#this really is just a quick appreciation set of akin in glasses

[arminthada]

Akin in glasses

TOP FORM (2025) | Episode 3

[keilemlucent]

lavender latte: iv

(T (for now!))

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

chapter 1   ||   chapter 2  ||  chapter 3  ||  chapter 5  ||

word count: 7.7k

sucks when things go south, huh. 

warnings: description of bodily injury, blood, mild? gore (it’s just describing injury), description of overstimulation, capital h and c hurt/comfort

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chapter 4 :’^) thank u for all of the love so far. i appreciate. every. single. one of. u. bottom of my lil rat heart.

this chapter was nearly split, but giving y’all a cliffhanger seemed mean  

this the turning point and set up for the rest of the story so buckle up and enjoy ;^)

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Things between you and Hawks didn’t change too much, not externally anyways. Both of you still continued to indulge your feelings, even if you desperately tried to ignore them. 

You continued to honestly spoil Hawks in lavish drinks of many sensations. Truthfully, you loved nothing more than seeing his face as he sipped at your new creations, watching the curiosity and pleasure spread over his features made your heart soar in your chest.

And Keigo continued to bask in your company. The drinks were always amazing, but the chatter and discourse between the two of you was what he loved most. Or, maybe it was his learning of you through watching your small gestures and cues. His analytical, interpersonal skills were, for once, being put to a use that didn’t involve espionage or deception.

It felt cleansing.

Despite these quietly greedy interactions, there was a great deal of repression between the two of you. Aimless flirting aside, squishing any growing feelings caused you both a great deal of strain. It worked, avoidance, for a while anyway. It wasn’t without consequences, but they wouldn’t get nasty until later.

 One of the most apparent tolls was Keigo’s physical state. Having to actively ignore and quash his feelings for you caused such a deep amount of emotional turmoil. It made him ache all over. This was in addition to an asinine amount of extra hours he was spending staking out the villain syndicate that was indeed in the neighborhood of the tea shop. 

(He wouldn’t admit it, but he was being overly diligent in scouting out the organization's doings. They were very close to you and your home, and the thought of you getting caught up in anything to do with his profession fucked him up on-premise alone.) 

The combination of both physical and mental exertion made him messier than ever. It physically clouded him a lot of the time. Exhaustion had well and truly seized nipping at his ankles and proceeded to fully rip a chunk from his skull.

Keigo had yet another long day, dawn until at least midnight, no matter his aching body.

He’d be listening in on out some sort of meeting between the villain syndicate and one of its allies, some more reclusive group of villains from the far-off mountains. Neither organization was particularly noteworthy, but they did have some nasty criminal connection that needed to be monitored. That meant a late night for Keigo and an even greater need for caffeine. 

He paid you a visit in the early morning. 

 The moment Hawks came through the door, you lit up, beaming from behind the counter.  

The shop was empty, just having opened a few minutes before he appeared. The only sounds were the hum coffee machines, quiet music, and the tapping of your own tinkerings. Normally, there’d be more bustle, but you were alone in the din of the shop. 

“Hey, angel,” He flashed you a winning smile, sliding down into his usual stool and propping his elbows on the counter. “Where’s the calvary?”

“Oh, the other openers?” You jerked your thumb to the door. “Running late. They all stayed up late working on a project for school, so I took one for the team and am manning the ship alone for this first bit.”

You sighed, looking quite tired yourself.

There was mutual recognition of your twin state, though it wasn’t verbally regarded in any way. 

Hawks was far better at hiding his poor health from you, but that didn’t stop you from seeing the pinholes in his facade. You’d gotten better at it with time. 

“What can I get you today, Hawks? Inspire me.” You set the glass on the counter between the two of you, gesturing to the expanse of the coffeeshop. “It’s just you and me today, so I can go all out.”

“You don’t already?” Hawks chuckled, running a hand through his hair with a sigh.

“I try,” You shrugged. “I really do my best work for you, whether you’re a glorified guinea pig or not. Gotta serve up the best for my best customer.”

On any normal, Hawks would’ve bantered right back at you, keeping you on your toes with quick words and wit.

That day?

He just laughed, something weirdly neutral, almost off-putting because you knew it was manufactured. 

You opened your mouth, brows furrowing. You wanted nothing more than to ask ‘hey, are you alright?’. 

But, that would’ve broken some of your own, mentally-imposed boundaries. It hurt, to just laugh with him, but it was all you would let yourself do. 

“So,” You broke the air with words as opposed to giggles. “What would you like?”

Hawks hummed, “Surprise me.”

“... Like, fully?”

Hawks nodded, slowly. 

 Keigo, in a movement of full vulnerability, (he told himself it would just be for a few minutes), laid his head on his folded arms, “Go wild, angel. I trust you. Make me anything you’re feeling. Wing it, no pun intended.”

 You blinked at him, nodding. His sudden, almost submissive action surprised you. Something in you ached, seeing him so worn down.

You channeled this feeling into a desire to make him top-tier drink. 

Reaching into your apron, you fished out your idea notebook. Many had been crossed off over the many weeks (months now?) that Hawks had been visiting the tea shop. You fairly consistently wrote down new ones, so there were always options, but on that day, none appealed to you.

Your gaze flickered back to Hawks, watching the soft movements of his breath through the tight fabric of the back of his shirt. 

You needed to make it extra good, help shake Hawks from his stupor. 

 You’re gonna wing it.

You’ll make a feel-good drink.

 It was your only self-imposed criteria. 

 You hadn’t ever made Hawks a drink without a concept and feeling beforehand, so the concept of not having one seemed novel.

You activated your quirk and began.

“How’s your day been?” Hawks called from behind you, words muffled.

 Keigo still didn’t look at you; resting on his arms allowed him a little bit of a reprieve before his grueling day. He’d take it. Hearing your voice would make it that much better.

 You described your day with a decent amount of detail for how much it hadn’t gotten started yet. Hamming up the detail meant more time for you to craft the drink. Your mind spun, grasping onto pre-existing, mental abstracts in your oddly calm headspace to create something tangible. 

Though your quirk was activated, you weren’t really identifying a feeling specifically, rather just letting your quirk draw from whatever material you had laying around in your brainscape at 6 AM on a weekday morning.

You pulled as many espresso shots as Hawks usually liked (maximum, five, you refused to give him more than that in a single drink), pouring them into some steamed oatmilk and several other ingredients you had mixed into a cup. You tapped some cinnamon on top of the foam, polishing everything off with a dash of sweet cream.

Carefully, you set it between the two of you. Hawks hadn’t spoken since you had begun to make the drink, so oddly silent. 

It almost made your skin itch, his lack of response. You reminded yourself with quick glances that Hawks was very obviously out of it and exhausted. You were sure that without the concealer he wore under his eyes (a secret he revealed to only you), he’d have purple circles punched from how overworked he was.

You hoped your drink would be enough to brighten up his day. 

You bit your lip as Hawks raised his head, blonde waves more unruly than normal. A small, lopsided smile stretched across his face as he sat up, grabbing the drink and bringing it closer. He had learned long ago to allow them to cool. 

 “Sorry for not being as peppy as I normally am!�� It was almost imperceptible, the off-kilter tone in his voice. 

You caught it but said nothing. 

He sheepishly rubbed at the back of his head. “Been running on empty it seems, angel.”

“Then take some fuel, bird boy.” You nodded to the foamy drink. “When are you supposed to be done today?”

“Late, like late. Early morning, probably.” Hawks sighed, taking a sip.

...

As the liquid coated his mouth, Keigo’s mind seized.

 What.

What the fuck.

 Any and all thoughts he had disappeared. They were incinerated from his mind by the drink’s heat. 

A sun-scorching sensation like he’d never even known tore through his body. 

It was so different from the other ‘warm’-toned drinks you’d made him in the past. The flavor and feeling filling him up was nothing like the hearth-like drinks you had made prior. You had treated him to plenty of beverages that felt akin to open flame, warm blankets, a cat purring over your chest, a candle on a cold night—

But, nothing even close to this.

This was such a strong feeling that if he was a less trained man, his eyes would’ve rolled back in his head. If he’d been standing, he was sure his legs would’ve been visibly shaking, probably given out.

Sure, the feeling was abstract, not as concrete as your other drinks but it was ineffably strong. 

 It felt like the flutter you caused in his stomach, but somehow all over and inside of him.

It was the heat in his cheeks when he saw you, but reaching from his toes to the skin of his scalp. 

It was the shock in his throat when you smiled so honestly at him, now forcing his hands to twitch around the cup. 

The consuming sensation was all of that goodness and more, magnified and exponentially deeper and marvelously burning.

It was hot, fiery as it ripped through him, completely unignorable. But, it was also soft, colored with the earnestness that he admired about you so much—

Oh.

 It clicked as the sensation stirred in his stomach, fluttering to a point of near nausea. 

It was you. 

 The moment he realized it, that all of that sensation was you feeling, as you had made the drink, something began to broil in the apex of his chest, rolling and all-consuming.

His mind stalled as he took it all in, taking another sip. 

The feeling washed over him again, equally as wonderfully crushing.

“Soooo,” You drawled, setting a jar next to you on the counter, beaming him a smile. “What do you think? Gimme your judgment, bird boy.”

Keigo struggled to keep his face neutral as he quickly searched yours. 

Even in his state, it was clear that there was no deception or riddle laced into the creaminess of the drink. The expectancy in your face was derived from admiration, not waiting for the punchline of an unfinished joke.

 “It’s warm! Like, in your stomach.” Hawks looked down before taking another sip, the even smile on his face not wavering for even a moment. “What is it?”

“It’s a miel,” You tapped the jar next to you, pointing at the amber goo inside. “This is some wildflower honey from the owner’s sister’s farm, right outside the city. We have a bunch of extra stuff, so there’s no better time to make a honey-based drink.” 

Hawks eyed the steam, “What goes into a ‘miel’?”

Watching Hawks’ shoulder go slack with the next chug he took, you hummed, “It’s a latte, so espresso and milk, then it has the honey in it which is what makes it a ‘miel’. Topped it with some special sweet cream, a bit of cinnamon. My extra touches in it as well, just based on my quirk.”

Hawks met your gaze, his eyes softening with what you could’ve sworn was desperation, but was quickly swallowed up but stoicism, “And what was this drink’s inspiration?” 

You laughed, shoving your hands in your apron from the typical anxiety, though the feeling itself was somewhat normal and thereby dulled, “It didn’t have one! I just winged it, like you said. My quirk was activated though, so it was just sort of the concept of what I was perceiving and feeling, I suppose.” 

There was a pause as you waited for Hawks to speak. 

He didn’t.

 Keigo stared down at the drink, then you. 

Holy fuck.

This was ambient? 

The sensation that made his toes curl and every part of him yearn to reach out to touch you and give all of himself to you—

It was unintentional?

The feeling was familiar, one that he had organically all the time when thinking of you, being with you at the teashop. It was the one that he shoved down over and over again around you, yet craved more than anything.

And here you were, unknowingly returning it to him.

You hadn’t intended it to be shared and you had no idea you even did.

Keigo was one of the most perceptive people on the planet— he knew that many of the feelings between the two of you were mutual. As much flirting as there was, a lot of it was real from both of you. 

He just didn't think it ran this far deep.

(Mutually.)

 “What... What do you think it tastes like?” You asked, that nasty rot in your gut rearing itself as Hawk’s lack of response ate at you. You turned fully to him, actually taking him in.

 Keigo did what he was so skilled at doing—

Lying.

 Hawks waved his hands in front of him like he was trying to put out small flames, “Nothing bad! Promise, it’s really good! It tastes like how the coffee shop feels. Warm, comfortable. It makes sense that your quirk would reflect that.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, “Oh, good. I’m glad it's good.”

“Very good. I might have to put miels on my list of favorite drinks you’ve made me,” Hawks gave you a relaxed grin, standing and passing a wad of cash to you.

You didn’t expect him to be leaving so quickly, but he did say he was busy.

“Oh, hey, Hawks?” He perked up when you said his name, blinking at you. “I’ve got a project I’m working that I’m doing for the owner, so I’ll be here late. If you’re around, you’re welcome to come by after close if you want another drink? For your long night.”

Hawks softened for you like he so often had come to do. He fluffed up the collar of his jacket, wings ruffling up behind him, “I think I’ll take you up on that. I’ll have some ideas for you then too, how about that?”

 “Sounds lovely,” Your voice was like the honey of the drink, warm, sweet, and vibrant. “I’ll see you then, Hawks.”

“See you then, angel,” Hawks practically glowed as he walked from the door, the chime of the bell sounding with his exit. “I’ll text you when I’m close!”

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 Over the course of the day, an odd feeling grew in the pitch of your stomach. You did your best to ignore it. 

You alternated between serving customers and working on the ‘project’ the owner had saddled you with. Making centerpieces for his sister’s bridal shower was not something you should’ve been doing on company time, but they were giving you a handsome sum of cash under the table for it. 

You couldn’t complain too much, other than that it was laborious. Masons jars stuffed with wired lights and frosted glasses, tied with twine and ribbons were all to be prettily arranged by your hand. 

 During the middle of the day, you went back home, spending your time between shifts catching up on sleep and making some decent food.

The odd gnawing only grew in your stomach. 

 Keigo’s long day was wearing on, though somewhat uneventfully. Most of his patrolling time was the effortless thwarting of petty crime and easy rescuing. 

He even had the time to go back to his agency and snoop.

Because, for how lame his day was, the drink you made him (which he had greedily chugged all of shortly upon leaving the tea shop) caused him to think particularly hard about your quirk.

(As opposed to the asphyxiating awareness of your shared feelings.)

 He didn’t get it.

You’d managed to perfectly create a drink that communicated complex feelings. You’d told him in the past that it could be used for any sort of feeling as well, but you were so vague beyond that. You were abstract in the same way you quirk was.

So, he decided to abuse his power a little.

He decided to actually take a lunch at the agency, munching on takeout while clicking through the HPSC’s databases.

Civilian quirks, especially those that had never attempted to pursue any sort of career with them, weren’t documented incredibly well. Maybe a few details that were used in public research projects, but not much beyond that. He had hoped he could dig and find something that would assuage his curiosity and confusion.

He tapped your name into the HPSC’s hero-accessible database, scrolling and pulling up your file.

There was a picture of you, one from an ID that must’ve been a few years old. There were personal details Keigo wasn’t all that interested in, though it was neat to finally know your birthday. 

He clicked on the tab for your quirk.

  Quirk: Synesthetic Manifestation 

Description: Allows the user to materially manifest abstract, synesthetically-created feelings into reality. 

This quirk does not allow the user to alter reality, only tangibly create abstracts through the means at their disposal.  

Drawback: This quirk causes severe synesthetic overstimulation and appears to be activated unintentionally in instances that expose them to high amounts of stimuli. 

Quirk potential: 

 Keigo knew the concept of ‘quirk potential’ well. Most of the time, this portion on files was only filled out if the individual had ever trained to use their quirk in a profession.

Oddly, your’s contained a few details.

 The user showed high potential in initial assessments, but due to the nature of the quirk, its drawbacks, and its recorded usage, this user’s quirk is now classified as lowest potential.

 Keigo frowned.

All this just made him more confused. 

The file didn’t get into much more detail than you did. The only thing that was new information to him was that at some point you had tried to use your quirk in a training setting and that somehow got you demoted from high potential to lowest potential.

Keigo’s own quirk in the database was regarded as highest potential; you, at some point, were only a step down from him. Something knocked you down from pursuing quirk-based work, and based on your current employment at the tea shop, you never got up. Keigo figured it was the intricacies of your quirk that he didn’t fully understand.

He’d have to be a bit more careful getting any more information out of you, considering how much you disliked talking about it. 

Keigo continued to stew, finishing off his lunch while thoughts of you and your feelings danced across his mind. 

Though it was clear his adoration was obviously returned, it was much easier for him to muse over the nature of your quirk than the way he wanted to pull you over the teashop’s counter and kiss you breathless.

 You went back to work, a few chalky tablets of stomachache medicine in your tummy. They were all you could do to try and quell the twisting in your gut. 

 By the time you arrived back to start your ‘night shift’, it was late evening, the sun already having fallen into the horizon. 

Most of your time prior to closing was spent in the front, helping make drinks and clean up as you could. Part of you was actually excited to throw on some good music and grind after the tea shop was shut down for the night.

Also, seeing Hawks twice in the same day? Absolutely fantastic.

You wanted to try and make him a knockout drink, to make up for the lackluster one you’d prepared him earlier. Seeing his eyes get all gooey with happiness would more than push you through your night of work.

Your phone chimed a bit before close.

 [birdboy]: hey ;^) mind if I come by in like a half an hour?

[you]: yeah!! just call me and i’ll unlock the door for you

 Your closing coworkers giggled at you. They all knew that that big smile stretched across your face meant you were texting Hawks. You used to get a bit shy about it, but now you just gave them shit. He was your friend, right?

 [birdboy]: what if i like, hit the glass, like fly into it like birds do into windows

[you]: okay one- no, that would definitely shatter the windows and idk if i wanna deal with that AND you tonight ;^)

[you]: and TWO- are you speaking. from experience. about hitting windows.

[birdboy]: please dont @ me like this 

 You snorted. 

 [birdboy]: i had to pay off a tabloid who got it on camera bc it would ruin my brand

[you]: do u still have those photos

[birdboy]: ... maybe

[you]: hawks

[you]: gimme

[birdboy]: idk if i can my publicist will kill me

[you]: u hear what i hear?? a coward

[you]: how does ‘your brand’ feel about that

[birdboy]: ...

[birdboy]: gimme one of those honey sticks u have at the register and the pics are yours once i get there ;^)))

[you]: DEAL!!!

 You pocketed your phone in your apron, unable to stop the almost ridiculous smile that you wore.

Hawks made you uncomfortably happy. You knew that he didn’t feel the same, but he was still there. Even if you were just entertainment to him, you were happy to perform on any stage he was watching. 

As closing crept up, you shooed your other coworkers off. Most of the closing tasks were done, they could leave a few minutes early. 

As they began to pack up, chatting about some party that night, your insides twisted.

You squeezed the counter, rubbing your forehead while wishing your coworkers a good evening.

Weird.

 It was about then that things went to shit for both you and Hawks. 

 Keigo’s was supposed to be in for a hellishly long shift of surveillance based on the intel he’d received about the syndicate and its impending meeting. 

Apparently, that meeting was happening earlier, rather than later. 

The chaos started quickly, the meetup going from a strategic talk to an all-out fight between two groups. 

It spilled into the nearby streets, both sides unabashed in their destruction. 

 Perhaps, if Keigo had been faster (what a tall order, for the fastest man in all of Japan), things wouldn't have gotten so out of hand. 

But quickly, things erupted and the streets dissolved in mayhem as he dove and sent feathers flying.

 You stood by the front entrance, waiting for Hawks, idly sweeping. The cleaning tasks were almost done, the world outside was dark with the late evening.

You froze when the ground beneath your feet rumbled with revving engines, the air splitting with the sound of car horns and alarms. 

Everything that happened next moved so quickly, it was difficult to follow.

Windows began to shatter all across the street, near and far.

They cracked, spraying glass as a figure cloaked in black flew down the asphalt outside. A red barrage followed after it, nearly subduing it as it raced past the tea shop.

The massive glass panels at the front of the tea shop filled with frosty lines, just feet in front of you. 

It clicked for you a few moments too late.

Adrenaline shot through you, but it wasn’t enough. 

...

You weren’t Hawks, you weren’t fast enough to outrun much of anything, let alone quirk-shattered glass. 

You were just barely able to turn around before the spray of shards reached you. 

You would later be incredibly thankful that you wore denim jeans and a wool sweater that day. Without the thick fabrics, you were sure that you would’ve been shredded. The problem was your low-top shoes and thin socks.

Just as you turned, searing pain shot from the back of your left ankle. You urged yourself to forget the specifics, flesh-tearing, mind beginning to buzz. 

You just had to keep moving. 

Except, you couldn’t. Your left leg gave out with your next step.

You shrieked as you fell to the floor, barely catching yourself. Your palms smacked against the ground, pieces of sharpened glass driving into the flesh. 

You couldn’t help screaming, your voice mingling with the sound of alarms, cries for help, and the war cries of a nearby fight.

Oh.

You were in the middle of a fairly nasty villain attack.

...

So much for giving Hawks a better drink.

The mental joke seemed macabre, especially in your state.

 You willed with all of your might, for your quirk to not activate. Overstimulation was just inches away from your current state, the sounds outside the teashop boring through your skull like diamond drill bits. 

The pain that was radiating from your left leg was nearly unbearable, but you knew that getting out of the front room was imperative. 

How you managed to keep your injured leg straight, you’ll never know. 

You locked your jaw and pulled yourself along the floor, hoping that Hawks had this all under control. More people were bound to be hurt by the same sort of attack you got caught in, right? How many more folks had been sliced up like you? Worse than you?

 Keigo wasn’t having much trouble subduing the villains. They, of course, had no idea that he had been watching the syndicate for three-odd months. He knew their quirks, their tactics, their escape routes, everything. What he didn’t know as well was the other group’s specifics. 

From what he had understood before the fight, the two had somewhat friendly relations. Still, Keigo mentally kicked himself for not being more diligent in his gathering of intel. 

His mistakes aside, the much more pressing issue was the two-kilometer stretch of shops that were now collateral damage in what was essentially a mobile mob war. 

This damage included the tea shop.

When he’d flown past the shop, he’d only caught a glimpse of your face through the glass before it shattered.

You’d looked terrified.

Every part of him wanted to stop, dead in the air, rush in, and make sure you were okay, but he had to at least get things under control until more heroes showed up. Then, he’d be able to get to you. 

By the time Keigo subdued several villains of either group, more Pros had arrived on the scene. He sped off to the teashop far too quickly when he saw others gathering. It was an ill-advised move, but he was clouded by a different set of instincts than those cultivated in his hero training. 

The flight did allow him to fully take in the damage of the district, though.  

It was about as bad as it could be.

Whatever the villain’s quirk was must’ve shattered glass within a certain radius from his body, Keigo observed.

Thankfully, the villain’s quirk didn’t appear to affect anything past two stories of height, sparing all above it. Those panes and pieces that did shatter had sprayed businesses, restaurants, shops, and the street with shards of glass. Not to mention that they flew at the speed of projectiles.

(At the full-minded revelation that there was no way you weren’t hurt, Keigo felt his stomach flip and eyes burn.)

Keigo shuddered to think how bad the damage would’ve been if the encounter happened during broad daylight. 

 Keigo curled in his wings, dropping onto the floor at the front of the teashop through the broken window. 

He kept his expression somewhat neutral, though the scene before him tore at his heart in a way he wasn’t expecting.

The tea shop was destroyed.

The pretty, warm lighting fixtures had shattered, fine filaments exposed, and a few sparking. The glass jars on your wall of tea blends were broken, spilling leaves and dried herbs across the back counter. That wasn’t even to mention the layer of shards from all of the glassware stored around the coffee machines.

Seeing the destruction of one of the only places he had ever found real comfort in was awful, and it tore something hidden and vulnerable in his heart.

But far, far worse was the absolute horror that bloomed in his chest when he saw the sizeable spot of blood in the middle of the floor, smearing to the back doorway. 

