, she tells him about how she wants to be a mortician and is the smartest in her family. Logan smiles a little while they have a mostly one-sided conversation. 

One thing the siblings have in common is certainly their talkative likability. 

The younger two are put to work on their homework at the dining table, and Patton begins to set up dinner. Logan sits next to the girls at the table, Delilah retreating to her room, chatting with Patton as he cooks. He offered to help but was denied at every turn. Something about him being a guest, and how he shouldn’t have to. They’re discussing their roles in the play when the youngest slams her head against the table dramatically.

“Patton! I don’t wanna do this anymore!” She whines, Patton puts some potatoes in a pot then brushes off his hands on his apron. 

“Do you need help, or do you need a break?” 

“Help!”

Logan peers over her paper and sees a bunch of simple multiplication questions, she must only be in second or third grade. 

He clears his throat, “If you’d like, I could help you.”

“Oh! Oh! Yes! Patton can Logan help me please!” 

Patton agrees, despite obviously looking at Logan and saying ‘You really don’t have to’ with his eyes. Logan likes to teach, he’s more than happy to help out. Especially since Elaine is extremely charming. You can definitely see how much she looks like Patton. Big square glasses, blonde hair in pigtails, tons of freckles dotting chubby cheeks. She acts like him too, spouting out awful dad jokes that make Patton lose it laughing in the kitchen. She tries her best to listen, and manages to actually complete her math homework with a pretty good mark. Her teacher will hopefully be impressed. Logan’s dad texts and asks if he needs to be picked up, but Elaine begs him to stay for dinner and...well he can’t say no, can he? Patton says he doesn’t have to stay, but he wants to. 

He’d never had siblings, it had always just been him and his parents. Though he loved them, and they loved him, it was so...lonely sometimes. He had always wanted a little brother or sister, maybe even a pet, but it never really happened. The energy in Patton’s house was somehow a perfect mix of lively and calm, they felt like they were really a family. Logan relished in it. The feeling of community, full of love so openly given and received. The most he had were very quiet holiday dinners with the few Larks who were left. He remembers being Elaine’s age, he felt so lonely. She wasn’t lonely though, she was full of love. So was Patton. It was very nice. He watches Patton cook and he chats with him while realizing he’s been much too harsh on him. His kindness wasn’t fake, there was no way. He was a real person who was actually that nice. He defended him out of the kindness of his heart. 

Ding.

hey logan wyd rn

Ah, Virgil. That was a pleasant surprise. 

I’m actually at Patton’s house. Elaine has roped me into staying for dinner.

He can almost hear Virgil’s little chuckle. 

yeah she does that hows sophie

Sophie? Oh, that must be the third sister. She’s very quiet, her eyes haven’t once looked upwards the whole time they’ve been sat together. 

“Ahem-Uhm-Sophie,” Logan starts, and Sophie looks up from her homework, “Virgil was wondering how you are?”

Her eyes light up, “I’m good. Is he going to come over?”

She’s good. She wants to know if you will be coming over.

hah, sure tell her to give me 20 

“Yes, give him twenty minutes.”

Sophie smiles, and Logan is reminded of Virgil almost immediately. She has dark brown hair that covers her face and a bit of a natural glare. Her smile is shy, and he wonders if Patton secretly stole Virgil’s little sister. 

It seems like it, even more, when Virgil actually gets there. Sophie’s entire demeanor changes. She becomes extremely talkative and tells Virgil all about how she’s got a new villager in her animal crossing town. Virgil entertains her with talking, going and helping Patton to cook. Logan gets up to help as well, but Virgil waves him away. Virgil looks like he belongs here, in this little dining room-kitchen. He’s laughing beside Patton, talking to both girls and Logan, helping cook and set the table. Logan can’t help but wonder how many times he’s done this before. While Patton is putting the food on the table, the door opens and a tired-looking woman enters. Virgil goes to greet her, and she smiles. Her hair is curly and blonde, her eyes are a cloudy green, she is covered in a smattering of freckles, and she looks...just like Patton. 

Logan gets up to go greet her as well. When she sees him she beams and it’s like he’s been confronted by the sun herself. 

“You must be Logan! Virgil and Patton talk my ears off about you!” She pats his head, and continues, “The boys just adore you! It’s about time you came for dinner!”

He almost can’t speak, and both Virgil and Patton whine about her embarrassing them, but he nods, “Thank you for having me, but I’ve only known them for two weeks, Ma’am.”

The woman looks a little confused, then laughs joyously, “No need for that, kiddo! Just call me Lisa, okay?” 

After patting him on the shoulder, she slinks by and greets all her children. Lilah has come back down, and the whole table is now filled to the brim. Dinner is filling and delicious, Patton really has a talent for the culinary arts. Which is strange considering Logan took him as someone who, like him, couldn’t cook to save his life.

After dinner, Patton brings Logan and Virgil to his room to hang out. They play video games, talk about anything they can manage, and by the time it’s late Logan is smiling. At nine, Elaine and Sophie are whining about Patton putting them to bed. Virgil and Logan wish them good night and Virgil drives Logan home. 

“Logan, I’ve gotta ask...why did you agree to hang out with Patton?”

“Well...I’m not actually sure. I think that I needed it.”

“How do you mean?”

Logan looks out the window and thinks to himself. Why? He’s never had friends, or much of a close family. He figured he agreed because well…

“Patton has something I don’t. It helped me understand him better to see what he has.”

Virgil accepted that, but Logan wasn’t sure he understood it fully. He’s not even sure he does. 

That night, Roman gets a negative two. Patton gets a ten, and written on his pages are the names and personalities of his family members. Along with that, is a very simple phrase. 

I have concluded that Patton is, indeed, a very good person.

Why it took him this long to come to terms with, he will never understand. 

[incorrectprodigalsonquotes]

Carved in the Cradle Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Dani bit back an amused smile at the sight of Malcolm Bright fidgeting like a shy preschooler talking in front of the class for the first time. She had a feeling that if Jessica ever showed Bright’s childhood photos, she would find that he had that exact same look since he was a kid. All fidgeting with the sleeves of his uniform and luminous eyes too big for his face.

“Something you wanted to say, Bright?” 

Normally Dani would cringe at the thought of using the almost singsong lilt her voice had taken on, but he was ridiculously easy to tease.

“U-um...” Malcolm cleared his throat. His face like it was on fire and he knew it wasn’t because of the tea he’d just had. “So my mother sort of--well, demanded that I show up at her gala in a couple of days.”

Dani raised an eyebrow, unsurprised. Jessica Whitly was a societal force to be reckoned with and it was little wonder that even her son, who dealt with killers on a daily basis, was unable to say no to her. 

“So I gathered.” 

Bright being jittery was normal. The constant fidgeting, the mundane rambling, the sheer awkwardness was wired into him from a young age if Gil’s stories of a young Bright were all true, but he seemed almost… nervous? 

It didn’t make sense to her. Sure, he normally said some weird things and he had an unfortunate habit of sticking his foot in his mouth, but it was benign for the most part. It should’ve alarmed her about how comfortable she was around him, but the warmth of the tea she had still lingered, making everything about the already odd night pleasantly hazy. 

“She also wanted me to bring a date.” Malcolm let out a wry chuckle, his hand rubbing the back of his neck almost sheepishly. “I mean I’m already bringing Isabella as a sort of fun-sized baby date given that Mother's so taken with her, but it’d be nice to have a friend there a-and--”

“Bright.” 

Dani’s voice slowed into a low drawl as she took a step closer, her face inscrutable save for the glimmer of laughter in her eyes. She had to admit, it was pretty cute to see him so flustered.

“Are you asking me to be your date?”

“W-well, I--” 

The instant he cleared his throat, she could see a change in his demeanour. The determined set of his jaw, the squared shoulders as he drew himself to his full height, the clarity in his eyes. It briefly reminded her of something that Edrisa had said about the change that came with Clark Kent taking off his glasses. 

“I just thought it would be nice to take you to a fancy party where you wouldn’t have to arrest somebody and just enjoy yourself.”

“So it has nothing to do with you wanting to see me in a dress again?”

A teasing grin spread across Dani’s face as she tipped her head to the side. The sight of it made Malcolm’s confidence practically fly out the window, leaving him rambling so fast that he almost bit his tongue a few times. 

“Of course, there’s no obligation for you to say yes.” He nervously ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. “It’s just that you’re the only person I could think of when Mother said to bring a date. I know it’s probably not your thing, but--”

“Okay.”

“W-wait, what?” If his eyes got any wider, he could pass for a Disney Princess, all round and uncertain and saccharine sweet.

“Okay,” Dani’s eyes sparkled, the corners of them crinkling as she beamed at him. “I’ll go with you.”

“Really?” Malcolm’s anxiety practically melted away as he let out a relieved chuckle. “You don’t have to.”

“I know.” Dani nodded, “But a girl needs a night off for dancing every now and then--”

She nearly took a step back as he beamed at her, nearly as bright as the sun itself, the livewire tension in his body just melting away and it wasn’t until she caught the scent of bergamot and old leather that she realized what was happening.

Was Bright… hugging her? 

“Okay,” His voice was muffled, his face buried into her shoulder, “that’s amazing!” 

Dani couldn’t help but burst out laughing as she absently patted his back, feeling more like she had an armful of excitable puppy rather than gangly profiler. 

"Well, what are friends for, right?"

“Seriously,” Malcolm pulled away just enough so he could look at her, his arms still around her, “I owe you big time!”

“Bright--”

“No, I mean it,” he insisted with a shake of his head, still grinning ear to ear as if she had just given him the secret to all of life’s mysteries. “Anything you want, I’m yours for the week.”

Dani knew he would probably say something like that. Malcolm Bright was the kind of man who would go to the moon and back for the people he cared about, but she was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that she had become one of those people.

She briefly considered having him buy her fancy tea blends every day for a year or getting tickets to a sold out performance at the New York Ballet, but he seemed so genuinely happy that she accepted that she could only think of one thing that seemed right.

“You can start with those waffles you promised in the morning.”

(~**~)                 (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

The bed was comfortable. Too comfortable. 

Everything in the room was too tidy, too organized. The high end furniture gave Dani flashbacks of playing Tetris at the local arcade with her cousins, all neat blocks fitting together. The only things in the room that looked out of place were Dani’s clothes on a nearby loveseat and her duffle bag of extra clothes on the vanity. There was no real character to the room she was in, no personal touch. 

Bright was right. These rooms were just like hotel rooms. At least there were silk pillowcases so she didn’t have to worry about her hair. Dani tossed and turned before she took her phone off the nightstand next to her and checked the time.

4:42 AM.

She stared up at the ceiling, deep in thought with a slight frown. When she was a kid, she would jump out of bed in the middle of the night to see what was on TV so early in the morning, curled up on the couch with her blanket wrapped around her like a cape. But it wasn’t like she could do that now. 

This not being her home aside, Bright’s TV was way too big to subtly turn on and just watch with the captions. The high definition alone would be enough to wake both him and Isabella.

Then again…

Bright could be awake right now. Maybe he could use some company. She could just sneak downstairs and check in on--

Before she could make her decision, she faintly heard a high pitched squeal coming from downstairs. She absently let her hair down from her pineapple updo and made use of the fluffy white robe that was hanging in the closet before heading down. No one needed to see her in short shorts and a thin nightshirt.

What she saw made her stop at the foot of the stairs. 

She found Bright on the ground with his legs tucked under him, a wide awake Isabella lying on a fuzzy blanket with numerous toys strewn about around them.

Wait.

Was he wearing glasses?

Dark thick frames that were so close to slipping down Malcolm’s nose as he sat with Isabella with a bunch of toys and blankets around her. It was unexpectedly cute. Something about those glasses stirred up a bit of fascination for stripped down, barebones Bright in the early hours of the morning-- 

She mentally shook her head. It was probably just her groggy mind that was thinking that though. Bright wasn’t even her type anyways, no matter how mesmerizing his eyes were.

Malcolm tried lulling Isabella to sleep again, but the little girl just kept smacking plushies in his face and blowing raspberries, her face crinkled into a happy grin. Dani bit back a laugh when she saw how Malcolm couldn’t help but smile at the baby girl as he gently grasped a chubby fist. Bright made a front about being strict with Isabella about bedtime, but he really was just a big old marshmallow when it came to babies. 

“Come on, Izzy.” Dani heard Malcolm cajole the baby as the little one batted at his face. “You need to get some sleep or you’ll be cranky. And I don’t think either of us wants to see that.” 

Izzy. 

The nickname was enough to make Dani smile. She was too half asleep to consider that maybe forming a bond with the baby may not be the best idea. Isabella continued to gurgle as her tiny starlike hands patted Malcolm’s face, letting out a high pitch giggle when she managed to grab his nose. 

“Izzy,” he whined, inciting even more giggling from the little girl, “Could you let go of my nose please? I kind of need to breathe and contrary to what lolo Gil thinks, I’d like to keep breathing.”

His nasally voice did nothing to stop the laughter coming from the baby.

Malcolm was removing Isabella’s hand when he heard a tiny laugh from behind him. He turned to see Dani on the stairs, wrapped in a fluffy robe with her arms crossed, watching in amusement. 

“Sorry,” she murmured, giving him a sheepish smile. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.” 

“No, no,” Malcolm shook his head as he picked up Isabella, “Did we wake you?”

“Hardly. I just couldn’t sleep.”

Dani’s footsteps were steady as she padded her way towards them, making Isabella turn her wide eyes to her with a coo. It still amazed her how much the little girl’s eyes were just like Bright’s, all guileless and moonlike in that shade that wasn’t quite blue or green. 

A smirk took over Malcolm’s face, a playful spark in his eyes as he made room for her to sit.  

“I thought we agreed you should avoid picking up my bad habits.” 

“Pot calling the kettle black, Bright,” she shot back as she took Isabella from him, the little girl wrapped her tiny arms around the detective’s neck, letting out a tiny kitten-like yawn as she rested her head on Dani’s shoulder. 

“For real, have you slept at all?” 

Malcolm shrugged. 

“Bright...” 

Dani narrowed her eyes at him as he simply shrugged, shaking her head as she felt Isabella tangle her hands in her curls. Her face fell into a familiar expression, what JT had affectionately named her ‘why you always lying’ face during the first case they worked together. 

“Got about four hours before I woke up,” he said, giving her a wry grin in return before nodding towards Isabella. “Then little miss night owl got up a few minutes later and I haven’t been able to get her back to sleep.”

Dani couldn’t blame him. She’d heard horror stories of sleepless nights from her oldest sister, but she could already sense Isabella starting to relax in her arms, absently rubbing the little girl’s back. Isabella was already much easier to handle than Dani’s niece and nephew. 

“Well, we’ve already exhausted all your options. Let me try something.”

She didn’t think his eyes could get any bigger, but leave it to Bright to prove people wrong. 

“You don’t have to--”

“You need to rest.” Her tone brokered no room for discussion. “We need to be up at six. Try to sleep for another hour. Make it an even five hours,” she added with a smirk.

“Five isn’t an even number.” Malcolm chuckled as Dani shot him a playful glare, holding his hands up in surrender. “Alright, but if you need help--”

“I’ll wake you, now go to sleep.” She gazed at him with stern eyes, practically daring him to ignore her. “Please.” 

“Well, since you asked so nicely…”

Dani shooed him to bed with a roll of her eyes, her smile tender as she looked back down at Isabella.

Malcolm felt sore and exhausted, barely remembering to take off his glasses as his head hit his pillow. He could hear Dani softly speaking to Izzy as his eyes fell shut.

Wait.

That wasn’t it. She was singing.

“Moon river… Wider than a mile...” 

Dani crooned as she rocked the baby, who seemed to settle down the more she was sung to. Her voice was--

Malcolm already found her voice steadying for his nerves, honeyed contralto with the slightest hint of gravel to it, but her singing?

“I’m crossing you in style someday... Oh dream maker, you heart breaker...” 

He let out a content sigh, having no words for once. He didn’t realize he was smiling as he let Dani’s singing lull him to a gentle sleep. 

“Wherever you’re goin’, I’m goin’ your way...”

And for once, he felt nothing but peace.

(~**~)                 (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

“Our prime suspect is Evan Huntington.” 

Malcolm went straight into never-miss-a-detail profiler mode as he fed Isabella her bottle. The baby was kicking one leg with glee as she drank her milk. 

“He had a previous relationship with our victim, who’s vastly different personality-wise from his usual flings and even his own wife. The fact that Arianna doesn’t look like any of them is another inconsistency in his behaviour.”

“So let me get this straight.” JT interrupted with a grimace that Edrisa liked to refer to as his ‘turtle face’. “This guy sleeps with the women at his office…” his nose scrunched up as he tried to process what he heard, “and then to get revenge, his wife sleeps with them too?”

“Yup.” Dani had an identical look on her face and for a second, Malcolm mistook them for siblings. “Gwendolyn even tried to get me and Bright to sleep with her when we interviewed her.”

Gil let out a laugh of disbelief as JT looked like he swallowed a crateful of lemons. 

“Tell me you’re kidding, Powell.”

“I really wish I was,” she snorted before shooting a sly look at Bright. “You should’ve seen Bright's face. You could pinpoint the exact moment his brain started imploding.” 

Malcolm just narrowed his eyes at Dani playfully as she teasingly narrowed her eyes back at him. 

“Does Evan even know about Isabella?” Gil questioned, frowning at the idea of such a bright little girl being raised by someone as flippant and dismissive as a Huntington. 

Malcolm pursed his mouth as he looked down at the baby, who had abandoned her bottle in favour of playing with the grey silk pocket square tucked into his blazer. 

“He knows she exists, but he refuses to acknowledge that he’s her birth father. Arianna was already pretty adamant about keeping him out of Izzy’s life.” 

If he was being honest, he was hoping this little girl couldn’t be taken away by that man. He couldn’t imagine what would happen to Isabella if she were to grow up with that so-called family. Would she be loved? Would she even be taken care of or would she end up neglected like the characters in one of Ainsley’s historical romance novels?

“Who are the Huntingtons anyways?” JT cut in, his arms crossed. “‘Cause all I’m getting from this is bleach blonde one percenters who moonlight as cartoon villains and make deals with the devil.” 

Malcolm and Gil paused at this, giving JT identical sidelong looks in near perfect synchrony. JT rolled his eyes. Gil isn't my dad, my ass.

“Miri and Noa have been really into Gravity Falls lately. The Huntingtons sound just like the Northwests.”

“I'll take your word for it.” Malcolm adjusted Isabella in his arms, letting her sit on his hip as he set aside her bottle. “Let’s just say the Huntingtons are richer than most of New York combined--”

“Which means they get away with murder all the time. That’s why we need to find something concrete that could connect them to Arianna’s murder,” Dani added, “And I don't think Evan Huntington’s willing to take a paternity test.”

Isabella interrupted with a small shriek before playing with Malcolm’s pocket square again. The team let out a laugh at her outburst, Malcolm especially. 

“Exactly. See guys, she gets what we’re saying.” 

As he continued with his profile, Malcolm didn’t notice that Isabella started trying to copy the swift way he gesticulated whenever he talked, nearly in time with him. The sight of her waving her chubby little arms with the same wide, unblinking expression mirrored on Malcolm’s face was adorable. 

Gil couldn’t help but chuckle as he was paying more attention to the baby than the man she was imitating. Just as Malcolm was going to explain more about Evan Huntington, his face suddenly twisted. The older man raised an eyebrow in concern. 

“You okay, Bright? And don’t just brush it off with an ‘I’m fine’.”

“I’m fine. Really,” Malcolm insisted after getting a look from Gil before letting out a chuckle, “It’s more to do with Isabella here and the fact that she needs a change.” Isabella giggled as Malcolm shouldered her diaper bag with practiced ease, “I’ll be right back.”

“Just be glad you’re not dealing with two of them at once!” 

JT called out as Malcolm left the room, much to Dani and Gil’s amusement.  

“You think you’re done, but then the other one needs changing,” he grumbled. “And it doesn’t help when they look the same so you don't remember which one you just changed.”

“At least yours are both girls,” Dani quipped, the corner of her mouth tilting up as she remembered. “Mona kept confusing her kids for months and she had one of each.” 

 (~**~)                (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

When Malcolm returned, he was surprised to find that Edrisa had joined them. 

“Bright!” She lit the second she saw him. “Right on time!”

He chuckled as he placed Isabella in her stroller and gave her a few toys to distract her. He glanced at Dani for a second before doing a double take, his eyes comically wide.

“Wait,” he managed to choke out, his mouth suddenly dry. “What’s happening here?”

Jessica might have drilled the idea of being a gentleman into him, but even that didn’t stop him from staring at the corset that was hugging Dani’s slim frame. It was a more subtle design than most, but the champagne silk and delicate gold embroidery against her deep blue shirt highlighted her dark hair and made her olive skin practically glow. 

The only thing jarring this image was the gaping hole in the corset just below Dani’s sternum. 

“We found Arianna’s corset in the dumpster outside her building,” JT cut in, looking almost amused at the way Bright was looking at Dani. “Seems our killer didn’t account for the garbage not being collected until the weekend.”

“And according to the shop owners where Arianna would buy her corsets, this is one of their designs, but this isn’t their corset,” Dani explained before she let out a hum of appreciation, looking down at the corset in consideration.

Malcolm furrowed his brows, still not taking his eyes off her. 

“How could they tell?”

“That’s the best part,” Edrisa grinned in excitement, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “If you take a close look at the stitching, you’ll see that this corset was machine stitched when they exclusively sell hand-sewn corsets only.” 

The coroner nodded in approval as she added, "Plus they pride themselves on being cruelty-free and using eco-friendly materials.” She paused at the incredulous looks everyone was giving her. “What? My stepdad talks about them all the time. He did a collaboration with them for his last fashion line." 

Malcolm’s eyes were sharp with focus as his hand hovered over at the stitching of the corset, ignoring the hole left from a knife having gone through it. 

“Amazing.”

His fingers barely brushed over the curved seam above the hip when he faintly heard someone clear their throat. Gil, most likely.

“Bright?”

Malcolm was startled out of his thoughts, looking up to see Dani staring down at him with her eyebrows raised and her nose scrunched in confusion and he was suddenly very aware of just how close he was to her. 

“Right, sorry.” He cleared his throat, a high flush stark against his pale skin. “So why’s Dani wearing it?”

“So glad you asked,” Edrisa piped up, clapping her hands in excitement. “Since we need to figure out what about it killed Arianna, Dani volunteered to try it out...” 

Her smile turned into a pout, “So far no luck. We’ve laced it up as tight as possible, but it’s not like Dani’s squashed like a tin of sardines. It doesn’t seem like it’s difficult to breathe in it.”

Dani was reminded of a confused puppy at the bewildered expression that overtook Malcolm’s face.

“You’re fine?”

She nodded, her brow wrinkled in thought. 

“Yeah,” she muttered, her hands smoothing down the front panel of the corset. “It doesn’t even feel like I’m wearing it, honestly.”

Just then Isabella let out a very loud cry, startling everyone. Everyone turned to see her plush owl on the floor, the little girl’s face scrunched up when her stubby little arms couldn’t reach it. Malcolm was quick to grab it and hand it back to her, earning him a toothless grin that matched his answering one. 

He wasn’t expecting to hear someone suddenly collapse behind him.

They all turned and their eyes widened in horror at the sight before them. Dani was sprawled across the floor, eyes wide and lips turning pale as she gasped for air.

“Dani!” 

Malcolm charged towards her in a panic, ignoring the near scrapes as he fell to his knees next to her. He couldn’t help but curse as his fingers fumbled, desperately trying to undo the corset which seemed to be getting tighter and tighter by the second. Gritting his teeth in frustration when he couldn’t get the knot out, he whipped out a pocket knife from his suit jacket and slashed through the laces before ripping it off her.

He was so going to hear it from Gil later, a scolding about unauthorized weapons already ringing in his ears, but at the moment Malcolm could focus on nothing but Dani. 

He nearly slumped over her in relief as Dani started gasping as air began to flow through her lungs once again. She weakly grabbed Malcolm’s arms as he cradled her to him, keeping her upright against his chest. He barely registered flinging the damn corset away from her, now a pitiful crumpled mess on the floor. 

“I-I couldn’t breathe…” Dani finally managed to choke out, her knuckles white from her grip on him. “I couldn’t breathe!”

Malcolm’s heart thundered almost violently as he stroked her hair, not letting her go as cool air started to fill her lungs again. Dani could practically feel it from where she had her head resting on his chest, the rhythm soothing her as she closed her eyes in exhaustion. 

Malcolm briefly looked up at Gil, his expression grim, a spark of fury making his eyes electric. 

“I think we know how this thing is our murder weapon.”

(~**~)                 (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

"JT just texted, they’re on their way back." Gil reported as he pocketed his phone.

His expression was grim as he saw the man he considered a son freeze in the middle of his frantic pacing back and forth with a clingy Isabella on his hip. Malcolm hadn't been able to go to the hospital with Dani because the little girl saw him trying to leave the room and he wasn't able to do it in face of her tears.

“Is…” he hesitated, swallowing thickly. “Is Dani going to be okay?” 

If Gil noticed that his eyes were a little red, he had the sense not to say anything. 

“He said that both Edrisa and the hospital doctor confirmed that Dani only has some mild bruising. You managed to get the corset off her before any permanent damage was done.” 