“(Y/N)!” Keigo shouted, ignoring any stealthy elements and hurriedly following the trail.

“B-back here,” Oh, your voice was so weak. 

Keigo couldn’t make himself move fast enough.

 You’d managed to get yourself to the back, biting your lip so hard you were scared you’d break the skin. Part of you was lucid enough to know that making too much noise could be bad. Then again, the shop was supposed to be closed. Did anyone even know that you were there?

Hawks did.

You gripped at one of the edges of the stainless steel countertops, using all the strength you could muster to pull yourself upright. As careful as you were not to jostle your injured leg (that you still hadn’t looked at properly because you were terrified), the moment you bent it, you had to suppress a scream, turning it into a slow, nasty exhale. You let yourself sink to the floor again. 

Something was seriously fucked up.

 Then Hawks called your name. 

You were sprawled out on the floor, injured leg awkwardly turned and extended to prevent the pain from being made worse. 

The moment he saw you from the doorway, the remnants of his wings flapped, practically throwing him to the ground next to you.

The moment you saw him enter the back room, any and all fronts you had put on for yourself fell apart.

“H-Hawks,” You hated how small your voice sounded as you pushed yourself closer to him.

The details of him, how ruffled his remaining feathers were, how wide and scared his eyes were, how different he looked from the times you’d seen him on the news confidently saving the day, were lost on you. 

 Though, Keigo noticed your poor state easily. It was more obvious. 

He scanned your form with the trained precision he was known for. He took in the shattered piece of glass sticking from your leg, bleeding lightly. Your palms weren’t bloody, but they were dotted with shards of glass. 

He also noticed your panicked shaking and your unnaturally dilated pupils, beyond anything he’d seen while you’d made drinks for him. 

“Is your quirk active?” Keigo asked, pulling off his gloves and grabbing one of your wrists. He turned your palm, using two of his smallest feathers like tweezers to pick at the shards pieces of glass. 

“Y-yeah,” You replied, using the back of your other hand to wipe at your eyes. “It does this when I’m under extreme stress. I can’t turn it off.”

Keigo managed to laugh, relieved that the cuts in your hands weren’t that severe, “You just focus on me, okay, angel? That’s all you gotta do.”

 You nod, trying to hold your overstimulated mind back. It’s fruitless, truly, because the moment Hawks reminds you that he is, in fact, there, and that you are safe, you quirk-addled mind spasms. 

The awful mix of sensations whirled in your skull as you leaned forward, pressing your forehead into Hawks’ shoulder. In other circumstances, it would be a romantic gesture. But, the only purpose you had in the contact was hoping, praying, that the heat of his body would distract you from the swirling of sensations you couldn’t stop. 

In that mental soup, within the fear, intense pain, and loss, oddly enough, was the unignorable, pleasant feeling of being so close to him. It made your heart squeeze. But, it was a single spice of sensation in a foul-tasting stew though, and it was hard to isolate the good in the muck of your mind. 

You shook against him as sounds and pain blended inside your skull, thoughts becoming murkier and harder to understand.

 Keigo finished tweezing your other hand, that one worse off, and wrapping it in some gauze he had stuffed in his jacket.

His mind screamed for him to wrap you in his arms, to pull you close and keep you safe. It was all he could fathom doing, just nearly moving to do so—

That was until the popping rumble of a nearby explosion interrupted his thoughts.

You jumped against him, muffling a scream in his shoulder.

His heart ached.

 “(Y/N), I know this is all scary,” Hawks’s voice came through your sensational slurry. “But, I need to be back out there right now.”

“No.” Your mouth spewed with no discernable thoughts behind it. “Don’t leave. Please, don’t. Please.”

You caught Hawks’ wince, but barely. 

He was already repositioning you, scooting you under one of the countertops, “Angel, I’m sorry. I need to go, but I’ll be back. I promise.”

Your eyes screwed shut, vibrating in your skull as pulling your uninjured leg to your chest. 

Hawks looked equally as torn up about having to leave, brows creased with his lip worried between his teeth.  

Despite how messy your brain felt, you knew that you were beyond defenseless. Even if your mind could easily conjure up an infinite number of ways to bring a person non-lethal (and lethal) pain, you were turning to mush mentally and you had glass sticking out of your leg. You had no fucking way to create it with your body. 

Your back hit the wall under the counter and you managed to wrench your eyes open, taking in Hawks and his visage while you spun.

He looked so sad.

The feeling of mourning and fear spat so hotly in your mind, it was like you’d been intangibly burned by his expression. 

You choked on your own stored tears, reaching out for him.

He caught one of your hands, the wrapped one, and squeezed it lightly. 

Even with so few feathers left, Hawks plucked one, about the size of your forearm. He replaced his hand with the plumage. 

“(Y/N), I will be back. I promise,” Hawks (so weakly) smiled, trying to reassure you. “You snap that feather if anything changes, okay? If anyone comes into the shop who isn’t another pro, or if you start to feel faint. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.” You gritted out, somehow laughing. Your vocal cords rubbing together sends a wave of agony up the back of your neck, burying behind your eyes. You press your forehead in your bent knee. 

 With one last, fleeting look, eyeing your wound and remembering slate-colored eyes, Keigo took flight into the fray once more. 

Keigo hated leaving you. He hated it so fucking much. It burned him, felt wrong in every way. You were so vulnerable in your state. Both of you knew that without him there, you were entirely exposed and fairly defenseless.  

It perked up that protective instinct he’d repeatedly had towards you for months. It was probably something related to his avian mutation, but it was just blood-boiling need to keep you safe.

Yet, he just left you, wounded and mentally spiraling, in the middle of a destroyed building.

If he wasn’t trained so well, he would have acted differently. But, it had been burned into him time and time again what his needs were in disaster situations.

Neutralize, stabilize, clear out. 

Through his exhaustion, he fought and soared with all he had, fatigue forgotten and replaced by hot cortisol. He forced himself faster, zipping down alleyways and across rooftops at some of his top speeds. 

While Keigo tracked down all of the villains (he managed to miss the first time), he trusted that the other Pros could deal with the heavy collateral damage. He was number two, he could catch some organized criminals. 

Beyond his training, Keigo had an even bigger motivation. 

He could feel you.

The feather he left with you must’ve been pressed right up to your chest, maybe under your neck with the way Keigo could so intensely feel your breath and heartbeat. He could sense it gradually speeding up to the point of what had to be panic. If Keigo focused, he could make out your terror-stricken babbling.

“It’s okay.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“This is fine.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Hawks is okay.”

“He’ll come back.”

“He won’t leave.”

...

“Everything's gonna be okay.”

With that last one, your words gave out and it turned in gasping breaths. 

Keigo worked himself harder, striking down the last of villains with absolute precision, all distractions forgotten in the most pivotal moments of combat. 

The instant the villains were in custody, restrained, he was flying back towards the tea shop.

 You don’t remember any of this well. Your mind was liquified, your body throbbing in pain. 

It had been an incredibly long time, years since you’d been in any situation resembling a villain attack. There was no way to stop the synesthetic storm that was choking your mind. Every sensation was magnified, mixed with another, and shoved down your throat without any ability to change it.

A few minutes after Hawks left, giving you time to stew and roll, you spiraled more harshly.

When you realized how pitifully helpless you were, you fell away, pressing your wet face into the Hawks’s feather. Your vision muddled between black and red. 

You felt the cold of the blood wetting your pant leg.

Your wound is bad.

You hadn’t fully looked at it in awhile. 

Opening your eyes, you suppressed a wave of nausea at the small puddle of blood growing under the bottom half of your useless leg. 

The way the denim of your jeans stuck to your skin mixed with the smell heady smell of blood made you gag. 

You couldn’t keep it up anymore.

Letting your eyes shut, you sank down to the floor, cheek pressed into the dirty cement. 

You don’t know how long you idled, drowning in your mind’s colors and vibrantly violent sensations. 

You were only half-conscious when the feather pressed to your neck twitches.

 “(Y/N)!” Keigo shouted as he landed in the teashop, flying straight to the backroom, bypassing the mess of broken glass. 

His breath caught, seeing you slumped over.

“Fuck,” Keigo couldn’t stop the tremble in his voice as he noticed how much blood had pooled beneath your injured ankle. “Hey, hey, (Y/N)—”

He sure fucking sucked at admitting his faults, and recognizing the severity of wounds was indeed one of them. He didn’t usually stick around long enough to deal with casualties so closely. 

Keigo threw off his gloves, tossing them behind him without looking. 

“‘M fine,” You started to push yourself up, hissing at the pain that surged from cuts in your hands. “Brain’s mushy.”

“That all?” Thank god Hawks still managed to joke. The humor dashed across your vision like little sparks. You stifle a weak snort. 

 “There’s my angel.” Keigo was so relieved to see you conscious that he didn’t notice his own possessive slipup. “Are you lightheaded?”

Gingerly, he helped stabilize your body upright as you wrenched your eyes open.

“A little, it’s okay, this is what happens,” Your voice was so loud in your own skull, it hurt. Though, the pain of your words was only a prick in the wet dough of your overworked mind. Sensation was pain, rolling over you and making it harder and harder to stay lucid. 

 Keigo swallowed thickly at the sight of your fully-blackened irises. 

He needed to get you out as fast as possible, but that required assessing the gash in your leg. 

His gaze flickered to your ankle, “Can you move your toes?”

“I don’t want to.”

Keigo frowned, weakly, pushing you as upright as possible as you began to slip to the side. 

“Please, you have to try, okay?” Keigo begged, not noticing his own voice wobble. 

You shook your head, grabbing it in within its own motion. The dizziness made your insides knot and stick together. 

“(Y/N), please.”

You shifted your gaze to him, vision tilting as you did. 

The frown on your face split as you just barely moved your toes within your blood-soaked shoe.

The fresh pain, vibrant and boiling, cut through the fog like a heat-blackened knife. 

Your own fist flew into your mouth to mouth to suppress the cry that bubbled from your throat. You half-recognized it was the one holding Hawks’s feather. 

You couldn’t see the way Keigo flinched at the sound, immediatly trying to soothe the two of you. 

 “Alright, good, okay, you can still feel them,” Hawks managed to laugh, cutting into the miasma of your psyche. It was something light and airy, tasting like packet sugar on the sides of your tongue. 

Chasing the goodness of Hawks’s voice, you mustered up as much clarity as you could grasp, willing yourself into full sentences, “Hawks. I swear to fucking God, if you do not get me out of here right now, I will never make you a drink ever again.”

 Keigo blinked at you, nodding, watching your attempt to focus on him, though the fully inked irises seemed to refuse to stay put.

 So, this is what the file meant about the cost of your quirk. 

 “Don’t have to tell me twice, dove.” Hawks scooped you up before you could manage to put more thoughts together. A few of his feathers flew to stabilize your injured leg. 

His touch felt good, like incredibly good. Even as the crunch of his boots on the broken glass of the tea shop scratched at your inner ears and burned your sinuses, the heat and texture of his jacket caressed over your cheeks. His warmth tasted like honey and cream. 

Your head lolled onto his chest, idly playing with the filaments of his feathers that you refused to let go of. 

 (Keigo didn’t want you to, anyway.)

He couldn’t fly well, not in his mostly-featherless state, so he took to walking instead. He sidestepped as much glass he could, mostly watching your half-lidded eyes fixate on the feather you had pressed up to your face.

It was a weird circle, Keigo feeling your heat and breath so close, both on his body and on the sensitive plumage. Technically, he was doing his job, so he let himself indulge just the smallest bit in being so close to you. When Keigo squeezed you, nearly at the medic’s area, you tucked your face into his collarbones, breaths slowing from panic. You were even slack in his grip.

A paramedic rushed up to the two of you, guiding you to a setup stretcher and a waiting line of ambulances.

 “We can take it from here, Hawks, no need to stick around,” The paramedic’s voice cut through the air, dripping bitterness on your tonsils and iron nails in your lungs. 

Hawks set you half-down onto the lip of the vehicle, “Nah, it’s okay, I’ll hang out with them for a sec. They’re a friend of mine.”

He’d never said it before. That you were friends. 

Heat rushed up to your fingertips, sweetness washing over your wounded leg, topped off silken air settling around your ears. 

You’d drown in the sensation, a million times over.

 The paramedic ran off quickly, a man with a nasty head wound taking precedence over your leg (which seemed to have clotted somewhat with your somewhat more relaxed state). 

Hawks still didn’t leave.

Rather, he moved closer.

So did you.

 From your spot sitting on the edge of the ambulance, your injured leg was twisted and propped up while the other dangled off the edge of the vehicle.

Keigo was right up against the metal, allowing you to lean on his side.

“You good?” You asked him, bumping your leg into his lower back.

Keigo couldn’t help jumping. You’d never casually touched him. 

(He really liked it.)

Though the setting and circumstances were fucked, he figured it was okay. 

You were friends, right?

 Hawks wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pressing you into his side.

You took it a step further, wanting to simply soak in the amber, milky feeling of his touch. 

You squish your cheek low against his collarbone, drinking in the smell of his sweat, stale, spiced cologne, and rich, expensive smelling hair oil. 

The scents washed over your skin, rolling over your burning wounds like aloe and clean water.  

“Thank you.” Your voice is small and soft, kept gentle by your last sparks of lucidity. 

You heard Hawks chuckle, your vision swimming in honey and yellow with the sound, “Just doing my job, you know.”

“I mean, yeah,” You laughed too, pressing your nose harder into him. “But, it’s you, and I’m just glad you’re here.”

“You better stop being so sweet,” The hand around your shoulder rubbed slowly, up and down your spine, sweet spices and sugars dancing on the roof of your mouth. “Gonna give me ideas.”

The touch, something you craved and denied yourself, pushed you over the edge as his touch dissolved across your overstimulated mind in cresting waves of rushing, blessed heat. 

Finally succumbing to the flood of your quirk, drowning your mind in both agony and absolute calm, you muttered out the last clear thing you said that evening, “We always give each other ideas, silly.”

God, the many meanings behind your words spun and stuck in Keigo’s mind like the taste of the miel he drank that morning. They relentlessly clung to his psyche, wanting to know more. 

He stayed close while you were assessed and strapped into the ambulance. He sent a few of his last feathers to retrieve your jacket and purse from the wrecked shop.

All the while you clutched his bare hand, irises black while the whites turned bloodshot. 

As the ambulance drove off towards that public hospital, he could feel the steady beat of your heart through the crimson feather he made sure was tucked in your hand the moment he had to let it go.

He felt you squeeze it, and he wanted nothing more than to return the gesture a thousand times over.  

[spiltscribbles]

Oooh! Prompts! Remus and Sirius moving in together please! 💛

Notes: Thank you SO SO much gorgeous<3 I’m like kinda embarrassed that this is kinda shit, especially because you’re writing is so fucking gorgeous, so I’m sorry.

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A Reblog Is Worth A Thousand Stars  |  Send Me A Prompt 

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“YOU!”

With a start that almost makes him drop the vase in his hands, Sirius turns around to find his surly looking  boyfriend glaring daggers straight at him, lips pursed and nose wrinkled ever so fetchingly. “Me?”

“You!”

“ Is this a Muggle game of semantics or something Moons, because for the life of me I’m not following.”

Remus’s glower only deepens, radiating a distinct sort of disapproval that could only ever be  honed in by years of prefectness. “You thief!” He squawks, hands perched on his hips, and mouth twisted up mutinously.

“Is this the part where you say I stole your heart?” Sirius goads with a cocked brow, resuming their unpacking.  “Because love, that line gets old after the millionth recital, but I do appreciate the spirit.”

“Wha? Na—no that is not what I was going to say you egotistical prick!” Remus scoffs— just a bit flustered with a dusting of pink touching the tops of his sharp cheekbones. “You ate the last spring role!” He accuses emphatically, almost tripping over the over a dozen boxes that are strewn across their newly furnished living room. Sirius can’t help but be endeared by Remus and his everythingness. 

“Yes, yes I did Wise Guy,” He confirms distractedly. “I also dipped it into some spicy mustard and drank a bottle of water while I was at it… Your point being?”

“My point you utter berk is that it was mine! I called dibs!”

“I remember no such thing,” Sirius sniffs haughtily, moving to rearrange the photographs  on their mantel. (And yeah, it’s still fucking insane to him that he’s become so domestic that he’s got a mantel over the fireplace that the man he loves more than any other had insisted was absolutely crucial to have if they were to move in together—probably for really romantical love making sessions in front  of it’s flames with the bliss of  no worries of anyone barging in on them, or griping  if they were being to loud—Which by the way, James honestly  had no right in complaining about considering his track record with his and Lily’s on again, off again mating ritual.

“Liar!" Sirius honestly  wouldn’t be surprised if Remus started stomping his feet right about now, and pouting up a storm if the childishly  cross expression    on his pretty face is anything to go by. (And honestly how could one man be so adorable and sexy all at once.)  “You were finishing up the shrimp tempura— because you are a posh idiot without any tastebuds— , and I said that I’ll be right back to get some of the boxes in the spare room, and to save it for me! And then I come here, and I find this! This breach of all we’ve built together!”

Sirius barely conceals his snort. “Is that right? The foundations of our whole, entire bloody relationship? And right after this afternoon, when I made you—“

Two spots of color blotch high on Remus’s cheeks and he cuts him off before Sirius can completely recount the frankly remarkable romp they had just finished with before deciding they needed some nourishment before getting back to unpacking. “Don’t you try to change the subject you stealing stealer who steals!”

“That insult leaves something to be desired Moonbeam.”

“You’re a prick.”

“And you wound me!” Sirius mock sobs, slamming his fist against his chest and swinging back his arm against his forehead. “A plague on you, and your family! And another on your family’s cow.”

Remus’s face morphs into his painfully unimpressed expression, (Hint, it’s very, very flat). “I’ll take your intentional dodge as an admission,” He scoffs, arms crossed tight against his chest.

“I admit nothing!” Sirius shouts in an overdone accent that would better fit the set of Downton Abbey. “Nothing Lupin!”

Remus rolls his eyes at Sirius’s hyperbolic attitude, and okay. Yes. Perhaps Sirius remembers a similar conversation akin to what Remus had described  occurring only ten minutes prior. But to be quite honest, Sirius was hardly listening. Remus’s got on one of Sirius’s oversized t-shirts, a pair of boxer-briefs,  and nothing else. So yeah, he should definitely not be expected to be paying anything any mind while his beyond gorgeous boyfriend is sitting there, impossibly long legs put out for display, and one perfectly alabaster   shoulder bare where the shirt has slipped right off, effectively derailing  Sirius's thoughts to how he’d teasingly kissed across his collar bone just earlier that night, nibbling on the hinge of his jaw while Remus had been  writhing beneath him. so   Really and truly, he should’ve never been expected to remember anything— let alone something as trivial as dibs—  if his utterly perfect partner is right there for the taking, a determined dent between his brows, and intermittently rinsing his hand through his disheveled locks of hair like  spun gold, excited  over the prospect of fixing up this flat that is now their home.

Dear Merlin above   does Sirius love this bloke with every fiber of his being.

“Well,” he relents, swaggering up closer to Remus so that they’re standing only inches apart.  “Even if I did remember that such a discussion had taken place how you’ve described it—“

���It did, and you know it Black!” He harrumphs, using Sirius’s  surname just to get a rise out of him.

“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now love, is There?.”

Sirius’s sure that he’s won the argument and they could just move on, until he catches the glint in Remus’s impossibly luminous eyes—a glint that always means trouble, a glint that’s never failed to make each one of Sirius’s nerve endings go ablaze.

“Is that right?”

“I reckon it is Moonbeam,” he leers, is momentarily distracted by the downright angelic smile Remus casts his way right then, but suddenly, an onslaught of fingers are piercing into his ribs, wiggling and tickling him into submission.

“Say you’re sorry!” Remus demands, an effortless grin of his own swept across his lovely face, brighter than the morning sun. And yeah, maybe Sirius should just admit that it was his bad, apologize a thousand times over in the form of lingering kisses and caressing hands.… But the thing is, Sirius’s  stubbornness  has always been too rigid for his own good, and he’s always loved prodding at Remus till He just went off like the world’s most darling firecrackers.

“Never you absolute wanker!”

“I won’t relent till you profess an apology to my satisfaction,” Remus scoffs— a playful giggle lilting his overly formal words.

“And I won’t surrender!” He parries with a leer. Sirius tickles back  harder, and Remus  shimmies around so much that He ends up jabbing him in the eye,  ramming straight into his chest, and  effectively sprawling them—all long limbs and crooked angles—onto the wooden floorboards.

“Just say you’re sorry!” He insists, strangled laughter starting to gargle his words while Sirius just gazes down at him, mercilessly besotted.

“”S not my fault you didn’t take it with you Lupin, i’ve committed no grievance.”

“Oh come off it pretty boy.”

“Oy! I’m ruggedly handsome you arse!”

“Testy, testy.”

 “You’re the pretty one.”

“Oh suck my cock.”

“Been there done that.”

Remus seems to be fighting down another laugh before he knees him lightly in the abdomen enough that Sirius tenses, giving Remus the chance to  switch their positions once again, so that  He’s back  on top. 

“My have the tables turned,” He taunts with one of his most dazzling smiles, dimples in full effect, and crinkles around his pretty sea glass eyes.

“I like how you think I’m at all opposed to this position,” Sirius says with a pixilated gleam, arching back enough so that their cotton clad dicks buck up against each other.

“Perv!” Remus scolds, smacking his chest playfully. “Now admit that I won!”

“Never!”

 Somehow, amidst all the thrashing bodies and choked peals of laughter, Sirius flips him over— slight body beneath his own, with Remus’s wrists pinned over his head and his legs wrapped around Sirius’s waste.

“Now, now Monsieur Moony, I reckon that spring has rolled into winter for you,” Sirius most definitely does not laugh raucously    at his own pun.

“That’s not even the direction that the seasons go in,” Remus frowns, nose wrinkled indelicately, a tell Sirius’s picked up on whenever He’s mad over an outcome.

“You still lost though,” Sirius barbs with no real bite, pecking a quick kiss to his lips in solace.

“You’re awful, and I’m breaking up with you,” Remus sniffs in turn—wiggling underneath him to try and get loose.

“Oh, you love me really.” Sirius preens like the cat who’s caught the canary— the world’s most beautiful and brilliant and ruffled canary that is.

“Lies and slander!” Remus waggles his tongue between his teeth, and Sirius dips down to bite it teasingly. 

“Hmm, now isn’t this cute,” the pair scramble away from each other, utterly stunned once spotting Lily of all people, gaze twinkling and lips set into a firm smirk, eyeing them while leisurely lounging against the door frame. 

“You two really can’t keep yr sodding hands off of each other, can you?”

Remus completely reddens, totally flustered, while Sirius only follies back a smug sort of grin at the force of nature  that is Lily Evans, his practical sister-in-law, remus’s best friend, and all around genius.

“How long have you been watching Red dearest,” Sirius asks wryly, making it so now Lily’s the one who’s flushing..

“I hate you Black.” She says shortly, and Sirius’s beam doesn’t falter. “Re, as your spiritual older sister—“

“You’re barely a month older Lils,” Remus interjects, but Lily just goes on as if he hadn’t.

 “I think it’s my job to remind you that he’s not the only bloke in London with a decent shoulder to waste ratio and nice hair. We can snag you someone with a bit of brains even.”

Sirius tosses her a V shaped salute, and Lily sticks her tongue out in retaliation,  but for his part, Remus only tries to cut through the tension with one of his friendlier grins, though it just comes out as an awkward grimace. “I forgot that you’re dropping off the boxes tonight.”

“Evidently Ace,” she snorts, strutting further into the apartment and setting down the box of photos Remus had asked her to bring over from their old place. “Far too busy snogging with the boy who single handedly received the most detentions in Hogwarts history, while also, somehow— by the grace of God— threatened our stances as top of the class.”

“Oy Evans, can’t take all the credit for myself. Jem was my better half, till he moved on to the likes of you.”

Lily ignores him, save for the way her pretty face gets a bit scrunched out of irritation. “Ace, I ask you, what would McGonagall say if she saw her favorite prefect gallivanting around with such a delinquent.

Remus lets out one of his rare and beautiful laughs, something that feels buoyant and is really more breath than sound, but is still so vibrant and splendid and it never fails to thrust Sirius back to the Hogwarts Express, where he and Remus had first met as a couple of wide eyed eleven year olds, and all the contradicting emotions Remus had provoked upon first sight. Wonder, and confusion. Intrigue, and diffidence. Wanting, and fear. It’s an attribute of Remus's that Sirius will never not be amazed by.

“Ah, Minnie my love, how I do miss her so, now where were we Moonbeam?”

“I’m still standing here Black,” Lily reproves with a scoff.

“I think it was about here,” Sirius continues, dipping down to kiss at Remus’s protruding  collar bones.

“Settle down mutt,” Remus rebukes with no real heat, a gentle hand carding through Sirius’s hair.

“God, you two are already an old married couple.”

“You really do know the best moments to interrupt sweetheart.” Sirius snipes with a playful roll to his eyes, his hand discretely resting over the small of Remus’s back.

“And you have no decency, corrupting   Remus the way that you do.”

“Okay first, I take fucking offense, you know better than me that Moony here was the mastermind behind most of our delightful pranks.”

“You mean your childish inconveniences you plagued on the unsuspecting public?”

“And secondly, we didn’t even get to the fun, currupting   part because of your oh so lovely interruption.” Sirius retorts moodily, though he soon suspects the joke was a wrong play to make  when Lily’s smile suddenly goes predatory and sHe flips back a lock of her wind blown curls, ready to pounce. 

“Well perhaps I just stopped by to make sure you weren’t further defiling   my dear Remus. But I guess that giant love bite on your neck proves that I’m too late.”

Sirius can’t help the chuckle that pours out of his lips at her needled observation, smacking a hand to conceal the hickey sHe’s taunting him about, knowing exactly where it is, it’s been a topic of teasing all morning long from a smug Sirius to a properly indignant Remus.

“He-he just marks easily,” Remus pipes out, cheeks completely infused red and worrying on his bottom lip. Sirius suspects that Lily just knew that the one chink in his armor is prodding at Remus’s less than poised acts. 

Lily rolls her eyes in a way that convinces Sirius that sHe doesn’t believe it for a second. “Whatever you say oh Saint Remus,” sHe smirks with no more argument. “but pray tell, are you guys about done swapping spit around me? Or is that going to forever be a regular occurrence in the Remus and Sirius show?”

“Now I’d reckon that’ll get a sold out crowd every night, don’t you?” Sirius asks, directing his question at the pair of  of them while taking Remus’s hand, and pushing him even closer— just always preferring to have some sort of contact with him.

“Oh put a sock in it,” Remus harrumphs, finally starting to return to his normal coloring in the midst of Lily’s unrestrained cackles.

“Aw, don’t be shy love, it’s only the truth.”

Remus presses the pads of his fingers to Sirius’s lips and glares at him for good measure, “Some things are better left for private.”

“Hah,” Lily scoffs, weight slung to her left hip. “As if I don’t get a front row seat every time  you two are within even in a ten foot radius of each other—OH hey, I know that look Ace! The one eyed squint, and the teeth. Well your “I’m about to kill my gorgeous best friend,” look has no place here, i’ll see my way out now. Just promise not to christen every room in this place, kay? We’d all like to visit without the residual specs haunting us! And I know how moody you get without your daily dose of my scintillating company.”

Sirius thinks that Remus’s trying to skewer a whole in the spot where Lily was just standing, if the terribly cross look on his face says anything. It’s precious, Sirius can’t help but snicker.

“Don’t laugh at me! I’m your boyfriend for Merlin’s sake! You’re s’pose to be on my side!”

“I wasn’t laughing at you Moons,” he kisses the fingers Remus has still got on his mouth, mock consolatory.  “Just incredibly turned on.”

That dent between Remus’s brows is back again for a moment, but then his beauteous features smoothen out and He just pecks a quick kiss to Sirius’s lips before rifling through the box Lily brought over, muttering a light,”Whatever,” as He does so.

There’s a quick wrapping to the window, and Sirius glances over to find his owl— Odysseus— with a bundle of letters attached to his left leg. By rote, Sirius feeds him some of the pellets they keep  there for convenience, and unwinds the bundle of parchments, beginning to shuffle through them.

There’s a copy of the Nightly prophet with the murder of another Muggle family splattered all over the front cover in a sickeningly gauche manner, a free trial subscription to the Quibbler with a reading for Scorpios in the month of October, a letter from Peter about his mum and sisters driving him up the rails, an invitation from Marlene for he and Remus to come out to dinner with them for Dorcas’s Birthday, and a ominous letter from James of all paper that simply says a gift for Moony.

Bewildered to why he hadn’t just sent it along with Lily, Sirius tares off the attached photograph only to find something truly, horrendously vile. a photograph of himself. One that was definitely taken fifth year— Sirius’s worst year where he absolutely could not stand being around his family for a moment longer, and James was getting more settled with his studies, an Remus was dating that prefect prick from Ravenclaw and was exceedingly elusive from Marauders nights out.  This was so obviously taken on one of those aforementioned nights out that it’s comical.  Sirius’s hair is as long as it’s ever been— touching the tops of his shoulders— and he’s chugging down a fruity, pink concoction— the type  that Rosmerta was always cooking up for them— hand over fist, and he’s got on puppy ears and a fake nose. In layman’s terms he looks like a complete and total pillock. Drunk off his ass so much so that you can see the stars in his eyes even through the clunky glasses he had stolen from James— convinced that he was sporting them for purely esthetic reasons and not because the knob is actually as blind as a bloody bat— and his finger is pointed and mouth is open in the way it always is when he’s ranting about something or the other.

It’s perhaps the only photograph in history where Sirius isn’t looking his typical, jaw dropping gorgeous self.

There’s about a thousand different retorts he wants to scribble on a spare parchment and  shoot right back to James— ranging from nasty to downright despicable— but then he catches the familiar peal of laughter coming from behind him. He’s not surprised when he sees Remus—beautiful, ingenuous, perfect Remus who’s physically incapable of taking a photograph less than effortlessly lovely, even while pissed— peering over his shoulder in utter amusement.

“Oh My God I need to ask James to send me one of the hundreds of copies he surely has.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Sirius retorts darkly.

“I’ll use an enlarging charm and hang it up above the mantel, for prosperity. The one time Sirius looks the way he acts,” he moves his hand over an invisible marquee and looks so damn smug that Sirius could kiss him, and in fact, that’s exactly what he does.

“I hate him,” is all he says afterwards, once he’s pulled away.

“I can’t believe that’s you!” Remus continues with eyes full of mirth.

“I want to banish him, no. No I want to banish all of them. All of our friends, we can make knew ones Moons. I mean look at us! We’re a catch!” He tosses the letters onto the newly acquired sofa as if they have personally affronted  him and all he stands for.

“ Oh brilliant idea love.”

“That sounds like your sarcastic voice Moons.”

“No, you’ve got my full support. this’s our castle Pads, we can banish whom ever we like,” Remus balances on his tiptoes,  and smacks an exasperated kiss onto his cheek. Sirius can barely contain the glee that’s dancing in his eyes at the thought of this being their own personal castle— a fortress just for the pair of them to escape within—  causing another swell of fondness to pound in his chest.

“Well maybe we can give’m another chance,” he relents, melting into how Remus’s locked his arms around his neck, and is smiling up at him with all the love in the world shining unadulteratedly in his lovely eyes. “I mean they did help us move all those boxes and all.”

Remus hums his agreement while he presses his forehead against his own, endlessly endeared.

“What a generous king,” He goads, words hugged with fondness. 

“Ooo, I like that, call me that in bed and I might bless you with my royal sector.”

Remus thumps his nose, “Your more tolerable when you don’t speak and just stand there being pretty.”

“Aw, you think I’m pretty Moonykins?”

Remus shakes his head ruefully, the smile on his face one that Sirius knows well— one that means he’s reluctantly endeared. “Dork.”

“Plonker.”

There lips meet for another kiss and it feels like all the resplendence in the galaxy being distilled between just the two of them.

[literate-lamb]

Man of the House | one

Sam Wilson/fem!Reader, future dark!Bucky Barnes/fem!Reader | 18+

Moving day is finally here! Private and public celebrations are in order.

► warnings(!): nudity, non-graphic sex scene, alcohol, slow burn. eventual dubcon/noncon, eventual choking in future chapters. this is a dark fic.

|| Series Masterlist ||

a/n: taglist is open for this series, just hmu with an ask.

𝕄𝕠𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔻𝕒𝕪

Boxes and boxes filled the hallway as men in uniforms brought them in, the moving truck parked in front of the house. The stench of sweat invaded your nostrils as you guided the men on which rooms to settle them. Sam was doing his fair share, gathering your more personal boxes upstairs.

It was moving day, finally.

After two weeks of preparing and prepping, you finally took the step into your new home. A day earlier found you busy with cleaning; sweeping and mopping the floors, wiping the windows, and dusting the furniture among others. You even took the time to pick up some ornaments to decorate your new house. The scented candles and key bowl looked great next to the antique lamp.

When all the boxes and furniture were settled, you paid the movers a hefty sum and left them on their way. Now that left you, Sam, and a load of boxes to be unpacked.

“I’ll start with the ones in the kitchen,” Sam said, “And then maybe we can have a quick lunch later.” You nodded, walking towards the parlour.

Seeing the clear windows elated you, free of dust and stains, permitting sunlight which illuminated the room in a warm glow. The velvety feel of the red Chesterfield sofa was satisfying, letting your mind wander to extravagant wine parties.

Riffling for the retractable knife in your pocket, you started slashing through the boxes, uncovering your book collection over the years. One by one, you arranged them on the pine wood bookshelf; a new addition brought from your previous dwelling.

After the boxes were emptied, you stood and admired your work. The parlour would make a great room for reading, you could imagine relaxing with a glass of wine and a good book after a day's work.

Ding dong!

You swerved to face the hallway, startled. The ringing of the doorbell audibly loud, reverberating through the entire house.

“Who is it?” Sam stood in the entryway, coming from the kitchen. You shrugged.

Entering the hallway, Sam opened the door, standing face to face with their visitor. On the other side stood Mr Rogers, his weathered face smiling. He looked pretty dapper for a man standing on your doorstep. In his hand, he seemed to be holding a small box. Of what, you’re unsure.

“Mr Rogers! Nice to see you,” you greeted. “What brings you here?”

“Hello, dear. Just wanted to drop off some extra keys I had since I don’t really need them,” he said, jiggling them into your hands. “Seems like you have a fella, he’ll probably need it.” Sam laughed, appreciating the humour.

“Sam Wilson, sir,” he introduced himself, offering a hand, “Nice to finally meet the man of the house.”

“Likewise, son,” Mr Rogers shook. He seemed to still for a moment before knocking out of it. “Before I forget, here’s some tea. A housewarming gift, if you will.” He handed you the small box, “It’s chamomile, good for aiding sleep.”

You were humbled by the kind gesture of the elder, thanking him. Before he could leave, Sam invited him in for lunch, “I was about to fix up something quick.”

“It’s okay, son. I have places to be and people to meet today, you two have a good day,” he bid farewell, got in his beetle, waving as he drove away.

“That's a very thoughtful landlord right there,” Sam whistled. You agreed, reminded of how lucky you were, again. Sam closed the door, lulling the house in silence once more. “You hungry, baby?”

“Not yet, really,” you turned to him. “Why?”

“‘Cause I’m currently hungry for something else,” he smirked, mischief swimming in his pools, “How about we christen the place, starting with,” —he startled you, lifting you by the hips— “the kitchen!”  

You chortled, as Sam carried you, hands supporting your buttocks, at the same time  giving them a squeeze. The cheeky bastard.

Clothes were shed. Hands roamed, mapping every inch of uncovered skin. The exchange of fierce kisses and the battle of tongues left you both frenzied.

Sam settled you on the island countertop. The cold granite chilled you. He marveled at your form, hungry eyes taking in everything; your stiff peaks, your mussed hair, your enticing throat.

“I’m starving baby, let me taste you,” he husked, descending to his knees. Calloused hands pushed your thighs apart, serving you to his greedy eyes. True to his words, like a man starved, he helped himself. He was ravenous.

You cried, moans carrying through the halls, echoing. You had no care for the world.

The both of you continued your escapade, carrying to other parts of the house; unaware to the lone shadow.

Watching your every move.

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕆𝕟𝕖

The entirety of yesterday was pure bliss as far as you remembered, waking up in bed to sunlight barely peeking through the glass door. Sam’s hand draped across your hip as he lightly snored behind you.

You sighed, feeling sated. What a way to start the morning.

Lazing for a bit, you admired your new bedroom. The once bare four-poster is now draped in delicate tulle, akin to a large veil. The vanity across the bed looked regal, adding to the opulence. This was by far your favourite room. Besides the parlour, of course.

You gave a kiss to Sam between the brows. Slowly slipping away, you got out of bed. Grabbing your robe, you padded across the hall and headed downstairs.

The house was eerily silent in the mornings. Only the creaking of stairs audible as you descend.

In the wee hours, the little sunlight and heavy curtains casted long shadows on the walls. The furniture in the dark stood, creating the illusion of people, making the parlour seem frightening to the average eye. The hallway seemed long and never-ending, getting darker the further it went.

The look of the house in the dark could have been what considered it so terrifying. The mind does tend to wander when in darkness.

Passing by the hallway, you setted on fixing breakfast in the kitchen. Before you could step a foot further, something faint caught your ears.

Scrrrt. Scrrrt. Scrrrt.

It repeated. Again and again. Like nails on wood.

Scrrrt. Scrrrt. Scrrrt.

You squinted, searching for the source. The low visibility was not helping. Fumbling the wall, you turned on the lights.

Scrrrt. Scrrrt. Scrrrt.

Nothing was in your vicinity, yet the noise never ceased. Using your sense of hearing, you listened, tracing it.

Scrrrt! Scrrrt! Scrrrt!

It became audibly louder and erratic as you neared. Your feet found you under the stairs. In front of the black door.

Scrrrt! Scrrrt! Scrrrt!

Faster and faster. As if a desperate call for help.

Grabbing the nearest object —an umbrella— you gripped it tight. The fear of it being a wild animal overcame you.

Scrrrt! Scrrrt! Scrrrt!

Slowly turning the knob, umbrella at the ready, you pushed the door, expecting to be pounced.

Instead, what greeted you was a white fluffy creature. A cat. The same cat you met weeks ago. Waiting on the steps, as if it were expecting your arrival.

“Now, how did you get in here,” you cooed, squatting. The cat murmured back.

Up and down. Left to right. You tried theorising how the cat came to be in the basement. The door was closed, too heavy for a cat. The small windows were shut tight, only allowing light to pass through. The last one here yesterday was Sam, and he would’ve noticed a cat. Yet, it managed to sneak in. How peculiar.

“What are you doing down here.”

You jumped, startled. Your heart almost gave out. Facing the door, Sam stood on the stairs, crusts still in his eyes.

“You startled me!” you grumbled. He put his palms up, wearing his toothy grin.

“I heard scratching sounds and found this cat,” you explained, “Which by the way, did you see yesterday?”

“I think I would’ve seen if there was a cat, but no,” he replied. “Is the little cutie hungry?” he cooed, in a babying tone.

Unexpected to the both of you, the cat hissed. Eyes turned into slits, fur standing, claws out, like a being possessed. You worried it might attack Sam.

Before you could intervene, it sped off. Zooming between Sam’s legs, and headed upstairs, meowing uncontrollably.

“It’s never done that before,” you mumbled, surprised. “I’ll go let it out.”

You followed upstairs, nearly missing the faint scent.

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕨𝕠

Light chatter permeated the space as guests began filtering into the parlour. Wine glasses in hand, they mingled around, exchanging conversations, with the occasional boisterous laughter. It was a light and cozy setting, with every tummy sated, just catching up with long time friends.

“Okay, can I just say, that despite being a 100 year old monument, this place is actually nice?” Tony starts, “Like when I looked outside it was like something out of the Addam’s Family, but then I went in and wham! It’s like a cute lil’ antique store.”

Perplexed, you really didn’t know how to reply to that. “Err, thank you?”

“Stop it, Tones, that wasn’t a compliment,” Rhodey slapped Tony’s back, “It’s a really nice house, very fancy.”

“The house is lovely, I love the vintage feel of it,” Pepper piped up, shooting Tony a look.

You smiled, “Thank you guys, it’s been a dream to live in a house like this.” Just then, Sam came, curling an arm around your waist.

“And my girl here got it for a steal too,” Sam intervened, jovially. “I’m just the lucky guy who gets to stay over some nights.”

You slapped Sam’s chest as he laughed, the trio joining. You reveled in the warmness of the moment, surrounded by friends. Sharing the start of a new beginning.

Everybody else in this room lived in the city, preferring the closeness to their work. You preferred the same. It’s been a long time since you all got together in the same space. You missed it.

After a few minutes of chatting, you excused yourself. A new bottle of wine and light dessert was needed.

Passing through the dining room enroute to the kitchen, you saw Wanda at the end of the hall. She was standing stock-still, staring downwards. You walked closer.

Stopping next to her, you saw that she was staring down at the entrance of the basement. Unmoving.

“Um, Wanda, is there anything wrong?” you asked, confused.

That seemed to snap her out of her stupor. She looked at you, face impassive before giving a thin smile.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she said. “Where does that lead to, by the way?”

“That’s the basement,” you replied. “Come on, do you want more wine? Dessert?”

“Dessert sounds nice.”

Arriving into the parlour, you brought out the mini pavlovas with Wanda and set them on the coffee table. The wine bottle was handed off to Sam as he refilled glasses for your guests.

Immediately, everyone began to congregate in the middle to where the sofas were, taking a pavlova and having their refill. Your pavlovas were a favourite among your friends. You even had to swat Scott’s hand from taking more than one at a time.

The chatter turned up again, everyone catching up within the confines of your home. You relaxed beside Sam as he chatted with Vis about football of all things. Vis looked bored, yet was too polite to switch topics.

“So, a little birdie told me that this house is haunted, that true?” you heard Tony as he came to stand beside the sofa, pavlova in hand, “If so, then damn! It really does live up to the Addam’s Family aesthetic it has going on.”

“Tony!” Pepper hissed from across the room, reprimanding him. She turned to you, “I’m so sorry for him.”

“It’s okay, Pep,” and you were, Tony’s just being, well, Tony. “Where did you hear that though? Even I didn’t know at first.” By now, everyone was paying attention to you two.

“Saw it in a blog when I was looking for navigation, apparently they only managed to live here for two weeks,” he said, taking a bite of the sugary confection. “So it is true? Feeling watched? Things disappearing? Ghostly apparitions? Oooh.”

You heard Scott whisper yell, “So we went willingly inside a haunted house? Are we cursed?” in the background. Hope shushed him.

“None so far, the landlord even told me that he had never experienced anything living here. I’d take those blog posts with a grain of salt if I were you,” you said, sipping your glass. “Besides, I don’t really believe in ghosts. Ever heard of infrasounds, Stark?”

Tony smirked, “I expected no less from a woman of science.” He finished the rest of his dessert. “Say, how ‘bout we make a bet? If you can live here past two weeks, i’ll give you $400.”

“Ugh, Tones,” Rhodey grumbled at the back.

“Make it $500 then we’ll have a deal,” you smirked, not backing down.

“$450”

“No, $500.”

“Ugh, fine! $500.” He eye-rolled, holding out his hand. “Let’s shake it.”

“Deal.”

You both shook hands, sealing the deal in front of a live audience that is your friends. 500 dollars, two weeks.

“Why do I feel this won’t go well,” Vis sighed, holding onto Wanda. She nodded absently, eyes locked to a different corner.

[the-voltage-diaries]

[Review] Main Story: Riku Shishizaki

Writing this here because the 1000 character limit on the official app doesn’t do justice to this work of art. So, here you have a full-fledged review. Cheers.

Review under the cut!

ESSENTIAL INFORMATION: It’s the Main Story for the poster boy - Riku Shishizaki - of the newest Voltage Title, Codename: Cupid. It’s charged a standard 400 coins and has a total of 17 episodes; 15 (Main story) + 1 (Super Happy Ending) + 1 (Happy Ending), along with 5 CGs.

BASIC PLOT SUMMARY:

MC’s the new recruit for the infamous third unit of the General Affairs Department, commonly called the “Prune Squad”. While she adjusts to her life in the said unit, she relies on the guidance of Riku Shishizaki to teach her the ropes and assists him on his missions. Riku, who appears to be a clumsy, bumbling man under the guise of his nerdy glasses, is truly anything but once the glasses are off. He’s the suave but boastful sharpshooter of the squad who knows how to get the job done, and doesn’t indulge the idea of sharing more than what’s necessary about himself. As the MC spends more time working with him, dodging his teasing retorts and bantering her way out of jabs, she finds herself falling for his awkward attempts at kindness. But even though the gap between then starts to narrow, something from his past seems to hold him back from getting too close. So, will the MC help him accept the past and find a fresh start, or will she drown in the sea of trauma roaring at his mind?

PRAISE:

The story: His main story might be just 16 chapters long, but it’s length is well set enough to make it feel like a 20-chapter long story power packed with every trope known to mankind, along with a roller coaster of emotions. The pacing is so eloquent that nothing really feels rushed. It’s consistent enough for it to be a slow burn, and even enough for the two main protagonists to develop a much stronger, deeper bond - a bond that goes beyond their romantic relationship. Through its chapters, a number of tropes are brought into play, be it pretend couple, hostages, potential drunk one-night stands, explosions, sacrifices, sensually charged spur-of-the-moment kisses, back hugs in the kitchen, or walking in the rain, and while the idea so of navigating through so many tropes might seem overwhelming, the writing is articulate enough to make sure each one of them slips beneath the covers of the plot with an ease akin to sliding in between silk sheets. And it’s not just the just the emotionally charged plot that hits the right mark, it’s the actual content of the story too. While the option choices are a hilarious to boot, the dialogues don’t feel forced, and the underlying mirth in them is easy to grasp and laugh along to. The character relationships are structured and take their own time exploring each other through the episodes, unearthing a much deeper understanding towards each other over time. It’s magnificent, it’s beautiful, it’s a ride, and it’s worth that damned money.