Malcolm didn’t seem to take any comfort in that. The almost pout on his face was enough to make Gil smirk. 

“Kid, she’s gonna be okay. She’s from the Bronx, tougher than both of us combined, remember?” He unconsciously relaxed as he saw Malcolm let out a tiny smile. “Quick thinking with the knife, by the way,” he added, his tone almost smug.

He barely managed to keep his expression stern as the pout on Malcolm’s face dissolved into a deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression. It was the same face he had made the time the then officer had caught a twelve year old Bright attempting to smuggle a cageful of budgies--which Gil had later learned he ‘liberated’ from a neglectful owner--into his room, he couldn’t help but note. 

“I justified it at the time,” he admitted sheepishly as Izzy patted his stubble, “but in hindsight, probably not the best idea to have a knife on me if I’m taking care of a baby.”

“Common sense kicks in at last,” Gil chuckled as Malcolm’s face flushed with rare embarrassment, “At least I don't have to make that my next point.”

At least, he hoped he didn’t have to. Had the kid even kept his wall of weapons out of the baby’s line of sight? He kept a straight face, but he was practically screaming internally at the thought. 

“By the way,” Malcolm added as he placed Izzy back in her stroller, “my mother’s going to be stopping by to pick up Isabella while I go take care of something.”

“Where you off to, kid?” 

“I, uh, I’m gonna see Ainsley.” He glanced away, still fidgeting with the stroller’s handles, “I haven’t talked to her for a few days, though I’d check up on her.”

“And Isabella?”

“Don’t worry,” Malcolm let out a tense chuckle, “That’s why I already called Mother, she’s more than happy to watch her for a few hours.”

Gil gave an understanding smile. 

“I can keep an eye on Isabella until Jess gets here. Can’t be much different than babysitting Tala. Go see Ainsley.”

Malcolm’s smile was solemn as he knelt down to face Isabella. The baby just grinned at him and reached out to pat his face. 

“I’m only going to be gone for a little while, okay? Mother’s going to take you on another adventure, that’ll be fun, right?” 

Isabella gurgled as she hugged her owl, the plush toy squished against a chubby cheek. 

“I’ll be back soon, Izzy.” As he stood up to leave, he turned to Gil once more. “Thanks for doing this, Gil.”

“Anytime, kid.”

As Malcolm walked away, Gil knelt down and gave Isabella a smile. The baby let out a light squeal as she reached out to him, the tips of her tiny fingers barely grazing his beard. She reminded him of Tala, his only grandchild when she was that age, wide eyed and curious and grabbing anything that caught her eye. 

Once he took her back to his office, Isabella started to get fussy. He picked her up, immediately realizing what she wanted as he took the bottle of formula she hadn't finished yet. Gil couldn’t help the fond smile that overtook his face as her big blue eyes stared up at him, gurgling as a chubby fist stroked his chin. She started kicking a leg as if to say she was enjoying her snack. 

“You just wanna do everything at once, don’t you?” He would firmly deny that he cooed at Isabella if one of his officers saw him like this. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you took after Bright.”

He didn’t get a response nor did he expect one, but the gummy smile that lit up her face as she reached for her bottle gave him a sense of understanding.

Then a wave of regret hit him. If Evan Huntington knew about Isabella now, why hadn’t he taken her away? 

The lieutenant decided then and there that that sorry excuse for a man wouldn’t have a chance at ruining this little girl’s life. 

Not if he had anything to say about.

(~**~)                 (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

After the rollercoaster that had been the blackout and Endicott’s stabbing, Malcolm and Jessica somehow managed to keep Ainsley from being sent to prison by the skin of their teeth. Malcolm was the first to admit that it wouldn’t have been possible without the help of Gil, Dani, and Edrisa. Even JT, much to the surprise of both mother and son.

But it didn’t stop Jessica from finding it fit to send Ainsley to a rehabilitation facility of sorts. Phoenix Rehab, which the Milton matriarch had said had glowing reviews was a facility usually housed teenage heirs to fortunes with so-called attitude problems and wealthy housewives who found that something about their life just wasn’t enough and needed supposed space to breathe. 

Very rarely were there people like Ainsley, who genuinely needed help and needed to understand themselves and their actions.

Malcolm had been against the idea at first. It was already public knowledge that Ainsley was The Surgeon’s daughter, but if the staff were to find out what had really happened that night... 

He shuddered at the thought of Ainsley being raked over hot coals by the fallout. 

Jessica, still reeling from what happened, had suggested Ainsley stay there for at least six months. She was reluctant to cut Ainsley off from society, but she felt that her daughter definitely needed to be somewhere where she didn’t have to deal with media vultures. Especially when Ainsley couldn’t call herself the well-adjusted Whitly anymore. 

But from the start, their mother had made it clear that if Ainsley ever wanted to come back home, whether it be for the weekend or forever, she would welcome her with what Gil dubbed as the Whitly equivalent of arms wide open. 

His sister had ended up making a deal with Jessica. If she could find even one thing she liked about the place--whether it was the food, the meditation classes, even just the comfy mattresses and the freedom to decorate her room as she saw fit--within a week... 

Then she would concede to stay the six months Jessica had recommended.

Soon six months had come and gone, Jessica and Malcolm making various efforts to visit her at least once a week and Ainsley making quite a few visits back to the Whitly family home. Though she always stubbornly insisted that she didn’t need them to check up on her so much, especially considering the long drive. 

But for reasons no one seemed to understand, the youngest Whitly always seemed eager to go back. 

Ainsley clearly seemed to be improving. She half-begrudgingly admitted to Malcolm that she may have been ignoring her own mental health and she managed to come to terms with what she had done, making peace with it more or less. 

But it still didn’t stop the guilt that she felt every time she saw a crime news report. Nicholas Endicott was nothing short of a monster for all the trauma he had put them through and she wasn’t sorry he was dead. But what worried her the most was that something in her--something twisted, something she could have inherited from the dark underbelly of Martin Whitly’s psyche--had snapped and she just couldn’t stand by and watch scum like him get what he wanted. 

Whether it was him lusting after their mother or having Malcolm and Gil at his mercy, she couldn’t let him get away with murder. 

Not again. 

Not anymore. 

She was only sorry for how it had made her notorious, serial killer father downright giddy.

Even more sorry that her mother and brother had been left to deal with the consequences. 

And before long, six months turned to seven, to eight, then nine, but as time ticked on, Ainsley Whitly seemed to have no intention of coming home for good. 

Malcolm was brought over to where Ainsley was lounging on an open patio. She looked comfortable in a flowy white tunic top and matching leggings, her hair fabulous and effortlessly styled as always. 

She seemed at an easel painting... something? 

He couldn’t tell if she was trying for peacock feathers or she accidentally started channeling Klimt with all the greens and golds. 

“Before you say anything, I’m just playing around with this,” Ainsley said without looking up. “I will smear green paint in your hair.” 

And that was Ainsley all over. She always seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to her big brother trying to tease her. He simply grinned as he walked over to her, meeting her halfway for a bear hug before he sat next to her. 

“Hey bro,” she grinned, “it’s been eighty four years. Please tell me you brought truffle cupcakes instead of just your sorry mug.”

Malcolm couldn’t help but snort as he shook his head. 

“Hi Ains. Good to see you’re still you.”

She blew a raspberry, wagging her paintbrush at him in a way that reminded him of the way great-aunt Martha Antoinette would wag her finger, seafoam green manicure almost blinding whenever she scolded him or their mother. 

“Your last visit was over a week ago. You finally coming to terms that you don’t need to be checking up on me so much?”

“It’s not that. I’ve just been…” His mouth twisted as he tried to figure out how to even begin to explain everything, “busy the last few days. How’ve you been?”

“Pretty good. I’ve taken up painting obviously,” she smirked, stroking her chin thoughtfully. “You think if I grew facial hair, I could be Bob Ross?”

“Ains,” Malcolm barely got out, his shoulders shaking with laughter, “I think it takes more than mere facial hair to even pass for Bob Ross.” 

“Rude,” she scoffed playfully before trailing off. “I dunno,” she added with a shrug, “I’ve been painting a lot of happy trees lately and I could do with another hobby.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” A relieved smile spread across his face. “How’ve you been doing?” 

“Okay for the most part. I’ve been binge-watching The Good Place the past couple of days. I don’t get all the hype, but it was actually pretty good. Though the philosophy bits just confuse the hell out of me.” 

“Well, it’s an acquired taste for some.”

Malcolm chuckled, remembering how JT’s face had scrunched up when he and Tally were debating about ethics in the latest episode during their last group outing. JT preferred everything straightforward while Tally liked diving into symbolism and the intricacies of foreshadowing.

And yet the two opposites had just celebrated their tenth wedding anniversary. 

The siblings shared a moment of comfortable silence before Ainsley spoke up. 

“You came here to ask me something.” She crossed her arms over the table and leaned forward, her knowing eyes befitting of her passion for journalism. “And don’t deny it, you know you can’t hide anything from Whitly women, bro. What is it?” 

For once, he carefully thought over his words. 

“You gave Mom the six months she wanted. Your doctors say you’re more than equipped to return to your job and your regular life.” He frowned in confusion as Ainsley looked down at the table, almost curled into herself. “You don’t have an insatiable bloodlust, you don’t take pleasure in hurting people. I can’t imagine what must have been going through your head at the time--” 

His eyes softened when he saw her look so small, so unlike her confident self. As much as he initially thought otherwise, he hadn’t been the only one affected by their father.

“But I do understand being afraid of what you could be capable of. And I know that it was a result of trauma and stress, but what happened obviously came from a very logical and rational urge to protect our family.”

“I know,” Ainsley mumbled before looking back up at her big brother, “I’m usually good at getting that through my head--I’m still scared that something will happen again. I’ll suddenly get this pang in my chest at the realization that yes, maybe I did kill to protect my family. Maybe his death helped to save the lives of innocent people who would have died because of him...”

Her voice wobbled, her eyes suspiciously bright and it was like she was five years old again, confused and hanging onto the hem of her big brother’s sweater. 

“But none of that changes the fact that I did kill him. I killed him and I don’t even remember doing it.” 

Malcolm placed a hand on her shoulder as he noticed her eyes glaze over, giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

“I’m not saying that I’m worse off than you or you can’t understand what it’s like--but you’ve had this stigma of being Martin Whitly’s son for twenty years. It sucks, but at least it’s a constant for you. Imagine feeling like you’re doing fine and then all of a sudden, you’re hit with the guilt of something you actually did and can’t take back. Something you can never change.”

Malcolm held out his other hand and Ainsley was quick to take it, much like when they had been kids and she had held her brother’s hand because she was afraid of the high dive at the pool at Grandma Liz’s house.  

“I feel that less here, but I’m still reminded.”

“You’re not a bad person, Ains. Single minded maybe, but that’s hardly the worst trait for a journalist to have.”

She let out a wry laugh. 

“But I still killed a man and that changes things.” She pursed her lips as she let out a sharp exhale. “I don’t know if I can ever feel normal again.”

Malcolm nodded. Didn’t he have so many sleepless nights over that during the past twenty years? Maybe it was something only family could understand. 

“Welcome to my world,” he jested, the beginnings of a teasing smile unfurling. 

“I guess it was only a matter of time.” Ainsley let go of his hand, her laughter given way to a resigned sigh. “And I know Mom misses me, but now she’s asking me to either come back for this gala or give great-grandma Catherine ‘the Great’ something to roll over in her grave about.”

“Well, she was the life of the party back in her day,” he shrugged. 

He vaguely remembered a larger than life old woman in an Audrey Hepburn style black dress and opera gloves, laugh lines around Milton blue eyes and streaks of silver in her chestnut hair. Malcolm had been four when she passed away, but he could still recall his young self balancing on her ruby red shoes as she led him in wide sweeping circles across the dance floor. 

“And let’s face it, you definitely take after her ‘cause you’re much better at the whole gala thing than I am. I wouldn’t even know how to talk to anyone, really.”

“Wait,” Ainsley turned to him in disbelief. “You, Professor Foot-in-Mouth Syndrome, are actually going? Willingly?”

“Yeah, and here’s the kicker. Mother wanted me to bring a date.”

Ainsley let out a snort, her expression sly. 

“Because you’re so clearly fighting them off with a stick?”

“Oh, ha, ha. Very funny,” he retorted with a roll of his eyes. 

“What are you going to do when you show up without a date?” 

Malcolm went quiet, fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves and looking at anything but her. Ainsley’s eyes went wide with shock and delight, her reporter mind quickly connecting the dots.

“No. Way. Malcolm Alexander Bright! You actually have a date?”

Malcolm squirmed in embarrassment, his ears turning red. 

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a date exactly--”

“It’s Dani, huh?”

“Wha--” Malcolm just blinked at her in bemusement, “I just--how’d you even--”

“Figure it out? Oh please,” Ainsley rolled her eyes, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You couldn’t be more obvious. I mean, you literally talk about her every time you come visit.”

He froze at that, eyes so wide that she thought they’d pop out at any given second. Malcolm briefly wondered how his sister could read him so easily now. It had to have been the result of her almost year long stay here. 

 “I do?” 

He winced at the way his voice almost cracked. 

“Yup,” she nodded, practically preening with unholy glee. “It’s always the same thing. You tell me about a case, update me on Gil, guess the JT name of the week, and you end on some hilarious joke Dani made, usually at your expense. Which confirms you being a masochist because you find those the funniest,” she added in afterthought. 

Ainsley settled back in her seat, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. 

“So tell me, big brother. How’d you manage to trick her into saying yes?” 

(~**~)                 (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

Dani wasn’t normally one to simply stay at her desk, but she couldn’t help the soft smile on her face as she watched Gil and Isabella through the window of his office, the baby laughing as Gil made funny faces. It had been a while since she saw him like this, but lolo Gil was definitely a good look on him.

“Oh, Detective Powell!”

She snapped out of her thoughts a posh voice called out to her, accompanied by the crisp sound of heels clicking with each step across the floor.

“Hello, Mrs Whitly.” 

Dani looked up at the older woman with a polite smile. Jessica Whitly reminded her of the high society ladies from the reruns of Dynasty that her Granmè used to watch when she was little. Affably dramatic with those close to her, but scrappy enough to get down and dirty when she needed to if breaking an antique vase over Watkins’ head was any indication. 

Dani nearly had to cover her eyes when she spotted the bright, friendly smile on the other woman’s face, a sharp contrast with the navy suede trench coat and muted silver heels she wore. Well, at least she knew where Bright got it from now. 

“Oh no, dear, Mrs Whitly was my former mother-in-law,” Jessica chuckled airily, waving off the formality. “Given how attached my son is to you, you simply must call me Jessica. It’s lovely to see you again.” 

“It’s nice to see you too.” 

It should’ve been awkward, talking to Bright’s mother like this as if her relationship with her son was something more profound than friendship, but honestly? 

Jessica wasn’t as bad as some of the other high society mothers she had come across since meeting Bright. She was a lot of things; nosy, opinionated, a little judgemental at times when it came to Gil or her children’s choices. But she didn’t let her shortcomings stop her from trying to do right by the people she cared about. 

The subtle smile on Dani’s face was genuine, even as the detective cleared her throat upon recalling last night’s invitation. 

“Oh, by the way, I thought you should know that Bright invited me along.” 

“Invited you along...?” The older woman feigned ignorance with a quizzical tilt of her head, a rare moment of mischief for her. 

“Uh,” Dani hesitated for a second, absently biting her lower lip before she just came out with it. “Just that he extended the invitation for your gala... thing. He wasn’t really specific about what it was.”

“Oh,” Jessica lit up, clasping her hands together in delight, “So Malcolm did ask you after all! Finally. I knew that boy had a bit of the Milton persistence in him if I gave him a little nudge in the right direction, so to speak.”

Dani swallowed a chuckle, remembering the little family history lesson Bright had given them during the impromptu tour of the Whitly family home. 

“Uh, yeah.”

“Oh, this is wonderful, dear! So tell me, what do you plan on wearing?”

Oh.

Dani hadn’t really thought about what she would wear to an upscale event like that. Her family was comfortably middle class and the Powells’ idea of fancy was a night at the New York ballet and a late dinner at the Havana Café. 

“Um, I don’t really have a lot of options. Just that dress Bright bought me for a case a while back.”

“That fabulous oxblood gown you wore to the Taylor wedding?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Dani let out a laugh, simply shrugging a shoulder. “I thought about having my mom upcycle it and add some sheer lace sleeves, maybe a peekaboo collar.”

“As inventive as that may be and I will be asking for your mother’s number later,” Jessica looked momentarily intrigued by the idea before she shook her head, “I cannot let you be seen in that.”

Dani was nearly taken back, her brows raised in disbelief. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“Don’t get me wrong,” Jessica started, “That dress is gorgeous and you looked stunning as always. I've lost count of how many times people have come up to me and asked who you were after you flawlessly took down the Countess of Monte Cristo, not even a hair out of place.”

Jessica’s expression turned sly as she recalled how her son would start to frown in annoyance whenever he overheard a wealthy scion ask if the lovely detective was single. It may have led to a few ice cold glares whenever Dani wasn’t looking and the occasional possessive hand cupping the small of her back as he guided her through yet another dance, but the Milton matriarch would let Malcolm have his dignity. 

For now, at least. 

“But it’s practically an unwritten rule in the upper echelon, you simply cannot be seen in something you’ve already worn, especially when it comes to these sort of events.” 

"I guess you have a point…" Dani conceded. 

She might have had a brief glimpse of high society at the Taylor wedding, but she could tell from a glance that there was a lot of cutthroat viciousness hidden behind polite veneers. She was not about to go to the gala like a country bumpkin put on display at the-- 

Dani mentally shook her head. She must have listened to Mona talk about historical Cinderella style novels one too many times. How did Bright even grow up in that kind of environment? 

“Oh, I know!” Jessica's face lit up once again, “Why don’t I take you shopping? I still need to get my dress as well and I’m sure we could find something that suits your taste. We can make a lady’s day out of it.”

“I don’t know, Mrs Whitly--Jessica,” Dani corrected after a pointed look from the older woman. “I can’t exactly take off work--”

“Actually, you don’t need to continue your shift. Given that it ended a little while ago.” Gil interrupted, his face smug as he walked out of his office, bouncing a very happy Isabella in his arms. “Powell’s just a dedicated worker.”

Isabella kicked her legs in excitement, squealing when she saw Jessica hold her arms out. 

“Oh, my little bluebell!” Jessica gushed as she took the baby from Gil, looking every inch a doting grandmother as she turned back to Dani. “Now then, if your work day is over, I would love to take you dress shopping.” 

Dani opened and closed her mouth, unsure how to answer. Jessica was nice enough in small doses, but even she didn’t know if she could handle the entire day with Bright’s mom. 

“Powell,” Gil interjected, fatherly assurance bleeding into his usual no-nonsense lieutenant persona. “After all the hullabaloo, you’ve definitely earned a break today. Don’t let me catch you back here until tomorrow.”

“Then I guess…” Dani paused, looking at Jessica with a tiny smile. “Why not? I could use a day off right about now.”

“Wonderful!” 

Isabella started to clap and giggle as Dani stood up, the little girl’s enthusiasm making the grin on Jessica’s face grow even wider. 

“See, even Bluebell’s excited for you to join us.”

Gil chuckled with a fond expression, offering to get Isabella’s stroller when his phone suddenly rang. He hurried back to his office when he saw just who was calling. 

“Gil, I think I figured out how to get Evan Huntington to talk.”

“Bright,” Gil pinched the bridge of his nose. “We still don’t have enough evidence to bring him in. There’s still a possibility that he’s not our killer.”

“Killer or not, he knows something. He’s just not telling us.”

“Don’t I know it,” he groaned, a feeling of dread already starting to bubble up, just waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Do I even want to know what you have in mind?”

“Probably not,” he joked before his voice turned serious. “We may have to talk to Evan Huntington’s father, Edgar. But in order for it to work--” 

He could practically hear Malcolm’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. 

“--I may need to pay my father a visit.” 

Hey guys!

I’m sorry this took so long... again, writer’s block plus online summer courses have not been a good combination. I’m hoping that chapter 8 doesn’t take this long to write but no worries, I’m not gonna abandon the story... if anyone’s still interested in the story lol

I hope you guys are doing well and staying safe, I’ll see you next time XP

P.S. extra special thank you to @s4karuna because I could not have posted these past few chapters without her edits

[taeslovehandles]

Blood, Sweat and Tear - Begin

Yoongi walks down the hallway to greet his newest subject. He opens the door and enters a green room with dimming yellow lights on each side of the square shaped room. In the middle sits a dark silhouette on a red chair covered with little golden figurines. The man is blindfolded and shackled.

“Welcome to my little hobby room Jimin. What a coincidence that we meet again after you ran away from me, isn’t it?”, Yoongi chuckles.

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[Warning] Content in Blood Sweat and Tears - Begin contains: violence, blood, insults, drug use.

No weight gain yet as this part will explain how things turned out the way they did as well as slowly pacing the story slowly into the shape I want it to go. Skip this part if you don’t like reading fluff only and character backstory. I won’t be mad <3

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                      Blood, Sweat and Tears - Begin

Dark. It was pitch black and Jimin was unable to see anything. He tried to open his eyes but there was something wrapped around his head, covering his eyes. A blindfold? Jimin tried to move his hands to remove whatever was covering his eyes without success.

“What in the-...!?”

Jimin tried a second time to move his hands which ended the same way, uneventful. Jimin knew both of his hands were shackled to something… maybe a chair? He couldn’t see what it was but it definitely started to make him feel uneasy. 

Who would blindfold and shackle someone, has he been kidnapped? Why?

“Hello? Anyone here?” - silence.

“Great, that’s just great. At least get this damn thing off of me, my entire face is itchy from it!”

Jimin tried again to somehow free his hands but the more he moved his hands the more the metal shackles rubbed on his soft skin which slowly started to hurt. That ultimately was the reason he has stopped trying. Someone definitely brought him here which means he had a purpose and that meant he just had to wait for this person to finally show up.

But did he really want to see his kidnapper? 

All Jimin could remember was a bright light and a hit in his stomach when he was leaving the shopping mall.

“Ack- shit, that hurts…”

Jimin slowly realized how much pain filled his stomach. That must have been a good punch to the gut… probably also what made him go blank.

He needed to get out of here and he would. It’s not the first time Jimin was in a dangerous situation, back in the days when he was still together with his ex he had a wild time. Lot’s of chaos and blood…

The room is completely silent until Jimin notices the faint sound of footsteps coming his way.

/ / • / /

It had been quite some time since Yoongi had seen Jimin. And he would never have thought THIS was the way they’d encounter each other again. Oh well, it was Yoongi's idea in the end and he was more than willing to fulfill his task to keep Jimin by his side forever.

He checks the surveillance camera that showed a dark silhouette sitting on a fancy, red chair covered in golden figurines. The only thing more beautiful than the chair was the person sitting on it. Park Jimin. Oh he loved Jimin from head to toe.

It’s still hard for Yoongi to accept that Jimin and him are no longer a couple. He truly believed the time they spent were great times, but apparently that was only the feelings Yoongi had.

Yoongi filled a syringe with a mysterious blue liquid, tapped with a finger on it and put it in his bag. He looked to the side and grabbed a white shake. While he was tugging the shake into his bag as well he slowly started to walk away from his desk. 

His room was big and fancy, golden figurines and expensive paintings covered the walls. In the back of the room you could hear piano playing from the speakers.

Yoongi opened the door and left his room to walk down the long hallway covered in doors on each side. Sometimes even Yoongi forgot which door led to which room.

After walking down the hallway which felt like minutes, Yoongi finally reached his location. He opened the door confidently and stepped inside the square shaped room. The walls were mint green and each wall had a small lamp with yellow light bulbs in them which made the room look even greener.

In the middle of the room sat his love. Park Jimin. Finally, finally he could see him again. The reunion Yoongi had been waiting on for so long.

/ / • / /

“Hey, hey you! Take this damn blindfold off. I want to see the face I need to spit on for doing this crap with me!” Jimin yelled.

Who had the audacity to kidnap him and let him sit on this stupid chair for hours. His back hurt, his hands hurt and the blindfold was so itchy it drove him crazy.

“It’s been a while my love.”

...my love? Jimin was shocked… the only person that called him that was one of his exes. And the voice he just heard sounded really familiar too. It can’t be!

“Yoongi? Yoongi is it you?”

“Correct.”

“Why in gods name did you kidnap me, are you out of your goddamn mind? If you wanted to whine to me again about giving us another chance you could have done so via text message or phone you know?”

“Oh you mean in the way that you’d just ignore me again and never write back?”

“Exactly my point. I don’t know whose idea this shit was but I can tell you right now if you don’t get me off this thing and let me go I’ll make your life a living hell!”

“Feisty today, are we?” Yoongi let out a really quiet giggle while continuing to move forward. He was standing behind Jimin’s chair, his hand reaching for Jiming's right shoulder. Jimin not expecting to be touched let out a small gasp.

“You are here because I want you to be here and we won’t be going anywhere for a long while. That’s all you need to know for now my love.”

“You do realize how mad shit crazy you sound, right? What the hell do you want from me? Is it money? A quickie? Do you want me to suck you off or what?”