The MC: The MC in the story is a feisty woman who knows how to sass someone back when they get on her nerves, but that quality doesn’t hinder her ability to discern whether it is the right place and time for some quirky retort or not. She is kind and sweet enough to want to look out for the people she cares about, but also mature enough to know when to stop poking her nose in someone’s business so as to respect their privacy. Quick on her feet, she knows how to handle high-pressure situations with the ease of a knife slicing through the smoothest of butters. While she does have the classic sacrificial personality making her want to give up her well being for the safety and security of others, it’s a pleasant surprise to have her know how to do it smartly instead of jeopardizing everything by diving headfirst without a moment’s thought. A truly understanding, caring, smart, flexible, humorous individual.

Riku Shishizaki: Riku had my attention from the prologue itself, and it’s satisfying to see his character be exactly what I’d hoped for, if not more. He’s a tease who takes every given opportunity to leave the others hanging after facing the brunt of his vague responses. He is good at what he does, and while he pretends to boast about his credentials and qualities and tries to be cold and harsh, he’s a genuinely sweet person who looks out for everyone at every opportunity he gets. He knows just what needs to be done to calm down an upset MC, and is willing to be the listening ear whenever needed. While he does pull her leg a lot, the banters they share are truly a sight to behold. Initially, he does seem to close off a lot whenever his side of the story is brought up, but his character development is quite so charming that it leaves me wanting for more. While he is all haughty and playfully rude towards MC, he is also willing to be vulnerable enough to seem like he is crying once he gets comfortable with her. Not only is he attentive, but he also knows how and when to apologise. Swoon. Also he looks damn fine in that tuxedo.

CRITIQUE:

The MC doesn’t have eyes. I know. Me too. I feel the frustration.

Riku looks somehow more younger in his CGs. His face seems a bit more round, giving him a MUCH younger look. Not really a critique-critique but it’s just weird reading 16 episodes looking at the sprite of a hot sexy 28-year-old man and then looking at a CG where he looks like he’s 24 years old or something.

But on a serious note, while I LOVED the whole story, I don’t think I was very appreciative of the mild stereotyping which was going on. For example, there were mentions of how the MC could probably find a good guy so she could leave work and settle down. Pretty orthodox, but only mildly so and only at some places here and there.

If only this game had BGM. If only.

MY RECOMMENDATION:

ABSOLUTELY. In all honesty, once I was done reading this story, I genuinely felt that 400 coins is actually quite the small amount to pay for such a great read. It’s worth every single one of those coins, and it what’s even better is there isn’t any ending set. So, for 400 coins, you get EVERYTHING. CGs, endings, episodes, everything. It’s a pretty good deal, plus its a damn good story.

MY RATING: 4.8/5

[nelllraiser]

seeing is beleafing | solomon & nell

LOCATION: nell’s greenhouse at the vural home. PARTIES: @shroomsbysolomon & @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: solomon stumbles upon a lush haven, and nell tries to defend her plants only to be pleasantly surprised. 

As always— the pinging of the property spell going off when someone foreign crossed it jolted Nell awake, anxiety quick to pool in her stomach. Grabbing a knife from her bedside table, she clutched it confidently as she made her way out to the balcony that was connected to her room, leaning over the edge of it to find whether she could see who this intruder was from the vantage point. Spotting an outrageously tall figure by her greenhouse, her ire only grew hotter, and Nell wasted no time in launching herself over the side of the railing, using a spell to slow her fall and land softly on the grass beneath. Then she was making angry strides towards her prized possession, trying to make sense of the mass of...whatever it was that was peering through the glass. “Hey!” she yelled out at the stranger, realizing whoever this was had to be at least nine feet tall. “Get your slender-man ass away from my plants!” she called out again, brandishing the knife in front of her as she closed in. It was only as she got closer that she recognized why the form of the intruder was so hard to identify. All the distinguishing lines of a person were broken up by...were those little mushrooms growing off of him?

Usually when he was this close to town, Solomon would have started using his illusory magic. It wasn’t likely that he’d run into someone out here, but it was possible… with the small smattering of cabins that dotted the area. But tonight? Tonight he was distracted, because he’d suddenly stumbled upon a greenhouse that he’d somehow managed to completely miss for however long, and he was smitten. Moving almost silently through the trees, the massive Leshy slowly came out into the clearing that surrounded the property, eyeless gaze fixed upon the structure. A soft sound reverberated from within the elk skull that hid his face, something akin to a very pleased sigh, and he lumbered over to the object of his attention. Pushing off the grass with his hands, Solomon rose to his full height, leaning carefully against the glass as he peered inside. There were so many lovely plants to take in! He wanted to be inside, to smell that damp, earthy goodness — but someone was coming. With a start, the creature dropped back down onto his hands, turning his lithe frame to face the small woman as he tried to make himself appear smaller. Shit. The lichen and moss that hung from his antlers swayed as he shifted awkwardly on the spot, keeping his branch-like hands planted firmly against the soil between his feet. “No, I…” His voice was deep and rumbling, but still gentle, in an unexpected sort of way. “Sssorry. Just… admiring.” He turned his head to glance warily at the greenhouse, then dipped it in a way that was perhaps meant to convey his shame in being caught.

He’d gone back to his crouched position, making himself smaller as Nell yelled. Good. It seemed she’d successfully yelled him into submission despite him still being nearly the same height as her even in this diminished pose. “That’s right!” she spoke in the same aggressive tone, knife flashing in the light of the moon. “Go ahead and take your noodle butt somewhere el-” she paused mid sentence as the indeterminate shape of a creature turned towards her, and she finally came to recognize what was perched atop its head. An elk skull? She recognized the shape from her own sacrifices she’d made for blood magic, though the ones she encountered didn’t usually speak back to her, and certainly not in a tone so demure. It was distracting enough for her to take a long moment to pinpoint exactly what it was the creature in front of her was. With assorted plants growing from him he looked like his own personal biome, a walking haven for his little mushrooms. A leshy? She’d only met one other, and he hadn’t looked all that similar to the man in front of her, no animal skull or mushrooms to speak of. The fae’s prompt apology had her hackles lowering in the slightest, her blade also dipping a fraction of an inch. “...You like it? The greenhouse?” It would make sense, wouldn’t it? A leshy admiring some greenery.

Solomon never enjoyed being yelled at, of course, though it was a rare occurrence. Still, his reaction was to recoil, not to lash out, as the young woman had posed no real threat just yet. Flinching beneath the bite of her words, he lapsed into a hopeful silence when she took a few beats to really examine him, keeping still as he could. It had been quite a time since a human (or human-presenting) being had seen him in this form, and he was quick to recall how it had played out the last few times. To say it’d gone poorly would be an understatement… he hoped that would not be the case today. It seemed he was in luck, for after her pause she posed a question that simply begged him to respond enthusiastically. “Oh, yes,” the creature mused, nodding his large head at her, lifting a hand to press it gently against the glass once more. “Lovely. Isss it yours? Do you care for it? I wasss just wishing I could get inside, without…” He dipped his head again, waving his claws dismissively before returning them to the spot between his feet. “... you know. Breaking.”

The more the leshy seemed to withdraw as she berated him, the less Nell felt the need to threaten him. It was plain to see that the man-tree wasn’t planning on fighting back, and Nell paused a beat before finally giving her knife a thoughtful twirl, letting it lower to her side. It was still gripped snugly in her hold, but looking less and less like she was anticipating the need to stab or slash. It was hard to maintain her wariness when he replied with such enthusiasm to her question, seemingly a naturally endearing creature. “Uh- yeah, it’s mine. I got it about ten months ago.” It had been part of her parents’ bribe to bring her home from a five-year excursion outside White Crest, and into her sister’s home. As the fae expressed his concern and care for entering the greenhouse, Nell stood somewhat nonplussed, uncertain as to where they were meant to go from here. “Who are you, exactly?” That made sense to ask, right? “I don’t usually let strangers into my greenhouse…” But who else would know how to appreciate her plants as well as a leshy would? His desires seemed relatively harmless for the moment.

Listening carefully while she explained, Solomon found his gaze flicking between the owner of the greenhouse and all the plants that rested on the other side of the glass. Ahh, so it was fairly new, that must have been why he hadn’t come across it till now. As a rule, he didn’t usually get this close to dwellings in the outskirts, but once the greenhouse had caught his eye, he’d forgotten all his usual rules. Then, of course, came the question of his identity. “Oh, well, you sssee…” His voice trailed, head tilting slightly skyward as if he were lost in thought. “I would… rather not say… but I have lived in these woods for two yearsss now. Go into town during the day… obviously not looking like thisss.” He glanced down at himself, large, claw-like fingertips tapping into the soft earth. “It is okay, I can… look from here,” he offered, though the self restraint seemed to have deflated him a bit. 

“Not even a name? Or something to call you?” Nell pressed lightly, not knowing how to address the leshy if she didn’t have a way of identifying him. But she also knew fae and their strange ways when it came to names at times. “You don’t have to tell me anything else.” Two years...that would have been some time after Bea bought the house. “Yeah, I’d imagine a giant tree walking around the Common might be a little attention grabbing,” the witch tried to joke. “But then again people around here see crazy shit every day.” For a moment the young woman worried her lip between her teeth, looking between the funghi-ridden man and her beloved plants. “If I let you in...you promi-” she cut the word off mid-sentence as she reminded herself she was dealing with fae. “You won’t touch anything unless you ask?” Normally she wouldn’t be so ready to allow a stranger access to her haven, but the fact that he was quite literally a plant himself helped to comfort the worry she might have over any potential hazard.

Solomon had never had a name, not until he stole one from a man he murdered. There was probably something that the vikings had called him when they found him back when he was just a sapling, but he couldn’t really remember anymore. He knew that if he gave her the name he used to masquerade as a human, she’d probably figure it out… eventually. And he’d like to keep that eventuality to a minimum, despite having mucked it up a couple times already. He really was a terrible liar. Trying to think on his feet, the leshy tried hard to come up with something else she could call him, and the only things coming to mind were the plants he spent so much time around, cultivating and cherishing. “You may call me… ehm… Lily,” he muttered, the delicate white curves of the flower filling his mind. His attention quickly shifted, though, and his whole body seemed to jitter excitedly as the woman laid down some ground rules for him. “Of courssse!” he chirped. “Permission first.” 

Nell waited curiously, the curiosity giving way to a flicker of amusement crossing her features when the leshy gave his answer. “Alright Lily- if we’re doing code names then I’m gonna give myself a cool one, too.” Which one would suffice, though? Hellraiser had been her name in the Ring, but that felt cringey to give in this sort of setting, and she didn’t want to bring any part of the place that had only cultivated pain and sorrow to follow her into the future. Taki was another obvious choice seeing as they were one of her favorite snacks...but she couldn’t steal the name of her familiar. “I’ll be...Len,” she finally said with a snicker, all too tickled by the foolish way she’d reversed her name to make a new one. “Lenny- if my plants like you enough.” It was meant as a joke while she turned back towards her greenhouse, looking over her shoulder to once again scan over the leshy before doubling down on her decision to let him into one of her most sacred spaces. Whispering a personalized spell that unlocked the door, she stepped into the greenhouse, turning to see if Lily would follow. “So this is it- welcome to the inside.”

Leaning in eagerly, black eye sockets fixed on the back of her head as she opened the door, Solomon let out a delighted grumble as it swung open and the stranger invited him in. Crawling forward on his hands and feet, head ducking down as he carefully slipped through the threshold, mindful of the size of his crown of bone, Solomon breathed deeply. His sigh seemed to swell in the enclosed space, the leaves of the plants reaching in his direction ever so slightly, then falling back to their original positions as he settled onto the floor. He was big, too big, and so his body began to shrink. Fae illusory magic brought him down to a more reasonable seven feet tall, and even his antler rack decreased in size, the uppermost points vanishing as the bone seemed to fade away. He seemed to pay this transformation no mind, transfixed instead by the healthy glow of all these flowers and greenery. “Beautiful,” the creature breathed, moving his skeletal face as close as he could to each new one that caught his eye, getting the best look possible without disturbing the plants, as promised. “Which isss your favorite?”

Nell could only blink in intrigue as Lily morphed himself to fit the confines of the greenhouse. To be honest, fae were the branch of species she was generally the least familiar with, though perhaps there should actually be some further understanding between herself and them considering that the fair folk were the only ones to hold their magic as spellcasters did. She knew the magic was different, having their own brand of weaving and channeling and the like, but it still linked them, didn’t it? “You like it?” Nell asked with a hint of pride to her voice. After all, what greater achievement was there than a nearly literal spirit of the forest approving your plants? Surely he’d be the best reigning opinion on the matter. The greenhouse was lush, full of a wide variety of plants with the least conspicuous of them gracing the front end of the greenhouse. However if one bothered to venture further, they’d be first greeted with plants of a witchier origin, plenty of herbs and the like to help fuel spellwork. The further one went in, the more supernatural it got, with greenery unknown to the normal world growing in the back. “Oh, I can’t choose a favorite,” she answered, fielding the question as if someone had asked who her favorite child was. “And even if I could, I wouldn’t say it in front of them,” she joked lightly. “Did you have a favorite?”

Nodding enthusiastically, Solomon continued to survey the expanse of plantlife. His gaze was drawn to the rear of the greenhouse, and he noticed how the more humble plants were stationed near the front, leaving the more interesting ones tucked away, secret. Shrugging in agreement, Solomon let out a dry, scratchy laugh. “That isss a good point,” he mused, moving farther into the building, still lumbering on all fours like an animal, to better keep himself from knocking into things. “Well, I am fond of liliesss... as you may have guessed,” he answered distractedly, large head swaying this way and that, body ducking down to the floor to get a good look at the shorter sprouts, then reaching up, up, up to admire the tall ones. “Len, I am… sssurprised to sssee such variety in… a human’s care,” Solomon commented as they made their way farther back, the more exotic and purposeful greenery becoming abundant. He could sense something about her, something that reminded him of the witches he had known many hundreds of years ago. They had been good to him, and he remembered them fondly to this day. The energy that radiated from the young woman was almost identical, which begged the question… “Are you a witch?” Of course it would make sense, with a greenhouse like this, but he didn’t want to be rude and assume anything.

Nell decided that Lily reminded her of a very solemn toddler— like one of those children on a talk-show who were brought on because they knew the name of every country on the map and its capital before they could even properly hold a spoon. Seemingly mature and composed, but not entirely understanding of the concepts an everyday human would encounter, and shaky on their execution. Perhaps that was why he seemed to be so endearing. “Do you have a favorite lily?” she asked quickly, eager to have met someone who could understand the beauty of growth and greenery. As he used her silly pseudonym, Nell barely surprised a small snicker, settling for a crooked grin instead. Nevertheless, she was proud at his continued approval of her set up and plants. She shouldn’t have been surprised by his final question, but her eyebrows raised slightly nonetheless, silent for a split moment as she thought her answer over. It would be fair to divulge her own identity in return, wouldn’t it? After all, she already knew he was a Leshy, and he didn’t seem to mean any harm. “Yep, that’s me. Lots of this stuff I use for spellwork. But some of it’s just for the kitchen, too. Sometimes it’s for both.” Kitchen magic was a lovely branch of mysticality. “And sometimes it’s just ‘cause it’s pretty.” 

“The Forever Sssusan lily,” Solomon answered after a brief moment of thought, “it reminds me of autumn.” He cast her a fond glance, if such a thing could be achieved with an expressionless, bone visage. When she answered his rather straightforward question, he seemed to brighten even further. “Brilliant,” he muttered happily, the mushrooms that dotted his large frame seeming to grow just a touch taller. “I used to know sssome witches, up in the mountainsss… oh, they were wonderful. Sssome of my favorite people. They were very good to me.” His gaze fell on Len again after wandering her greenhouse a bit more, inspecting the more exotic flora. “You ssseem good too, Len. Kind.” He seemed almost relieved, his thoughts recalling the less than kind spellcaster he’d met a couple weeks prior, who had absolutely rubbed him in every wrong way possible. Crouched on his hands and feet, Solomon lifted his head high and took one more deep, long  breath. “Thank you for sssharing your greenhouse with me. It wasss a nice break from the familiarity of these woods.” He realized, in that moment, that if he were to have a home—a proper one, that was—he would want something like this. “Do you think… perhapsss… I could return sssome day? If it is no trouble… It just feels very, ah… nice in here.” Not to mention, he could use more friends.

Nell made a humming sound of approval as Lily imparted his favorite flower, already envisioning the deep purples and vibrant oranges of the bloom in her mind’s eye. It was a stunning flower, and certainly one of the showier lilies. Vaguely, she wondered what Lily’s choice said about him, but she wasn’t nearly so perceptive as to make a passing and accurate judgement into the inner workings of a stranger’s mind such as the leshy’s. Still she wondered at what it meant that the forest creature would enjoy being reminded of autumn, the time in which most plants lost their color and leaves. Perhaps he liked the promise that they would return, and the cycle of life that continued to turn in its unshakable circle. Nell nodded eagerly as he mentioned the other witches, remembering childhood trips their mother had taken them on to visit sister covens. The nostalgia was quickly followed with a small pang of pain, knowing that those bridges had most likely been burned when she and her sisters had been banished from their coven. “I’m glad,” she decided to answer simply, a well-meaning half smile on her lips. As for kindness...she’d never particularly used that word when thinking of herself. Well-meaning, perhaps. Or possibly even thoughtful at times, but it was hard for her to reconcile the mistakes and choices she’d made with a word as soft as ‘kind’. “If I am, it’s only because you’ve been kind in return,” she said diplomatically, not entirely knowing how to accept his compliment when she wasn’t all that sure it was true. His request to return left her hesitating for a split second. The greenhouse had always been a place of repose, a hideaway haven where she could simply be away from the world and all others. But if there was anyone who would appreciate the greenhouse for what it was as she did, surely it would be Lily. Her response to his question was to forage through a nearby string that had newly dried tea leaves from it. Whispering a few words of magic over the lemon balm leaves she’d chosen, she then offered them to Lily. “When you wanna visit- just brew these into a tea, and I’ll know to meet you here and to let you in.”

Similarly, Solomon had never been described as ‘kind’ by anyone he’d known… though people’s opinions of him were often kept secret, so there was no telling the impressions he’d left on those who kept their tongues tied. The assessment struck him as curious, and he made a mental note of it. Interacting with people was hard enough already, he’d take any tips people gave out so freely. Watching the witch while she suddenly busied her hands, large head canted to the side, Solomon gave a soft, delighted sigh when she turned around again to give him his instructions. “Thank you, Len,” he gushed, holding a spindly-fingered hand out to accept the leaves, cradling them gently in his large palm as he looked back to her face. The magic was intriguing to him, to say the least—obviously it was very different from his own, and he found the (apparent) simplicity of it to be fascinating. Brew tea, summon friend. Easy as that! Closing his hand to protect the tea leaves, the leshy gave her a deep bow of his head. “I look forward to our next meeting, then,” he murmured happily, rising to his feet to walk back to the greenhouse entrance with her, again ducking through the doorway and stepping out into the moonlit clearing. “Be well!” She was offered an enthusiastic wave, one Solomon had seen many people perform before, and then he was off, lumbering back into the darkness of the wood. What a charming, unexpected evening! He’d remember it fondly for decades to come.

[mithrilwren]

Carillon

For @essek-week​ day 6: tower/possibilities. This was a VERY last minute fill, and it was an absolute miracle I got it done before the clock struck midnight, but woohoo, here we are! It’s mostly for ‘tower’, but I think it has shades of ‘possibilities’ as well.

[Also on Ao3!]

“I really do appreciate that you were willing to come all this way.”

“Yes, well,” Essek said, inclining his head slightly. “It isn’t so far to travel for people such as us, is it?”

The blonde-haired woman smiled serenely. Lady Allura Vysoren, member of the Arcana Pansophical, senior member of the Council of Tal’Dorei, a talented and accomplished wizard - all facts he’d committed carefully to memory the night before, after a series of hasty messages to his more worldly contacts. She ushered him from the teleportation circle through an oaken door, into a hallway of fine wooden supports and demure beige paint. “Have you been to Tal’Dorei before, Essek?”

“No, I’m afraid I haven’t. My duties rarely take me outside my home country.” He gazed up at the high ceiling, wondering vaguely which government building she’d transported them to. He knew they were bound for Emon, but he hadn’t had time to collect any information about the layout of the city before Allura arrived to collect him.

“That’s a shame. I do love to travel, when I can.” Her pleasant niceties, far from putting Essek at ease, only amplified his confusion as to why he was chosen for this assignment. The role of ‘Shadowhand’ was exactly as unobtrusive as the name implied - he was no diplomat. His work was best done through intermediaries, if any social interaction was required at all. 

His work with the Mighty Nein was an aberration, but not wholly outside his purview: to gather information about illicit dealings within the Dynasty was quite within his usual set of duties, even if the method was… unusual. But he could not fathom why the Bright Queen would select him to play the role of ambassador, unless his seeming success with the Nein convinced her that he had some special pull with humans that other drow lacked.

Yet again, he found himself teetering on the knife’s edge of civility, trying to maintain his balance in an arena he did not understand. If he had little experience playing the host, he had less being the hosted, and he grasped one hand by the other in a vice grip behind his back as he floated after Allura, following her into a little parlor off the main corridor. She gestured to a chair, and he felt at once foolish to have taken the effort to resume his levitation spell, only to be forced to descend within a minute in order to sit.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Allura said as she walked to a little table and began pouring cups of tea from a delicate porcelain pot. Beside her, there was a glass door, partially ajar and seemingly leading to a balcony, but Essek could not see past the railing to guess any more about their location. Instead, Essek sank back into the armchair - plush, and upholstered with warm auburn velvetine that complemented the other splashes of autumnal colour within the room - and watched the light breeze from the balcony ripple within the blue folds of Allura’s dress as she finished pouring. 

A receiving chamber, perhaps, for foreign officials? It seemed pleasant enough for it, though nowhere near as grand as the Bright Queen’s throne room. Every so often a shout or cheer drifted up from the street below, also very unlike the reverent silence that he knew so well. Perhaps those things mattered less for a government ruled by a collection of individuals, rather than a sovereign. He had no frame of reference to compare it against.

After handing him a cup, Allura sank into an armchair across from him and took a small sip, just enough to wet her lips, before speaking again. “I hope it’s alright. I tend to drink a lot of tea in the afternoon, but if you prefer something else, I’m sure I can muster it up.”

“This is fine,” he said, and took a sip to prove it. And it was - a pleasant, earthy aroma, subtled by a splash of cream and what he assumed must be sugar. He’d never met anyone besides Jester who preferred sweetness in herbal drinks (or any drinks, in her case), but he had to admit that the flavours melded well. “But- you’ll forgive me, but I wasn’t given much information on the nature of this meeting. What was it you wanted to discuss?”

Matters of politics he had at least a good understanding of, a better one than how to act friendly and convince others to enjoy your company, and Essek was eager to shift to more familiar ground as soon as possible. While he doubted his social graces could net Allura’s esteem, at least he might be able to engage her mind in discussion, and then perhaps the worst of his awkwardness could be overlooked. 

And, for the most part, he believed he succeeded, in the ways that mattered. It turned out the Council of Tal’Dorei had simply wanted a check-in with the Dynasty after Allura’s involvement in the peace talks - a move which he now gathered was only loosely sanctioned by the council itself, though she had seemed quite confident when she arrived before the Bright Queen’s court all those months ago. She meant to shore up relations, and ensure that open communication would continue between their governments. 

He agreed to what he could, proposed options for further engagements, and all in all, performed adequately in his function, but hadn’t quite shaken the feeling he was missing some important detail in all of this - something that might explain why he, of all people, was the one taking part in this conversation. Allura was clearly a skilled diplomat, in addition to her arcane prowess. She projected an air of competence, tempered by a warm, inviting demeanor, but he did not doubt that her demeanor would change were they in her personal tower, rather than within the public eye. Wizards were not known for their hospitality, after all, and the ones he’d met outside himself always guarded their isolation jealously, quick to drop all illusions of civility once they were within a domain of their control. 

“Lady Allura,” he asked as she got up to refill their cups, unable to contain the pressing question any longer. “I’ve enjoyed our conversation today, and I think we’ve made good progress. But… if there is any skillset that I particularly may provide, please, do not hesitate to ask.” There. A way of proposing the question without betraying his own ignorance. The best he could do without surrendering ground in their back and forth. This was, after a negotiation, even if he couldn’t sense the parameters yet. One wizard did not call on another unless they desired something that the other could provide. Even Caleb primarily turned to Essek for help with spells or magic beyond his level, and they were friends - at least, they were.

(He pushed down any thoughts of dinner parties, or good conversation over wine, as the fancies of the past that they were. It was a bitter hope, to believe that there was a different sort of relationship they could have had, one not based on favours and needs. It did not serve him to dwell on it, when his own hand was what quashed that hope for good.)

Allura smiled, setting down the pot on the table. “Nothing of the sort. Truth be told, I actually asked for you personally.” Essek’s eyebrow raised.

“Really.” Though she made no threat, his hand itched towards his wrist, where his components were hidden. Weeks of warnings from Caleb and others in the Nein that an assassination attempt by the Cerberus Assembly might be coming, now that he had outlived his usefulness, had set him on edge. The thought of a powerful wizard with connections both in the Dynasty and the Empire asking to see him personally, and alone? It was worth every  bit of caution in the world.

“You sound surprised.”

“Diplomacy is not my accustomed role.”

“Nor is peacemaking mine, but we find ourselves in strange times.” Allura turned away, looking towards the window and the afternoon sky. “I confess, I still don’t understand the whole of the conflict on Wildemount’s shores. There are shades of grey to every war, and I don’t trust myself to recognize them with an outsider’s perspective. Which is why I asked the Mighty Nein who they would trust to speak to me honestly, and fairly.” She turned back to Essek. “They named you.”

A jolt went through Essek. “When?” he asked, shocked to hear the state of his own voice, strained as it was.

They’d barely spoken in the weeks since the end of the peace talks, other than the warnings about Ikithon and Jester’s occasional messages at inconvenient hours. He’d assumed any ties of trust he’d had with the Nein had been irrevocably broken. Despite any protestations in the Balleater’s hold, he had a hard time believing that No- Veth, or Beau, or even Fjord would count him as someone to be recommended. And yet-

“A few nights ago, when I asked them. I’m glad you were available on such short notice.”

“I as well,” he answered faintly.

And yet-

“Oh no.”

Essek’s head whipped up at Allura’s sudden change in tone to something akin to horror. 

“Is something the matter?”

He stood quickly and floated over to her, scanning the room for any sign of an intruder or threat, but instead he found her staring at a timepiece on the mantle, her eyes tracking the short hand with increasing distress. 

“She’s going to kill me.”

“Who?” Essek insisted, but she was already striding away from him towards the door. 

“How would you feel about a quick tour of the city?” Allura asked, her smile gone from welcoming to hurriedly apologetic in an instant. 

“...Alright.” Strange, but he couldn’t sense an immediate threat. He followed her out the door and into the same hallway, which soon led to a winding spiral staircase leading downwards into a depth of stone. 

“I’m very sorry for the abruptness,” she explained as she walked, “but I promised I would pick something up for someone, and I lost track of time. I’d like to send you off properly, but I also- I really did promise.”

“It’s alright,” he said. “I’m in no rush.” If anything, he was curious to see a bit more of Emon than whatever government building they were in - though, he thought as they continued to descend, it was a strange construction for one. If anything, the layout of the staircase reminded him more of a-

In what seemed like an instant, they were outside, and Essek’s suspicions were immediately proved unfounded. The moment they stepped out onto the street, they were surrounded by bustle - crowded houses, children playing in the street, dogs begging scraps from a food stall down the way. No wizard’s tower would be built so close to the rest of society. They were built for privacy, secluded and elevated above the world. His own house was a half-formed imitation of what he had someday hoped to achieve for himself: gated and lofty, and lonesome.

He didn’t have time to reflect further, or even glance back, lest he lose Allura in the crowd as she hurried away at a breakneck speed.

In the end, he caught up to her on the outskirts of a market, where sellers were just beginning to put away their wares for the coming evening. Essek found Allura at one particular stall, clutching a package of something smelling distinctly briny and looking triumphant.

“Lionfish,” she explained. “They only sell it one day a week, because it’s so hard to keep fresh on its journey from the coast. It’s also my wife’s favourite dish. I would not have heard the end of it, if I’d forgotten.”

“Your wife?” Essek asked, his understanding of Allura shifting in great bounds, like so many shifting cogs whirring into a new configuration. Had he ever met a wizard who was in a partnership, let alone married? It had always seemed to him that a relationship of that kind could only take time away from his work: an unsound investment. Or at least that was a convincing argument, on the days that the loneliness felt like it would suffocate him from within. He almost wanted to ask how she managed it, ambition and love both, but held his tongue. 

“Kima,” Allura provided. “She’ll probably be home by the time we make it back. Maybe you’ll meet her.”

“I’d like that,” said Essek, and found he meant it, which was the most surprising thing of all.

Now that they weren’t in a rush, he was able to get more of a lay of the land. The city was a strange arrangement of highs and lows. It seemed that they were in the high portion, with many houses spread out on the plain below. 

“This is the Cloudtop District,” Allura explained as they walked. Essek had decided to forgo his usual hovering, as his drow appearance was already garnering enough stares from passersby. “It used to be home to the most wealthy citizens of the city, but nowadays there’s a mix of all sorts here.”

“What changed?”

“A horde of dragons razed the city to the ground.” Allura shrugged. “The social divide seemed rather immaterial to most people after that.” She pointed forward at one singular spire, rising above the rest of the mostly one-or-two level dwellings. “Luckily, there was enough space left for me to rebuild the Ivory Tower, and the city’s come up around it.”

Essek stared. It was certainly the direction they had come from, and that they were now headed to.

So it was her tower then, that they had been in. Her tower, that she called ‘home’, that she used to entertain guests, and shared with her wife, and occasionally left to buy fish from a market three streets down. 

“Does it ever feel... crowded?” Essek asked, his own skin already crawling at the proximity of the strangers around him. 

“Sometimes,” Allura admitted. “But I like being able to say hello to my neighbours. I hid my nose in books for so much of my life that it’s a welcome change, for it to be as easy to meet new people as to walk outside my door. It takes some of the work out of it for me.”

That was… not a way that Essek had considered the problem before. He had wondered when he was younger why so many of his peers fell into relationships - platonic or otherwise - without any seeming effort, while he could not fathom how to make a single friend. But he had been separate from the start - isolated because of his mother’s position, and his own talent. Were relationships truly as simple as being in the right vicinity to stumble into them?

He pondered that thought all the rest of the way back to the tower, and up an unfamiliar staircase. “I just want to stick this in the icebox,” Allura explained, “and then I promise, I’ll see you home properly.” He followed her through a new door and into a little kitchen with an adjoining dining room, separated by a half-wall and banister. 

The kitchen itself was fascinating. He got the sense of Allura as an organized individual, but most of the space was pure chaos. Mismatched mugs were haphazardly piled on top of bags of produce and sharp knives were stacked, uncovered, by the sink. Allura’s nose visibly wrinkled as she moved aside a few unopened boxes with her foot in order to open the icebox and shove the package inside.

“Who’s this?”

The new voice caught Essek off guard and he whirled, only to find the air empty at his eye level. He looked down, and found a halfling woman in improbably large plate armor staring up brazenly at him. 

“Essek Thelyss,” Allura supplied from behind him, standing up and dusting her hands off on her skirt. “A guest of mine, from Wildemount.”

The woman didn’t extend her hand, but she gave Essek a good once-over before nodding, apparently satisfied by his look that he wasn’t a threat. He tried not to take it as a snub as the woman shouldered past him to get to Allura.

“Did you remember to get the lionfish?”

“Of course, darling,” Allura said, glancing over the woman’s head at Essek with a look that clearly read I told you so. “I wouldn’t have forgotten.”

Kima, then, and the swift kiss she planted on the back of Allura’s palm confirmed it. “Great, I’ll get started then. Go finish up with your friend, dinner’s in forty.” With that, she was off, pulling pots and pans out with reckless abandon, and utterly unconcerned with either of their presences. It was clear now to Essek that this place was Kima’s, which explained the incongruity with Allura’s neat parlor. 

He thought of his own house, where half the rooms were empty for lack of things to fill them with. He had always wanted to live alone, had never questioned the idea that he would hate to share any part of his home with someone else. 

And yet-

He could understand the appeal now, of sharing a space. Of seeing another person’s marks left over the places they frequent - the dishes in the sink, the paintings on the wall - or to be greeted by a kiss on the doorstep, from someone listening for your footsteps eagerly. It wasn’t a possibility for him, but he thought... he could see it. Why someone would want that. 

Allura sent him back to Rosohna with a promise of future visits and cups of tea to come. By the time he arrived back at his house, it was nearly time to rest, but he headed to his laboratory, intending to check on one of his experiments before closing his eyes for the night. 

The walkways between the different segments of his home were dark, as always, but they gave a good view of the streets stretching beyond his own empty one. From here, he could clearly see the light of Caduceus’s tree, the one beacon in the darkness that surrounded them all, guarding a house too small for seven occupants, but somehow functional, with enough space for all. 

During the day, neighbouring drow still flocked like moths to the flame, walking by the house and trying to catch a glimpse of the strange goings-on inside. He’d never understood the purpose of the tree, when all it did was draw unnecessary attention to the group. He started to wonder now, if that was the goal all along.

His spire was not a tower, but it was removed, just the same. Meticulously organized, just as he liked it to be, but there were still traces of clay he hadn’t managed to scrub from the floorboards. Essek stood on the threshold and saw scattered images of the past: of Nott laying on the floor, of Caleb at the desk, of Jester hounding him for snacks from down the hall. 

They flickered out, one by one, leaving only Caleb, trapped in a scene not from his memory, but from his mind all the same. He watched Caleb stand from the desk and move to the table, beckoning Essek forward. 

“Did you find it?” the shadow Caleb asked, and Essek nodded, heart caught in his throat as he handed over the requested scroll. “Good. Then we can finish tonight.” Caleb leaned over and gave Essek a peck on the cheek, and his lips felt of fog, immaterial and crushing at the same time.

Then he blinked, and it was all gone. Caleb was nothing more than a memory again, and the only proof of his one-time presence were the stains of reddish dirt across the floor.

He stumbled off to his room, feeling unsettled, and deeply tired, with question after question flitting through his mind.

How far would his tower have to climb, so that he couldn’t see the light of that accursed tree from his window?

How long can he pretend that he wouldn’t rather be under that roof tonight, instead of his own?

[lillithenettix]

Part 3

Part 4/?

Part 5

With Putunia out of his view, Habit wanted to turn around. Look after her as she ran as if that would give him any answers to all the questions appearing inside his head.

Read the rest of the fic under the cut!

He still remembered the day she got checked in by her parents. She was very loud and violent. Jumping around his office as soon as she entered, not even sparing him a glance.

So rude! He wasn’t looking forward on having to handle her at the time.

At least she seemed to appreciate his wall art. He liked it when his creations got acknowledged and fawned over. It caused him to feel a sense of accomplishment. Throughout his life he learned to cherish the little things. They kept him going. Pushing him forward when nothing and no one else did.

As he started talking with her parents, something felt oddly familiar. It scratched at the back of his head like a caged wild cat trying to escape its small prison. He didn’t let it show. He just answered all their questions. They had so many it was almost making head hurt. Most of them were just silly, even in his less-than-sane opinion.

Is it really free? Is it legal? We don’t have to come to check up on her until the very end, right? Could you provide a free ride for her to get back home?

At some point he stopped paying attention to the parents’ blabbering and just kept nodding, while looking at the little girl still engrossed in the paintings. He hoped he could get the parents out of his hair soon. He really wanted the mind-scratching to go away.

Once the parents seemed satisfied with everything, they called Putunia over. Habit was still looking at her, not sure if feeling delight to meet his newest Habitician or something akin to annoyance.

Not even a second later, he decided it was annoyance. As soon as Putunia set her eyes on him she, for some reason unbeknownst to him, decided that he was a super villain. He was taken by surprise when she sprinted towards him only to punch him where she really shouldn’t have. Not even a man built like Boris could keep standing after that.

Once he was done dealing with the pain on the floor he ushered the father away even if he was trying to help him. Boris stood up, trying to contain his annoyance at the whole situation. He wished he had Pabit here with him right now. He was sure he could’ve stayed calm with him on his hand.

As he was about to take a few deep breaths, maybe count backwards from ten, he saw what was going on. Putunia standing straight and tense with her eyes closed so hard her whole face was wrinkled, her mother raising her hand above her head-

Suddenly, he knew what the scratch in his mind was. It was abruptly so obvious. So painful. So familiar.

He saw a much younger Boris, his father, and his Lily. They were standing in front of him. He was frozen still. It took him only a blink to get back to reality. See the little girl, her mother, and her boxing glove.

His body moved on its own. It felt like he had no control over it. He grabbed the mother’s raised hand in a flash, maybe a bit harshly at first, but he let go just as fast. Thankfully, it seemed to get the point across.

Don’t hit her.

He remembered being in a bit of a shock for a while, his voice completely lost to him. That’s when he drew the first anti-violence poster, or rather, post-it note.

He didn’t do many things right in his life but, he thinks, that’s the one thing he didn’t screw up.

His reminiscing got put to a halt when, immediately after the little girl was out of sight, a man with bright pink spectacles appeared before him.

It was Dallas, the painter. The first thing he noticed were the paint stains on him. He was always messy when it came to painting. Different colors were smudged on him every day. You could almost tell what he was painting just by looking at those.

Then, looking up, he noticed a snowdrop hanging above Dallas, stuck behind his headband. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from it for a while.

Purity, innocence, sympathy… That’s what the flower meant. Though, somehow, that didn’t sound right.

After burying the Tooth Lily seeds, he didn’t have anything to do with flowers anymore. He avoided them for so many years. It was easier ignoring what his heart yearned for that way. Only once he was brought out of his manic state by Flower Kid did he allow his mind to wonder about flowers, study them, and appreciate them.

He had to think harder. What does a snowdrop mean?

A hand casually put onto his shoulder broke his train of thought.

Boris finally looked down, away from the flower and towards Dallas. The younger man put his other arms onto the table, and leaned his head on his hand. The relaxed smile plastered onto his face made Boris feel calm. It’s like his smile was telling him-

“Don’t worry, dude.” Dragging out the words like he usually did. “All’s cool.” He took off his glasses, hooked them onto the low collar of his shirt leaned closer. His smile turning a bit more devilish.

Habit could feel his breath now. As seconds passed he got more and more flustered at their proximity. His heart skipped a beat in anticipation as Dallas closed his eyes, puckered his lips, and sent a kiss to Boris.

Boris wasn’t sure how to react. Another kiss, just for him! Blushing, he opened his mouth to say something, he wasn’t sure what but he needed to fill the silence. It was simply too much!

Dallas didn’t let him get even a squeak out before he removed the snowdrop from his headband and tucked it behind Habit’s ear next to the other two flowers.

He gave Habit another pat on the shoulder, “You can, like, relax now.” And continued on the same path as Putunia.

Ah, he remembered the meaning now.

-----

When Dallas came across the Habitat website during his art block he thought he found his solution. The page was totally inspirational. Like, the bold colors, the doodles, the everything! It really didn’t take him long to pack up his art supplies and make his way there.

Even before entering the Habitat, when looking at the whole area, he was itching for a brush. The whole resort was an art project, if you ask him. Especially the weirdly shaped tower. Honestly that one looked ready to collapse at any moment, but he was no architect, he’s sure it’s fine.

When he entered the place he was getting a bit giddy seeing all the wall art. Could his art block, like, really end here? Is this the inspiration he needed?

Wanting to soak in as much of the view as possible in as little time as possible, he jogged around the place. The more he explored the calmer he got. It was a big place. A unique place. And the whole experience could be an inspiration by itself. The giant wall doodles were also nice, but it wasn’t quite cutting it. Something was missing. He wanted something more.

Should he really stay here? He wasn’t sure anymore.

Not having time to think his decision trough, someone grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around, using enough strength to not give him room to resist.

The person responsible was like, super tall, very green, and kinda pretty. Taking in the comically fluffy hair, giant blue coat, and little top hat on top of his head, he put two and two together.

“Whazzup, Doc?” He made a little peace sign, as if it added to the conversation.

The doctor tilted his head, seemingly waiting for some elaboration from Dallas.

Okay, maybe it was like, totally weird to come in unannounced and then wander around for who knows how long, instead of going to the medical professional running the place. But who can blame him? He’s an artist in need of motivation!

“So, like, I want in.” Does he, really? “Into the Habitat, dude.” Guess so.

The tall guy instantly perked up, hooked his hand around Dallas’ own, and dragged him towards the tower.

“Oh, then follow me!” He was already dragging him places, but okay, got’cha. “You will love it here!”

Dope, he sounds genuine. It’ll be, like, fine.

It’s been so long since that day.

Besides his first week there, he barely saw Habit around. Eventually, he forgot about him. Well, kind of. There were so many self-portraits and doodles decorating the Habitat it was hard to keep him completely out of mind. Only towards the end of his stay, when the creepy PSAs of his started playing every night, did Habit start lingering in his mind for longer periods, rather than just quick and easily forgettable reminders.

He wasn’t sure what exactly went on with Habit behind the scenes, but it didn’t seem very… chill. He might’ve been a bit dense, but not blind.

In the end, he ended up hearing about the events that transpired during the big event from others.

Maybe it was the fact he hadn’t experienced any of the bad stuff directly. Maybe it was the fact he’s a criminally chill dude. Or maybe it was the fact that Habit was genuinely remorseful about his actions, by the tone of the letter, even desperate. Whatever the reason, it didn’t take him long to make up his mind and accept the Doc’s invitation.

He even thought of the perfect gift to bring him, to celebrate his new beginning. Something representing hope.

A snowdrop.

[post-itpenny]

❝ A tale befitting any opera. ❞

One Being Ruth.

Decided to do some DBD with our Survivor and Killer OCs. I apologize if this seemed like to ran too long. Irene likes to talk.

Ten trials.

That’s how many it took for Irene to come to her senses on just what had become of her.

She would later learn at the Killer’s Campfire that there were some that had taken much longer. Perhaps The Entity no longer saw the need to keep a ruse with her, or perhaps it never tried to begin with. Perhaps Irene had created the delusion that this was meerly a series of shows all on her own.

But she had to admit it was far easier to process the trials as merely a performance. None of the supporting cast really stayed dead and was not their director/ producer also their audience?

Before, the times between trials felt like a strange dreaming state. Sleepwalking through the theater as her mind tumbled through jumbled bits of memory and feeling. All of it was painful, she suspected that part was her new director’s doing. Her hurts and frustrations from a lifetime of being so close but never close enough, of never being good enough for too long.

And then there was her costume… it had to be Ruth didn’t it?

Irene found even after coming to her senses she did not care much for the Killer’s Campfire. Visiting when needed then going off to whatever performance she was slated for in one trial ground or another. There was no script, though like many an actor Irene appreciated the chance at improv. After she would spend her time in the theater. Acting out scenes from old scripts, reorganizing the prop room, or like today she was singing to the empty rafters. Anyone who heard her may or may not have been surprised to find the diva actually had a very lovely singing voice.

Irene was working her way through the aria of Puccini’s Madame Butterfly when the rushing sigh of her director’s presence filled the hall. It seemed, much to her delight, this trial would be coming to her.

There was a slight pull, the tiniest tug as someone else entered the theater. Ah, so her sound technician was here today? Well good, what's a performer without a decent set of stage hands? Though she supposed he was more of a fellow actor these days.

Irene smirked and skulked off to her dressing room where her rapier sat waiting and... perhaps something else a bit of a treat for today maybe? Around her the place shifted, generators, pallets, and hooks appearing.

A deadly game of cat and mouse. Such drama, such suspense. A tale befitting any opera…

Irene adored it.

Accept of course a few members of her supporting cast-

“Hey you hag!”

Irene growled as she turned to spy a grin and mass of curly hair.

Mary shot Irene the middle finger “come and get it bitch!”

Irene sighed, it was so hard to find good talent these days.

This one enjoyed a good chase and much to Irene’s dismay, lead her around the map. The sharp clicks of her boots interrupted as a pallet came crashing down on her head. Irene let out a shriek as stars flashed before her eyes.

The impertinent girl let out a trill of laughter as she zoomed off. Irene had already learned that the girl would only grow faster if she could not follow, and it drove her mad. The others called this kind of survivor and Obsession. Another of their director’s tricks, you needed to kill this one, the thrill of the chase too powerful. Irene hated it.

Which was why she left the little imp alone.

The adrenaline of a trial felt akin to the one she would feel in auditions in her younger years. A desperate but thrilling pursuit. Her first role in New York had been one of the sisters in The Pirates of Penzance, a comedic opera. A somewhat smaller role in the production but she still had to fight tooth and nail for it. She remembered how lovely the leading lady Maryanne had been, but it was Ruth that fascinated her.

Ruth was a multifaceted role, comedic in being an older lady who was hard of hearing yet roped into a band of pirates. However, act two showed how calculating and manipulative she was. Arguably one of the actual main antagonists of the opera. A very young Irene had been fascinated with the duality and of course, an older woman dressed as a pirate. It reminded her of all the times she and her siblings played pirates as children. The middle of eight siblings normally left Irene with little chance as captain and almost always being sent to walk the plank for insubordination or mutiny. The sea being a particularly deep puddle outside her family's home after it rained.

A young Irene had mused that Ruth would be an enjoyable role to play one day, teaming up with the Pirate King and dressed in such a fun costume. Then, it was just two seasons ago that she was casted as Ruth and Irene could not help but think about how this meant she had the appearance to match a foolish old woman.

She was wearing the Ruth costume now, of course The Entity picked it.

Irene rubbed the back of her head as her feet left the ground and she floated down the hall opposite of where the girl had ran, but it seemed the little imp wasn’t ready to let Irene go just yet.

“Where ya going huh?” Mary teased as she ran past Irene and ducked behind the rubble of a row of theater seats. “Is it time for your afternoon nap?”

“It seems to me you just can’t keep away darling. Not that I blame you.” Irene sneered, a wicked glint in her eye as the fingers of her left hand twitched.

Foolish.