“That sounds really tempting but I’ll have to decline for now. I might come back to your offer to a later date though. If you behave that is.” Yoongi's smile was straight up evil. He moved his hands up and down Jimin's shoulder. While he was moving around the chair he smelled Jimin's perfume. It was truly addicting.

Yoongi put one of his fingers on Jimin’s blindfold and pulled it from his head. The view was breathtaking.

A wild, feisty young man was staring up at him ready to jump him wouldn’t the shackles stop him from doing so. Jimin may be smaller than Yoongi but he for sure had strength. And Yoongi knew that. One more reason to get to the fun part of this show.

“I swear to god Yoongi, I said we are done. D. O. N. E., DONE. Are you seriously going to force me to sit in a chair forever just so you can be with me? Did you hit your head or what?”

“Oh no I won’t force you to sit in this chair forever. I’m not a monster Jimin. Let’s just say you won’t be able to leave one way or another.”

“Then let me go.”

“I said I’d not let you sit in the chair forever I never said I’d let you leave dear.” Yoongi kissed Jimin on his forehead and ruffled through his light grey hair.

Jimin tried to get as far away from his hand as he could but the chair was yet again in his way. Why in the world was Yoongi going to such extremes… and what did he mean with him not being able to leave from here one way or another? He swallowed.  

Yoongi held Jimins face with one of his hands. Jimin tried to move his head away from Yoongis hand and looked to the side. 

“Look at me.”

Jimin kept looking to the side without moving his head. He was interrupted with a forceful hand yanking his head forward.

“OUCH! Shit Yoongi wtf that hurts!”

“You look at me when I tell you to.”

“Motherf-” was all Jimin could say before he was slapped across his face. Pain. Jimin never felt so much pain from being slapped. Maybe it was because he got backhanded and after taking a closer look at Yoongis hands he noticed a ring on the hand he was slapped with as well. 

“From now on we will keep insults and rude behaviour to a minimum. Am I clear Mr.Park. One more time and I will give you a reason to cuss.”

Jimins eyes were wide open for a split second until he noticed and returned to his stare again. Not only his stomach hurt now, his face pounding like hell too. At least his stomach pain started to slowly get less now that his body had a new area that was in pain to concentrate on.

Yoongi had never hit him before, that was definitely new… and his weird way of speaking. Was he having a nightmare? Was there a hidden camera somewhere and all of this was just a really bad joke? Please? It wasn’t. It was reality and the thought of that slowly started to scare Jimin. What was Yoongis plan?

Yoongi removed his hand from Jimins face, pulled a tissue from his pocket and tabbed on Jimin’s swollen and bleeding lip.

“Now that we set out the ground rules, how about we start the show?

What do you say love?”

“What show?”

“A special show with you in the main role of course!”

“What are you planning?” Jimin got more and more scared, he never felt this kind of anxiety. Especially with Yoongis weird behaviour. They’ve been a couple for 5 years back then. You’d think you know a person after such a long time. Apparently not.

While Jimin sank deeper down into his thoughts he didn’t notice how Yoongi walked past him to collect something from a table nearby.

/ / • / /

Yoongi was ready. He was more than ready to finally make his dream come true. Jimin never knew about this side of him and in the end him slowly trying to show who he really was, drove them apart.

Yoongi always loved chubby and big guys. Jimin however always worked out and kept his body in top condition. One day Jimin came home with tons of snacks in his hands. At the time him and Jimin were friends with benefits. Yoongi was there when Jimin needed him the most after his breakup with some asshole that told him he wasn’t his type anymore because he got too fat for him. The only reason Jimin worked out so hard was because of his now ex boyfriend. So Jimin sat back, grabbed the biggest bag of chips and started munching. Fuck him, fuck his ideals, fuck it all. I’m gonna eat what I want and no one can stop me, where Jimins thoughts out of rage.

But his guilt kept crawling back once he spotted his little chubby belly after having a look in the shower grabbing onto it. It was tough. Jimin hates how he looked not because he felt uncomfortable but because he was scared of what others thought about him when they saw him walking around. What Jimin cared most about was what people thought of him.

It took Yoongi a long time to make Jimin stop thinking like he had to prove complete strangers that he was something he didn’t want to be.

Months passed and slowly but surely Yoongi was able to convince Jimin that it’s okay to live your life how you want too. That no one was going to judge him for being a bit more on the chubby side as long as he felt comfortable.

They got close and started dating after 8 months. Yoongi never pushed Jimin and was always careful not to force his desires onto him but after 5 years he thought… he should at least tell him the truth.

A truth Jimin could not live with. Jiming accused Yoongi of feeding him on purpose, that he’d only encourage him to be bigger because Yoongi liked it. Jimin went so far as to question his ex. Jimin believed it was Yoongi that drove them apart and left him the next day.

But that was 5 years ago. It’s been so long since they saw each other and people change. There was no going back now, this was Yoongis decision and it would be his last.

/ / • / /

Jimins eyes were wide open now. Yoongi was holding a syringe in his hands with a weird blue liquor in it. What in the world was going on here? 

“W- What i-is that?”

“Something that will make you feel real good soon my love.”

“Are you drugging me!?”

“Of course not. It’s a special mixture that will help you to enhance greatly!”

“En-..Enhance? What do you mean?”

“What I said. You will see a side of yourself you’ve never see before and

you will learn to love it.”

With that Yoongi moved towards a screaming Jimin who was trying his best to get as far away from that syringe as he could. 

“No, No wait! I don’t want it. STOP I BEG YOU!”

Yoongi slowly pressed down and the blue liquid disappeared in Jimins neck. With a final smile Yoongi patted Jimins head who was shaking in pain and left the room. The door closed shut and Jimin was left in his own little room.

Let the show begin.

/ / • / /

“Ghhr, Ack-” were the only words Jimin could say. His mind went blank, his pupils widened and all of a sudden he felt a sharp pain inside of his mind. Jiming shut his eyes and screamed “AHHHHHHHH!” Fuck, Fuck it hurt so much. What in gods name did Yoongi give him. If it weren’t drugs what caused him so much pain. It couldn’t be poison right?

Jimin sure felt like dying right now though.

“Gahhh. Fuck. Make it stop!”

“Please!”

The pain in his head worsened. The slap on his face wasn’t even in the tiniest comparable to the pain he felt now. He gritted his teeth to help endure the pain.

…

“I beg you. Make it stop!”

It felt like hours, Jimin had no feeling of time but if he had to name it, it felt like days had passed when in reality it was only an hour. 

After an hour of Jimin feeling like he was going insane with the pain his headache slowly succumbed. His neck felt a bit stiff and his wrists hurt from all the movement while he was in constant pain. He licked his lip to check if he was still bleeding. Iron flavour started to take over in Jimins mouth and he realized that he was really thirsty.

He hasn’t had a drink for at least 12 hours now and his body was slowly but surely reminding him that it needed water in order to function properly.

Jimins eyes felt heavy, his blinking getting slower and taking longer until he finally passed out in his chair.

/ / • / /

Yoongi had watched the entire show through his monitor in his bedroom. While Jimin was screaming in agony and pain Yoongi did some business calls with clients and ate dinner at his desk to not miss a single part.

He noticed after an hour had passed that Jimin was moving slower and slower. The liquid must have finished its job. Yoongi took the now empty syringe out of his little bag and placed it on his desk. 

After 10 more minutes of Jimin struggling here and there he finally passed out. Which was Yoongis sign to go back into Jimins little room and organize a few things before he woke up again.

/ / • / /

Jimin slowly opened his eyes. The lights were way too bright for his still sleepy eyes and his eyelids closed shut again. It took him quite a while until he spotted all the new things around the room. A plate filled with some weird drops at least 3 six packs of Water Bottles or more on the table and a machine with a tube attached to it in the corner of the room that looked like nothing Jimin had ever seen before.

Before he could look around more a soft voice spoke to him.

“My poor baby. Did you have a pleasant sleep? You must be thirsty!”

“Wha- What did you inject me wi-with?” Jimin had trouble speaking. His mouth was as dry as a desert and his mind was cloudy.

“Oh my poor sweetheart. No need to speak so much. Here let me give you something to drink and ease your pain.”

Yoongi grabbed a bottle and poured half of it into a big cup while slowly walking over to Jimin who was more than eager to get his lips on that cup filled with fresh water.

While Yoondi walked over he dropped one of the drops inside the cup. The drop immediately disappeared and Yoongi held the cup against Jimins plump lips to suck on.

With eagerness Jimin drank from the cup and emptied it in a heartbeat. More. he needed more.

“M-More pl-please.”

“Alright.”

Yoongi walked back to the table but this time he did not grab a water bottle. Instead he pulled out a white shake from his bag and mixed it into the water. Was it milk? Who drinks milk with water? Now that Jimin thought about it… the water he just drank had a really weird taste to it.

 …

“What did you just g-give me to drink?”

“Mhm?”

“The water, w-was it water?”

“I said I’d give you something to drink, I never said I’d hand you water my dear.”

Yoongis smile got bigger.

“Sometimes it feels like you only hear what you want to hear Jimin. Ha ha.”

Jimins eyes widened once again, hastily looking around and trying to figure out what he just drank. He should have known better. Why was his mind so clouded, he couldn’t think straight.

Yoongi places the bottle with now white liquid on Jimins mouth…

-Splash

The white liquid spilled on the floor, Yoongis shoes and pants sprinkled with white spots. Yoongi tried to compose himself, his smile disappearing. Instead he stared at the spilled liquid and said in a cold tone

“You had to spoil the fun. Fine, if you want to do this the hard way I won’t hold you back. I was hoping to spare you for today but I guess you cannot wait to transform.”

What… What? Did Yoongi really just say what he said? What did he mean with transform? While Jimin was trying to figure out how to analyse Yoongi's words, Yoongi pushed the entire table towards the machine and started pouring bottles over  bottles of white liquid into the machine. He grabbed the plate of drops and threw the entire thing into the machine as well.

Yoongi meant what he said, he was intending to start easy but Jimin had to learn that there will only be consequences from now on if he misbehaved and he won’t like the consequences. Yoongi would get what he wanted, be it with Jimins will or without.

Yoongi pushed the on button and the machine started to quietly rummage away. He pulled the machine closer towards Jimin in order for the tube to reach later on.

/ / • / /

Jimin was terrified. What was this thing, what did Yoongi pour into it and what in gods name was he about to do. Yoongis ice cold stone face started to make him feel uneasy. That thing that was slowly moving towards Jimin looked like Yoongi for sure but it didn’t feel one but like the Yoongi he knew from back then. The Yoongi that always smiled, the one he had great times with. This thing was only wearing Yoongis face as a mask and it terrified Jimin.

Did he really not know who the real Yoongi was, was this the real Yoongi?

Because if it was, Jimin was not sure what this type of Yoongi was capable of doing. The footsteps got closer and closer until Yoongi was standing right in front of him with the tube in his hands.

“Shall we begin your transformation Park Jimin?”

To be continued.

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

Thanks for reading “Blood, Sweat and Tears - Begin”. I’ve never written anything like a story in my entire life, so bare with me if there are mistakes or anything that doesn’t quite make sense. 

I will make sure to improve over time and learn more <3

The “Blood, Sweat and Tears” storyline will continue with “Blood, Sweat and Tears - Temptation” to a later date. Basically whenever I find time to type it out. I have the entire story in my head however my fingers are slow typers lmao.

In “Blood, Sweat and Tears - Temptation” y'all are in for a treat. Be warned though, if you are not into extreme weight gain, the next part might not be for you in the later parts.

I purple you <3

[takerfoxx]

IM Swiftly Descending Darkness, Chapter 3

As it turned out, there was more than a simple fight going on. It was an all-out brawl, one consisting of mostly children.

A ring had been cleared in the crowd, and in it was a confusion of bodies, all of them rolling about in a flurry of blows and holds. There seemed to be around seven kids involved, three of which were wearing the grey Children’s Home uniforms. Rumia identified Noba, Tomohiro, and Shinji, who were among the eldest of the children. The other four, who looked to be nearly almost men, were probably from one of the nearby villages. In the thick of it was Miss Haruhi, who was desperately trying to get them to separate while she yelled for help to no avail.

All around them several things seemed to be happening all at once. In the innermost ring of onlookers the rest of the other orphans were gathered. Chubby Keiichi was sitting with Yoshi and Hiro standing on either side, a dazed look on his face and his nose a bloody mess. Haruko, Hayate, and Eiko were frantically running about screaming at everyone to stop, while Kazuchika was holding little Akito in his arms, anxiously trying to comfort the wailing child. As for the two remaining boys, Dai and Yuuki, they weren’t anywhere to be seen.

And around them were the market-goers. It took Rumia less than a second to gauge that none of them were going to be any help. Some of them looked distressed, and many of them were calling out for everyone to stop fighting. But most were hanging back, unwilling to get involved, while still others were laughing, a few even shouting encouragement.

Rumia felt her cheeks grow hot. So many grown-ups around, and the only one actually doing anything was Miss Haruhi.

Well, at least they had brought Mister Joshua and Miss Mokou, who were also on the very short list of useful grown-ups. If anyone could stop this, they could.

Then several things happened in very quick succession.

First of all, despite the brawling orphans being outnumbered, three more local kids, all of them older and bigger than even Noba, pushed their way through the crowd and ran into the fray.

The second was Miss Haruhi hastily trying to put herself between the newcomers and the fighters. She held her hands out as she begged them to not join the fight.

The third was one of the newcomers contemptuously smacking her across the cheek and sending her reeling. He then grabbed Shinji by the hair, hauled him up, and punched him squarely in the face.

The fourth was caused by the third. Watching someone as nice as Miss Haruhi get roughed up like that killed any inhibitions that the rest of the orphans might have had, and the dam broke.

Haruko, Hayate, and Eiko were the closest, so they set upon the new roughnecks with reckless abandon, punching and clawing at them despite being totally outmatched. Rumia even saw Eiko trying to bite the one that had hit Miss Haruhi in the arm.

Yoshi and Hiro were next. Despite only being eight and ten years old respectively, they left Keiichi and ran in as well, kicking shins and punching groins, or attempting to at least, which got Yoshi an elbow to the nose for his effort.

Then wonder of wonders, Keiichi himself got up and tried to join the fight. He didn’t make a very impressing showing of it. In fact, it mainly consisting of him getting up, waddling over to the boy still tangled up with Tomohiro, and pounding ineffectively on the boy’s back with his fists. In the end, Kazuchika was the only one not joining in, and that was because he had his hands full with Akito.

Unfortunately, there was nothing stopping the rest of the locals from jumping in as well.

Rumia saw several young men make toward the fray with purposeful strides and dark looks. A few were stopped by their neighbors, but not all. It wouldn’t be long before the other orphans were outnumbered.

Well, screw that!

Without waiting for any kind of context as to what had kicked the whole thing off, Rumia bolted forward. She pushed her way through the crowd, zeroing in on the first combatant she could find not wearing a grey uniform. She didn’t need to look to see if her friends were with her; she didn’t need to. They simply were.

She managed to break through the crowd into the fight circle. Then she sprinted toward a boy a few years older than herself who was wearing a green outfit and fist fighting with Shinji. She leapt right onto his back and snarled while raining down blows onto his neck.

He lurched back in surprise, allowing Shinji to catch him with a solid jab into his stomach. A moment later Kohta appeared, tackling his knee from behind and driving him down.

It was a nicely coordinated attack, but unfortunately their numbers advantage did not last, as several other bodies converged on them. A hand grabbed Rumia by the hair and pulled hard. She felt herself being hauled into the air, but before she was, she lunged forward one last time and snapped her teeth. Her mouth filled with the green-clad boy’s ear, and he cried out in pain.

A moment later Rumia was facedown in the dust while some asshole kicked her in the ribs. She gasped in pain, and tried to turned away from the blows.

“Get away from her!” she heard Kohta yell. This was followed by the meaty sound of a punch connecting with flesh. Rumia hoped that it was his hand doing the punching.

Unfortunately, the opposite proved true, and a moment later Kohta was lying next to her. The two locked eyes for just a second, and then they grabbed one another and tried to keep each other’s heads shielded as the kicking resumed in earnest.

It occurred to Rumia then that she might actually die, and not at the hands of any youkai or other kind of monster, but beaten to death by her fellow Humans. And the worst of it all was that she didn’t even know why things had broken down like they did. She had just seen her family in danger, and had run to help, and now it might cost her and Kohta their lives.

That sucked.

But before they had taken more than three blows, there came another sound of knuckles slamming into flesh. Then there was a loud crack, and an unfamiliar male voice cried out in pain.

A moment later the one that had done most of the kicking was simply gone, though Rumia could here someone warbling in fear as…was he flying away? Or had he been thrown?

Despite having picked up several new bruises, Rumia found herself grinning. She had figured out what had happened. Oh, those assholes were in trouble now!

She eased herself onto her back, expecting to find Miss Mokou standing over them like a spirit of vengeance.

She…wasn’t.

But Keine was.

Keine was there, all two-thirds of a meter of her, spindly little legs splayed, tiny little fists clenched and trembling. Though she was seething with rage, she also looked a little shocked at what she had done.

But she wasn’t backing down.

Rumia was quite impressed, but she was also sort of dismayed. There was something deeply gratifying about watching her scrawny little friend sending all of their assailants running, but Keine was also blowing the big secret that the three of them had worked so hard to hide, not only from those outside the orphanage, but within as well.

And judging by how Keine’s face was quickly changing from angry pink to horrified white, she had also figured out the danger she was in.

Fortunately, that was when Miss Mokou finally joined the fray.

If anyone had noticed that the tiny little girl was hitting harder than she ought to, it was immediately forgotten when the strange woman wearing strange clothes suddenly touched down in the middle of the violence. The three boys teaming up on Noba found themselves swept aside when a leg swung around into each of their faces. The four girls that were kicking Haruko, Eiko, and Hayate into submission were abruptly launched into the air in four different directions. Two men that had apparently decided to grab onto Yoshi and Hiro found themselves the ones grabbed onto as a hand suddenly seized each of them by the hair and slammed their skulls together.

This all takes time to explain, but the fact of the matter is that within mere seconds the entire circle was cleared of anyone not from the Children’s Home, leaving nothing but the orphans, a dazed Miss Haruhi, and an absolutely enraged Miss Mokou.

All expect for one.

One of the boys that had been fighting Noba at the beginning had found himself with a hand wrapped around his throat, a hand with fingers more unrelenting than steel shackles attached to an arm harder than an oak beam, an arm that was hoisting him into the air with his legs dangling and forcing him to stare terrified down at a pair of eyes that seemed to be made of raging hellfire.

Several of the young men that had been hurled from the fight had collected themselves and were now readying themselves to come to their friend’s defense. Apparently sensing this, Miss Mokou’s head snapped around to turn her death glare at them, stopping them in their tracks.

“Try it,” she growled. “See what happens.”

Mokou was a tall woman, sure, but she wasn’t that much taller than any of them, and she didn’t seem to be particularly muscular. At a glance, one that did not know better might assume that with the benefit of surprise gone, it would be an easy task to overwhelm her and beat her down.

Rumia absolutely knew better. And she really, really wanted to see what happens.

Unfortunately, the young men probably sensed what a colossal error that would be, and took a few steps back.

Damn.

That done, Miss Mokou returned her attention to her hostage. “So, you’re the one that started this, right?” she said. “Aren’t you?”

“Let him go, you animal!” some lady yelled. She was ignored.

“Please!” the boy cried. “I’m sorry! Don’t hurt me!”

“Sorry? Sorry for what? What did you do?”

“I didn’t mean it! I was just playing!”

“What. Did. You. Do?”

“Mokou, stop!”

Miss Mokou paused, but she didn’t let the boy go. The crowd parted, and Miss Satoko appeared, accompanied by the previously absent Dai and Yuuki, who apparently had gone to find her when the fighting had started.

Miss Satoko looked more frantic and distraught than any time Rumia had seen her. Her face was pink, her mouth gaping open, her hat was gone, and she was grabbing at her own hair with both hands.

“What…what are you doing?” she sputtered as she took in the scene. “How…what…what happened here?”

“What happened?” said some guy that Rumia didn’t recognize. “I’ll tell you what happened! Your little devils assaulted our boys, that’s what happened!”

“That’s not true!” Tomohiro shouted. He looked pretty roughed up, with both of his eyes blackened, his uniform torn and dirty, a darkening purple bruise on his cheek, and scratches all over his neck. However, of the original group of brawlers, he had come off better than Shinji or Noba. “They’re the ones who started it!”

“Shut your mouth, you little savage!” said some woman, who looked like she was the mother of one of the local boys, if the way she was cradling her arms around him was any indication. “We all know this was your doing!”

“It was not!”

“Lies! We all know what your kind is like!”

Tomohiro stared at her in complete befuddlement. “What do you mean, my kind? We’re all Human!”

“Are you? Are you really?”

“You know, we can clear this up right now,” Miss Mokou said. She gave the boy she was still holding aloft a slight shake. “So, how about it, buddy? How’d this all get started?”

The boy still looked terrified of her, and who could blame him? But seeing that one woman speak up on his behalf seemed to have given him enough courage to hold his tongue, which was really stupid as far as Rumia was concerned. If Miss Mokou decided to snap his neck, then she could probably do it long before anyone got close enough to save him.

Since he wasn’t talking and Noba still looked completely out of it, Shinji spoke up. “We were just talking, then they all got right into our faces and wouldn’t leave,” he said, slurring his words slightly through swollen lips. “They said…they said…”

“Nothing!” Miss Mokou’s captive suddenly shouted. “We didn’t say anything to them!”

“You did! You asked if Noba cried when his mom and dad got eaten! You said that you bet that he helped them eat them, that he’s probably half youkai already! You said that we’re only here to see who’s the fattest to eat later!”

“I was just joking!” wailed the culprit.

“Thought you said that you didn’t say anything,” Miss Mokou pointed out.

“Then when we tried to walk away, they just grabbed us and pulled us back!” Shinji continued. “They said that they’re not gonna let us take anyone, that we shoulda gotten eaten with our families!”

“Oh?” Miss Mokou said. “Then that’s when you punched them?”

“No! We just pushed them away, and they pushed us back!”

“You liar!” the boy yelled!

“He did!” Haruko broke in. “We heard them! Then when they saw us, they said…” She shivered. “They said that we should go with them, that they wanted to see how wild the youkai had made us!”

Miss Satoko looked like she was going to be ill.

“Oh, is that right?” Miss Mokou said, her gaze traveling up to her squirming captive with deadly purpose.

“Mokou, don’t,” Miss Satoko whispered.

Then someone called out from the crowd, “Yeah, let him go!”

“He didn’t mean any harm! What, can’t you youkai lovers take a joke?”

Miss Mokou’s gaze slipped from her captive to the crowd. “A joke.”

“A joke?” Mister Joshua sputtered. “You call something like that a joke?”

“Hell yeah! Boys will be boys, you know. That’s no reason to punch anyone!”

Rumia suddenly found herself wishing that she really was youkai-cursed or at the very least half-youkai like Keine. Then she might have been able to make . Then she might be able to wipe a few smirks off the faces she saw.

“Boys will be boys?!” Mister Joshua repeated, aghast. “Listen to yourself, man! That’s horrific! What kind of boys are you raising?”

“You’re the ones with one of ours by the throat!” came the reply.

“You wanna replace him?” Miss Mokou said.

The guy in question, a middle-aged man with a big chest, big arms, and an even bigger beard shoved his way to the front of the crowd. “Try me, bitch.”

“Mokou, please,” Miss Satoko begged. “Don’t.”

Miss Mokou didn’t so much as glance at her. “Okay,” she said. She opened her hand, and the boy dropped. He looked around in bewilderment, and then fled as fast as his feet could take him.

“All right, asshole,” Miss Mokou said as she strode toward the big man as Miss Satoko ineffectively grabbed at her arm. She didn’t even slow Miss Mokou down. “Your wish is my command. I’ll try you right-”

“ENOUGH OF THIS MADNESS!”

The new voice was loud, but kind of squeaky and cracked a bit in the middle. Still, it brought everything to an abrupt stop.

Four tough looking men were shoving their way through the crowd, making a path as they went. And between them was some short, fat guy with a big hat. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

Rumia frowned. “Who’s that?” she said.

“Seriously?” Kohta whispered back. “That’s Master Sonozika, the Human Leader!”

“Oh.”

Keine winced. “Shit,” she muttered.

Master Sonozika hadn’t had to have walked far to reach the center of the commotion, but judging by the way he was heaving and gasping one might have thought he had just ran a marathon. “Satoko Yume, this is an outrage! Is this how you mean to convince me to allow your little monsters into the Human Village? They can’t go five minutes without attacking somebody!”

Rumia bristled, and she wasn’t the only one. “What did he call us?” she hissed.

“Steady,” Keine said.

“Master Sonozika, I know thing got out of hand, but the orphans didn’t start it,” Miss Satoko protested.

“That’s right,” said Miss Haruhi, speaking for the first time. She still looked kind of rocked by the blow she had taken, but she was up and talking at least. “A group of boys deliberately picked a fight with us! They insulted their dead families, and made sexual passes at some of the girls!”

“And for that you attack us!” Master Sonozika screeched.

“They were provoked!”

“They’re just words! Get over it!”

“Words, huh?” Miss Mokou said. “Disparaging children’s dead parents is just words now, are they? Threatening to rape little girls are just words? So hey, if I were to say that you look like what you get if a syphilis-ridden toad fucked a wad of pig fat, would that just be words?”

Now that Miss Mokou mentioned it, the resemblance was kind of uncanny. Rumia giggled a bit in spite of herself. So did Haruko. The two glanced at each other, instinctively resistant to sharing any kind of comradery, but then they both remembered that for now at least they were on the same side, so they both laughed again.

Master Sonozika, however, did not find it quite so humorous. “How…how dare you, you disrespectful harlot! Don’t you know who I am?”

“Mokou, do not,” Miss Satoko said.

Again she was ignored. “Sure, Sonozika. That snout is unmistakable. Runs in the family.” Miss Mokou glanced down at Master Sonozika’s jiggling belly. “Among…other things.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Eh, who cares?” Miss Mokou said with a shrug. “I mean, they’re just words, right?”

Mister Joshua tugged on her sleeve. “Mokou, this isn’t helping. You should stop.” Again, he was ignored.

Master Sonozika gnashed his teeth. “Hold your tongue, woman. Or I’ll have it cut out.”

“That I would like to see. Hey, you know what?” Miss Mokou walked right up to him. He went pale and retreated a few step, while his guard immediately stepped between him and Miss Mokou, their hands on the hilts of their swords.

However, Miss Mokou wasn’t going to attack him. Quite the opposite, really. “If you want to, I’ll give you one free shot,” she said, leaning over and turning her head to offer her cheek. “Come on, Fatty. You know you want it.”

“Mokou, what are you doing?” Miss Haruhi screamed.

“Don’t do this!” Mister Joshua agreed.

Master Sonozika was practically steaming with fury and embarrassment, but didn’t take the bait, but then, he didn’t have to. He merely shot a glare at one of his guards, who stepped forward to do it for him.

“No!” Miss Satoko yelled.

The guard was of the same height as Miss Mokou, and considerably more heavily muscled. Plus, he was wearing leather armor over his arms and the back of his hands that was studded with iron balls. He slammed the back of his hand right across her face with enough force to shatter bone.

Rumia winced. Kohta gasped. Keine covered her eyes.

But Miss Mokou didn’t fall under the blow. In fact, she didn’t give at all. The hand hit her cheek…and just stopped, the iron balls digging into her skin but not breaking it. She didn’t even have to shift her balance.

Instead, she just remained crouched as her dark maroon eyes rolled around up to lock gazes with the stupefied guard. She smiled. “Okay,” she said as she straightened up. “I guess that clears up a thing or-”

“That will be quite enough.”

This time, the new voice wasn’t nearly as loud or as frantic as Master Sonozika’s had been, but it cut through the crowd just the same. The locals started murmuring to one another, and many quickly moved out of the way of the newcomer of their own accord as he strode into the din.

It was Mister Joshua’s not-friend, the tall weird guy dressed in brown. He was walking forward with less speed but considerably more confidence than Master Sonozika had, both hands wrapped around that t-shaped thing on his necklace.

“Friends, friends, what is this?” he said. “Why are we fighting like children? Come on, you’re better than this.”

Then he glanced at Miss Mokou, and his brow furrowed behind his stupid dark glasses. “Well, some of us anyway.”

“Okay, yeah, I do not care for you,” Miss Mokou said.

“Feeling’s mutual.” Then he looked over to Master Sonozika, who looked quite realized at his arrival. “Gendou, Gendou, Gendou, what is all this? I knew things outside of the Human Village were…rough, but not an hour after our arrival and things devolve into a brawl!”

Master Sonozika sighed. “Well, Skinner, that’s the thing. It seems that some of the local children were set upon by these!” He motioned toward the orphans and their caretakers, all of which were still in the circle and surrounded on by all sides.

“We did not!” Tomohiro shouted as he came forward. “They’re the ones who-”

The man identified as “Skinner” suddenly thrust a glove-covered palm into Tomohiro’s face. “Do not interrupt your elders, son,” he chided.

Tomohiro stumbled back. “I’m not your son! And your hand stinks!”

Skinner’s head jerked back as if he had been physically struck. He looked down at his hand, as if he were contemplating taking a swing of his own at Tomohiro’s face.

Noticing this, Miss Mokou sidled up between him and Tomohiro. “Yeah, don’t,” she said flatly.

Skinner’s hand flexed into a fist, uncurled, and flexed again. Despite his earlier calmness, he looked like he was about to fly into a rage of his own and kick up the brawl all over again. To be honest, now that Miss Mokou was here, Rumia kind of hoped that he would.

But then he relaxed, and reached up to clasp both hands over his necklace again. “Brother Joshua, I am again disappointed,” he said as he stepped around Miss Mokou to turn toward Mister Joshua. “I knew that your time spent with this type had been bad for you, but I didn’t know how bad. Violent youths, disrespectful women, and-”

Suddenly he stopped. And he stared. Not as Mister Joshua, but past him.

To where Rumia, Kohta, and Keine were standing.

“I could say the same,” Mister Joshua said. “I can already see what great things you’re teaching the people here, the good news you’re spreading. Fear, superstition, and lies. Very Christlike indeed.”

Skinner didn’t answer. He just kept staring in a way that made Rumia’s skin crawl.

So she spread her hands, glowered back, and mouthed, What?

Skinner tilted his head, but it didn’t seem to be in response to Rumia.

It was then that Rumia realized that he wasn’t looking at her. Close to, but not quite. Rather, he was looking at Keine.

Rumia felt cold ice sweep down her spine. He knew. She didn’t know how he knew, but he did.

Gritting her teeth behind her grimace, Rumia held her defiant stance, refusing to back down.

“Nathaniel?” Mister Joshua said.

Skinner didn’t move.

Mister Joshua glanced over his shoulder at the trio, scowled, and positioned himself right in front of Skinner. It wasn’t an impressive sight, as the top of his head only came up to the taller man’s chest, but he was doing what he could. “Nathaniel! Stop looking at them and look at me.”

“Better do what he says, Skinny,” Miss Mokou said. She laid a firm hand on Skinner’s shoulder.

Skinner reacted immediately to the touch, wrenching his shoulder away and seizing her by the wrist.

“Don’t you dare touch me,” he seethed. “Don’t you dare…”

He tried to hurl her to one side, but when he yanked on her arm, she merely clenched up her muscles and stayed where he was.

Frowning, Skinner tried again. Miss Mokou’s arm barely moved.

“You finished?” she drawled.

“Hmmm.” Skinner released her wrist. “You are…surprisingly strong.”

“I work out.”

“So I see.” Then he brushed himself off and backed away from her. “Regardless, this little spat is pointless. The main source of conflict is the riot.”

“Fight,” Miss Mokou corrected. “It was a fight.” She tilted her head toward the original group that had been brawling with Noba, Shinji, and Tomohiro. “Those boys over there tried to provoke some of ours, and it worked. Things escalated.”

“Thanks to you, I presume.”

“Nah. I got here just in time to see a whole bunch of grown-ass men surrounding a bunch of boys beating up on a bunch of orphans and doing nothing to break it up. They didn’t even try to stop the young girls that were trying to stop it from getting hit. It wasn’t until the rest of our kids ran in to help their friends that anyone decided to do something.” She swept her eyes past Skinner and over the crowd. “Mainly by rushing in to beat up a bunch of kids. So I put a stop to it.”

Rumia suddenly found herself very glad that she and her friends had dishes duty for the rest of the week, because as far as she was concerned, Miss Mokou was now officially the coolest person in the world and she wanted to hang out with her as much as possible.

In fact, her words of shame were having an effect. As Rumia looked around, she saw more than one previously angry face now start to wilt, a few even looking away. Ha! Take that!

“Really?” Skinner said. “All by yourself?”

“Pretty much, yeah. So, you gonna continue this little interrogation, or can we move on? Because obviously you’re the one in charge here.”

“Ah, h-h-hold on a moment!” Master Sonozika suddenly sputtered. “Now, Nathaniel Skinner is a dear friend and a highly valuable advisor, but let’s not presume!”

“Then why is he doing all the talking then?” Miss Mokou turned to the rest of the crowd. “What about you guys, huh? Does the turd-coat here speak for all of you too?”

There was a pause, and then a woman called, “He’s with the Leader!”

“So?” someone else countered. “I’ve never seen him before.”

“Yeah, who is he, anyway?”

“Shut your mouth, you backwaters!” called a well-dressed man that obviously came from the Village. “That’s Brother Nathaniel Skinner, a man of very high reputation!”

“Reputation for what? Dressing like a pile of horse shit?”

Everyone laughed at that. The spell Skinner had had over the crowd was fading.

Skinner noticed, but he kept his cool. Rather than retort, he merely cleared his throat and walked over to Master Sonozika. Leaning over, he whispered into the stout man’s ear.

Master Sonozika seemed surprised. He whispered something back, and Skinner responded. Master Sonozika nodded.

“All right, I think we’ve heard enough,” Master Sonozika said. “Regardless of whoever started it, things clearly have gotten out of hand. But even so, children will fight. So, let us all put this business behind us and go on with our lives. Mistress Yume, I trust you will discipline the children you claim to care for and try to rein in their wild impulses?”

Miss Satoko went white with indignation. “Wait, they were the ones who-”

“Good! For now, you should take them home. We wouldn’t want another, ahem, incident now, would we?”

Miss Satoko looked like she was going to argue the point further, but then Miss Mokou tapped her on the shoulder. Miss Satoko looked at her in confusion. In response, Miss Mokou just shook her head.

Taking the message, Miss Satoko said, “All right. Children, two lines please. Mokou, could you please help Noba? Haruhi, keep close to me. Joshua, bring up the rear.”

The family slowly and in some cases painfully gathered together. Those who needed help walking got it, and the youngest and those who were hurt worse were brought to the middle while the rest formed a shell around them.

The crowd opened up, and they filed walked out of the market. Rumia realized that her right leg was limping a little, but she refused to give in to it and walked as straight and steady as she could. As she did, she made sure to glower at each and every face she passed. In some cases the glower was returned, but in most people refused to meet her eyes. Good. They ought to be ashamed.

Then she glanced the other way, toward her family. Haruko, Eiko, and Hayate were walking close to her. She caught Haruko’s eye for just a moment.

A beat passed, and then Haruko gave her the slightest of nods and glanced away. The message was clear. They were still enemies, but in this specific case, they were enemies on the same side, and Rumia would be glad to fight side-by-side with a stupid cow like Haruko any day if it meant standing up to all those assholes.

Finally they passed over a hill and were fully out of sight of the market. When that happened, everyone relaxed just a little. Straightened shoulders slumped, heads that were held up high dropped, and those in pain allowed themselves to show it. Still, nobody said anything, though some of the younger ones were crying a little, as was Miss Haruhi.

Rumia couldn’t blame them. She was hurting. It wasn’t that bad, and she had been hurt worse in the past through various accidents and mishaps, but there was a difference between falling out of a tree or getting into a fistfight with Shinji because she had caught him cheating at Mahjong and being outright assaulted like that!

…okay, fine, she had technically been the one doing the assaulting, but that was just because her family had been assaulted first, or at least she was pretty sure they had been. Regardless, getting thrown to the ground and kicked at by complete strangers was something that she was still struggling to process.

Kohta had taken worse. One eye was swollen up, and he was limping even worse than she was. Keine was between them, providing support with both of their arms thrown across her shoulders. Under normal circumstances, Rumia’s pride would have dissuaded her from accepting that much help, but today she just took it without complaining. Or at least, she had waited until they were out of sight of the market before accepting it. Her pride was still there, but she was now a bit more specific about who she was allowing herself to appear weak in front of. And after everything they had endured together, the rest of her family got a one-day pass.

The rest of the kids were in various stages of beaten up. Noba had taken the worse; in fact he was barely conscious. Miss Mokou had his arm over her shoulder while she held onto his waist. Rumia was fairly certain that she could have thrown him over her shoulder if she wanted, but he would have been mortified to have been carried away like that, and Miss Mokou was the sort to know that. Shinji and Tomohiro were pretty bad off as well. They were walking under their own power, but Shinji’s face was still a bloody, swollen mess, while Tomohiro had two black eyes and was cradling his left arm. And while Keichii had to stop every few steps to spit out blood.

Yoshi and Hiro had taken a few hits, with Yoshi having a very prominent purple lump on his forehead. Still, they seemed okay overall, and judging by the way they were swaggering, they were probably proud of the hits they had taken and given, the little savages. Rumia had to smile. They had earned that right as far as she was concerned.

As for the others, specifically Melissa, Kana, Kazuchika, Akito, Dai, and Yuuki, they hadn’t been hurt on account of having not joined in for various reasons, but that didn’t mean they were all right. Melissa looked absolutely mortified. Since she hadn’t been born in Gensokyo like the others, there was a lot she was still getting used to, and while she found most of it to be wonderful, the darker parts tended to scare her, and Rumia was willing to bet that she had never expected the worse to come from other Humans. Hell, Rumia herself hadn’t expected that. Maybe her family hadn’t been killed by youkai after all. Maybe it had been a bunch of assholes like the ones back there, and they had just blamed it on youkai.

Kazuchika seemed to be in a daze. He was holding onto Akito while leading Dai and Yuuki along. As the older kid who most often looked after the younger ones, he was probably really messed up over Yoshi and Hiro getting hurt. And as for Kana…

Kana looked…weird. Well, okay, she always looked weird, but unlike the others she didn’t look scared, sad, betrayed, angry, or even proud. Instead, she was thoughtfully staring at the sky with a sort of seriousness she usually reserved for staring at dust motes, and she was fingerings with something in her pocket, probably a trinket she had picked up in the chaos. Hopefully it wasn’t something someone would coming looking for. That was the last thing they needed.

All in all, they were a sorry bunch, but they had survived. And Rumia was glad that they had fought back instead of running away. She smirked, though doing so upset one of her bruises. Life had done them no favors, but it sure had made them tough.

They continued on, Miss Satoko in the lead, Mister Joshua in the back, beginning what promised to be a long and painful walk home.

But then they heard someone call out to them. “Hey! Satoko Yume! Wait a moment!”

Everyone immediately tensed up in anticipation of another attack, but it wasn’t an angry mob coming after them, it was only three men flying their way. Rumia quickly scanned them. She didn’t remember seeing them in the fight, but that could swiftly change.

The one that had called to them was the oldest and biggest, a big man with a barrel-sized chest, large arms, a wide face, and a thin beard. He touched and the other two touched down in front of the group.

“Watanabe?” Miss Satoko said.

Watanabe nodded. “Look. I don’t know what happened back there or why, but…” He sighed. “I’m sorry I didn’t try to help. We were heading home we heard the shouting, and when we got back everything was so confusing and-”

“Watanabe, it’s fine,” Miss Satoko said. “And it’s somewhat heartening to hear that not everyone approved of what happened back there.”

Watanabe scowled. “It’s that man Skinner. Ever since he and his kind showed up, people in the big village have just been getting strange. And it’s spreading.”

Rumia glanced over her shoulder at Mister Joshua, who sort of fell in the category of “his kind.” For his part, Mister Joshua didn’t react in one way or the other.

“Well, he certainly helped, but the rest of them are still responsible for their actions,” Miss Satoko said.

“Yes, I don’t know what’s happening. But let me help make it up to you.” Watanabe pointed. “My farm’s not far. Please, rest a while, see to your injuries, get something to eat.”

Miss Satoko hesitated. “Watanabe, I don’t-”

“Your children are hurt, and people I count among my friends are to blame. Let me do this much for you.”

“Well…” Miss Satoko looked back toward the group. Most of the kids were too tired to really make much of a response, but nobody objected.

“All right,” she sighed. “That would be very much appreciated. Thank you.”

Honestly Rumia really just wanted to go home, but making the trip on her aching leg did not sound fun, and there were others worse off than she was. And if Miss Satoko trusted this guy, then fine.

The group changed direction, moving off the path and across the field. As they went, Rumia was struck by a sudden thought, something that had gone amiss through the whole brawl, something that nobody else had pointed out.

With everything that had been going on, what had happened to their guards?

…

Watanabe Umino’s farm wasn’t far from either the market nor the orphanage, so it made for a convenient waypoint between the two. Rumia had seen it several times in trips past, though she had never actually set foot on its borders. But today seemed an excellent day to break that trend.

Finally everyone was seated in a circle. Missus Umino and all the Umino kids brought out warm cider for everyone. Rumia accepted hers with a nod of thanks and cautiously gave it a sip. It was good.

Mister Joshua and Miss Haruhi were both sitting at the head of the circle, whispering to one another. Miss Haruhi had stopped crying, but she still looked pretty upset, while Mister Joshua mostly looked deeply disturbed, like he knew something about what had happened that the rest of them didn’t. Rumia really hoped that he was going to spill, and if he didn’t, she made a point to ask him directly.

Just…not now.

As for Miss Satoko and Miss Mokou, they were still outside, talking to one another. Rumia couldn’t make out what they were saying, but judging by how animated they looked through the door, it was probably very…dramatic. Rumia really hoped that Miss Mokou wasn’t going to get into trouble. If there was one bright spot of this whole disastrous day, it was watching her be a total badass.

Suddenly Mister Joshua cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention.

“I want everyone to understand something here,” he said. “No matter what any of those people said back there, no matter what anyone might say about you in the future, this wasn’t your fault. Okay? We all understand that?”

“Yes, Mister Joshua,” said most of the younger kids. Some of the older ones just nodded. A few did nothing at all.

“And don’t listen to that garbage about curses or taints or something like that. That’s just fools talking. There is absolutely nothing wrong with any of you, no matter what they say.”

“But…” Eiko started to say, but then her voice caught. She swallowed, and tried again. “But why are they saying that at all? Why do they think that?”

Mister Joshua hesitated, and then said, “Because they’re afraid. They’re afraid and they’re stupid. As wrong as it sounds, people sometimes become afraid of other people’s problems, because they think that it’ll spread to them. So they’re somehow become convinced that just because most of you lost your families to youkai, it means that youkai are more likely to attack you and anyone that talks to you, or some such nonsense. But it is nonsense, understand?”

“But my parents didn’t get eaten by youkai,” Dai said. “They died in a landslide!”

“And mine got burned in a fire!” Hayate added.

Keine said nothing, but her fingers clenched up. Rumia quickly glanced around. Good, nobody was looking at her. Her secret was still safe. Hopefully.

“Like I said, it’s complete stupidity,” Mister Joshua said. “When people get a little scared, it doesn’t take much to get them to listen to stupid ideas.”

Maybe so, but Rumia was more worried about something else, something very dangerous and very real.

She glanced over to Keine, who was staring off at nothing. Rumia still remembered how Skinner had stared at her, like he was able to see deep into her heart and mind. And that was a problem.

As it so happened, Keine was the only child that wasn’t actually an orphan, not entirely. Her mother had died giving birth to her, but presumably her father, if he could be called that, was still out there somewhere, and he had been a youkai. That was why she looked half as old as she really was. Youkai lived forever, and when they had kids with Humans, their offspring’s lifespans were twice as long as those fully Human. And that was why she was so strong and fast despite being so small and skinny.

Of all the kids that Rumia lived with, only she and Kohta knew Keine’s secret, and they had long swore to keep it safe. They knew that Keine’s conception had been…less than consensual, and there were those that would consider that alone to mean she had been born evil, to say nothing of having youkai blood. It was all bullshit of course. Keine was Rumia’s friend, and she was easily the least monstrous of their little trio, but like Mister Joshua had said all it took was a little fear for people to start being stupid and dangerous.

As for the grown-ups, well, Miss Satoko presumably knew, though she had never mentioned it, and if she had told the others Rumia had never heard. And Miss Mokou had figured it out literally the second she saw Keine, but like Rumia and Kohta she had also sworn to never tell anyone.

But that man Skinner had also figured it out. Rumia didn’t know how, but he had. And that scared her.

…

If the whole of Mokou’s life were to be laid out in a book, then the story would be dark, bloody, unceasingly violent, and take up an entire library. As such, the two years in which she had lived in the Aoki Yume’s Children’s Home and known Satoko Yume would be contained in only a few short sentences, a barely perceptible drop of happiness in an ocean of pain and hate.

And yet it somehow felt so much longer than it was. Suddenly, her life had gone from having just enough room for herself and one other person in it to having over twenty, and unlike that one other person, they were people she actually cared about rather than wished to murder violently and often. She had gotten to know these kids and their vibrant personalities, from their quirks to their preferences to their aspirations to their petty little rivalries to their intense friendships. Those little people were just so strangely fascinating, at once simple and uncomplicated and yet full of depth, and Mokou had thoroughly enjoyed getting to know them, even if she had done so rather quickly. She had always been a fast learner, after all.

And she knew Satoko. She could read the younger woman’s emotions like a book, could tell at a glance how she was feeling and why. And at that moment, Satoko was very, very angry.

Satoko didn’t often get angry. She had spent her entire life looking after children who had every reason to act out, and as such her well of patience, tolerance, and understanding seemed to be bottomless at times. However, there was a very specific list of situations that set her off. Apparently, Mokou had triggered several of them.

“How could you, Mokou?” Satoko said as she anxiously paced back and forth, her hands unceasingly wringing each other. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What you’ve done to us, to me, to them?”

“Sure,” Mokou said, unperturbed. “I stopped our kids from getting beaten to death.”

“You were going to kill that boy!”

“No, not kill, not even hurt. Just scare him a little.”

“Scare? You wanted to scare him?” Satoko let out a bitter chuckle. “I’ll say you did. Right there, in front of his family, his friends, his neighbors, in front of godsdamned everyone! You’ve gone and made us an enemy of everybody!”

Mokou folded her arms. “I’d say that already happened. You saw how everybody was treating us when we got there.”

“Not everybody! Some, yes, but not everybody! But oh, they sure are now!” Satoko stopped pacing, though her hands didn’t stop twisting against each other. “Mokou, I know you have a dark past, I know you’ve…done things that you don’t like talking about, and I’ve been content to leave things at that. I’ve left your secrets alone, and you have been nothing but a boon until now.”

Mokou quirked an eyebrow. “But?”

“But you promised me that your past wouldn’t put the children in danger! That was the one condition of letting you stay! The one condition!”

“And it hasn’t,” Mokou said. “This had nothing to do with that.”

“Hasn’t it?” Satoko laughed again. “Oh, sure, those people that tried to kill you haven’t shown up, but the person they had a quarrel with sure did! Admit it, Mokou. This wasn’t the first time you’ve had your hands around someone’s neck like that.”

That was true enough. Hell, it wasn’t even the hundredth. Maybe not even the thousandth. “No, it wasn’t. But I needed him to admit what he had done.”

“What he had done? It was a cruel comment, yes, but not deserving of strangling!”

“No? What about him perving at Haruko, Eiko, and Hayate? Besides, all most of those people saw was our kids fighting theirs, with no way of telling who started it.” She shrugged. “Well, now they do.”

“And what good did that do?” Satoko demanded. “They were looking for a fight, yes, but-”

“They were attacking our kids,” Mokou said again, making sure to emphasize the our. “They were even hitting Haruhi. Noba’s got a concussion, Shinji and Keiichi both have broken noses, and many more have black eyes, split lips, and more bruises than I care to count. Satoko, this wasn’t just a scuffle over some childish insult that got out of hand, this was an assault!”

“But-”

“No, listen to me. All those people wouldn’t have rushed to join in if they weren’t already ready to go off at the slightest excuse. Nobody other than Haruhi and the girls tried to break it up until I got there, and they were attacked for it. Satoko, something is wrong. Something is actively working to isolate us, to turn everyone against us. And I think I know what it is.”

At this, Satoko sighed. “So do I. It’s that man.”

Mokou tilted her head. “Nathaniel Skinner, right? That big tall bastard dressed mostly in brown?”

“That’s him.”

“Joshua said that he was from the Outside World too, that the two of them used to be friends.”

Satoko nodded. “Yes, I know. He and Joshua came over with a small group. They wandered into our land one night, and we gave them shelter. Most of them went to the Human Village after that, but Joshua came back. Said that his God would have wanted him to help us.”

“Oh yeah? Something tells me that he and that Skinner guy get very different messages from their God. And really, you put them up when they were lost and alone, and this is how they repay you?”

“I know, Mokou,” Satoko said wearily.

“Well, we should do something about him.”

“No!” Satoko looked horrified. “Are you insane? You can’t just kill someone!”

“I didn’t say kill him,” Mokou said, though to be perfectly honest she had been thinking that exact thing. In fact, if it came down to it, she was reasonably certain that she could get into the Human Village, conveniently “vanish” Skinner, dispose of all evidence, and get out again with nobody being the wiser. “I said do something about him.”

Satoko wasn’t buying it. “Mokou, do not. You’ve already made things bad enough already.”

“How? By saving the kids? If that would have gone on much longer, then someone could have died!”

“And I’m grateful for that, I really am! But you should have just driven them off and left it at that! But no, you had to hold one of them hostage and threaten his life in front of everyone!”

“So? He had it coming!”

Satoko stared at her. “Mokou, that doesn’t matter! Why do you think so many ran in once the other kids ran to their friends’ defense! It’s pack mentality at work! If you had just stuck to defending the children and prevented anyone else from attacking, then we could have sorted things out once everyone had calmed down. But you had to keep things hot and angry!”