The girl popped up to dash off when Irene lashed out. The strings tied to her fingers tightening as they wrapped around the joints of Mary’s arms and legs. The survivor gave a yelp as all feeling left her body save for the burning sensation where the strings connected.

Irene chucked, “I’m not one for heavy lifting. How about instead we take a walk?”

Survivors had dubbed her The Muse since she had once been an actress, they also all agreed her “special” ability was terrible.

Mary stuck her tongue out at Irene as her arms reached up to haul her own body onto the hook.

“My now don’t you look just picture perfect right where you are.” Irene sneered, “but this is what separates someone like you from me. You’re only fitted to be a piece of the background, a small part of a trial in which I have the starring role. Why else would there be four of you? Why else so many chances to keep the show running but for my benefit? Why else-“

“Lady! Do you ever shut up?” Mary groaned as she wiggled on the hook. “If you’re gonna just stand there and drone one like that I’m going to let the damn spider god-thing to come and get me before I die of boredom.”

Irene rolled her eyes and stalked off, trying her hardest to keep her composure. She could be patient just a little longer.

She became aware not long after that someone had rescued her but Irene could only laugh, she had decided to treat herself today after all. Something special she had brought to the trial.

In the basement she had at last found Thomas fishing a rather fancy looking med kit from a chest.

He wasn’t one for taunting, instead locking eyes with Irene for a moment and dodging the slash of her rapier. Up the stairs and backstage they went. Irene grinning like mad as she chased him room to room. Irene reached out with her puppet strings only to snag the ankle of someone else.

Thomas looked over his shoulder to see Mary tangled up in the attack. He spun on his toes, grabbing her arm and in the process felt the sting of something fusing into his elbow.

Irene seemed to almost glitch for a moment, as if overwhelmed by having two people on her strings at the same time. She doubled over, hands clamped over her head as she cried out in pain. Thomas wasting no time in pulling Mary free and shoving the med kit he had found into her arms. She gave him a quick salute of thanks as they ran in opposite directions.

When Irene recovered she was seething with fury, tearing across the stage and through the halls, downing anyone she could find.

Soon a young man wearing broken glasses found himself on his last hook. Irene noted the sounds of only three generators completed. Such strange things, loud and reminding her just slightly of the engine in her father’s Model T.

Irene found a redhead sprinting across the mezzanine when again the imp was back and jumping in the way to take the slash of Irene’s rapier.

“Didn’t your mom teach you not to run with sharp objects?” Mary taunted as she dogged another attack and looped Irene around a row of seats.  

Mary leaped over the railing only to be caught again by the swipe of the thin sword. She gave a yelp before crashing down on the stage below. Irene wasting no time in following suit.

She stood over the girl with a mad grin, listening to the whispers of the entity who had been watching the performance so far. The Muse hummed in delight as Mary’s eyes wided for just a moment, they both knew what was coming.

But then she smirked, “eh… still worth it.”

The strings lashed out again. Suspending the survivor in the air. The Muse stood before her, so much fury built up over the trial, over a lot of things. She shrieked as she slashed at her victim over and over before driving the weapon through Mary’s chest. Her dead body collapsing to the floor in a heap as The Muse turned towards the empty audience seats and took a bow.

[obviouslyelementary]

Talent Show - DS9 fanfic

Ships: Jake/Nog; Kira/Jadzia; Julian/Garak; Quark/Odo

Tags: Romance, first kisses, confessions over music, teen love, adults being there to have fun.

Word count: 4k+

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

Nights like these were rather on DS9. Clam, gentle, uneventful nights, where they could arrange some sort of gathering for the people who were interested. The idea came from Keiko, as she allowed the children to express themselves in a variety of ways, including acting, dancing and singing, which lead to the event they were having. All parents and friends and all the station's personal had been invited for the presentation the kids had organized, some of them doing bajoran traditional dances, and others reading poems and reciting stories.

The parents were excited, and due to a little blackmailing, Sisko was able to get Quark's bar to be the gathering point. They made a stage and organized the chairs so that everyone would fit, and despite Quark's first hesitation, he realized he could make at least a bit of profit by giving off food and soft drinks for the guests.

In the end, they were all gathered up for the event to begin, and Benjamin couldn't help but lean closer to Jake as Keiko called the first group of children to the stage.

"I hope you have prepared something good" he said, and Jake looked at him, giving his father a nervous smile.

"Me too. I'm sure you will like it" he said, making Ben confused and even more curious.

"Are you really not going to tell me what it is? And to whom? Because clearly it isn't for me" he teased, nudging Jake, but the boy seemed to get even more uncomfortable, letting out a weak chuckle and sipping on his drink. "Alright I wont bug you with it. But I bet she will like it."

Jake looked at him, even more unsure, and nodded weakly while looking down at his glass. The bajoran music began, and Benjamin lifted his glance to look at the stage, where three little bajoran girls were beginning to dance. It was quite adorable, but his mind didn't leave him alone. He was always curious about what Jake would do.

 "Can you believe Keiko came for me to help?" Kira asked, chuckling as she shook her head, sipping on her juice and leaning against Jadzia, who was sitting just behind her. "As if I knew any traditional bajoran dancing."

"I mean, I would have asked you too" Julian said from the other side of the table, smiling over his big lizard boyfriend's shoulder from where, very much like Kira, Garak rested against the doctor's chest.

"Are you two going to appreciate this moment?" Garak asked, his soft voice always against his cardassian nature, making Kira giving him a glance while Jadzia squeezed her girlfriend tighter and kissed her cheek.

"He's right" she sang into her ear, kissing it and making Kira immediately lean back against her. "The girls are doing a marvelous job."

"Yeah... they are cute" Kira admitted, holding Jadzia's hand over her own stomach and watching as the girls danced and jumped around the stage, following the song's rhythm. They seemed to have practiced quite a lot. "I remember some girls at my camp that danced like that. There weren’t many of them, but their mothers insisted on keeping the culture alive. It was quite... enchanting."

"Any sort of hope is enchanting" Julian added, laying his head on Garak's almost protectively, while Garak kept his attention on the stage, humming along with the song. Kira didn't seem to mind his company anymore, drawing patterns on Jadzia's hand, smiling whenever one of the girls pulled off a tricky move. They were very good, and she was glad a Cardassian could enjoy a little bit of Bajoran culture without feeling offended.

But then again, Garak wasn't any cardassian. She knew it by the way he treated Julian, most of all. And she wasn't a simple bajoran either.

It was no time to think about that, however.

 Once the girls were finished, the crowd clapped and were given a few seconds to ask for food and drinks while the next group got together on stage. Quark groaned as once again Rom came back with a full platter, flicking his ear.

"You are a disgrace Rom! I said table six not sixteen! Take it to them before it grows cold!" he complained, shaking his head and fixing some more drinks for the costumers, in a rush. During presentations he did nothing but watch, and during breaks he would have to run so all costumers were satisfied. He didn't like that one bit.

"Looking quite busy, Quark" he heard someone say, and oh boy his night couldn't get better. He turned around to face Odo, his eyes narrowed in annoyance as he poured another drink without looking at it before his waiter took it away.

"If you wouldn't mind helping, I could very much use your assistance" he said, getting another meal from the replicator and putting it on a tray. "If not, I would rather have you leaving me alone. After all with all this work, you can't possibly suspect of any scheme!"

"I'm suspecting of schemes ever since you accepted this... event to happen at your bar, Quark" he said, leaning over the bar and squinting his eyes at the bartender. "If I find you are doing anything to ruin this presentation..."

"Odo, why would I? These are every day clients that will be here more often if I offer them good service, specially around their children" Quark said, honestly already exhausted, and it had only been the first set of children. For all he knew, there were still ten performances left, and then it would be open to the public. This night would never end. "Please, Odo? Leave me alone?"

That sounded quite defeated, but he didn't have time to care about his dignity at the moment.

He turned around to serve another waiter with a set of drinks and food, but when he turned to reach for the replicator, the food was gone. Another look, and a freakishly long arm was placing it on the tray, together with other six tentacle-things serving the drinks accordingly to the requests. When Quark looked over, Odo's face couldn't be read, and yet, he felt extremely thankful.

"Next performance will be of our dear student Tarsk, who will be reading her poem" Keiko said, and Quark sighed, shaking his head and knowing he would have another short break. He walked closer to where Odo was sitting, and leaned over the bar, looking at the stage.

"I don't think Nog will be doing anything. At least I hope not" he whispered as the little kid got ready. Odo humphred at him, and Quark raised his cartilage. "Why are you so moody?"

"I was expecting so spend some... quality time with you. I did not know you would be controlling the food and drinks" he said, quite hesitant and also quietly, but Quark heard it and he felt the happiness of being wanted tingling in his ears.

"Oh really? You know, we have the time during the performances" Quark said, and Odo turned to face him, his face unreadable. "I'm free now."

Odo shook his head and let out a huff through his nose before leaning closer to Quark and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. Once he pulled away, his attention returned to the stage, but Quark was already too happy to care.

That would be a good night.

 As the little girl read her poem, quite long for a simple child's mind, Garak leaned further against Julian, and the doctor nodded something akin to fatigue getting over his wonderful partner. He knew Garak had been tired the last few days, although he wasn’t sure why, and he knew he wouldn't get it from him either, but holding him closer and kissing his scaly neck seemed to make the cardassian a little more comfortable.

"Sometimes I... forget... the beauty of the Bajoran culture" he whispered, to no one really, and surely too quiet for their table sharers to listen, but Julian heard and leaned closer to him, nuzzling gently behind his pointy ear.

"They can be quite mesmerizing, can't they? The children?" he asked, intertwining their fingers together, while Garak let out one of his gentle chuckles, nodding to himself and to the doctor.

"Indeed... they hold the same spirituality that allowed their parents and grandparents to survive" he whispered, and sighed softly, squeezing Julian's hands. "In moments like this I wonder the true destruction Cardassia brought to these people."

"You never talk about the invasion like this" Julian noted, perhaps finding one more layer of Garak he didn’t know, one of those he kept buried inside many lies and secrets. But the cardassian just chuckled and closed his eyes, paying attention to the poem again, and Julian knew he had lost him.

Sometimes he just spoke too much.

But luckily, Garak didn't seem to mind.

 "Did you see Rom or Nog at all?" Jadzia asked after the little girl finished her poem, a new round of drinks and foods being served to the guests. Kira turned to face her, a small frown showing in her pretty nose's cartilages.

"I think Rom is being useless to Quark as he always is... and I don't know about Nog. Why?" she asked, taking a sip from her drink and offering it to Jadzia, who easily accepted.

"Nothing. Just curious" she said, and Kira rolled her eyes while laying her head on her girlfriend's shoulder.

"Only you to care about the ferengis while having a nice little talent show" she whispered, and hummed happily. Jadzia knew the alcohol (which was not supposed to be served and yet, here they were) was beginning to affect Kira, letting her softer and sweeter, and maybe a bit clingier, but she didn’t mind, only bringing her bajoran major closer and kissing her head.

"I care about all the performances, but there is one in particular I would not like to miss" she said, and Kira looked at her curiously, barely opening her eye.

"Is the baby troll going to show off some hidden skills?" she teased, smiling, and Jadzia chuckled softly.

"Don't talk like that about Nog, he is a child still" she said, kissing her head and then her lips when Kira pouted. "No, I don't think Nog will be presenting anything. But it is important that he is here, so he sees Jake's."

"Jake's? Oh, what is that going to be?" Kira asked, suddenly interested, smiling at Jadzia. "Is it like a prank? A loooooove declaration?"

"I don't know. All I know is that Jake is nervous and he wants Nog to see it" she smiled, and kissed Kira again to make her forget the subject.

After all, she didn't want to ruin it for Jake.

 "Thank you so much, thank you! Now, our next performer will be Jake Sisko! Get your food and drinks and get ready!" Keiko announced, before nodding for Jake to hop up on the stage. Jake sighed and looked at his dad, unsure, before rushing up with her and taking the old fashioned microphone. "Hey Jake! Ready?"

"I-I guess" he mumbled nervously, looking at her. "Did,.. did Nog show up? Is he going to do anything?"

"He didn't come to check on me, no, but I believe he must be around. His family is" she said, and smiled at him, tapping his shoulder. "Don't worry. I don't think he would lose seeing you perform."

"Thank you, miss O'Brien" he whispered, sighing and getting on stage, before scanning the room as the ferengi served the guests. He could see his father sitting alone a few feet away from the stage. A few tables behind, he saw Jadzia, Kira, Julian and Garak sharing a table, the two couples clearly quite content with their arms around each other. He felt his cheeks warming up as he looked away, only to see Odo serving drinks with four tentacle-like arms while kissing Quark on the side. He couldn't help but frown, that was gross.

He kept looking around, trying to find Nog in the middle of the tables or maybe serving, but he just couldn't find him. Of course, the crowd didn't make it any easier, but he was growing nervous and he hoped Nog would be there to hear him.

 Nog came rushing downstairs as quickly as he could when he heard Jake's name. he made his way through the crowd towards the bar, panting as he reached his uncle, unable to stop his disgust from showing when he saw him and Odo in a somewhat weird make out section. Still, didn't weird him out enough to stop him.

"Uncle! Uncle Quark!" he called, and they pulled away, Odo turning to face him while Quark looked annoyedly at him.

"What?!" he growled, and Nog winced. Odo did not seem to appreciate Quark's reaction. "Shouldn't you be counting the gold upstairs?!"

"I know uncle I know, but you said I could hear Jake!" he said, biting his lip. He had promised him he wouldn't miss it. "I know I did wrong by stealing your liquor, but-but... I learned my lesson! I won't do it again!"

"Quaark" Odo growled and Quark shook his head angrily.

"You are putting me in a bad spot boy!" he complained and Nog pouted. "I should not allow you to listen to the Sisko boy!"

"You promised!" he whined, looking over at the stage. Jake was getting ready. "Please?"

"Yes" Odo answered for Quark, and made a face when the bartender tried to intervene. "Go and find somewhere to seat. You are free for the rest of the evening."

Nog grinned widely and didn't even wait to hear his uncle's complaints, rushing into the crowd and sitting down on a vacant seat with a bajoran group, looking up at the stage as Jake tapped on the weird thing he had on his hand and cleaned his throat.

"H-hi" he started, and Nog grinned to himself. "My name is Jake Sisko, I believe you all... know me" he continued, clearly nervous. "For today's performance I prepared a song... one that is very old, from earth. The 19 hundreds. It is dedicated to my best friend... if you're there, t-this song is for you."

Nog's eyes widened and he looked forward at the stage with even more attention, his ears twitching with excitement. Jake cleaned his throat again and the music started, slow and somewhat dancing, and Jake swayed from one side to the other as he breathed, getting the timing.

"Take it easy with me, please. Touch me gently, like a summer evening breeze. Take your time, make it slow... andante andante, just let the feeling grow.

"Make your fingers soft and light, let your body be the velvet of the night... touch my soul, you know how. Andante andante, go slowly with me now..."

The song was melodic, hypnotic, and Nog couldn't let his eyes drift away from Jake at any second. He wasn't the best singer he had ever heard, in fact Ferengi had quite the ears for music, but the lyrics and the soft, gentle way he sung made Nog's heart skip a beat. And everyone in the bar seemed frozen, watching amazed by Jake's feelings.

 "I'm your music, I'm your song! Play me time and time again, and make me strong. Make me sing, make me sound... andante andante, tread lightly on my ground... andante andante, oh please don't let me down.

"Make me sing, make me sound. Andante andante, tread lightly on my ground... andante andante, oh please don't let me down... andante andante... oh please, don' let me... down..."

The song came to a slow, sweet end, and Jake put the microphone down, looking around at the crowd as it burst into cheers. His father stood up and clapped hard, whistling suddenly, and he could see all his friends in the crowd, waving and whistling and cheering even while Keiko came over to get his microphone back.

"That was incredible Jake! Beautiful!" she whispered, smiling at him, and he smiled back at her nervously before handing her the microphone. He rushed down the stairs and looked around before sitting next to his dad, still confused and looking for Nog.

"Jake that was beautiful" Ben said, holding his son's hand, and he looked at him with a small smile.

"Thanks dad, I... I practiced a lot" he said, but his attention was on his surroundings. "You didn't see-"

"I believe, if I may" he heard Garak from behind them, and turned to face the cardassian, who was giving Jake a smile "that I saw your little friend coming downstairs right before you sang. Maybe you should speak to his uncle, to see where he is" he winked, and Jake felt himself warm up again but smiled.

"Yeah, thanks Garak. Dad I'll be right back" he said, pulling away and rushing off into the crowd. Ben watched him leave, knowing very well he would not be coming back any time soon.

"Being young and in love. It's the sweetest thing, even though he is in love with a baby troll" Kira said, smiling to herself, and Ben shook his head while Jadzia and Julian grinned to one another.

"Major, be nicer to your youngsters" Garak said, and she groaned at him while their partners pulled them closer to avoid any fights. Ben just chuckled and shook his head, looking back at the stage.

 After having a quite short talk with Quark (who seemed more concerned in sucking the life out of Odo's face than actually helping Jake at all), he was able to get some information about Nog's whereabouts. He looked through the back crowd, with no luck, and it wasn't until he looked up that he saw Nog on the second floor, looking down, waving his legs around.

Jake rushed to the stairs and made his way up as quickly as he could, sitting down next to Nog and looking at him expectantly.

Nog, however, seemed quite calm.

"Hey" Jake said, and Nog looked at him. "Did you see my performance? Did you like it?"

"I saw it, but I don't understand human music a lot. Specially old music" Nog said, smiling at Jake. "Also, good call calling her your 'best friend'. I bet she enjoyed it."

"Her? Her who?" Jake asked, confused, and Nog chuckled with a nudge on his arm.

"The girl you sang for! Come on Jake I don't understand human music but I know how to listen to lyrics! It's about love, and it's clear it was for some girl you like! Now, who is she? Maybe I can get you on a date!"

"Nog, there's no girl."

"What do you mean there's no girl? You said it, the song was for your best friend and the song is about love or touching or whatever you humans liked to do in your 19 hundreds!" he said, lifting his hands and hitting them on the rails again. Jake sighed.

"Yeah, it is a love song and it was a love confession. But there's no girl."

"Then... a boy?" Nog asked, eyes widening. "You have a best male friend that isn't me?! How come I never heard of him? Also your taste in partners is quite... unappealing-"

"I don't have any other best friend! Not boy or girl or non binary!" Jake exclaimed, loudly, and stood up angry and humiliated. Oh, that hurt. "The song was a love confession to my best friend. You. But clearly you don't care."

Jake made his way down the second floor as quickly as he could, feeling the tears rise up in his eyes. Clearly that had been an awful idea, and he would never be anything but a hooman friend to Nog. He ran as quickly as his legs allowed him to go, he knew he shouldn't cry like this, but he felt like it because his chest was hurting and he had never felt anything like this before.

It was frustrating.

 It took Nog almost an hour to find Jake again. After the human had not only yelled at him, but also confessed, he felt like an idiot and wanted to talk to him further. Of course he would have never suspected Jake would be singing to him, no one had ever liked him before! No one had ever expressed any type of romantic love towards him at all, and rarely he got any platonic or fraternal love either by how crude and rude the ferengis were, so he didn't quite understand what Jake meant until he spelled it out.

And even worst, he would never expect his feelings to be reciprocated. To him, Jake was far beyond his reach since day one. Somehow he got lucky Jake decided to be his friend, and now, he seemed to want more even though Nog would have never expected anything like that from him. Nog was, well, crude and rude as any ferengi, but he was also stupid, he didn't know math or how to read, he didn't understand biology or history, he didn't have the lobes for business... he never believed or even hoped Jake would ever like him!

But now that he knew he did, he was afraid his stupidity would once again ruin whatever they had.

However, he did learn some things with his ferengi relatives, and he also knew Jake wasn't all that smart either. Well, he was, but not when it came to every day stuff. So, he hid in the most obvious place he could: in the observation tower, where they liked spending evenings watching the stars. Nog approached the room silently, looking around and finding Jake like a shadow in the middle of the room, illuminated only by the stars. He approached, his ears capturing the sound of soft sniffles, and felt even worst for making Jake cry.

If he couldn’t fix it, he would never forgive himself.

Knowing a surprise would not be appropriate, he gently pushed a box nearby to make a sound, and Jake jumped and turned around, wiping his tears to look at him.

"W-who is... Nog?" he asked, his voice softening at his name, and Nog nodded slowly. Jake then turned back around, wiping his eyes. "What are you doing here? What do you want?"

"Jake I-"

"You don't have to say it. I get it. I understood the moment I told you that you didn't like me the same way. It's obvious now, why would you like anyone like me? I'm a male, I'm a human, I don't care about profit or whatever else you Ferengis care about..."

"Jake, that is not-"

"You don't have to make me feel worst Nog! I already feel well ashamed and upset!" he said, and even though Nog sat down next to him, he didn’t move. "I just... hope I didn't ruin our friendship."

"You didn't" Nog assured, tapping his shoulder, and Jake looked at him with tears glistening in his dark eyes. "Jake, I... I didn't mean to make you feel upset, or-or ashamed! I just... never expected-"

"Me to like you... yeah, I know" he whispered and wiped his tears. "I never expected you to like me back. I guess one of us was right."

"Jake, no-"

"I don't wanna hear it, I'm fine with this rejection as it is" Jake said, sighing and looking up at the stars. Nog frowned, frustrated that Jake wouldn't listen to him.

"Jake I-"

"No Nog."

"But-"

"Nog I don't want to listen!"

"J-"

"Nog!"

That was it. Nog held Jake's face and turned his head around to face him, and Jake looked at him surprised, but it was a look that soon disappeared when Nog leaned in and pressed their lips together. He closed his eyes tightly and just waited for a response, since he was aware he was not good at kissing, but eventually the shock wore out and Jake responded, moving his lips ever so slightly and tilting his head. His hands came to rest on Nog's shoulders while Nog's remained on his cheeks, until they both pulled away and looked at each other, surprised and also radiant.

"You should have let me finish" Nog said, and Jake smiled brightly at him.

"And miss that? Not at all" he giggled, and Nog giggled right back before they met up again, kissing once more now that they knew how each other felt.

And they remained the rest of the event (and even longer after that) in the observation toward, kissing and giggling and getting acquainted with this new relationship that had blossomed.

 By the end of the talent show, Ben had joined his two favorite couples for a round of food and drinks, on the house. The parents and children had already left, and Quark brought up something for them to chew on, sitting with Odo and the rest of the officers. Kira was basically asleep on Jadzia's chest, while the others talked and drank in the quiet of the night.

It was Odo who brought the subject up.

"Your son, commander. I have not seen him since his performance" he said, making Ben share a knowing look with Jadzia. Before he could answer, Garak interrupted.

"I'm sure he is well taken for, Odo. He was looking for Nog when he left" he said, and Odo nodded.

"Yes I know. That is what worries me" he explained, receiving a flick on the arm from Quark.

"Don't be like that! My nephew is one of the few good ferengis I know, and I'm not counting myself" he said, and shook his head while Julian chuckled.

"Hopefully the two of them are... discussing some issues that need to be resolved" he said, winking to Dax who smiled and nodded.

"Hopefully."