“Sorted things out?” Mokou repeated in disbelief. “Satoko, what the hell? They attacked us! There is a line, and they crossed it! There’s no sorting anything after that!”

Satoko honestly looked like she wanted to slap Mokou. “Mokou, you’ve been with us for only two years. I’ve been doing this literally my entire life! Do you honestly think this is a first time one of ours got into a fight with some rowdy locals? Maybe not quite as bad as this, but it’s happened before! And when it does, you break it up, get everyone separated, and calm things down! Then you figure out who did what and who was responsible! But you…you just had to throw oil all over that fire and keep them angry! You gave them a reason to hate us! What are we supposed to do now? We’re already banned from the Human Village, and now you’ve turned the other settlements against us too?”

Mokou opened her mouth to retort, but Satoko wasn’t having it. “Think, Mokou! Think about it! Skinner’s been spreading his poison, telling people lies about us, getting them to hate orphans of all things, and you just confirmed it! You, a woman that none of them knew, just showed up out of nowhere and drove off several men twice your size! You held up a young man at least your own weight, if not heavier, with one hand and showed no signs of strain! You took that blow from Gendou’s guard without even upsetting your balance! You refused to be move by Skinner, someone who ought to have easily picked you up as if you were a child!”

“Well, now they know what they’re getting into if they mess with us again.”

“No, Mokou! You’re still not thinking! Skinner’s apparently been filling people’s heads with stories about us consorting with youkai and being tainted by them and probably getting strange and dangerous powers from them. And then you show up, doing what you did, challenging everyone to their face and demonstrating abilities that a woman of your size ought not to have! Even if most people think that Skinner’s stories are nonsense, you just gave them a reason to rethink that! Maybe, they’re wondering now, maybe there’s something to those stories! Maybe Skinner might have a point!”

Mokou frowned. When it was put like that, Satoko did have a point. Still… “So, what, I’m supposed to just bow my head and suck up to those idiots just because they’re afraid? I’m supposed to just stand aside and let them hurt our kids?”

“Of course not! I’m not upset about what you rescuing Noba and the others, I’m upset about what you did after! Tell the truth, Mokou. That wasn’t just about making a point. You were enjoying yourself.”

Mokou grimaced. It was true, she had enjoyed that burst of violence, brief as it had been. Two years were an incredibly insignificant amount of time to her, but she hadn’t gone that long without hurting another person in a long, long time. Breaking herself out of that cycle had given her nothing but relief, but part of her still craved it.

“That’s what scares me, Mokou,” Satoko said. “You know that there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect the kids. But if you’re going to escalate things just…just for the fun of it, then I can’t have that. I can’t have you making yourself a danger.”

Mokou breathed in and out. “Well, maybe you have a point,” she admitted.

“I know.”

Shuffling her feet a little, Mokou put her hands in her pockets and said, “Look, if you want me to go then I’ll go. But right now, I don’t think that you should.”

Satoko sighed. “I know. Despite my…frustration, you did save them, and it would be…unbecoming of me to throw you out after that. Besides, what’s done is done, and if things are really getting that bad, then…then we might need someone like you.”

Now that was sort of scary to hear, and Mokou found herself wondering if Skinner might not accidentally have a point. Granted, all that business about being tainted by youkai was complete nonsense, but Mokou had been at the orphanage for only two years and already it was under the threat of…invasion? War? Maybe there was a curse at play. Maybe violence just followed her wherever she went.

“That’s…disturbing,” she said. “But we can deal with that when it comes. Right now though, we have another problem.”

“Oh?”

Mokou nodded toward the barn, where the kids were trying to recover. “Yeah. Them. They just had the fright of their lives. Even the ones that didn’t get hurt just saw what probably looked like all the Humans in Gensokyo turning on them. They’ve already lost their families, and now their own species is after them. They’re scared, they’re confused, and they’re angry.”

“I know that, Mokou.”

“Do you? Look, you know people better than I do, but I know fear better than you. Get mad at me for losing it if you must, but don’t show it in front of them. Because right now, we’re the only ones that seem like we’re on their side. We need to present a unified front, show them that we’re all working together to protect them.”

Satoko thought on that for a moment, and then nodded. “Okay, that makes sense. What else?”

Mokou frowned. “Well, prepare for the worst and hope for the best. Obviously this is going to come up again, and you’re going to try to work something out. But in the meantime…” She shrugged. “Look, I left my past life behind, sure, but I still, uh, know a few people, people who have their ears to the ground. In fact, just last night I was given a sort of head’s up from one of them.”

“What?”

“Look, I’m not saying it has anything to do with what happened, but I got word that some sort of shenanigans is brewing in the Youkai Forest. I don’t know anything in specific, but apparently the nasty things that live in there are up to something.”

Satoko looked incredulous. “Wait, are you saying that are problems really are youkai related, only…from them instead of us? You think youkai might be behind whatever Skinner and Sonozika are doing?”

“No clue. Might be a coincidence, but the timing’s suspect. Anyway, I’m thinking I should look up some old friends, see if they’ve heard anything.”

“Wait, what kind of friends?” Satoko said, alarmed.

“Well, the Hakurei Shrine Maiden for one. We’ve worked together a couple of times in the past. There’s also a hermit or two of my acquaintance, might go poking around the inhabitants of the Youkai Mountain as well. They don’t have much to do with the Youkai Forest despite having pretty much the same name, but they are nothing but relentless when it comes to sniffing out gossip. If anything’s up, they would have at least heard of it.” Mokou frowned. “In fact, that brawl back there will probably be making headlines on their papers tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Satoko said. “Well, I guess that…makes sense.”

Truth be told, Mokou had left a few names off that list. It was better if Satoko didn’t know everything about what she was up to. “In the meantime though, we should prepare the kids for a worst-case scenario. Flying lessons are coming up, in fact. I know it’s just going to be the kids in the twelve to fourteen range, but the younger ones ought to learn as well. We should also look to see if anyone’s got any neat powers we could use, and start drilling them to-”

“No!” Satoko snapped. “We are not turning them into an army!”

Mokou paused, and then said, “Satoko, we may not have a choice.”

“I don’t care,” Satoko said stubbornly. “My family started the Children’s Home so that they could have something resembling a normal life, and I intend to give it to them. They need to have things return to normal as soon as possible.”

“Normal? Satoko, you told me to think, now it’s your turn! I already told you, this wasn’t just some idiots being idiots! I’m telling you, something is wrong! There’s something in motion, something that’s going after us, after our kids. And I’ll bet my bottom yen that that Skinner guy is at the center of it!”

…

Back in the washroom of his house in the Human Village, Nathaniel Skinner dipped a washcloth in the bowl of soapy water and carefully cleaned the sweat off his face.

He was standing bare-chested in front of the half-length mirror set in the wall. Obtaining it had been ridiculously difficult. This godforsaken country was so out of touch with civilization that glass was considered a luxury, at least where he was stuck. But he had gotten his hands on one, and now could see his profile in full.

He did not like what he saw.

His face was flushed, and his body glistened with sweat. He had managed to keep his cool, but it had been a close thing. That strange woman had upset him far greater than he could have expected. That was a problem. She was just a woman, after all. She ought not have that much of an effect on him.

But he knew better than that. She was more than just a woman. He wasn’t sure what she was exactly, but he meant to find out.

Sighing, he set to work wiping himself down. Then he gingerly dipped his right hand into another basin, this one filled with warm water treated with herbs. He winced as the pins and needles erupted all over his palm and wrist, but he kept it submerged until the pain was too much to bear. Then he carefully dried it, though even the touch of the soft cloth was painful.

He then picked up a set of clean linens and began to bind up his right hand. Tighter and tight he wound the cloth, until it was completely encased.

From outside, he heard a fervent knock at the front door. Skinner started at the sudden sound, and then he cursed. Who was it now?

A moment later the Mai, the housekeeper, knocked hesitantly at the door. “Master Skinner?” she said. “Master Sonozika is here to see you.”

Of course he was. “Let him in, and offer refreshments!” he called through the wooden door. “I’ll be along shortly!”

Skinner hastily pulled on his clothes, starting with his long-sleeved shirt, then his heavy leather coat, and finally the thick gloves. He finished buttoning up his shirt, repositioned his silver crucifix, and checked himself in the mirror.

It would have to do.

Gendou was fretting in the front room. That was no surprise; Gendou was always fretting. It got aggravating at times, but on the plus side it did make him quite receptive to just about anything Nathaniel had to say.

When he saw Nathaniel enter the room, he perked up immediately. “Ah, Skinner. Good. Sorry for popping by on such short notice, but-” Then his piggish eyes narrowed. “Good gods, man! Do you even wear that thing indoors? You must be sweltering!”

Quite the opposite, really. “I often find myself called away on the Lord’s work on short notice,” Nathaniel said. “So I find it easier to always be dressed for an unexpected journey.”

“Journey to where? You never leave the village!” Then before Nathaniel could respond, Gendou just shrugged and said, “Oh, never mind. It doesn’t matter. But we have to talk about what happened at the market! That was outrageous!”

On that, Nathaniel agreed. “But not at all unexpected. It is, after all, what I’ve been telling you.”

“No, not at all. And you were right, of course.” With a sigh, Gendou settled down into a nearby chair. “Still, it’s so hard to believe. They’re just children, after all. Wild, savage, totally ungovernable children, but children nevertheless.”

“Well, that’s how they operate. The evil ones, I mean. Corrupt the children, go after the parents. And when parents are lacking, go after the good men and women. It is the same back in my world as well.” Skinner then changed the subject. “Still, as troublesome as all of this was, it was…very illuminating.”

“I’ll say it was! They were like animals! Especially that one woman, the one with the red pants. Do you know her?”

“Not until today. Apparently she’s the orphanage’s cook, which says something about them. Joshua Stump said that her name was Fujiwara no Mokou. Does that name mean anything to you?”

Gendou didn’t respond.

“Gendou?”

The small man had gone completely pale. He face was sweat even at the best of times, but now his pores were practically gushing.

Nathaniel frowned. “Gendou, are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Which, to be fair, was something of a literal occurrence around those parts.

“What? No, I…” Gendou licked his lips. “Well, maybe.”

“You recognize that name?”

“Er, ah, I have heard of someone with that name before, but…” He shook his head. “No, it must be a coincidence. That person lived long before Gensokyo was even created! She would have been dead and buried for centuries by now!”

“Unless she became a youkai,” Nathaniel pointed out. He didn’t have any idea who Gendou was talking about, but he was now very curious.

Gendou gasped. “Is it her, then? Is she the youkai?”

No, she was not. There were youkai that looked incredibly Human, enough to fool the unwise and unlearned perhaps, but Nathaniel was able to tell at a glance whether or not someone was Human or something else. And this woman, this “Mokou” was certainly no youkai, though she wasn’t exactly Human either. Still, while falsehood were explicitly against his faith, he felt that God would forgive him this one, as it served a higher purpose. “Without any doubt,” he said solemnly.

“No,” Gendou whispered. “No, it can’t be. She…she murdered my ancestors. The stories about her…and now she’s here for me!”

Nathaniel still didn’t know what Gendou was talking about, but he knew an opportunity when he saw it. “It makes sense then, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. All of it. How could I have been so blind?”

Nathaniel sat down next to him and placed his left hand on Gendou’s shoulder, his right squeezing his crucifix. “You see, then, the importance of acting quickly.”

“Right. Right. You have a plan, then?”

“That I do, but there are some things that I need to set in motion first.” He rubbed the bristles of his beard with his left hand, the right still gripping his cross.

“What things?” Gendou asked.

Nathaniel smiled. “Don’t worry yourself, my old friend. Leave it to me.”

“Right, of course,” Gendou said. He stood up. “Just…keep me informed…of anything that I ought to be informed of.”

The implicit meaning was clear. If you have to do anything that will upset my people, then I’d damn well better not hear about it. “Don’t worry yourself, Gendou,” Nathaniel said. “The Lord’s plan may not seem clear at first, but it has never failed me yet.”

“Yes, well, here’s hoping it stays that way,” Gendou said albeit a bit skeptically. He was respectful of Nathaniel and his parishioners’’ faith, but he did not share it himself. “Though speaking of which, what of your friend?”

Nathaniel sighed. “I pray that God opens Brother Joshua’s eyes before it is too late. He always had a soft spot for children, and doesn’t always see the dangers of corruption.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Gendou said as he stood up and headed for the door. “In the meantime, I’ve got those country people lined up at my door demanding some kind of explanation, like it was my fault!”

“God go with you, Gendou,” Nathaniel said. “Though, ah, by the by…”

“Hmmm?”

“Back during that ruckus, did you by any chance notice one of the orphans in particular? Specifically, a small girl with short silver hair?”

Gendou frowned. “Ah, no, most of my attention was on that…that woman. Why?”

“No reason,” Nathaniel said. “No reason at all.”

…

I can’t think of anything to say, other than this chapter was kind of a headache due to having so many moving parts present in a relatively short scene. Oh well.

Until next time, everyone.

[imababblekat]

Imagine Team Prime Taking Notice In Your Heavy Crush For Bumblebee

(A/N: This is kinda more of just the kids, mainly Raf, but everyone still knows exceptbeeboyofcourse!)

~

It's Raph who approaches you about the matter at hand. Of course it would be him, after all you did have a major crush on his guardian/best friend. One so major in fact, that it seemed the whole team except the one of your affection could see how terribly it was eating you up. The fear of rejection, I mean, not necessarily the whole of having strong feelings for the yellow scout known as Bumblebee. It had started out small, nervous glances at the mech that only the kids could see at first and thought nothing of, but then it became stuttering conversations, sweaty palms, random blushes dusting your cheeks, and tenses of the shoulders before relaxing once Bumblebee had moved on elsewhere. Those, everyone picked up on, and it didn't take a genius to figure out why.

"You know, Bee's a very nice guy.", Ralph indirectly reassured to calm you.

Your brow rose slightly, your cheeks tinting pink as you eyed the young boy. "I'm aware."

"You could tell him anything!", Ralph smiled plopping down beside you.

You squinted your eyes, sensing something was up," Uh-huh..."

"You two are very close. I mean, I'm close with Bee too, but-"

"Oh my God, who told you and how did they find out?!"

"N-no one told me!", Ralph quickly held up his hands at your horrified expression. "Everyone know's!"

Apparently that wasn't the right thing to say, because now your face fell into complete panic.

"Does he-"

"No! No, surprisingly..."

You groaned, throwing your hands against your face and falling back onto the bars of the railing.

"Is it really that obvious?! What gave it away?!", you questioned in an embarrassed tone.

"Well, the way your eyes linger like a love sick puppy as he leaves the room for one.", came the female voice of which you could hear a smirk in.

A deeper groan etched it's way from your throat upon realizing that Ralph wasn't the only one to join you, but now Miko and Jack as well.

Jack leaned against the bars, looking down at you with a sympathizing smile of his own.

"You should tell him how you feel (y,n).", the highschooler advised.

You peeked between your fingers, slightly glaring at him. "Says the guy who's yet to ask the girl he's been pining over since forever."

"Hey! This isn't about me. This is about you!"

Ralph shook his head, his friends not being of much help and scooted closer to your side. The young lad placed a hand on your shoulder, causing you to remove your own from covering your face and to look down at his comforting expression with your own miserable one.

"Bumblebee is a very nice guy. Like I said, you two are very close, and that's coming from someone who spends almost twenty-four hours with him. Whatever happens, whatever you tell him and he replies with, I know you two will still be just as close if not more."

Your saddened eyes slowly lit up with hope, a soft smile mirroring Ralph's from the heartfelt reassurance he had offered. Maybe Ralph was just a kid, but there was a lot more to him then what others might believe. And right now, he was one of your closest friends, offering you the right words and help you needed to hear.

"Thanks Ralph.", you murmured into the boys soft hair as you two hugged.

Getting up from your slumped position, your eyes scanned the base for the mech who had unknowingly wormed his way into your heart. It didn't take long, any large sentient robot would be easy to pick out, especially one with bright yellow body paint. And there he was, Bumblebee, chatting and whirring away with his teammates.

You couldn't help but lightly swoon at his enthusiastic movements, reenacting a battle he'd won along Bulk not too long ago. The scout was so strong and fierce, yet at the same time somehow also a ray of sunshine who had the biggest spark for those closest to him. It was one of the reason you'd fallen for him, after seeing the way he treated Ralph like more than a small child, and the same with you except maybe not in the same light as being a younger person. There were many more reason of course, god where there so many more reason, but as you watched Bumblebee do a cheer, his door wings fluttering in just the cutest way and thought upon those reason, doubt started to creep it's way in. Just like that, you were back to square one, beginning to drown in the insecurities of what if's.

You felt your throat run dry, your hands shake at thought of rejection, and kept wondering if you should just sit back down and admire from a distance. Suddenly, very slowly and softly, a small hand had reached up and take hold of yours. Your panicked eyes snapped down to be met with kind, warm ones. Behind his glasses, Ralph's comforting eyes squinted in the corners, a confident smile over his slightly chubby face as if he was silently telling you," You got this.".

And he was right. You did have this. While not entirely gone, you were able to at least push away your obscuring thoughts of being turned down and losing more than what you'd ask of, took in a deep breath, exhaled and headed for the steps.

"Hey Bumblebee!"

In an instant, two intrigued and curious baby blue optics dashed over to look in your direction as you strode over with a means to your every step.

"I need to tell you something..."

~xXx~

[thecoquetteishcontessa-blog]

“Grim Grinding Ghosts” (A “Haunted Mansion” Fan Fiction) (NSFW)

The following story was written for the second season premiere of Content Warning: Erotic Fan Fiction Deathmatch held on September 28, 2018 at XYYVR in Vancouver, British Columbia. Eternal thanks to Mockingbird Media Entertainment for allowing us to further peddle this filth. The theme was a return to Disney. A Disney Renaissance, that was! It also gave me the opportunity to revisit an idea I had a little too late for the previous Disney theme show. Step into the Doombuggy for a sensually spooky ride. Enjoy!

Night time New Orleans Square; gusts of wind whoosh through your hair as heavy raindrops pelt down upon your head and shoulders. Thunder rumbles in the air. Lightning crashes through the swirling storm clouds.

“God, could this get any more cliched?” you mumble to yourself as you dash down the soaked sidewalks illuminated by the stately street lamps, desperately seeking out shelter.

That’s when it stops you in your tracks.

Guarded behind a brick fence and a wrought iron gate, a harrowing ivory Antebellum style manor stands out in stark contrast to the dark drenched willow trees. You’ve consumed enough movies and books to know that the mere sight of an enormous mansion on a dark, stormy night brings nothing but misfortune and danger...and that’s if you’re even lucky to emerge alive.

Even against your better judgement, something draws you closer to the gate. Before you can decide whether its the urgency for warmth, respite from the storm or morbid curiosity getting the best of you, you’ve already made your way past the abandoned stagecoach and the peculiar pet cemetery to reach the front door.

No need to knock; the door slowly opens and generously lets you into the lobby.

You’re too busy drying yourself off to realize there wasn’t a single doorman around to properly thank or to take your damp coat much less figure out where that plodding funeral dirge is coming from.

Another set of doors open, leading into a small portrait gallery.

Suddenly, something feels...off. 

This seemingly innocent gallery appears to be...stretching? 

The portraits reveal the true nature of this home. That portly man in the suit and bowler hat? He’s getting fellated by another gentleman...as said gentleman is on the shoulders of another man, no doubt receiving the same sinful delights...all while succumbing to the quicksand.

Then there’s the beautiful young woman with the parasol...ravished by the crocodile nipping away at her nether regions!

Just as this expanding room couldn’t get more obscene, the lights go out. A flash of lightning reveals a rotting corpse hanging from the ceiling, pants drooping to his ankles and bearing an eternal erection!

Your jaw drops. What perversity is this?!

Bursting forth from the smutty stretching room, you run past the library, shelves no doubt filled with titillating tomes, and into a vast hallway. You look to your right; a candelabra--no! A five pronged dildo floats in the middle of an endless corridor. To your left; a casket rattles. With every thump from the casket comes a grunt of longing. 

They’re not trying to get out; they’re trying to get off!

Further down the hallway, the padlocks and chains on the doors do nothing to contain the thuds, bangs and orgasmic moans echoing through the space.

Eventually you reach a door. No doubt praying for something chaste.

Instead, you are greeted by the visage of a sumptuous madame floating around the parlor inside a crystal ball. Licking her lips, she chants incantations that summon all kinds of deviant devices: vibrators, nipple clamps, whips, the works.

Astonished and slightly aroused, you stumble onto the balcony overlooking a decadent ballroom.

A decadent ballroom defiled by an orgy of ghosts. 

The sight of spirits writhing atop the dinner table, grinding against each other on the dance floor and thrusting on the chandeliers awakens your inner voyeur as an aching desire builds down below...

Before you can slide your hand down your waistband, deafening heartbeats drown out the playful pipe organ. Is it your throbbing urges or is it coming from upstairs?

Curious, you eagerly make your way up to the decrepit, dusty attic. Brushing aside the cobwebs and rusty trinkets, that’s where you discover her: a bewitching bride. Dressed only in strands of pearls, a cascading veil and a shredded lace wedding dress showing off her slender figure, the ethereal bride softly floats towards you.

“It’s been so long since I’ve felt the touch of a mortal hand,” she purrs, taking your hand and placing it onto her cool ample breast. Her glowing heartbeat providing the only warmth.

“Do you take me to be your...sinfully bedded bride?” she asks, a beguiling grin slinking upon her face.

“I do,” you sigh, craving for her spectral sensations.

“You may now kiss the bride...”

She removes her flowing veil and lets loose her wavy bluish blonde hair. It’s not long before she pulls you in for a lingering kiss. Her frozen lips ignite flames within you as your hands travel towards the back of her dress. With all the buttons undone, the bride’s dress tumbles to the floor. She’s completely bare; beating heart, bones and all.

Your kisses trace over her protruding nipples, across her sternum, down her concave stomach and, ultimately, her unkempt graveyard. Combing your tongue through her musty wisps and folds, that’s when you discover her gleaming clit...not to mention a sharp sensation against your neck.

Turns out you bypassed the hatchet nestled against her garter belt in your pursuit to pleasure the phantom floozy.

Horrified, you narrowly avoid the swinging axe but end up taking a tumble out the window. Too bad the landing isn’t as swift.

Gathering your composure, you brush yourself off only to discover that you’ve found yourself in a cemetery swarming with ghosts. 999 of them. Turns out the swinging wake extends to more than just the ballroom. 

“‘’Ey Ezra!” a chubby ghost calls out. “We gots a new one!”

“Excellent, Phinneas! A new edition to our little...jamboree!” Ezra, the spindly, dapper ghost grins.

“D’you think they’re ready?” an elderly bearded ghost in chains and bondage gear croaks.

“They’ve gotten this far, didn’t they, Gus?” Ezra smirks, setting down his suitcase. 

He pulls out a strand of anal beads while Phinneas takes a thick buttplug. Not Gus, though. He prefers his tried and true thumb.

Oh yes, there was a little matter I forgot to mention: beware of butt-fucking ghosts!

The End

[fusewrites]

The Blade of Arandus

Chapter 1- Siros

Chapter Summary: Luwyn and his guardian, Jahal move from their home in Rodan to the beautiful kingdom of Siros. Jahal is exciting about the move, prepared and oddly calm, while Luwyn wants nothing to do with it.

Word Count: 2427

Author’s Note: Draft #2 in on the way and I am so excited! I’ve change a bit to my story, mainly just how the beginning starts. I’d like to say I’ll post a chapter at least once a week, with a decent break between Part 1, 2 and 3. Please enjoy, tell me what you think, and let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 

WIP Page | Characters 

(Chapter 2 coming soon!)

The wind nipped at Luwyn’s face and the sun beat down on him. The sound of wooden wheels creaking woke him from his nap and he stretched out on the back of the cart as it trudged ahead.

It was a beautiful day; warm for the north, but perfect here in the unfamiliar south. Luwyn groaned.

He hated new places. Strange people and buildings and foods. He wished that he and Jahal had stayed in Rodan. He asked Jahal over and over why they had to move, to which his grumpy old guardian replied, “It’s time.” And that was all he said any time Luwyn asked. “It’s time.”

Time for what? Luwyn thought, his arms folded and face twisted into a pout. Seated among all of their belongings and few pieces of ragged Rodani oak furniture, he looked at his surroundings like it were a filthy stable.

Though he hated to admit it, the countryside of Siros was beautiful; rolling green hills dotted with brilliant, colorful flowers, doves and crows and eagles soared above, hare and deer and elk skittered across the ground, hiding in the safety of their holes or sparse rashes of trees. Clusters of huts grouped together formed the kingdom’s farming villages just outside of the city walls. Children ran around the huts whilst men and women worked the fields. They led oxen with plows on their backs, or gathered vegetables, or tended livestock.

Luwyn hadn’t seen anything that impressive, he thought, until he laid his eyes upon the great golden walls of the capital city of Siros. Two tall doors, the right engraved with the face of a snarling lion, the left with the an eagle’s triumphant sneer, were open, and looked as though they rarely closed. Luwyn looked closely and saw dimples in the metal, as big around as his face, and wondered what could make that kind of mark in solid gold.

Jahal called out from the front of the cart. “Luwyn, come sit up here.” It was the first thing he had said all morning and it surprised Luwyn.

With another groan, Luwyn hopped off of the slow moving cart and nearly stumbled onto the stone street. He righted himself, and jogged to the front of the cart, where Jahal sat. He held the reigns between his chubby fingers lazily and greeted Luwyn with a terse, professional smile.

“Come, sit.”

Luwyn sat down and looked at Jahal with one curious eye. He was a large man, in height and girth, with big hands and tan, leathery skin. His black hair was peppered with grey and pulled back in a balding ponytail. He was gruff and stubborn and loud and loved to call out Luwyn’s flaws. Today, he was oddly quiet and gentle.

“Look around you, Lu,” Jahal said, gesturing to the city around them. “This is Siros.”

Tall buildings made of flawless white marble and polished grey stone stood tall and close together. Little huts and stalls sprinkled between their taller counterparts, and people moved throughout each building. Women holding their young children close by, lords strolling here and there in ornate robes and suits with gold and silver trim, followed by pompous ladies in their flamboyant, and expensive looking, fancy gowns. Overdressed for midday, Luwyn judged in his head. Guards in deep crimson suits sprinkled at every corner, silent and stern. Music floated gently in the breeze, bouncing off of the towers. Pleasant smells of sweet buns and pies and spices he couldn’t recognize ran through his nose, and, for a second, he forgot his displeasure of foreign places.

It was nice and pleasant and all, more open and warm than the bleak grayness that was Rodan, but it was unfamiliar. It wasn’t his home.

“Why did we move, Jahal?” Luwyn asked after a beat, his arms tightly crossed. “We were perfectly fine in Rodan.”

“It’s time, Lu,” Jahal said flatly.

“Jahal.”

Jahal snorted. “I bought a few stalls at the market, and a stable. A nicer house too...we were stifled in Rodan! Dim and rain and cold. That damned, cramped brick cave.” He spat. When Luwyn didn’t respond, he followed with, “I’m sure you’ll like it, Lu.”

Luwyn rolled his eyes and slouched down. Decision making was not his strength, but he had already resolved that he hated the house and the city before he even saw it. It was probably a decent house, better than the musty, crowded brick building they lived in. But it wasn’t the same. “I still don’t see any reason for moving,” he said finally. “I don’t like it here. It’s a bit...much, don’t you think?”

Jahal chuckled and took a deep breath. “Aye, the upper level, even parts of the Mid, have always been posh and extravagant.”

Luwyn rolled his eyes. “Understatements,” he whispered under his breath.

“What was that?” Jahal barked. Anger flared in his dark eyes and his lip quivered. There was the Jahal he knew.

Luwyn lowered his head. “Nothing, Jahal.”

Jahal was not Luwyn’s father—he scarcely acted like it and reminded him everyday. He didn’t have to, Luwyn could see the differences; Jahal’s tan skin was sun-worn, and use to be more fair, while Luwyn’s was a natural honey color. His mop of hair sat on his head, the color of dull, spun copper, and his eyes were like amber. Jahal’s features were square and severe, his body big and hardy, Luwyn was softer, more angular, his build slimmer. He looked different from Jahal, everyone in Rodan and he even stood out from the pale, sun-kissed round faces of the Sirosi.

Jahal was never too emotional and rarely comforted Luwyn; he treated him like an apprentice or a squire rather than his ward, or perhaps even his son. It frustrated Luwyn to no end. He also rarely spoke of Luwyn’s parents. “I could never be your father. I just owe him a debt,” is what he would tell Luwyn whenever he asked about them. He wanted so badly to know about his parents, and for some reason, Jahal thought that picking up their life and hauling it to a new kingdom would do the trick.

“Up there, that’s the Palace of Arandus. The royal family lives there.” Jahal pointed. High above them, an obnoxious cluster of gold, marble and crystal towers swirled together around a robust castle and glistened under the sun. It sat on the top of a hill, the entire compound nearly half the size of Siros looking over the city, with it’s minarets peeking over the wall. There were rows of curly symbols sketched into the palace walls, just large enough for Luwyn to make out each character. It was some ancient language that Luwyn had never seen, but could somewhat recognize. He found himself trying to sound the words out, and they danced clumsily on his tongue.

“Can you read that?” Jahal broke his concentration. Luwyn lowered his head and shrugged. Jahal chuckled and shook his head. “That’s so far, I’m surprised you’re able to see the shapes from that far, much less understand the god-tongue, or even old Sirosi.”

“God-tongue?” Luwyn’s ears perked. He looked back to the symbols and realized how far they were from the castle, nearly half a league.

Jahal nodded and pointed to two large statues that emerged ahead of them. “That,” he pointed to the left statue, “is Solandus. Dead king of the gods. He ruled as the sun for millennia, until his brother, Oni the Great Void, overthrew him.” The statue, as tall as a building, was the grand bronze depiction of a great bearded man, with curls rolling down his back. He donned elaborate armor and held a greatsword in one hand, and a large shield in the other.

“And that is Arandus, patron god and founder of Siros.” Jahal waved at the other statue. The structure was made of solid gold, and Luwyn started to notice a theme in the kingdom. Pretentious, he thought. The golden statue was slightly shorter than the other, but stood ahead of his bronze counterpart, proud and centered, more prominent in the square. His armor looked light, encrusted with jewels along the chest plate. Gold curls sat underneath a ring with three rubies in the center. A large battle-axe rested under his hand, the blade large and vicious, with an eye engraved where the blade met the hilt.

“God of War and Fortune, eldest son of Solandus he was,” Jahal continued. “Everyone in Siros prays to him, in a language they could never understand, the god-tongue. It was the language Arandus spoke before he united Siros, and it mixed with the common-tongue, creating Old Sirosi. Royals and nobles speak that mostly. Common-tongue for the common folk,” he finished matter-of-factly.

Luwyn stared at the statues, then onto the giant marble temples which, Jahal explained, were dedicated to Solandus and Arandus, respectively. Monks and nobles dressed in silk and velvet robes sauntered in and out, kneeling at each statue then raising their hands in exaggerated worship. Jahal and Luwyn were never religious, and Rodan had no particular gods or goddesses, so this was a strange sight. Luwyn also wondered how Jahal knew so much about about these foreign gods. He swore he even saw Jahal bow his head in respect as the passed each stature. .

Between one temple and another building, sat a little peach tree, probably planted by the monks. Behind the tree, Luwyn saw a girl with black hair in brown robes, watching him and doing a very bad job of hiding. Before he could look again, she vanished and he swiveled his head in search of her.

“What it is, boy?” Jahal questioned, a bushy eyebrow raised.

Luwyn shook his head and sat back, folding his arms, and returned to his internal grievances. A large crowd built up ahead of them, people bunched together and waved and chanted. At the center of the commotion, a palanquin with gold and silver framing and blue curtains sat on the shoulders of burly, scantily dressed servants, each fitted with silver collars. Jahal cursed, and Luwyn knew why. The old man had a sore spot for slavery; the idea of being owned bothered him fiercely. Though, somehow being “in debt” to Luwyn’s father, was not the same thing, he would say.

The palanquin was surrounded by imposing guards, covered with black, spiked armor, wielding iron swords. Each had a grim frown and fierce eyes that stabbed the crowd, pinning them back. Inside sat a figure wrapped in blue velvet and what looked like a fur cloak. He wore a gold band with three rubies set in the center around his golden-blonde curls. He sneered down at the people outside the palanquin. The man barked an order, and his guard cut through the crowd like a knife. He turned and his eyes found Luwyn’s. Luwyn flinched and looked away. When he looked up, the palanquin was gone, followed by the crowd, as it ascended toward the palace, crimson street guards blocking their way.

“King Liandros,” Jahal informed, shaking his head. His face twitched when he said the word king. His hooded eyes were solemn. “Be careful around him, Lu.”

Luwyn gulped and nodded nervously.

They rode through the upper level, down a little hit to the Mid, the middle section of the city. Here, the houses were a mixed of stone and brick and wood, smaller and less expensive looking than their upper level counterparts. They were stacked closer together, and which made the area seem a bit smaller than the upper level, though the whole area of the Mid was nearly twice the size. It felt a little more crowded that the previous level of the city. The people were more modestly dressed, their statues of the gods were smaller and a smooth gray granite.

Luwyn heard the hum of another crowd and looked up. The cobblestone street opened up into a large market area. Stalls and huts were mashed together, with townsfolk trying to sell their wares to anyone who bustled past. Old ladies displayed their homemade breads and jewelry, and men bartered over fruit or weapons. People hurried past each other, rushing to the next stall, then the next.

Jahal slowed the cart to a stop. He hopped off and grabbed the pony’s reins and lead them through the narrow aisles of the market. They reached an empty little stall with a small tarp hut behind it.

“Here’s one of our stalls!” Jahal boomed proudly. It was a modest thing, made of some rickety local wood. The hut behind it smelled of sawdust and mildew. There was no trace of the previous owner, just a little sign with Jahal’s name. Luwyn realized that Jahal never owned a stall at any point in Luwyn’s life. He wondered if Jahal could manage this stall, much less a few more.

Jahal clapped his hands and rushed to unload things from the cart into the hut. Luwyn started to help, grabbing a crate full of horseshoes, when Jahal wrenched the crate from his hands.

“Go and explore the city, Lu,” Jahal said with a gruff, but warm voice. “Get a taste for your new home.”

Luwyn gave him an odd look. This was unusual behavior for Jahal; the calm tone, letting Luwyn off from a chore, he even shot him a little smile. Luwyn stared at his guardian pointedly.

“Thank you,” he said carefully, then slunk off and disappeared into the market.

Luwyn explored the stalls, lazily perusing the different selections of fruits and vegetables, meats and spices. He stopped at a larger stall, lined with colorful tunics, embroidered with little gold vines. There was a hut behind it, the tarp a rich crimson fabric. Luwyn rummaged through the tunics and trousers and vests, when he noticed that no one approached him trying their hardest to sell him something. No one seemed to be working the stall at all. Luwyn looked from side to side and noticed that he was in an secluded part of the market. No one paid particular attention to him, those around napped or were entranced with the attraction of a rare passerby.

He saw a little glint from inside the hut. Something in him told him to move on, explore the rest of the market, or go back to Jahal’s stall. But there was something deeper inside him, ringing in his head, telling him to go inside.

Luwyn looked around again. Satisfied that no one was watching, he stalked around the stall and slipped into the hut.

[kirbykwan-blog]

You look at me and smell the tangerine (Verkwan)

Verkwan AU

Sadness/fluff/Chubby Seungkwan

This was my first fic, be gentle with me

(Unedited, originally posted on AO3)

It was dark, and the smell of Seungkwan was still there, on his pillowcase. He loved the way Seungkwan smelled, his hair of sweet citrus and his skin of fresh vanilla. Everything about Seungkwan was sweet, his scent, his smile, his personality.. even his laugh. That's one of the reasons Hansol loved to be around him. Boo Seungkwan had been his best friend for three years now, and he wouldn't ask for anyone else to take his space. Seungkwan was a good listener, and always listened to what Hansol had to say, even if he didn't know much about the subject in the first place.

Hansol would give anything up for Seungkwan, he just wanted to keep his best friend safe. He crawled out of bed groggily, rubbing his eyes and letting out a soft yawn. It was already 8:46am, so he knew that Kwannie was already at work. Hansol admired how hard Seungkwan worked, never getting to work late at all. He worked as a music teacher at the local primary school, and the kids absolutely adored him! Hansol adored him too.

Hansol picked up his phone and sent out a message to Seungkwan, just the basic and simple 'Good morning lil dumpling! have a wonderful day!'. He texted Seungkwan goodmorning every morning, he had since they had first become friends. Seungkwan would always giggle at him, telling him that he didn't need to put effort into that every single day. He thought it was plain silly, but Hansol on the other hand, never stopped.

Hansol got dressed the way he did every day, padding out to the kitchen to get breakfast, his smile growing larger at the little stickies his best friend had left all over the small apartment kitchen. Vernon forgot things a lot, so Seungkwan would write a small note to him on a sticky and place it right where he could see it. Some of them said things like, 'Pack a bottle of water and stay hydrated!' or 'Please eat a banana, you need potassium, the bananas will go bad otherwise.' All were embellished with small doodles of whatever had been on his mind. Little clouds and stars littered the small neon notes, keeping the words company.

He grabbed a bottle from the cabinet, turning the sink on to fill the container to the brim with water, just like Seungkwan had said to do. He also grabbed one of the slowly browning bananas from the countertop before heading out of the apartment, locking the door behind him. It was chilly outside, and he really hoped that Seungkwan remembered his jacket before he had left that morning. Despite the fluff on the boys body, Seungkwan still managed to get cold very easily. Not long into their friendship, Hansol had noticed his hoodies and pullovers all went missing. It didn't take him long to find out the culprit had been the tangerine boy himself, snatching all his warm items up because he 'thought they were comfy' and because 'they smelled like apples'. Vernon had no idea why Seungkwan thought he smelled of apples, but he didn't mind the compliment.

He trekked down the street to his office building, smiling brightly at the primary school when he walked by. He waved at the building as if Seungkwan could really see it, which he knew was impossible. He was busy singing little nursery rhymes to the children, laughing as they sang along in their sweet young voices. Thinking about that made Hansol think about Seungkwans' smile, like a perfect crescent. Hansol stopped in his tracks, just to daydream about Seungkwans smile. The way his whole face lit up made Hansols heart sing, his eyes reduced to small bright slivers every time his lips turned up into his perfect bunny smile. Everything about Boo Seungkwan made Hansol so so warm inside.

Hansol began walking again, thoughts of seungkwans smile in his mind. He pushed open the door to his office building, the man at the front desk looking quite concerned. "Mr. Chwe, hello. Its nice to see you so happy today!" he spoke with a small smile.

Hansol returned the smile, "Its an absolutely wonderful day, a bit cold though. Wear a jacket if you choose to go outside, Soonyoung!"

The man at the desk smiled his big smile some more and began to type onto his computer again as Hansol was walking away.

Hansol walked into the elevator and hummed softly to himself, deciding to text Seungkwan that he had gotten to work safely. It was a simple text with a small smiley emoticon tacked onto the end, the one that he found himself only using in his texts to Seungkwan. That's only because Seungkwan made him happy, and he wanted his best friend to know it.

The elevator dinged and let him off, and Hansol pushed his cellphone back into his hind pocket, making his way down the long hallway to his own personal office. Hansols' job wasn't the most exciting thing in the world, in fact it was actually quite boring to say the least. He just sat in his little brightly lit office and answered phonecalls, occasionally even sending out emails. He sat down in the navy blue spinning chair and came face to face with the photo on his desk.

He smiled at the memory, the photo just he and Seungkwan in the middle of New York together. He had brought Seungkwan with him on his trip last year, and it was absolute art to see his squishy little face light up at all of the sights. Of course it was just another big city, but it was the first big city they had ever been to together.

The photo was just a selfie of the two of them standing in Times Square, a smile on both of their faces. Seungkwan was looking up at all the lights, but Hansol seemed to be looking right at Seungkwan. When the boy had asked why he was staring at him, he rolled his eyes and said he was just looking at a Pidgeon in that general direction.

Anyone who knew Hansol knew that it was a lie, but Seungkwan believed it, so he wasn't worried. That was one of the best memories of he and Seungkwan, but it wasn't the only thing Seungkwan related in his office. He had stickies everywhere, just like the ones at home, except they were all white instead of neon 'to fit with the workplace aesthetic' he had said.

Sometimes Seungkwan would come and visit him while he was working and leave silly little motivational notes, or just inside jokes, there was even a sticky that just had a picture of a butt on it. They were all scattered around his office, and he had been told if he took them down he would have his head shaved in the middle of the night.

Hansol would never take them down anyway. They brought color to the office, metaphorically of course. He just worked now, smiling to himself, eating some of his half browned banana while he sent out all of his important emails and doodled on MS Paint, falling asleep an hour or so into the day.

He woke up soon after snoozing, working the rest of the day with no complaints. He finished off his last phonecall and his last MS paint drawing of a cat before getting his things together to go home. After he had taken his short nap, the day went by in grey, he didn't even want to take a lunch break.

Hansol skulked out of the office building, not bothering to say a goodbye to Soonyoung as he started on his way home. Something caught his eye as he was walking, and he stopped dead in his tracks. Across the street was a little cart selling different colors of carnations, and what kind of person would Hansol be if he didn't buy one of those for his best friend?

He carefully made his way across the street, purchasing a dozen pink ones from the boy at the stand who flashed him an angelic smile, he thanked the gardener politely before resuming his walk home. By now the sky was darkening, and all the streetlights were on. Hansol remembered a lot of things, like how once he took a stroll with Seungkwan on this very street once, at this time of evening.

They held hands, Seungkwan wrapped up tight in Vernons coat, snow fluttering softly to the ground. Little flakes danced in the wind as if they were trained to do so, some landing on seungkwans pink nose and cheeks, some even settling down atop his eyelashes. He remembered the conversation they had.

"Noni.. Why is it so cold. Why did you bring me out here in the cold. I'm not a fan of the cold, nor am I a fan of you at this very moment!" Seungkwan had asked in a huff, his face contorted into a pout that looked more cute than actually upsetting in any way.

Vernon had rolled his eyes, squeezing his hand tighter. "I thought maybe if I took someone as warm hearted as you out here, all the snow would melt and spring would come. I suppose I mistook you for someone else, though, because you're just as bitter as the wind."

It had been that point that Seungkwan had demanded they go inside, and Hansol happily obliged, making his friend the warmest hot chocolate he could, trying but failing to make it as sweet as the boy himself.

Vernon was so lost in thought, he almost missed his turn. Almost. He took a left across the road and continued walking until his feet hit the grass. This isn't where he meant to go, but its where his feet were leading him. He almost didn't realize what he was doing until he took a seat in the grass. "Hi, How are you?" He didn't wait for a response before speaking again, "I brought you these flowers, the carnations are your favorites right? And also this." He slid off his jacket, wrapping it around Seungkwan comfortingly. "Its a bit cold, you really should wear a jacket out here you know."

He looked at seungkwans face, the boy smiling back at him like he always did. He reached up and ran his fingertips across the glass of the picture frame, he would have to replace it soon. "I'm just glad it isn't snowing yet, although I'm sure your heart will keep you warm. With you spring is always here. Did you get my goodmorning text by the way? I really hope you did.."

His voice wasn't as bright anymore, not now. "I thought about you all day. I know you wouldn't want me to cry over you, and I swear I don't mean to.." Hansol sniffed softly. "I really love you. I love you so much that sometimes it keeps me up at night. I wish I would have told you that more, I wish I would have bought you more flowers."

He trailed off, standing up, he gently placed the flowers and half the banana onto the ground as if they were glass. As if they were fragile.

Hansol felt so fragile.

He wrapped the coat tighter around the headstone that read the worst name it could, Boo Seungkwan. "Thank you for listening. You always listen. Goodnight, Seungkwan. I hope you rest well.. Please enjoy your flowers."

And with that, Hansol turned away from the headstone littered with dozens of flowers and most of Hansols hoodies and pullovers. Seungkwan had always said that they were comfy and smelled like apples. He never understood how he smelled like apples, but he took the compliment anyways.

He made his way back to their apartment, trudging up the stairs to the place he called home. He numbly walked past the couch where they had shared their first kiss. He walked into the bathroom, where he had first told Seungkwan he was beautiful, even though he had a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth and his hair was all wet. Hansol took a quick shower, getting out almost as soon as he had gotten in. He wasn't worried about that now.

He walked into their bedroom, slipping on some clothes, eyeballing the stickies on the bedroom mirror that said bright things such as 'you look great today' or 'I like that shirt!' all kept company by the usual little doodles on them. The notes were like little doodles of clouds and stars on the empty home, little neon pieces of company for Hansol. They kept him going somehow.

He let out a sigh before sitting on his bed, attaching his phone to its charger. He rested his head on the pillows and let out a choked sob, it was dark, and the smell of Seungkwan was still there, on his pillowcase. He loved the way Seungkwan smelled.

END

[atricksterproblem]

Devil May Care: Part One

It’s doooooone!!! Chapter One of this new Ghost fanfic can be found below.

This is the first time I’ve ever tried writing long prose fiction before, so I really hope it doesn’t suck.

Summary: 

Papa Emeritus III is in a difficult position. While his own supporters were able to elevate him to his leadership role in the Church, opposing factions are hatching plots of their own. In the midst of this turmoil, a chance meeting between Papa and a shy young novice may change the course of the Church's future--and the course of their own.

Prologue

Papa felt a headache coming on as he left the meeting room. These council meetings, he thought, are definitely not improving with age.

Antonio kept pace with him as the various council members went their separate ways. Glancing around to ensure that they were now alone, he said, “Papa, the Order of the Widow’s Son is still yours. Don’t worry about these bitter old men.”

Papa nodded. The Left-hand path Masons were some of his staunchest supporters. It was a good thing that they counted some influential people among their number, or even they would not be enough to hold things together.

I have been leading the Church for over a year, thought Papa. Our recruitment numbers are higher than they’ve been in a decade. Why are they still fighting me over this?

That stronzo Miller was the worst of the lot. “Are you sure these new recruits of yours are serious?” He’d sniffed. “These young people could just be here for the novelty. What evidence do we have of their commitment to the Church?”

As if being a dour old bore was the only way to demonstrate that the Church mattered to you.

Papa supposed that the opposition believed it. Oh, you could be stern or frightening or have a great big stick up your ass and they’d fawn all over you telling you what a great example you are. Try anything else at all and they’d turn up their noses.

“We need to find some other way to make them see what we’re accomplishing, Antonio. Nothing we’ve tried so far has convinced them in the least.”

“The Band Project is more successful than ever. Surely in time when they see that the new recruits are staying they’ll come around to our way of thinking.”

“I hope you’re right,” Papa said. “I’m getting tired of trying to find new and exciting ways to say, “The numbers speak for themselves.”

They had arrived at the cloister walk. The two men stopped and exchanged the Masonic handshake. “I assure you, Papa, we’ll keep things on the square“, Antonio said.

Papa clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”

They separated, and Papa entered the cloister walk, heading home.

 One: A Chance Meeting

 The light of the waning day slanted through the cloister windows, leaving the walk in alternating light and shadow.

Still brooding over the meeting, Papa nearly walked right past the novice who was staring out at the courtyard.

She turned to face him, a half-smile on her face. Pale, hair an indifferent shade of brown, light-colored eyes behind thick glasses. A bit on the chubby side. She could walk right past you and you’d never even see her.

He recognized her; she was one of the newer novices. “Vashti, isn’t it?”

She nodded, eyes wide.

Of the many novices present in the abbey, he remembered her as one of the quieter ones. Set apart. She always seemed to be alone, even when she was around the others.

She was nervous, yes. He was used to that, most of the novices were nervous around him. But there was something else in her eyes.

“Something’s wrong. What is it?”

“N-nothing, Papa. I’ll be all right.”

Well, now he was curious, because she didn’t look all right in the least. He made a snap decision.

“I was just on my way home. You should come with me.”

She blushed and started to stammer out what sounded like an excuse. What was she---oh. OH. Right. His reputation.

Papa laughed a little. “Confession is good for the soul, my dear. You need somebody to talk to.”

She appeared to reach a decision of her own. “You’re right, Papa. I think I do.”

“Of course I am.” He grinned. “Come along, it’s this way.”

 He let them both into his suite, gesturing towards the living room. “Please, sit.” While she settled into the sofa, he put on a kettle in the kitchen area.

“I will make us some tea. It makes everything easier, yes? We will follow the English example.” He gave her a teasing grin over his shoulder.  She gave him a small smile back. “Tea would be lovely, thank you.”

Soon enough, he joined her with a couple of mugs of tea and a small bottle of the Good Stuff. He added a healthy glug of the Good Stuff to his own mug and held the bottle out to her inquiringly.

She started to decline. She was sitting stiffly, face a bit flushed. She was, in his considered opinion, way too tense. This would never do.

He smiled gently. “It will help you relax, I promise.”

She hesitantly agreed, so he added a far smaller amount to her mug and passed it over.

She took a sip, stopped, and coughed. “What IS that?”

“It’s homebrewed grappa. A friend of the family makes it. He calls it the Good Stuff.”

“The GOOD stuff? I guess if you like paint thinner, maybe!”

He laughed. This was more like it. “Hey, it gets the job done, doesn’t it?”

“I should say it would!” She was smiling. Maybe now she would be able to talk.

“Now. Tell me what is troubling you, child.”

She looked down at her mug, seemingly unable to meet his eyes. “I—I haven’t been here very long. I just wasn’t sure what to do, now that I’m done for the day.”

“You could go to the common areas. Most of the other novices will also be relaxing now, you could meet some of them.”

“I…don’t find it easy to talk to people, sometimes. I’m not good at it.”

“You are shy, maybe?”

“Sometimes…sometimes it just seems like no one will ever understand me. I get a lot of strange looks. It’s tiring.”

“I know just what you mean.”

She looked up at him, disbelief plain on her face. “But—how can you? You’re the head of the Church, you’re—“

“The cutest one in the Emeritus line? Why, thank you.” He ran a hand affectedly through his hair.