"Could we join you?" they heard Miles saying, and pulled their chairs around to fit another two while Kira complained and found a way of climbing on Jadzia's lap, falling asleep tangled on her girlfriend. No one seemed to mind, and Keiko and Miles joined the group after closing off all the necessary equipment for the event.

They spent the rest of the evening talking, laughing and enjoying each other's company without thinking much about the problems that could come ahead. After all, it was rare to have such a calm night to enjoy.

And sure, they didn’t see Nog or Jake until the next morning, but Keiko knew the night had been productive when she saw the two boys walking into her classroom with their hands tangled together.

She decided then she should make those events more often.

[foreverfangirlalways]

The Astronomer and The Florist (Chapter 4)

Summery: Logan gets Virgil flowers, Virgil is an idiot and thinks Logan is straight, and Patton and Roman are trying not to throttle them both.

Ships: Analogical & Royality

Warning: (none?) -let me know if I need to add a warning-

( I hope you liked it! I’ma go ahead and say that I don’t know for certain that all of the meanings I gave the flowers are 100% correct, it is just what I found in my research. )

—-

*BEEP**BEEP**BEEP**BE-

Logan blindly reaches out and hits his alarm clock. When it didn’t shut up, he threw it. It then shut up.

“Ha!” Logan thought, glaring at the offending noise maker. Logan grabbed his glasses and then looked at his night stand. He smiled when he saw the flower list, excited to work out his plan.

He doesn’t have to go into work until 12:30 today, so he gets dressed, pockets the list, and heads for the flower shop.

When Logan and Virgil were talking last night, Virgil said that he doesn’t have to go to work till 11, so Logan figures he has about an hour and a half to convince and get Patton to help him.

Logan opens the door to the shop. Patton looks up from the counter and smiles. “Hiya Logan! What brings you in so early?”

“Good morning Patton. I have come to acquire your assistants.” Patton looked a little surprised at that. “Of course kiddo, what’s up?”

Logan raised his eyebrows at the ‘kiddo’, but decided to leave that question for another time.

“Well, you see,” Logan began, “last night Virgil helped me realize that I wanted to teach, and because of his advice, I proceeded to get into contact with my old Professor. It turns out that he was planning to retire anyways, and is going to ask the College Board if I can be his successor.”

Patton’s smile grew and he clasped his hands in front of him. “That’s great Logan! Though I’m not sure what you need my help with?”

“Ahh, yes, well...” Logan stutters a bit, suddenly becoming a bit flushed. “I have a list of... flowers I want to give Virgil as a thank you, and I was hoping you could help me make the bouquet before he comes into work.” Logan said sheepishly.

Patton full on squealed. “Eeehhh! Of course I will help you! That’s so sweet! So, what flowers did you have in mind? Do they have specific meanings?” Patton asks in a rush, but he also had a knowing gleam in his eyes.

Logan flushed again, becoming an even brighter red. “Yes, they do have meanings, I thought he would appreciate it more if it did.”

Patton nodded vigorously, heading to get the little basket he uses to carry flowers. “He definitely will! Now, how about you tell me what flowers you need and why, then I will get them and make them into a beautiful bouquet for you to give Virgil?!”

Logan, still a bit flushed, cleared his throat. “That would be... that would be quite satisfactory. Thank you Patton.” Patton just waved away the thanks and smiled. “Thank me after you’ve given Virgil the bouquet. Now, what am I getting first?”

Logan then proceeded to tell Patton some of the flowers that were on his list.

“Sweet Peas as a thank you for quality time.”

“Hydrangeas as a thank you for understanding.”

“Campanulas to express gratefulness.”

“Chrysanthemum as a thank you for friendship.”

“Iris’s to symbolize a great care for a new friendship.”

Then Logan got to the part of his list that were no longer thank you’s.

“Gardenias for... secret love or crush.” Logan whispered. Patton literally jumped and awed when he heard that, startling Logan.

“Please continue!” Patton urged.

“Blue Violets for affection.”

“Pink Rose for love and gratitude.”

“White Lotus’s for hopefulness.”

“And finally, White Carnations for luck.”

Patton, having successfully gotten every flower requested, then looked up. “I understand almost all of the flowers, but what about the last two? Why would Virgil need to be hopeful and have luck?”

Logan froze, and chuckled nervously. “Well, those are more for me.” Patton furrowed his eyebrows and Logan continued. “You see, I plan to ask him to join me in a social gathering, that could be viewed as romantic, and I thought the flowers would be appropriate.

Patton instantly started jumping up and down. He put down the basket and gave Logan a quick hug.

“That is simply too cute! Oh my gosh, I have some purple ribbon in the back that Virgil LOVES! Let me go get it!”

Patton got the ribbon and immediately set to tying up the bouquet. As soon as he was done, he hands the purple bound bouquet to Logan.

As soon as Logan has the bouquet in hand, Virgil walks through the door.

Virgil looks up and sees Logan in front of Patton. Virgil smiles, and then he sees the bouquet. It is very pretty, filled with pinks, purples, and whites while tried in a purple ribbon that Virgil really liked. Virgil knew what the flowers in the bouquet meant, and he knew that Logan had gotten them based off of their meanings, because Logan told Virgil last night that is how he buys all of his flowers. Based off of their meanings.

“Nice ‘thank you’ bouquet,” Virgil said, suspiciousness heard in his voice by Patton. “Who is it for?”

Logan, ever the poster of eloquence, responded with, “Uhhhh...” Virgil walks over to Logan and raises his eyebrows in question.

Logan said, and I quote, “they are for a person. A person I am very thankful for their help. Because, as you said, it is a thank you bouquet. For a person.”

Patton fought the urge to facepalm. Logan was a bit nervous. He didn’t plan how he would give Virgil the flowers, he just planned what flowers to give. So now Logan didn’t know what to do. Also, Virgil looked really good in his skinny jeans and purple hoodie, so Logan had a hard time thinking straight.

Virgil is a bit confused and weary. He really likes Logan, and Logan is holding a bouquet full of flowers that mean ‘thank you’ and ‘I like you’. Virgil knows for sure that the flowers aren’t for him, and that makes him very sad. He just didn’t know why Logan didn’t want to tell him who they were for.

Roman entered the store in the midst of Logan and Virgil staring at each, and Roman just looked at Patton. Patton just shook his head and waved Roman over with a look that said “please don’t make noises and come watch these two oblivious idiots with me.”

So Roman naturally went behind the counter and stood next to his boyfriend as quietly as he could.

While Roman went to stand next to Patton, Virgil asked Logan about the bouquet again. “What’s wrong Logan? Cats got your tongue?” He asked in false snark.

Logan went from looking nervous to being completely baffled. “No, my tongue is in my mouth and I don-“

“Logan, buddy, it’s a figure of speech.” “Oh. Uhh, well then.” Logan says while fixing his tie.

He sees Virgil smirk, and decides that the only proper way to give Virgil the bouquet and ask him out is by making him blush as much as Logan was right now.

“You see Virgil,” Logan started, his voice taking on an a more silky tone and making Virgil blush slightly.

“I have recently meet someone who is very spectacular, as well as very attractive. They helped me quite a bit, and I decided that I wanted to treat them. So the flowers are for someone I am particularly fond of, and wish to accompany me on what could be seen as a romantic outing.”

Patton and Roman tried not to erupt in cheers, and looked at Virgil. Virgil has gone very pale, and something akin to a mixture of sadness and disbelief flashed over his face before his expression slammed down into a schooled look of boredom and faint intrigue.

Virgil couldn’t believe he was so stupid. Of course Logan was as straight as his tie. That was just Virgil’s luck. He should have been less careless with his feelings. He was never believing Roman again.

Roman must have just been joking when he said that Logan found Virgil attractive, after all, how could a guy like Logan be gay? For Virgil?

The purple ribbon and pink flowers will make some girl very happy.

“Oh, do you now? Please, tell me more about this person.” Virgil said, trying not to sound sarcastic and hurt.

Patton noticed that something was off, but he didn’t know what. Logan, however, seemed to that as a challenge.

“Oh, they are awesome. We actually share a few interests. They love the sky, are super sweet, very helpful, and objectively the most attractive person I have ever had the pleasure of gazing upon.”

Virgil gets noticeably paler and starts to feel a bit nauseous. He doesn’t think he can take much more of Logan talking about how awesome his soon-to-be girlfriend is.

“That’s great Logan.” Virgil said, slight hurt seeping our and being heard by everyone.

“That’s cool. So what is her name?”

Roman gave up on being silent and faceplams. Patton has never been more disappointed in his dark strange son. Patton knows that Virgil can be oblivious and self-deprecating, but this was just plain stupid.

Logan looked he had a Window Error screen behind his head. He unfroze, and looked at Virgil with a look of complete confusion and utter bafflement. “What did you say?”

Virgil rolled his eyes at Logan, trying not to feel even more hurt. “I just asked what her name was Logan. The girl your going to give the flowers to? If you don’t want to tell me, it’s fine. I was just curious.”

Roman made a strangled sound and Patton whacked his arm. Both Virgil and Logan looked at the couple briefly, having forgotten that they are there, before turning back to look at eachother.

Logan cleared his throat and decided to help Virgil see how this situation wasn’t the only thing not straight.

Logan stepped closer to Virgil, who stepped back a bit. Logan had a very, very serious expression on his face. He was kind of scaring Virgil.

Logan leans in, opened his mouth and says in a completely calm and cool manner...

“Please tell me everything about myself that made you think I am straight, so I can change it immediately.”

Patton choked at Logans brashness and Roman cheered at the fact that his best friend had just used one of his line! Ha! And the line seemed to work wonders.

Virgil blushed because he realizes how close he and Logan are standing, and also at the meaning behind Logan’s words. Virgil mutters something along the lines of, “Sooo... your gay?”

Logan rolls his eyes with a fond look on his face and steps closer to Virgil yet again, Virgil stepping back and hitting the shelf, still a bit uncertain as to if Logan actually meant what he said.

”Yes Virgil, I do identify as gay. And also, these flowers are for you.”Virgil blushes very hard, takes the flowers, and opens his mouth to say thank you.

Instead, “I’M GAY TOO!” Is what he yelled out.

Logan chuckled while Patton facepalmed again. He was going to get a bruise if this kept up.

“Yeah, I had hoped so.” Logan says, leaning into Virgil’s personal bubble slightly. Virgil gulps. “So, would you like to join me in going to the party my job is throwing on Friday? You could see your work in full display.“

Virgil grins shakily and nods. He still couldn’t get over the fact that Logan wasn’t straight!

Logan steps back smirking, completely aware of what he was doing to Virgil, and walks towards the door.

“Excellent. I shall text you more details later. For now, I must go to work.” Logan says, walking out the door.

As soon as the door clicks, Roman and Patton let out twin squeals and turn to Virgil.

Virgil sinks down to the floor, cradling the flowers.

Virgil smells the flowers with a dopey expression. He then looks over at Patton and Roman and says...

“God, I’m too gay for this shit.”

Taglist-

@five-falseh00ds-ph0nated

@dragonwithproblems

@sanders-sides-with-quinn

@aleiimm

@yikesdodson

@kawaiikat54

@thefingergunsgirl

@nerdycupcake559

@softestvirgil

@teacupfulofstarshine

@impatentpending

[balfecaitriona]

CHAPTER UPDATE! Hello! It’s been quite a long time since I last updated this story and I just want to apologise for the long wait, I hope not to take so long again but life happens! I have a good idea where I’m going with the next few chapters and I’m very excited to continue. I just want to thank everyone who’s stuck by me with the story and the lovely words I’ve received about it, I really appreciate it everyone of you and I hope you enjoy this long awaited update!

CHAPTER NINE | END OF THE WAR

ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN

FANFICTION

CHAPTER SUMMARY:

The war is finally over and Claire's feelings only deepen for Jamie.

PAIRING: Claire x Jamie. RATING: Mature. WORD COUNT: 2832.

CHAPTER NINE

END OF THE WAR

The past few days felt like a dream. Claire had now invited a full, six-foot tall Scotsman to live with her and she didn't give a damn what anyone had to say about it. She was never before so impulsive, but she wondered if in fact it was the war making her behave so, that no one could perceive just how long they had left and it was better to grab life with both hands and enjoy every second of it than spend her time worrying with regret.

Frank was gone, lost to the battlements of war and while that had been a rather difficult pill to swallow, the fact that Jamie remained by her side was not. At first she had felt so terribly guilty, every time she caught a glimpse of the shimmering gold band on her finger. What if Frank had returned? Could she have allowed Jamie to leave her life so easily? Or perhaps she would have never allowed her feelings to deepen so quickly. But every time she had the same horrid thought that made the pit of her stomach feel heavy with guilt, she remembered the night she had taken Jamie to the Craig Na Dunn and what she had felt in the car, the thought of losing him forever to the past and the feeling in her stomach settled. She had never felt that way for Frank, even as he boarded the train for war.

Claire was moved from thought the moment Jamie entered the living room and found her at her writing desk. Her face immediately softened and she grinned at the sight of him, and the warmness that filled her belly knowing he had no intention of leaving her now.

"There ye are sassenach..." Jamie said carefully, trying to juggle two cups of tea. The fine bone china looked so awkward and delicate in his enormous hands.

He set the tea down on the desk, some of the contents swishing from the cup, leaving splatters on the dark mahogany.

"I think I got it right... two sugars?" He raised a brow, and Claire nodded with a toothy grin that turned into a laugh, her eyes warm and besotted with him.

Jamie sat on the edge of the armchair, bringing the cup to his mouth and swallowing half the contents in one sure gulp.

"I dinna ken how ye can drink this stuff, sassenach..." He glanced down at the cup with furrowed brows. "The English always did confuse me..."

Claire let an airy laugh leave her before she brought her own cup to her mouth and almost spat the contents out at the bitter taste that stung her tongue. She made a face akin to a vomiting baby.

"No wonder... What on earth have you put in this?" Claire said with disgust, setting the tea down to go and investigate in the kitchen.

"Well I boiled the water, and let it stew with the tea bag in the pot like ye said..." Jamie was quick to defend, getting up to follow her, his eyes sheepish like a scolded dog.

"Then why does it taste so vile, it's definitely not supposed to taste like that..." Claire said, looking around at the rather messy worktops. Jamie always did have the impression of a bull in a china shop. This kitchen was much too small for him, and even though she didn't mind doing the domesticated things, Jamie insisted that he make the tea today, and she soon realised it was something he had never done before.

"Then I just added the sugar... See?" Jamie said, and Claire realised he was holding a small salt shaker in his hand, to which she began to laugh, much to his dismay.

"That's not sugar!" She made to take the shaker off him. "It's salt!"

"Oh..." Jamie scratched his head, his cheeks flushing a bright pink. "I thought the S stood for sugar."

"No, the sugar's over here..." Claire proceeded to pull a little blue tin from her cupboard, and sure enough, inside where the dazzling sparkles of sugar grains.

"Go and sit down, I'll make us a proper cup of tea." Claire shooed him from the tiny kitchen as Jamie sat down in the chair by the desk and pawed through one of the books that sat there.

"Ah well... I suppose I'll stick to what I know in future." Jamie said, with a defeated sigh, but there was humour in his tone.

"I appreciate the offer!" Claire said, laughing to herself as the kettle boiled. She moved to lean on the door frame, arms folded, looking at Jamie lovingly, as though he were a small child who'd tried their best.

"I don't think tea-"

There was an almighty crash that broke Claire's sentence. The sound of loud cheering and banging outside. Jamie's head turned to look toward the window to see a crowd forming, moving steadily down the hill outside.

"What are earth is going on..." Claire exclaimed, running to open the front door, Jamie right behind her.

On the street there was a great buzz of people chattering and laughing, Claire felt a little relief to understand nothing terrible had obviously happened but she was still curious.

Front doors lay wide up, people where crying, shouting and cheering. Strangers grabbing each other in tight embraces, throwing their heads back in euphoric laughter. Claire and Jamie merely stood at the doorway watching, more confused than ever before.

"It's over!" Shouted a red haired woman, leaning over Claire's gate. Her hair was in rollers, kept in place by a hairnet. She looked as if she might jump over the gate altogether with glee. "The war! It's finally over! The Germans surrendered!" She cried, before she moved along to join the crowd of happy people.

Claire couldn't quite understand what she was hearing. It didn't seem to hit her as violently as she thought it would. All those years, cooped up alone in the wards of the hospital, she imagined a day where all of the fighting might stop and how she might feel.

She gasped loudly, her face breaking out into a smile. It was finally over. She looked up at Jamie, who still seemed confused but smiled back at her nonetheless, catching her infectious happiness.

"Oh Jamie..." She whispered, the words seemed to flutter out of her in an airy laugh. Over five years this war had slogged on, and many began doubting if it would ever end at all. But it had. It was now. It was over.

Claire threw her arms about Jamie's neck, feeling lighter than she had in years. It was like a wash of relief ran through her body, assuring her that now everything would be all right. The dark gloomy clouds that refused to let her look to the future where vanishing and the world seemed lovely again, and for the first time in a long time, she was happy merely to be alive, but most of all to have Jamie here to share it with.

Jamie patted her back, leaning in to smell the sweetness of her hair. Although he had not been here long to see the full affects of war, he had been here long enough to see how awful it was, unlike any war he had ever known. And like any war, the relief and happiness felt when it had ended were the same, no matter the century.

"Aye Claire..." He muttered back into her hair. "The fighting is done." Was all he could manage to say. Jamie understood what this meant to her. He had watched her exhausted form drag out of bed every morning and sludge back home every night. Now, it was done, there was light at the end of the tunnel at last.

Claire pulled herself from him, laughter leaving her lips as she turned to walk up the garden path but not before she made to grab Jamie's hand, taking her with him. They left the little yard and ventured out into the joyous crowds. Immediately someone thrust a bottle of champagne into her hand and she made to gulp it, long and hard before thrusting it into Jamie's chest.

He too took a generous swallow, but not before making a face of bitterness as the fizz stung his nose. "Aye it's no whisky, sassenach..." He remarked, but Claire was too enthralled about what was going on around her to take notice.

People where hanging out of open windows, children skipped around their feet with little Union Jack flags in their hands, waving them and laughing ceremoniously. Someone was blasting the delightful tunes of Glenn Miller's 'In the Mood' on a radio to the crowd. Strangers hugged strangers and people had erected tables with food and drink that seemed to appear from nowhere. And Jamie and Claire where in the middle of it all, a celebration not to be forgotten. The war was finally at an end.

***

Some hours had passed, day had turned to night and the party didn't seem to end. People were growing merrier on the copious amounts of alcohol being supplied. Merchants left their shops to join the celebrations and all in all, the good atmosphere was infectious. Winston Churchill had announced the end of the war in Europe, and for once Claire could feel weightless and happy again, even if deep down her heart did sink for Frank, who had never lived to see this day come to pass.

"Aye... War doesn't seem to change in the passing of the centuries." Jamie seemed to conclude after a long moment of thought, he had spent a great deal of time just watching people. "At least the celebrating a victory is verra much the same." He commented to Claire who had now lost count of the drinks she had consumed.

"I was beginning to think this war would never end." Claire replied, taking a swig of whisky, no longer did she wince at the sour taste and the burn it left in her throat that made her want to gag, she had grown used to it's flavour now.

"I think ye've had enough lass..." Jamie tried to say, moving to attempt to try and pry the glass from her hand, but Claire tugged it away before he could get it.

They had found themselves sitting on bar stools in one of the numerous crowded bars in Edinburgh. The sound of people laughing and singing merry songs was music to Claire's ears, it had been so long since people were so happy and carefree and Claire wanted to revel in it while it lasted.

"Don't start." Claire said, rolling her eyes. Although she couldn't deny the slur in her words and the fact that the room seemed to be spinning. She attempted closing one eye to see Jamie clearly. His red head was fuzzy in her vision but there was no denying it was him.

"Aye I've seen that look before, sassenach and it usually means it's bedtime." Jamie said with a smirk, moving to pull the glass from her grasp this time and downing it's contents himself. The Scottish had a reputation for being able to handle their drink remarkably well, and Jamie was no exception.

"How dare you!" Claire scowled in an exaggerated rage, irked that Jamie thought to do such a thing. "Don't you dare tell me what to do!" She slurred. "If I want to sit here and drink until daylight then I fucking will!"

"Aye, sassenach." Jamie said carelessly, ignoring her words. Every time he made to try and direct Claire from the pub to take her home, she would dart away. That was until Jamie managed to grab her, and he lifted her tall, slender form with ease and slung her over his shoulder.

"Put me down!" Claire started shouting, kicking her legs and wriggling. "Put me down you god damn bloody bastard!"

Jamie merely laughed, as did the many other people he passed along the way as he brought a very drunk Claire home to her bed.

***

"Here we are..." Jamie said finally, slumping Claire down outside her garden gate. He had came to know the area well enough to be able to get to Claire's house and back. "In ye go." He directed her, the front door still wide open from before.

"No!" Claire replied like a defiant child, head spinning from the alcohol but she refused to take orders from Jamie.

"Aye ye will, or I'll lift ye again." Jamie replied calmly, folding his arms and looking at her with a smile at how she was behaving. He had never seen her mad with drink before, her hair seemed to stick out in a fuzz that made her resemble an irked hedgehog.

Claire made to walk away, but staggered and fell. It was then an almighty laugh left her lips. The anger at last had seemed to leave her, and now the infectious giggling set in.

"Come on... Ye bloody fool." Jamie laughed, grabbing her and lifting her up. This time she gave in and held her arms around his neck, like a tired child being carried to bed. Giving in to the defeat, too lethargic to want to argue or fight back. Suddenly, a warm cosy bed seemed to sound heavenly.

Jamie set her down the on the bed and she lay back, hair askew and laughed some more, it was breathy and easy and he knew the tired groans of sleep where not far off.

"I take it ye had a good day then sassenach..." Jamie whispered, a toothy grin on his lips as the answer seemed obvious.

"Wonderful!" Claire replied with a loud sigh, stretching her arms out on the bed. It had been a very long time since she was able to let her hair down and enjoy herself without any fear at the back of her mind or stress from her constant shifts at work. Work hadn't even entered her mind today, but she would deal with the repercussions tomorrow, the thought of now made her head spin again.

"I'll bid ye goodnight then Claire." Jamie said, making Claire sit up in sudden alarm to see him leaving the room.

"Don't be silly..." She groaned, outstretching an arm. "Sleep here." She patted the quilt beside her.

"I'm fine with the sofa, still." Jamie replied, but seen Claire was defiant again. She had rose from the bed to move to grab him in the dark, suddenly being without him seemed truly unthinkable.

Her hands moved to grab his stubbled chin, forcing his lips against hers. For a moment, Jamie gave in and moved his lips against her own, but he soon knew this was a different kind of kiss, and one she had not given before. Without realising, Jamie was being pulled back to the bed. Claire's nimble fingers moved down his shirt, never before did buttons seem to irksome as her hands struggled awkwardly trying to remove his clothes.

A gentle grasp from Jamie made her drunken recklessness stop for a moment, but only to protest. Jamie seemed to know where this was leading, but Claire had a desperate longing for him, as he had all along, but the alcohol had only seemed to heighten it. She had to have him now. The flame within her would not be silence by his honeyed words.