She blushed and laughed, just as he’d intended. “So. You are new here and you still don’t know many people. Very well, you shall start with me. What do you like to do for fun, Vashti?”

“Well…I read a lot.”

“What kind of books?”

“I study when I can during the day. Before I came here, when I was in school, I was studying Linguistics. I’m trying to improve my grasp of the Celtic languages—“

“Brythonic or Goidelic?”

She stopped cold and blinked at him. “…You’re interested in this too?”

He smiled thinly. “Wouldn’t have thought so, would you? You’re not alone. Yes. Years ago I stumbled across a very old book in the library written in a language that seemed impossibly strange to me at the time. The librarian told me it was in Old Irish, so I did all I could to pick up enough to read it.”

“Then you must have been a good student.”

“If you mean in school, then no. I hated school. It was boring as fuck and my grades were mediocre. I like to study things that interest me.

But you are telling me about what you work on, not what you do to relax. Do you read for pleasure also?”

“Yes, often. Almost every day.”

“Good. I am in the middle of a book just now. Will you stay and keep me company? The shelves are over on that wall; feel free to pick up anything you like.”

“Sure! What are you reading?”

“It’s about two elves who live in a big city and solve murder mysteries. I’m on book three.”

“Is it any good?”

“Oh, it’s TERRIBLE. Complete trash. I LOVE it.”

“Perfect. Can I see book one?”

They settled in with books and spiked mugs of tea in hand. They read for a long time in companionable silence, until it grew dark.

Vashti looked up from the page. “It’s getting late. I didn’t mean to keep you—“

“You didn’t.”

“…I should probably go, though.”

Papa shrugged. “As you like.”

She gave him back his book. “Did you like it?”

“Oh yes. You know, if you like these, you should really read the series I’m in the middle of myself.”

“What’s it about?”

“Two anthropomorphic animals, a cat and a giraffe. They’re on a quest to save the universe from alien insect zombies.”

“…is it any good?”

“It’s AWFUL. I can’t wait for book three.”

They grinned conspiratorially at each other for a moment.

“I’m glad you came to visit me, Vashti. I’m sure we’ll meet again, yes?”

“I’d like that, Papa. Good night.”

“To you as well.”

She left his apartments, and he sat for a moment, lost in thought.

When was the last time I had a quiet night in while somebody else was with me?

 Later, at home, Vashti lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling.

What just happened?

She thought back over the evening and it didn’t seem real, or even possible.

He must have pitied me. That must be it.

But then how was he so easy to talk to?

She lay there awake, long hours after, still unable to make any sense of it all.

 Abbey life returned to normal the following day. Vashti did her chores and the studying that was expected of all novices. She went to the library and resumed the translation she’d been working on the day before. Finally, the hour grown late, she decided it was time to go home.

She approached one of the larger common areas on her way and heard raucous laughter from within.

Glancing around the entryway, she saw a large group of clergy on the couches in the lounge, everyone talking and laughing at once.

Three clergy were sitting on one of the couches. Papa was sprawled across all of their laps like a large, lazy cat. The two Sisters were giggling, and the impossibly pretty Brother was running his fingers slowly through Papa’s hair.

She felt a sharp pang of jealousy, and then laughed bitterly at herself for it.

And how did you think it would be? Did you really think yesterday MEANT something?

Because you talked about BOOKS? And you READ together?

This is Papa. You know who he is.

Idiot.

She passed the lounge as quietly as she could.

 Two days later, Vashti sat at a table in the refectory with her lunch and a book. She heard the scrape of a chair being pulled over, and looked up to see Papa. He’d dragged over a chair, turned it the wrong way around, and was now draped over it, smiling at her.

“You know, it occurred to me that you never finished that book the other night.”

“…that’s true….”

“So I was thinking that you might like to borrow it. I’m on my way to a meeting right now. You should go get the book with the cat and the giraffe, and I’ll go get the mystery-solving elves, and we should meet back here around eight tonight. Sound good?”

“…okay?”

“See you then!”

Vashti looked after him as he left, more confused than ever.

[moonraccoon-exe]

thou must have pity for Clarus during Noct's baby days. Regis was not only a doting father who would baby talk and coo at Noctis's adorableness, but Clarus had to keep Regis in his sights at all times or else he'd be halfway across the citadel in the blink of an eye because he spotted a baby outside. the man, who is the King, top level royalty and importance, is a small child always wandered off to look at smaller children. This is how Clarus loses his hair. he loves Regis, truly. This poor man

Hahahahahahahahahahhahahahahha!!!

By the name of The Most Sacred and Most Illuminated Moon Prince Coonie the Adorable and Magnificent, I declare this as canon. Square Enix can say nothing about it or oppose, it’s the Garbage’s Prince’s word and it’s official and I oppose to any opposition to making this canon.

I have always pictured that mostly during youth but this goes on for longer, Regis is an hyperactive little mess that comes and goes everywhere because he’s, as you state, a small child all of his life, and he’s curious here and curious there and excited about this and about that and can we please go there omg pls can we go there.

It has never helped that Regis always had some sort of authority over others, that did but grow with the years. So Regis wants to go somewhere, he will damn go there, whether you want it or not, because he can and he wants and he can’t resist because “did you see that, omg, I want to touch”.

I am hopelessly, utterly, desperately in love with the idea that Regis is a children man, as in, he’s desperately in love with babies and toddlers and he wants to carry every single one that he sees and make funny faces at all of them and “omg so adorable can I hug this child, ma’am? So chubby and adorbs, you so cute hhfgdngdjndfg”. He kind of has the face of that sort of man, absolutely devoted to kids in a Papa way that just turns him into an absolute mess.( ´ ▽ ` ).♡

There’s King Regis, getting distracted mid-speech on TV because “HELLO THERE BABY BOY HIIIII :3″. There’s prince Regis visiting one of the towns during the war 30 years ago, talking serious matters when “OMG IS THAT YOUR KID, CAN I HUG HER? :3″. There’s Shield Clarus, Crownsguard Cor, old friend Cid and companion Weskham, desperately and frantically running up and down and side to side across all of Altissia because “WE LOST THE PRINCE, WHERE IS THE PRINCE, WHAT IF HE WAS KIDNAPPED, REGIS WHERE TF ARE YOU”. And, of course, there’s prince Regis, sat in the middle of a public square, letting all the kids paint his face and put flowers on his hair while he makes all of them laugh.

This man made of adorableness.

And then, of course, there’s Regis only getting worse after Noctis is born, because GODS, HE’S OBSESSED WITH HIS SON, he has always adored children and babies AND THIS ONE IS HIS OWN HNFDNNGFDGNF, so his Papa mode has grown A KAZILLION TIMES.

So this has his Papa alert and senses and mode activated and super strong all the time. It’s simply natural that he beelines towards every baby and kid he sees, THE MAN CAN’T RESIST IT, IT’S IN HIS NATURE, HE WANTS TO SQUEEZE THOSE ROUND FACES AND HEAR THOSE BABY LAUGHS PLS.

No damn wonder Clarus lost his hair rather than shaved it off! 

Omg, I just thought both cases woud be hilarious. On a side, it’s hilarious that Clarus loses his hair out of stress from having to chase Regis everywhere all the time since their youth and it only gets worse the older they get, and it’s hilarious to think Clarus decided to cut his hair himself because he tends to pull from it every time Regis drives him mad in stress and what is the point of hair if he’s pulling from it all the time, dammit.

Ahahahahhaha!

Regis, that adorable adult toddler, I love him.

Poor Clarus, indeed, though! He had to accompany Regis to the war in their youth, stressing to protect him in the battlefield but also stressing having to chase him around because THIS PRINCE CAN’T UNDERSTAND THE MEANING OF “STOP”, and he’s warping everywhere he sees and running places and climbing things and Regis can yoU PLEASE NOT DO THAT YOU’RE RISKING YOUR LIFE SENSELESSLY DO YOU NOT HAVE COMMON SENSE, but Regis is just SO EXCITED AND CURIOUS.

And we have to add to it that Clarus also has to chase him and find him whenever the young prince is hopping from place to place because “GASPS there’s a baby there!”, “Ohmygod Clarus look it’S A BABY THERE”, “CLARUS IT’S A KINDERGARTEN FIELD TRIP THER-”

And then it only continues for a whole decade, until Regis has his own son.

And then it only gets twice the worse having to chase this king around.

He’s late to meetings, interruptnig his speeches, running outside the Citadel without guards, secretly inviting all the kindergartens to the Citadel for “recreative field trips” without telling anyone else, carrying with some random baby (when he’s not bringing his) during meeting Councils and your Majesty where did you get that child and whose is it omg you can’t just steal babies (don’t worry, he’s not stealing them lmao).

And Clarus is behind there, chasing him, running after him, trying for Regis to not accidentally end up dead because he’s warping from too high up or running straight into the streets with not a single guard because HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN RUN TO CATCH UP WITH A TODDLER OMG IT’S IMPOSSIBLE TO CATCH UP WITH HIM.

Imagine Regis in like the tenth floor pacing around being nagged by Clarus because of putting his kingly duties off at times and being this running careless mess.

“-I’m telling you all this jsut because I care about you, Regis. You can get mad at me if you want. But all I’m saying is that if you want to say hello to a toddler, you can’t just run into the streets like that. I know you can look after yourself, but we’re in the middle of a war, Niflheim is after you, not the kingdom, because they know they’ll have the kingdom if they can have you, and you just run into the streets like that, so careless? Regis, I don’t want anything to happen to you, both as a Lucian and as your friend. It’s personal to me. And I’m-…you better be listening to me, Regis Lucis Cae-”

Clarus just turned around to see why Regis is so quiet.

All that he finds is the blue silhouette of the king who just warped off the window of the tenth floor to the damn outside of the Citadel grounds and is currently running after a man that’s walking with five toddlers.

This is the moment Clarus gestures to grab his hair and pull from it out of stress and exasperation and panic and asdjkjddlflasdjhgs.

So good he lost all of it by this point, honestly, he’d just harm himself from all that pulling.

(PS: now Clarus has to run ten floors down because he can’t warp like Regis, ahahahhaa)

I LOVE WHAT YOU SHARE WITH ME HERE, ANON.

IT SHALL BE CANON.

[hanalwayssolo]

Remember Me As A Time of Day

A/N: Finally, a chance to post this! For day 1 of @glaiveweek, aka my attempt to flesh out Nyx Ulric because I’m a total ho for back stories.

Tagging some folks: @eternallydaydreaming2015 @theyearofdiamonddogs @themissimmortal @hypaalicious @louisvuittontrashbags @cupnoodle-queen @nifwrites

Nyx closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath.

One, two, three, four, five, he counted in his head as he hid behind a collapsed wall, seeking temporary refuge from the manic behemoth and a herd of daemons on the loose. He heard his own heartbeat amidst the sound of gunfire, explosions, and voices of his dying comrades. He even heard Selena’s voice blaring over and over. Save mother, help her, she called out, and his own mind would punish him, replaying the precise moment that he lost his sister in vivid detail. He had that moment memorized, the conversation of bullets that ripped his home and family apart, and he had it stamped and inked permanently in the thresholds of his mind.

His head throbbed. He squeezed his eyes shut again, and Nyx could see the crystal blue of the sky of what could have been a clear summer’s morning, the very same from his young, halcyon days in Galahd. But Nyx was aware, too hyper aware even, that if he opened his eyes, he would see the billowing smoke that smeared the summer sky into a dusty palette of red and gray.

One, two, three, four, five—shit!

Nyx’s mind was racing in the palpable tension of fear and danger. He needed to concentrate. He needed a proper minute to process everything happening around him and plan his next course of action.

But his mind offered him little solace and more snippets of his old life, the face of his sister, and the sound of his mother’s voice. Nyx gathered all his might to stop the overwhelming desire to cry.

“Not here, goddamnit,” he whispered under his breath. Of all the things he could think of in the middle of this battleground that swelled the stench of death, Nyx thought of the life he desperately wanted to return to, the one thing he wanted so bad to cling and latch onto until his bones turn to dust. But at this rate, Nyx knew his old life was nothing more than a pipe dream, and hanging onto it would be his own demise.

Six, seven, eight, nine—

Fucking impeccable timing, Nyx wistfully smiled to himself, and thought how it was ridiculous for his memories to have such a sick sense of humor. Before he could even reach ten, he was suddenly reminded of the first time in his life he whirled himself into trouble.

Nyx was ten when he first got into a fistfight.

It was a clear summer’s morning, and the pristine blue waters of the Galahd River shimmered like sapphires in the bright blaze of sunshine. It was the perfect day for swimming, and not the perfect day to be wasted on punching other children square in the face. It was the last day of summer, Nyx knew he had to spend it wisely. His dark buzz-cut hair and sharp blue eyes may make him seem like a rambunctious kid, but scrawny as he was, Nyx never had any intention of causing any stress for anyone, both adults and children alike. He had only planned to dedicate the rest of the scorching day teaching Selena how to swim, and he had spent the night prior convincing his little sister that the river was absolutely nothing to be scared of.

Much to Nyx’s dismay, Selena became deathly afraid of water after that one time she almost drowned along the beach just right outside their house. Nyx saved her just in time, but he was willing to go a mile at this point; he was more than adamant to help his sister conquer her fears. Their mother didn’t even argue; Nyx properly insisted that anyone living on the isles of Galahd must know how to swim, and considered it as a valuable life skill. As such, he offered Selena a firm assurance, and finally, a sweet promise of sea salt ice cream should she ever accept the daunting challenge before her. Nyx did not need to say anything else after that; it was more than enough to make his sister say yes. Though young, spirited, and clever as she was, Selena was still too easily charmed and bribed by her brother; she loved it when Nyx spoiled her rotten, and she loved him for it most dearly.

What Nyx had in mind was simple: get his sister to learn how to float at the very least, and again, not to cause any sort of trouble, else he would never hear the end of it from their mother. He even asked Libertus to tag along for moral support, which proved to be less than helpful when Libertus headed straight into their favorite jumping spot—a huge, washed out boulder sitting comfortably at the edge of the river, and plunged head first into the water.

“Selena, look!” Libertus bellowed as he resurfaced, and he tried to demonstrate several floating motions for Selena, one in which he appeared to be chubby-looking starfish. “It’s not that deep!”

“It looks very deep to me, Libby. You’re not even standing anymore,” Selena rolled her eyes, stooped down, and hugged her knees. She watched Libertus float on his back, carefree and most ardently enjoying the crisp and cold water, his blithe, smiling face becoming the subject of Selena’s fiery curiosity. It was a look that carried a strong determination and resolve, betraying the usual gentleness behind her hazel eyes.

“Nyx,” she finally whispered and pointed at Libertus, “I want—I need to learn how to do that.”

Every word Selena stressed felt like an answered prayer that Nyx grinned with utmost satisfaction. Albeit inadvertently, Libertus might have helped in this effort after all.

“Let’s start somewhere shallow first, alright?” Nyx eagerly proposed, giving her shoulder a nudge.

“Okay,” Selena nodded and beamed, “but can I jump from here once I get the hang of it?”

“Yes, you can,” Nyx laughed, and even Libertus excitedly hollered at the distance.

It was all Nyx had wanted: to marinate under this beautiful weather, soaking on every drop of freshwater with his sister and his best friend in peace.

But as Nyx and Selena were about to climb down from the top of the boulder, a brown-haired, pale-faced boy sneaked behind them and shoved Selena towards the river. Nyx watched in horror as he witnessed his sister plummeting face first, shattering a loud splash. He didn’t even spare a second to take a good look at the culprit’s face, nor did he even acknowledge the seething anger and crippling dread that bubbled at the pit of his stomach. It was without any conscious thought that Nyx instantly dived right into his sister’s rescue. Libertus followed suit from where he was, and they both swam to follow Selena, whose body was helplessly thrashing and struggling to keep herself afloat. Nyx swam as hard as he could, his lanky arms sweeping through the current, until he finally managed to scoop her along and dragged her back on land.

Nyx and Libertus stayed by Selena’s side and tended to her as she suffered fits of coughing, choking and wheezing all the water out of her lungs. The other boy made his approach without even a hint of remorse on his pallid face; there was only a mischievous glint of amusement present in his cold, blue eyes, the twitch of his lips forming into a delighted smile, as if he had just orchestrated such an entertaining show. But neither Nyx nor Libertus were entertained, and quite far from it. Nyx welcomed the violent return of the boiling rage that churned every flesh and bone in his body; he did not wait to get an explanation, and immediately, he greeted the brown-haired boy with a piece of his mind and fist.

“Why the hell did you do that, Luche?!” Nyx’s knuckles winced at the heavy blow, and the boy’s—Luche’s—gaunt face instantly bruised, the corner of his mouth trickling with blood. Luche was also his friend, but Nyx recognized no friendship nor any form of acquaintance if his sister’s safety was compromised.

What was once a look of amusement was replaced by a look of both contempt and hostility that Luche tackled Nyx to the ground, returning the favor with his own fist. They traded blows and punches, hurling all the nastiest insults that their young minds could ever create, wrestling and toppling on each other. When Nyx got the upperhand, he focused on snuffing the life out of Luche when he straddled him in the dirt. He was too focused that he didn’t even notice both Libertus and Selena were already on their feet, helplessly trying to wrench them apart.

”Nyx, stop it!” Selena screamed, desperately yanking Nyx’s shirt just to get him off Luche. Libertus, in turn, was severely confused on who he should pry off from who, so he settled on summoning all his strength on pulling both the Ulric siblings.

Luche, who was still struggling and wriggling under Nyx’s weight, managed to choke out, “Get off me! It was just a prank, idiot!”

“You’re the idiot! My sister can’t swim!” Nyx harshly clenched on the collar of Luche’s shirt to drive his point. “She coulda died! Have you ever thought about that, huh!?”

Luche’s eyes faltered in surprise. “What, I—”

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, you son of a bitch—”

Nyx was about to deliver another round of bashing when Luche raised his hands and cried, “Wait, I’m sorry, alright! I didn’t know!”

Luche’s apology allowed Nyx to finally loosen his grip. Selena took this opportunity to seize his brother and pull him up, while Luche squirmed his way on the ground to get back on his feet. Libertus was quick to stop him from bolting away.

“Apologize to the lady. Now.” Libertus growled, roughly snatching Luche at the back of his shirt. Libertus and Luche were around the same age, but with Libertus’ round and burly figure, he can intimidate any kid if he wanted to. But Libertus preferred kindness over violence, and used the latter only when a grave situation called for it. This particular one met that exception.

“I’m sorry, Selena,” Luche croaked in what could be mistaken as fear. He looked at Selena with nothing but sincere regret over a prank he realized had gone way too wrong. The boy was even on the verge of tears.

“Apology accepted,” Selena smiled weakly in response, slightly hiding behind Nyx, clutching the hem of her brother’s shirt. “Here—” she reached for the pocket of her sopping, wet dress, and dug out a small, tin can. She flicked it open, picked one strip of her pink-colored bandages, and handed it to Luche. “You need one. I’m using all of this on my brother’s face thanks to your handiwork, but I’m sharing one with you.”

“Uh, I—thanks,” Luche timidly took the band-aid. He looked at Selena again, and then quickly glanced at Nyx and Libertus, who both stood on guard if he ever tried something funny again, and then back at Selena. Luche suddenly burst out crying, and then ran off towards the other side of the river.

Nyx and Libertus shared a glance of confusion. They didn’t know what shocked them: Luche’s easy admission of his mistake, or Selena’s dauntless display of kindness. It was probably both. The boys were both aware of Luche’s reputation of being a topnotch troublemaker, and it amazed them how Selena’s guileless generosity made Luche scamper away with his tail between his legs. The boys could not help themselves; they broke into a loud, boisterous laughter, and it was only a moment later that they took notice of Selena, who was breaking into tears.

“Hey, Selena,” Nyx knelt down and held her sister by her small arms. “What’s the matter?”

“You shouldn’t have done that to Luche. You were scary.” Selena sniffed. “And you said a lot of really bad words. You said son of a—”

“Alright, I know—” Nyx interrupted and shot Libertus a worried look. Libertus only snorted at him, completely amused. “Don’t tell mom, please,” Nyx pleaded. “And I’m sorry, it’s just—I got real worried about you.”

“I know,” Selena nodded. “Big brother instinct.”

“Right,” Nyx smiled.

Selena quickly added, “But swear not to get into fights again, or I’m telling Mom.”

“Okay, I promise.” Nyx grinned and raised his pinky finger, and Libertus could only shake his head.

Nyx immediately broke that promise the next day.

The first morning of his sixth grade, Nyx rushed into the back of the campus to meet Libertus at their usual hangout spot, only to catch him being bullied by a couple of eighth graders. The other kids were trying to get his lunch money, but Libertus stood his ground and tried to fend them off with a show of his meaty fists. They laughed. Quick on his feet, Nyx grabbed a nearby baseball bat and chased them off with it; funnily enough, they walked away, only spewing empty threats at them.

“I owe you,” Libertus exhaled in relief.

Nyx patted him on the back and smiled. “You sure do. Better put in on your tab.”

“We should probably join the judo club or something. You know, for self-defense,” Libertus proposed as they walked back inside to their classroom. “Especially you. You seem to be getting yourself into a lot of trouble these days. To think you promised Selena yesterday—what a bunch of bogus.”

“Shut up,” Nyx rolled his eyes; he knew Libertus was right. “And I don’t know, Libertus. Trouble just can’t get its hands off me, I guess.”

True enough, as the years came and went, the older Nyx got, the more trouble he attracted in his direction. It arrived at a tumultuous momentum by the time he was eighteen. May it be with the ladies or just life in general, the phenomenon was beyond Nyx’s explanation. Selena often joked that he only had his pretty face to blame; adolescence crafted a handsome face and sculpted lean muscle out of the young and lanky Nyx that even anyone within his circle of acquaintances found it difficult to repel his natural charm. The same could be said of Selena, who blossomed into a quiet and gentle beauty of her own, yet still brazenly shielded by her razor-sharp wit. Much to his relief, Nyx did not find any sort of trouble that involved his sister as of late—Selena was good enough warding off unworthy men who tried to win her attention and affection.

However, in Nyx’s case, the sort of trouble he attracted most of the time, the one that he added into his unwanted arsenal of mischief, was getting into heated arguments with adults. As opposed to fistfights, he figured this one was something he could fairly control, and would need every ounce of his wealthy resource of shrewdness and sarcasm. In his defense, he did not have a penchant of starting arguments. Ever since Nyx and Libertus started their little bar at the busy outskirts of their hometown, they had drawn a wide range of customers, and with it, its own array of interactions that bordered on either meaningful conversations or a shitty squabble. Nevertheless, Nyx enjoyed tending to their simple space; this laidback bar was all born out of their crucial need to scrape a living for college, all fueled by Nyx’s surprising business acumen and Libertus’ culinary expertise. Nyx relished on getting to know people, and he had believed that he was a good judge of character, until a tall man, possibly in his late twenties, stumbled upon their little place.

“Excuse me,” the man called Nyx’s attention. “Would you know if there are any other places good enough to eat around here?”

The question was asked kindly, but something about it just grinded Nyx’s proud Galahdian gears. There was a certain air of utmost propriety in the man’s austere face, and that brown crop of hair and stern, blue eyes suggested that he was not someone Nyx should even dare to mess with.

But Nyx couldn’t help it, so he smugly answered: “You’re already standing in one.”

“Yes, we heard—but we prefer something that’s… not skewers. If possible.” The man said, and Nyx itched to defend the honor of Galahdian food to this foreigner. He wanted to call Libertus from the kitchen, but decided against it.

“Are you telling me that skewers are not good enough to eat?” Nyx held his ground and countered, and the annoyance in his voice was more evident.

The man looked suddenly rattled. “No, I didn’t mean it that way, kid—what I’m saying is that my company and I need something else—”

“I apologize for my friend’s picky palate, he didn’t mean to be rude—” a raven-haired man in a sharply-fashioned suit and tie interrupted Nyx’s nearly brewing dispute. Apparently, the serious-looking, brown-haired man was accompanied by a ragtag band of outsiders. Apart from the dashing, black-haired fellow, there was a grumpy man beside him who looked surly and couldn’t care less about what was going on. The two others who trailed behind them were men who seemed to be in their early thirties: one was a monocled man in a vest-and-shirt ensemble, whose manners were too courteous for Nyx’s taste; the other was a hulking figure of a man with a striking bird tattoo, who Nyx imagined could break every bone in his body.

“We’ll order whatever’s best on your menu, uh—” Nyx saw the raven-haired man quickly squinted at the name tag attached to his apron— “Nyx Ulric.”

“Alright, sir,” Nyx nodded, and warily eyed the group of men as they took their seats at the table right across the bar. He called out for Libertus, “Five orders of serum skewers!”

“On it!” Libertus immediately answered behind the kitchen doors.

Nyx shuffled along and grabbed a couple of beer bottles from the cooler. “We only serve alcohol around here so would you like to—”

“So Reggie, I’m the one with the picky palate now?” the brown-haired man argued with his companion. Nyx abruptly paused and watched cautiously, only because the man’s tone was far from friendly.

The raven-haired fellow only cheekily smiled; he carried himself in a grace and formality that Nyx couldn’t quite put his finger on. “Well, Cor, it is sort of true—“

“What’s the problem with skewers, anyway?” The tattooed man asked with a shit-eating grin on his rugged face. “Cor, look at you—you need more meat!“

“No, Clarus—what I need is more patience.”

“And what I need now is a drink,” the monocled man added in jest, and he beckoned Nyx to come over with a simple jerk of his head.

Nyx single-handedly brought the booze with him and was merely watching their outrageous banter and discussion unfold when he suddenly realized something of incredible and of obvious importance. He grinded into a screeching halt, his eyes widening at his own ignorance. Surprisingly enough, he didn’t spill a drop of beer from the tray he was carrying. “Wait a second. You’re all—“ he bewilderedly pointed at all of them, and he stopped at the black-haired man— “You’re… are you—nope, you’re… King Regis.”

The five men exchanged tensed and worried looks. The black-haired man’s mouth opened and closed, tentatively calculating what he should respond, until the eldest and the grumpiest in the group let out a loud, exasperated sigh.

“You lot shoulda kept yer traps shut,” the grumpy man addressed his companions, finally crushing the anxious silence. “Anyhoo—nice to meet ya, Nyx Ulric. Name’s Cid. And yes, this slack-jawed idiot right here is your king. Don’t bother with the others. And yes, I would love to have that bottle of beer now, if yer pretty face won’t mind.”

Nyx mindlessly set the tray down the table and handed one over to Cid. He looked again at Regis—the King Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII, incumbent ruler of Lucis—and gingerly slid a bottle over to him.

King Regis nodded and smiled, “Thank you, Nyx. Please forgive Cid, he tends to forget his manners from time to time.”

Cid only rolled his eyes as he took a swig. Nyx smiled timidly and tried to keep his cool, serving the remaining bottles to the other men. In truth, he still stewed the astounding fact that King Regis and his royal retainers just showed up to eat at his bar, and it baffled him how men of their importance would settle eating something like street food.

“Oh, I’m sorry—I suppose I’m the one who forgot my manners,” King Regis straightened on his seat as he continued. “So, my name’s Regis—pleasure to meet you. And this is Clarus, Weskham, and Cor.” He gestured at the tattooed giant, the monocled gentleman, and the serious-looking fellow respectively.

Nyx sheepishly glanced at Cor when another realization hit him like a bus. “Shit, then you must be the Cor Leonis.”

“That, I am.” Cor raises his bottle in kind confirmation and acknowledgement.

Nyx couldn’t believe it. He had heard of the moniker The Immortal all over the news, and how his exploits in battle have cemented him as a stuff of legend. It surprised him how he could even meet such a man of caliber in his lifetime.

Nyx nodded, almost too awkwardly eager. “Right. Okay. Cool, cool, cool—“

Libertus interrupted Nyx’s short circuiting moment when he went swung out of the door, plates of skewers in hand. “Here’s your order of—holy fucking shit.”

Nyx turned around and he beamed nervously at Libertus. “Hey, Lib—“

“Nyx,” Libertus blinked. He spoke in a low and serious tone. “Please tell me that I’m not seeing the king and his retainers in our bar—“

“Actually, they’re really here and I didn’t realize sooner—“

“You fool! How can you not recognize the fucking king of Lucis, Nyx? Gods be good to you!” Libertus sneered and waltzed away from Nyx, proceeding straight to the table. “On behalf of my friend, I apologize for his extreme obliviousness. Anyway, here are the… um, skewers you ordered—“ he carefully placed the plate in the middle— “uh, are you really sure it’s okay for you to eat something like this—“

“I assure you, it’s quite fine. Thank you,” King Regis offered with a sincere smile.

“Why, look at all of this—“ Clarus beamed at both the sight and scent of the food before him. “You Galadhians know how to treat your meat right. This smells amazing.”

Libertus and Nyx were about to walk away to leave the king’s group in peace when Weskham chimed in.

“Join us, please,” Weskham amiably requested, and both Libertus and Nyx froze in their feet. Considering Nyx’s ability to make small talk with his patrons, this one was a particularly new territory. He had never met people of nobility before. “Galahd sure is a charming place, and we would be delighted to learn the lay of the land from such passionate young locals such as yourselves.”

Libertus and Nyx nervously glanced at each other, but in the end, they both rose out of their hesitation and timidly obliged. Weskham and Cid both asked about the local delicacies, while Regis and Clarus sought information about any hunts available. Cor remained quiet on the other side of the table, nursing his bottle of beer. Libertus and Nyx were generous enough to share everything they know, and gradually, their conversation with the group shifted from trading helpful information to exchanging hilarious anecdotes and unsolicited advice on women. Eventually, with the contagious laughter and energy led by Clarus’s oozing charm, the two of them forgot any sort of hierarchical wall that stood between them and the royal group.

A plateful of meat and few bottles of beer later, Nyx had gathered confidence to shift the conversation to a different direction.

“Your Majesty, may I ask you a question?”

King Regis nodded. “By all means.”

“If I daresay ask—what makes you devote your life fighting this war?”

Libertus almost choked on his beer. “Nyx!”

An immediate silence followed. Everyone watched and waited expectantly how this exchange between the king and this bold, young commoner would turn out. There was already a certain unease that thickly permeated among the king’s companions that they flicked each other knowing looks. But King Regis only solemnly smiled at Nyx; the smile that graced the king’s face veiled a hint of sadness, but somehow, it resonated a strong sense of hope.

“It’s for young people like you, Nyx Ulric,” King Regis finally answered, and in his voice, one could hear the echo of his resolve. “I know it seems like all is lost… but if there’s something I learned in this journey is that my life is nothing.” He slowly admitted, and he looked at all of them, his gaze remained unwavering. “But to have even the smallest hope, a fighting chance to give a future to my people... To me, that is everything.”

Nyx saw King Regis’s green eyes aflame with wildfire passion. And in that moment, he felt like a moth, so small and so drawn to King Regis’s light. He suddenly wondered if this unbridled passion would ever be enough to win the war against an enemy who claimed the odds at their favor from the very beginning.

Nyx wanted to believe, and believe he did.

“Nyx Ulric, pull your head out of your ass and go out there!”

Drautos’ voice snapped Nyx out of his mindless reverie. Nyx didn’t even notice Drautos coming to his aid, or the fact that he had been shaking Nyx out of his troubled mind for what could have been an infinite minute.

Save mother, help her.

Nyx only nodded absentmindedly in response. Drautos had to harshly haul him up by the shoulders for good measure. “I’ll order for a medic—“

“Captain, there’s no need—I can…”

My life is nothing. The pair of kukris in his hands suddenly felt heavier. Nyx knew he was never meant to be a fighter, but the war and his circumstances forged a warrior tempered by grief and anger out of him, his memories merely fuel to the fire that raged at the very core of what’s left of his soul.

Drautos asked him again, “Are you sure you can still fight?”

A small hope, a fighting chance to give a future to the people. King Regis’s voice resounded again, beating some sense into his head. He thought he had understood it, but as he stood in this wasteland ravaged by war, he realized that the answer had been there all along.

He was that small glimmer of hope. He was that fighting chance. And so were the rest of his comrades.

“I still have strength in my body, sir,” Nyx answered and he pulled his mouth into a smile, one that buried all the remaining doubts and fears that gripped every bone and muscle of his being. Nyx may never outrun his demons, but he sure as hell can’t let them get the best of him and win. Not now, not ever.

He clenched his fists on his weapons as he warped out of Drautos’s sight, rejoining the fray.

[justtextmeoppa]

❝ Ordinary life ❞

Plot: Just an ordinary day in the life of Min Yoongi and his adorable daughter. 

Words count: 2,3k+

Genre: Fluff, fluff, fluff 

For anon, I hope you like it! - M. 

Gif isn’t mine, credits to the owner! ♥

"APPA!"  

The shrill of the little princess of Min House filled her father's room, too busy trying to correct the tests he had decided to take home. The worst decision he ever made, since his daughter distracted him every two seconds even for the smallest things.  

Far away the times of the Bangtan, where he was free and had realized every single goal that had been set. And he had gained a family, which had always been close to him; especially in the most difficult period of his life.  

"APPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPA!"  

A sigh came out of his thin lips, closed in a desperate line and sign of how really tired he was Yoongi at that time, as he turned towards the little one who had begun to run for the room with a towel tied around her small and delicate body.  

"What's going on?" He asked gently, rising from the chair and dropping on his knees and observing the big and expressive eyes of his daughter.  

"Sejun, what's going on?" He asked again, while the smile of the child warmed his heart as always.  

Sejun was his greatest joy and the reason he had decided to leave the BTS, he knew that there were other motives behind by all the others, but fortunately, that event hadn't destroyed their relationship; Indeed he had succeeded in making it even more unique.  

Maybe it was just her to tie them even more. That little hurricane of energies was the only one to be able to smooth out any divergence that from time to time was created between them.  

"Uncle Hobi!"  

The smile didn't leave Yoongi's lips, who simply nodded and squeezing her into his arms. He rose and headed to his desk, where he remembered to have seen his phone hidden beneath the myriad of scattered sheets.  

Sejun hid her face against his neck, giggling for something he obviously didn't know and so Yoongi began to stroke her soft hair; letting them slip fast between his thin and slightly tapered fingers.  

"Uncle Hobi!!!"  

"If you grant me two seconds to call him, with great pleasure."  

She lifted her face and placed her small, slightly chubby little hand, on her father's cheek, then starting to leave little kisses on the tip of his nose.  

"Is it funny??"  

"Yes, Appa!"  

He shook his head by managing to take his phone and almost was a clue or a sign of destiny, the latter began to ring and the name of his best friend appeared light on the screen.  

"Uncle Hobi!!" She yelled, stealing his phone and answering at his place.  

Three years and it was more technological than him, which didn't surprise him much. Hearing the shining voice of Hoseok on the other part of the phone, he brought the little one to his bed and gently settled on it letting her enjoy that phone call.  

Between all six, Hoseok and Taehyung were the ones to which Sejun was more bound. The first resembled her so much that she saw in him a perfect companion for the games. The second was just perfect with the children and there was no time when Sejun didn't feel well with him.  

"My best friends have replaced me" he mumbled amused, coming out of his room heading towards the kitchen. The disaster of the evening before, where both had tried to cook a completely new recipe without the help of Uncle Seokjin, was still evident in the sink and on the counter but he decided to ignore it because no; he didn't have the energy to face that kind of mission.  

The home's phone rang at the time when he was taking a coke from the refrigerator, so drinking in small sips he recovered the cordless and replied without making too much case to the name.  

"Why is your phone always take????"  

"Sejun is talking to Hoseok, you idiot."  

"Oh, then she is forgivable."  

Yoongi raised his eyes to heaven, feeling the adoring tone with which Jimin pronounced those last words, sitting on the table and waiting for the friend to say more or better explain the reason for that call.  

"I have prepared everything, however!"  

The smile on the face of the older was made more radiant, knowing what Jimin was referring to. He watched with a careful look that the little one didn't come out of his room and lowered his tone of voice, not wanting to let her find out.  

"Have you bought it all?"  

"Yes, apprehensive appa. It will be the best birthday party in the world.. But you have to distract her all day long! "  

"Do you think I don't do it every single day since she was born?"  

On the other side came clearly an amused puff, while he was sipping with the attention his own drink. In two days it was Sejun's fourth birthday and he felt excited as a child; Although not being good at expressing his feelings he always seemed very low-key about the issue.  

Or maybe the fact that his little girl was growing up really hit him because he didn't want to.  He had never understood how much when adults said: "you will be afraid, one day, when your son grows, you will see!"  

But now he understood it, even though four years were still few and he had his whole life to be with his little princess. He was afraid to watch the time flying too quickly and that day when, of course, she would leave his protection in order to live really.  

"Earth calls Yoongi.. Hyung Are you alive? "  

"Eh?"  

"You are unrecoverable." And with those words, the younger Jimin ended the call, but still smiled because he knew his hyung so well that he had understood what he was thinking at that moment.  

Yoongi sighed, descending from the table and heading to his bedroom to check that the daughter hadn't done some irreparable damage.  

"How about going to the park?" He asked, however, noticing that the little one had fallen asleep with the phone in her small hands. He bit his lip to that view, total perfection enclosed in a body so small, and trying to make as little noise as possible came up to the bed and took off the phone from her hands.  

"Hoseok??"  

"I'm still here, is she asleep??" He asked amused, having imagined that scenario given the absence of answers; "she was telling me about yesterday's disaster."  

"Little traitor."  

"See you in a while, we're all coming there."  

And that news didn't appeal to Yoongi, for two simple reasons. His house was a disaster and he had to finish correcting those tests. Being a music teacher always had its downsides if you were forced to take your work home.  

"But..."  

"Shut up, you need company. Byeeeeeeeee! "  

And the second call of the day broke off on the enthusiastic scream of the friend, while he sighed and lay beside the little girl. That immediately seemed to perceive his presence beside her, because she slipped on the bed and went to hide in his arms making him smile slightly.  

"A nap will not hurt any of the two." He whispered and laid his lips against her forehead, letting himself be dragged from fatigue in what he hoped to be a peaceful nap.  

~ ~

"They're literally father and daughter."  

"Wait I want a picture!!"  

"Taehyung shut up a moment!"  

Confused voices came to Yoongi's ears, who opened his eyes lightly and watched the six boys around the bed. All with huge smiles well printed on the face.  

"Appa..." The voice still drowsy of his daughter began to bring him back to reality, so with an effort he seated himself and took her in his arms starting to lull her gently.  

"Sometimes I still surprise when I see the sweet side of Min Yoongi."  

"Hush a little, Jungkook-ah."  

All those laughed lightly, getting out of the room and leaving them alone. Yoongi began humming something under his voice, knowing that his daughter loved his voice, especially in that hue, continuing to cradle her and caress her back to allow her to wake up in the best way.  

And that was the routine of every morning, although it was the afternoon at that time, he didn't mind. He hated admitting it aloud, especially with the other six, but those little cuddles with her were the reason why he always started the day with a smile.  

"Appa.. Are they here...? "  

"All six."  

She snorted, still asleep, and settled better into his arms, letting her body adhere completely to his chest and abdomen. She was young but somehow she knew that that day was particular for his dad, so she was happy that his uncles were all there at that time.  

"Do you want me to send them away and remain only the two of us?"  

"No Appa, I want to play with Uncle Seokjin!" She whispered and, now completely awake, she wriggled from his father's arms and ran out of the room after jumping off the bed like a spring. He shook his head amused and slowly descended from the bed, hearing Seokjin's desperate screams and knowing that he had just entered the kitchen. Yoongi was sure, knowing him, that he had started to clean up but for once he didn't mind a few.  

He was on the verge of getting out of the room when Namjoon's face leaned from the open door, blocking him on his footsteps and observing his friend carefully.  

"What..?"  

"I wanted to see if you were okay.. "  

The silence greeted them shortly thereafter, while their glances spoke for them. But Yoongi, with high astonishment on the part of Namjoon, smiled with sweetness and crossing him he gave him a pat on his shoulder.  

"Sejun is more important than this day, so I can also endure it." He whispered and Namjoon open wide his eyes, even more, surprised than just before.  

But it had to be expected from Yoongi because for his daughter he would have buried even the most oppressive of sorrows in his heart.  

"APPA!!" The little screamed running to meet her father, who found her attached to his leg and began to walk with fatigue because he didn't want to hurt her in some way.  

"Don't you think your father wants to walk normally?"  

"Hmm.. No! "  

"This is your fault Taehyung!" He exclaimed, pointing his finger at the boy sitting on the couch that flashed his famous square smile and lifted his hands into a sign of denial. Everyone burst out laughing while he was struggling with her and he was able to detach his daughter from his leg, taking her in his arms and giving her a little pinch on her arm.  

"Is that how you treat your father??" He asked to pretend a serious tone, but she nibbled his cheek and everyone started cheering for her, while Yoongi inside himself felt already on the side of the loser. He couldn't, even with huge efforts, resist that side of his daughter.  

"Appa I know it! you like it!! "  

"Go, go, go on Sejun-ah!" Jimin and Jungkook screamed in chorus, raising their arms to heaven as a sign of encouragement; "We believe in you!!"  

"Traitors." Yoongi hissed, without looking at them but keeping his gaze fixed on his daughter; "Now that we're all here, what are you going to do? Because we always end up doing what you want. "  

"I want ice cream!"  

Immediately the others ran out of the door and waited for them outside their homes, because they also wanted a date to the ice patrol and Yoongi, as always, he found himself forced to fulfill the desire of his daughter.  

Not that he was sorry, but now he had to deal with six other children together.  And he knew that that day would be the most tiring of his whole life.

[punkakess]

Can you write Natray - strip club au?

Sorry it took so long, I’m a slow writer. It’s probably different of what you had in mind but I couldn’t help myself^^

His knuckles as well as his face hurt. Those kinds of fights were always the most difficult. His opponents would give everything they got, just like him. They all had something to lose, to leave behind, after all. That’s why all of them were there in the first place. For themselves, or an specific goal or someone.

Gray was Natsu’s someone. Gray was the person who made life worthy something. Without him, life as they knew, living in The River Break, the most dangerous neighborhood in Magnolia, was meaningless.

A glass of whiskey appeared in front of him, round rocks of ice floating on the amber liquid. He didn’t need to be told it was on the house, night like this were common here. Mira would smile sweetly, hiding her sadness as best as possible. He thanked her, turned around on his stool and scanned the area of the pub, searching for a familiar face.

Gray was leaving the dressing-room, wearing indecent clothes like Natsu had seen a million times already and secretly wished none of this people were able to see. The raven stopped short on his track when his blue eyes fell upon the pink haired young man, a shuddering breath leaving his lungs at the same time a relieved smile adorned his handsome face. And Natsu already knew what he was thinking.

The moment passed as fast as it came and Gray was moving again. Shoulders squared and posture confident. A light but enticing wiggle to his hips as a cherry on top of the cake. He approached a familiar man, with white hair, glasses and a crude smirk adorning his face.

Invel, Gray’s most frequent client.

Natsu drank his whiskey in two big gulps and gritted his teeth while watching Invel caress his boyfriend’s thighs and butt. Doing beyond what he had any right to. But the guy had money and that’s what matters inside Fairy Tail Pub. Or on that neighbourhood to be more accurate.

The dance lasted 15 minutes and Natsu endured those excruciating minutes by smoking, half listening whatever Sting told him. He would watch Gray grind and press against Invel, biting his lip and smirking seductively. However Natsu knew what was hidden behind that fake naughty smile. All the disgust and bitterness. Gray’s body always tensed up when he had to give a private dance, trying to fight of a flinch when strangers’ hands touched his bare skin.

Most nights were like this and it pained Natsu he could do nothing about it. He couldn’t be the one to rescue Gray from that hell hole. There’s no way you can pull someone up when you’re in just as deep. And they were too deep, it didn’t matter how much they tried to climb, slipping and hurting themselves, every push up the walls of that precipice seemed it just got deeper.

Gray stood up when the time was over, eager to put as much distance as possible from that man. A hand stopped him, however, and forced his body back on its privious position on Invel’s lap. He immediately tensed, knowing from experience what would follow.

“Stay a little bit more, Gray.” Invel’s fingers squeezed his waist rougher than normal, pushing the stripper’s butt down on a disgusting erection. His breath ricked of alcohol and his pupils were dilated.

“The time is over, Invel. Lemme go.”

“To where? Bac to that pitiful brat of a fighter? I can take care of you like a real man.” Gray gritted his teeth and squirmed, forcefully trying to get up. He couldn’t punch the guy or else Laxus would have a reason to punish him like he have been wanting for a while now. And Gray refused to do that, refused to give his body to some random person.

He tried to avoid look at Natsu, fully aware that if the pinkette realized he was with troubles, he would try to help and it could end up with him being the one punished. They couldn’t have it, Natsu fought most nights of the week and was constantly bruised, more fights could put him on the hospital and they didn’t had the money for that.

Gray squirmed again and bit his tongue to prevent a growl of anger. It was just perfect, something to close the shitty night. His resolve crumbled down with a yelp, when he felt Invel’s hand attempted to enter his latter shorts, fist moving out of its own volition and lifting high on the air, ready to reign punches on the abusive client. But once more he was stopped by a hand, this time around his wrist.

“Don’t you dare, Gray.” Laxus stood tall, hovering over them with ab annoyed expression. It’s not my fault, he wanted to argue but the blonde owner was already speaking again, “The time is over Invel, Gray is just a stripper. You want to fuck a hole, we have people for that. But it’d be really nice if Gray here take the job, huh?”

Said raven only reacted with a roll of his blue eyes, which widened when the screeching noise of a stool scratching the wooden floor and heavy stomps resounded on the deadly quiet pub. Natsu was coming and he was probably very mad. “You stop right fucking there, Natsu.”

Laxus threw him a menacing stare and was rewarded with an equally ominous one. With a harsh pull the blond forced Gray out of Invel’s lap and on his two feet. He brought the raven closer and examinated his pale face with cruel eyes. “If you threaten another client, I’ll put you to fuck with them. Do you understand, slut?”

Before Gray could even respond, a strong arm circled his waist and a tanned, wounded hand closed in a fist around Laxus wrist, which was holding on Gray’s. “Let him go Laxus. He was just defending himself.” Natsu’s face was pulled in a snarl, green eyes burning with barely concealed anger. Laxus glared at them both but let go anyway, his blue irises never leaving the couple.

“The next mistake and you’ll be punished, both of you. You work for me, you belong to me. Don’t think you can go around doing what the fuck ever you want.” Gray twitches on his arm and Natsu brings him just a little bit closer, trying to find support.

Nodding is like stepping on their own pride – not like they have a lot left – and make humiliation all the more intense. It’s like drawing, you can’t breath, barely can see, the water force its way in your lungs, flooding your body with despair. Yet you stay alive, suffering.

Natsu doesn’t know if he should be happy for not taking this blow alone or if he should be sad that his lover is going through such embarrassment.

“Get out of my sight, you whimps.” And that’s what they do. Walking away from the place in quick steps, only stopping by the dressing-room so Gray could change.

The smell of rotting food and moist, old bricks from the alley on the back of the pub felt like a breath of fresh air compared to the suffocating air of the pub. It was a relief to leave the place they once thought was their salvation and ended up being only a door to another room in hell.

It wasn’t their fault really, they had been both dumb teenagers, desperate for money and Makarov showed up like an angel sent from heaven, offering jobs. Natsu and Gray accepted in a heartbeat, only to later learn that Makarov was more of a demon then an angel and once you take on his offers, it’s almost impossible to get out.

The couple walked in silence with hands intertwined and steps hurried. Eyes and ears alert to any possible danger. A shot was heard from a few blocks down and they both jumped at the sudden noise, exchanging careful looks and wordlessly agreeing to walk faster.

Upon arriving to their building Gray let out a relieved breath and Natsu watched as steam caressed his slightly purple lips. It was really cold. Turning the heater as soon as they entered their cramped apartment was the best choice. This way they could move around comfortably. Unfortunately, they needed to turn it off before laying down or else the energy bill would come too expensive by the end of the months. The covers and each other’s body heat would have to do until they had enough money to leave the town.

Natsu went straight to the kitchen intended to prepare some sandwiches and warm up the hot chocolate he had made the day before. All the while Gray counted the money they had made that night, sorting it out according with their needs. A little bit to pay the bills, an amount to eat and another for their savings.

“Just a few more month.” The raven mumbled and smiled softly.

They ate their snack and showered together to save water. Exchanging chest kisses and scrubbing one another’s back, easing the tension of the day out of their tired muscles. After getting out, Gray stitched a couple of ugly wounds on Natsu’s body, leaving sweet pecks on each of them.

The heater was turned off and they lay down, shuffling on the mattress until they found a comfortable position for cuddling. A few minutes passed by with them staring at each other, Illuminated only by the moonlight coming from the window.

Natsu was the first one to break down. His expression, hardened by the years of struggling twisted with a sniff and suddenly his eyes were watery, fat tears running down his no longer chubby cheeks.

“I won the fight, I killed another man, Gray.” He whimpered pitifully and it ripped a piece of Gray’s heart. The raven hugged Natsu tight and soon enough he was also crying, burying his face on the thick, pink locks.

“It’s okay Natsu. I’m glad you’re alive, I’m glad you came back to me.” The street fighter blinked repeatedly, trying to will the tears away.

When he realized Gray was also crying, Natsu embraced him even closer, circling his arm around the slender torso. His warm hands stroking the raven’s back with small but lovingly circles, under the fluffy sweater.

It was hard on Gray too. While Natsu was there fighting and getting hurt and every Saturday had to battle for his life, Gray was at the bar, worrying about him while enduring lustful touches of people who he didn’t knew and wasn’t interested in. They both lost their pride in some way working for Makarov, and Laxus didn’t made it any better. Always running the pub with cruel intent and never letting his employees forget about their “owner” as he liked to call himself and his grandfather.

But no matter what happened and how bad life was, Gray and Natsu would never give up. The both of them were too stubborn for that. They would get out, run far away, find a new place, build a new life and a family. Always carrying the weight of their past but never letting it disturb their path, instead using it as a guide for a better future.

Their adventure was far away from finishing. The ride would be wild and tortuous, however they had each other to hold on. They just couldn’t lose their fighting spirit.

I’m sorry for any mistakes and i hope you enjoyed it. Also this last paragraph i took from a song called Missing You by All Time Low.