"No sassenach..." Jamie whispered, moving to push her eager hands away.

"But I want you..." She muttered back against his lips with impatience, her forehead touching his.

Jamie smelt the strong stench of whisky on her breath, and although he fought with himself for rejecting her like this, he knew her head would perhaps ache with regret all the more tomorrow if he allowed her to explore her passions. He could not have her like this, until he knew that is what she wanted, with a sober mind.

"Yer drunk out yer mind Claire..." Jamie replied almost sorrowfully. He didn't want her to think he didn't want her, it was quite the opposite.

"I'm not!" She said with a defiance, though there was a rueful whine in her voice that knew it to be true.

"I want ye Claire..." Jamie whispered, wanting her to know how true it was. "But I canna have ye like this..."

Claire seemed to understand then. For a moment the drunkenness seemed to vanish, and she felt open and ashamed. She moved back on the bed, clutching the top of her dress with a shy embarrassment, her face looking as though she might burst into tears at any moment.

Instead of saying anything more, she lay down on the bed, curled up like a kitten and Jamie felt his heart ache for her.

"Sassenach..." Was all he could muster, opening his mouth to say more but nothing would come out.

"Goodnight Jamie." She whispered with a tired sigh, and Jamie took his leave to the cold sofa downstairs.

[excuseme-youpretty]

Ecstasy

Pairing: Kim Taehyung / Reader

Side Pairings: None

Rating: Teen

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2935

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Notes: Yet again, this was requested as a prompt by my sister. The theme for this prompt was “Curiosity Shop” but I thought the title “Ecstasy” fit the overall story better. I hope you guys all enjoy!

I also haven’t proofread anything so I apologise for any mistakes!

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Days as effortlessly romantic as today will always be your favourite way to express your relationship. 

Certainly, there is plenty of merit to be found within those lazy afternoons, your body sprawling across a canvas of clean cotton and your lover’s thighs embroidering your own. Where his hands perfectly frame your pelvis and his soft sleepy breaths puff across your cheekbones like dandelion seeds as dawn dissolves around you. 

But the moments where you can showcase how breathtakingly beautiful your fiance is, and how perpetually charming, by showing him off to the unwitting universe will always be your ultimate favourite.

Because you are absolutely certain that Kim Taehyung is the epitome of ecstasy; the word defined in the bladed architecture of his cheekbones and a smile which is a little too goofy for his godlike exterior. He can read your soul as though it were poetry - where to touch you, how to kiss you, what words to pull from his gilded tongue to make your toes curl upwards.

Yet, his particular brand of affectionate indulgence does not necessarily reside in over the top means of appreciation. There is no triumphant fanfare or elephant-lead parade (although, you are certain that Taehyung would arrange such a feat at a moment's notice if that was what you craved). 

No, Taehyung's adoration can be found in the smallest of expressions; petite gestures which remind you that you are eternally loved.

On this particular morning, Taehyung had pried you from your sleep with a smattering of baby-breath kisses across your face and shoulders, his wide-set smile expanding considerably as soon as your lashes had fluttered open.

He had harmonized his love into your tilted collarbones and presented you with a warm, fresh from the oven croissant and foam-tipped latte from your favourite bakery down the street. His impossibly long fingertips had chorded through your hair as you both ate in comfortable silence, perfectly attuned to an orchestra of birdsong resonating just outside your window.

Only once every single crumb had been polished off did Taehyung, regretfully, tug himself from your side. He had somersaulted toward your bathroom, his strides wide and perfectly chaotic, as he fumbled around with the convoluted dials on your shower to ensure the downpour would reach the perfect temperature for your bodies to intertwine underneath.

After an onslaught of strawberry-scented suds, and the 'accidental' wade of Taehyung's fingertips taking an exploratory turn across your chest, he had carefully pulled you from your shower to drape you in a large towel, wicking all  moisture from your skin in a few eager strokes. 

You had perched on the precipice of your mattress as Taehyung threw your closet doors open, scanning the entirety of your wardrobe with his lips pursed in concentration. It didn't happen often, but whenever your man would take it upon himself to correspond his wardrobe with yours it would always leave a fuzzy feeling in your lower abdomen; like television static, only sweeter.

On this occasion he had settled on a white blouse to match his own pristine dress shirt, similar light-washed jeans, and an adorable indigo purse which coordinated perfectly with the heavily-patterned scarf knotted against his throat. 

You had just barely finished dabbing perfume against your clavicle when Taehyung had enthusiastically tugged you out toward his car, his lips curling wetly against your own to silence any reservations you may have had about this seemingly impromptu rendezvous.

He simply asked you to trust him, his ringed fingers clicking pretty against the radio dial as he thumbed Sam Smith's satin-spun vocals to an all-time high. 

Just like that you were driving through Korea's technicolor streets without a care in the world. Pure ecstasy. 

And that is how you found yourself in your current position hours later.

Taehyung's fingertips are unfathomably long where they loop throughout your own, pouring like honey across your knuckles, and somehow gathering enough momentum to swing pendulously between your bodies.

Across his other wrist Taehyung balances an abundance of overstuffed shopping bags from the various outlets dotted throughout the mall. You lean virtually all of your weight against him, your stomach full of the most exquisite lunch and a plastic straw caught between your teeth to savour your second mango-passionfruit smoothie of the afternoon.

Sometimes being in love with Taehyung is utterly exhausting; a permanent fixture of motion and charisma and effortless conversations which always leave you a little tongue-tied and high on his natural dopamine. 

And yet, you wouldn't have him any other way. 

"Hey, Tae? Can we maybe take a rest for a minute?" You sigh sweetly, nestling your cheek comfortably against Taehyung's domed bicep. "My feet are killing me."

"Of course, Jagi!"

Taehyung guides you toward the large terracotta fountain poised proudly within the mall's centre. You perch against the cool stone, with Taehyung placing your shopping bag collection aside to join you, and sigh softly as he lifts your aching feet from your pointed heels to caress his long fingers around your tender instep.

He massages your skin softly, dissolving all discomfort through persistent compression and a voice as smooth as buttercream. His lips seek out the plush of your temple, tucking away the loose strands of hair he finds with the tip of his nose. 

Taehyung's heartbeat carries a natural percussion with tones akin to tinkling wind chimes and every bit as delicate. You find yourself overwhelmed by the collaborative sensations of sound, rhythm and his earthy cologne.

You lean into your fiance's torso. Another blissful sigh flutters past your lips and across the sticky straw compressed between your teeth. With your head tipped back, you allow your lidded gaze to slowly scan your nearby surroundings. 

Amidst a monotonous canvas of granite stone and whitewashed brick sits a peculiar storefront. A flash of jade woodwork, with wide stain-glass windows and what appeared to be a hand-carved door decorated by spray painted poison ivy decals. 

The facade, although surreal and whimsically furnished, is definitely new. You can't help but find yourself drawn toward it like an energetic moth flouncing toward an open flame; the clash of pigment as stark as a gilded leaf amidst a blanket of snow.

"Tae?" You muse, listening for his small hum of acknowledgment before you continue. "This is new, right? I don't think I've seen it here before."

Taehyung lifts his head to follow your gaze, a sunkissed curtain falling in front of his vision as he does so. He puckers his lips in thought.

"You're right. 'Quirks and Curiosities'. I wonder what they sell there?"

"Hm. My money is on obscure trinkets. Like the type of stuff Jungkook collects in that shoebox underneath his bed."

"Well, in that case!" Taehyung grins, the corners of his mouth stretched skyward. "We absolutely have to go in."

He springs forward onto the balls of his feet with a small, barely noticeable squeal of pure delight, carefully grasping at the marginally empty cup in your hands to toss the dregs into a nearby garbage can. 

He helps you back onto your feet, guiding your soothed soles into your leatherette heels once again. The visual makes you giggle fondly.

In spite of his buoyant bleach-blonde curls and tanzanite contacts, he really does resemble an animated prince falling into a whirlwind romance orchestrated by fate itself.

"Come on, Jagiya! Lets see what we can find." 

Taehyung tugs impishly upon your linked fingers as he gathers your shopping bags within his spare wrist. You roll your eyes and chastise him for his infantile excitement, but you cannot deny that his palpable enthusiasm is utterly contagious. 

The pretty tinkle of polished wind-chimes twirling against one and other is the first stimulant you are met with as soon as you toe across the threshold of Quirks and Curiosities. The second is an overwhelming scent of sandalwood and crisp clean cotton. 

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the sudden light change, all springtime luminescence transforming into something dim and tinted violet from the many mismatched lamps strung overhead. 

A plethora of beaded curtains brush by your cheekbones as Taehyung draws you further into the annex of the shop. There are several shelves, each one littered by an array of unique antiques and special oddities which pique your interest. 

Your fiance appears similarly hypnotized. His eyes are wide, sparkling as vibrantly as blossoming constellations, as he runs his impossibly long fingertips over the top of a large bronze cattle statuette. 

Briefly, your mind is seized by the notion of how much Namjoon would enjoy such a place. All of the unique figurines he could acquire to bolster his ever-expanding collection. But your thoughts are quick to sober; Kim Namjoon in close proximity with anything fracturable is never a good idea.

As Taehyung becomes enraptured by what appears to be a pair of large peacock-feather earrings, you break away from his side to go exploring on your own, making sure to press a small but affectionate kiss against his neck in passing.

You nod courteously at the petite woman poised patiently behind the counter, her kind eyes creased in genuine warmth at the small interaction witnessed between yourself and your fiance. Your stomach flip-flops as a blush seeps across your cheekbones. It always stokes a fire deep within your stomach when your relationship with Taehyung is not only acknowledged, but also treated with respect. 

There was once a time when you had deemed yourself unworthy of his advances, of the sweet words which would drip like caramel from his tongue and explorative hands which would hold your body oh so tight. But he had smothered those insecurities underneath a pair of the prettiest puppy-dog eyes you had ever seen and now, with this friendly stranger recognizing your partnership as beautiful causes your insides to glow. 

Absentmindedly running your thumb and forefinger over the cool band of your engagement ring, you divert your attention toward one of the more colourful displays. 

A kaleidoscope of pretty scarves dangle from mismatched hangers, their metallic threads shimmering underneath the dim lamplight and silken tassels catching every little breeze which passes by like party streamers caught in the air. 

Underneath them, a small collection of beautiful coin purses are dotted in a row. Some of them have been hand-stitched into complex creases whilst others carry reflective sequins and enhanced beading. 

But what really captures your attention is a trio of beautifully displayed fans, each perched upon a small wooden plinthe and spread open to showcase their intimate details and exquisite craftsmanship. 

One of them in particular, the largest in the collection, leaves you momentarily transfixed. It is broad and colourful; a distinct lavender hue ombreing out toward filigree lace corrugations. Embroidered butterflies spread their wings across the textured surface of the fan, some soaring sky high whilst others dip their proboscis into a bouquet of flowers so elaborately detailed that you can practically smell their tantalizing sweetness.

Sparing a brief glance over your shoulder toward the adorable shopkeep who had regarded you so kindly, receiving a nod of encouragement in response, you reach out and carefully pluck the large fan from its plinthe as soon as she grants you permission to do so. 

It feels light within your palm, decorative lace tickling your cheek as you bring it close. You focus on the sunkissed crown of Taehyung's hair, on his deliciously deep voice waxing poetic about the pair of earrings now dangling from between his knuckles.

"Tae?" You hum, wafting the fan against your cheeks.

"Yes, Jagiya?"

He turns on the spot, his oval eyes softening as soon as he witnesses the weave of your hips wandering toward him and the clash of purple against your honeyed complexion. 

"Ah, what do we have here?" He hums, holding a hand out toward you.

You teeter into his presence, slowly directing your fan around your body in a deliberate semi-circle, and pitch your voice a fraction higher.

"I'm so fine wherever I go~" You mewl, imitating your beloved friend with a lot less skill and precision than Jimin himself would offer.

Still, it causes Taehyung's smile to expand; pulls an abundance of impish giggles from his throat like popcorn kernels puffing up.

"Much better than Jimin-ssi!" Taehyung cackles, clapping his hand against his inner wrist to prevent damaging the pretty earrings he holds. "But if you tell him I said that, I'll only deny it."

"I understand. Soulmate priorities."

"Exactly!"

Taehyung pulls your body close to his own, his palm pressing snug against your tailbone. His lips make quick work of your flushed cheeks, kissing across elevated bone and pausing to rest on the tippity tip of your crinkled nose.

"Ah, I love you." He sighs.

Foregoing any chance for the sentiment to be echoed, Taehyung opts instead to guide you toward the cash register to pay for your newly coveted trinkets.

"Good afternoon!" Taehyung sing-songs, bowing politely. "I would like to purchase these earrings." He slides the jewellery in question across the counter, fingertips twitching as though he dreaded letting the unusual accessory go. "And my beautiful fiancee seems to have fallen in love with this stunning fan." 

Before you have a chance to offer up your purchase for her eyes to evaluate the attendant's fingers are dancing expertly across the raised keys of her cash register, its numbers as faded and timeless as the adorable knicknacks which surround you. There is a small ping! as the drawer pops open, but Taehyung is quick to press a handful of crisp bills into the woman's hand before she can signify any total.

Part of you knows that you should object to Taehyung's unique brand of generosity. That he has already done far too much for you over the course of your relationship; especially today with his impromptu shopping spree and fancy luncheon.

But you also know that Taehyung would object. That he would unravel his bottom lip in an emboldened pout that will leave you breathless whilst he insists that he needs to more. And it always culminates in him going above and beyond to spoil you far more than is necessary.

So instead you tuck your smile into the mapwork of Taehyung's shoulder and attempt to hex away the heat which swirls like lava beneath your skin. 

After all, it is quite exhilarating to be worshiped by the man who maintains ownership of your entire heart and soul. Why not indulge, at least a little, if it makes you both happy?

"Please, keep the change." Taehyung insists, and when the shopkeep inhales a sharp breath of surprise you feel your heart swell with pride. 

After tucking his wallet back within the confined of his far-too-tight jeans, your fiance gathers the small bag containing his newly purchased earrings and loops it in place over his wrist where it joins countless others. He braids an arm around your midsection and you both thank the friendly employee one final time before returning to the sterile ceramics of the bustling shopping mall. 

The sound of water slapping loudly against cool tile and an abundance of discarded wish-laced pennies almost feels too chaotic in comparison to the impenetrable silence that Quirks and Curiosities had seemingly perfected.

Your eyes take a minute to adjust to the sudden influx of concentrated light as your pupils shrink from necessary dilation back to their regular size. Still, your vision burns, and you find yourself raising your fan toward your eyes out of instinct alone, hoping to disperse some of the rays which trickle like honey between your eyelashes. 

Taehyung watches the display with an overt fondness. 

"You know, I'm thinking we might have made a huge mistake in buying that fan for you, Jagi."

You squint at him in confusion. "Why?"

"Just think of all the terrible jokes Jin-hyung will make as soon as we get home."

You give pause. Attempt to mentally condition yourself for a persistent circus of 'perfect fan' and 'fan-tastic' puns before they arrive. And if you concentrate hard enough you can just barely make out Seokjin's telltale laugh like perfectly-manicured nails on a chalkboard. 

You ignore the urge to cringe. Because, as irritating as his poorly conceived jokes can be at times, you simply wouldn't want your Jin any other way.

"Worth it." You muse, whipping your fan enthusiastically in front of your face. 

Taehyung grins, pulling your body against his own so that he may press a kiss to your mouth. He lingers, his neatly-sculpted cupid's bow clinging to your lower lip as he autographs his name on your flesh with a brief - albeit deliberate -  catch of his teeth on tongue-warmed skin.

You sigh as soon as you part from each other, your fingernails finding purchase on his silken neck scarf to keep him from straying too far. 

"I love you, Tae." You purr, tilting your head back just far enough so that he can glide the tip of his nose against your own.

"I love you more, Jagi." 

Taehyung presses a fingertip to your mouth before you can attempt to protest his ludicrous, and frankly defamatory, statement.

"Now, come on. It's time to buy my future wife some pretty new shoes! Ones that don't hurt her poor feet quite as much."

Once again you are completely susceptible to his bewildering enthusiasm. 

And as Taehyung draws you past the large fountain you had once taken solace in, pausing to capture the very moment that his lips had burned an entire midsummer sunset across the underside of your jawline, residual thoughts from your morning return to you with picturesque clarity.

Kim Taehyung really is the epitome of ecstasy.

[flightofaqrow]

🌟

Send 🌟 for lines of your writing that I enjoy a lot!

There’s probably a billion more that I could toss in here, but I’m pulling stuff that immediately jump to mind from my favorite threads, and what I can peep doing an archive skim. I’ll probably miss ones I really adored at the time IT’S IMPOSSIBLE TO PICK WITH YOU OKAY.

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Speaks lots about his character that he would drink it dry over mixed. A concoction often mixed with water for its taste. Something you sip, not drown yourself in.

And Qrow drowns.

He drowns himself in everything that he consumes. From the busted pack of cheap Parliaments in his pants pocket to the oxygen that he breathes. Knows no such thing as self-control. The one variable in his life that he seeks to restrain forever flowing freely from his fingertips. Feels the glass slip from his grasp and its only luck that he catches it before it clatters onto the counter.

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Wracked with guilt, Qrow pushes himself away from the counter onto shaky feet to look the other properly. Ozpin only taller by a few inches. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, wet with booze and now tears that fell unprompted. The death of many weighing heavily on his conscious.

“I’m so… stupid,” Qrow breathed out finally, breaking the uncomfortable silence that fell between them.

“Everyone said not to, and I did.” A bitter laugh and Qrow’s face is all but happy. Twisted up in sadness and sorrow as he looked the other with pleading eyes.

“I gave you everything,” He breathed out, voice barely audible, “And you couldn’t give me the truth.”

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PLAY ALONG for now, mister.

Nothing more needed to be said as a warm body cozies up against his side, Qrow only mere seconds away from downing his third shot of Scotch. Sets the glass back down and he knows a trap when he sees one. Knows when a game is being played, having been one who played such games when he was younger, before Beacon.

A ploy harder to keep with age.

And age shows well on Qrow. It’s the weapon secured on the small of his black and the title he’s earned for himself that makes playing hard. He’s not as cute or coy about it anymore. Too well seasoned and trained for cheap party tricks. Secures information in more adult manner now.

A smirk graces plush lips as she leaned in, the smell of cheap perfume tickling his senses. Hooks an arm around her waist and pulls her forward and around, so she was trapped between him and the counter of the bar itself.

“Say no more, doll.”

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He’s hunched over the edge of a crate in the middle of a fucking alleyway in Mantle during a patrol. Clover the unfortunate sap stuck to tend to the huntsman in his current nauseated state of being. Withdrawal symptoms hitting him at the worse possible time and all he wants is for it to end.

A moment of peace in his life devoid of pain and suffering. He wants to breathe and be at ease. No fear of his semblance and what harm it could bring. No fear of being hurt and left behind to die. Could count the times he’s been left behind by the tribe to waste away. Liquor his saving grace from his misery.

Numbed the hurt and gave him something better to feel in return.

This, this was not better. This was miserable and god awful. This needed to end right now and all Qrow wants to do right now is to bitch and gripe about it. Shoves the hand reaching out to smooth his hair back away as he hurled once more.

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There’s a clench of his stomach in response. Empty. The idea of eating is unappealing to the Branwen however. The body wants, but Qrow does not feel the urge to feed it. Craving for liquor and basic necessities all merged into one, he can’t quite tell the difference anymore.

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HE’S QUICK. He has to be. Doesn’t have muscles oozing off of him like every other huntsman he knows. No where like anyone else in the tribe.  Qrow is all speed and skill. A natural talent honed in on to make up for the everything that follows him. He over compensates for being a bad luck charm. The movement is fluid. A  smooth transition, from running up on the Grimm, the fall of his footsteps quiet and controlled, to the extension of Harbinger. Qrow pirouettes from first position to second and swings down into third. Harbinger’s blade slicing clean through with each transition as he comes into place in front of Clover. Stops mere inches from slicing the other in half with his scythe. Cool metal starring dangerously into the face of the other.

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[ THIS IS A PLACEHOLDER FOR ONE I CAN’T FIND. THERE WAS AN AWESOME METAPHOR/TURN OF PHRASE WITH CLOVER AND CARDS AND I THINK A BLACKJACK REFERENCE AND FOR THE LIFE OF ME I CANNOT FIND IT!!! I liked it so much I read it out loud to my husband oh my god I’m so mad I don’t remember when it was... ]

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I won’t copy/post nsfw stuff, it might even be weird to mention it but uuhhhhhh THIS WHOLE ANSWER

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It’s like kissing ink on paper, bitter with a touch of something else underneath. Meant to stain and leave an impression. 

[ oddly enough the first half of the imagery with these lines kind of had a disconnect for me, because while I appreciated the hell out of the reference I couldn’t see why black coffee would need to be shaken OR stirred, so I wasn’t exactly sure what was being communicated. THE INK METAPHOR HIT ME HARD THO. especially with the concept of it being a layered thing. ]

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[JUST INSERT THE ENTIRE F’ING THREAD WITH STAT’S RAVEN OKAY. BUT UGH I GUESS I’LL PICK SOME]

Free them all from the burden of carving out their hearts and stabbing it into the trees of the woods where it can be maimed and torn apart by the very same creatures they hunt.

They’ve fought many times before and now should be no different to rekindle their love for one another. What she did hurts, but nothing hurts more than having a part of him forcibly torn away. To see her suffering further than he can feel from afar.

They’ve wounded each other enough as it is. Not a part of them scratch free. Their blades permanently carved into one another. Said things neither one of them truly meant and felt nothing, but each other’s pain in return. Tears shed from both twins, strong and overwhelmed with the emotional force combined by both parties.

Reaches out the only way he knows how, by baring himself whole. Put his emotions on display in it’s rawest form. Knows nothing else, but how to be honest. Tells her with little words that he still feels everything that she feels, if not more that she ever could. “I’m here, Raven.”

A hive abandoned by it’s own Queen is destined to die. Wither away blindly completing tasks with no end-goal.

He tightens his grip around her hand, rings pressing into the other’s skin. Only then is he mindful of how tight it exactly gotten. Something akin to fear in his hold. Like if he doesn’t take this, take all of it, she’ll slip away from him again and he’ll be here. Standing alone in the rain with an empty hand reminiscent of warmth he craves. Warmth that could only be fulfilled by her.

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[ I should actually do some of OURS huh... lmao]

No, Qrow offers himself up on a silver platter. Highlights his best features and puts it on display with the intention of captivating anyone who inched too close.

His next drink is lined up and Qrow circles the rim with his index finger. Feels the welcoming warmth of intoxication slowly begun to consume him. Combs through his hair with a level of familiarity and comfort he’s grown far too accustomed with. Beckons him to coo in delight at the sensation.

This conversation is far too convoluted to keep his interest. There is both nothing and everything going on at the same time and Qrow has little interest in thinking. If he was looking for a chat, he would have reported back to Ozpin hours ago. He would have followed through with his meeting with James, but he has done none and neither of these things.

He smiled as Briar laced their hand together, swinging their arms back and forth as they walked the streets of Mantle post-drinking spurge. Wherever it is their feet leads them is wherever they will go for the night. It doesn’t matter as long as she’s by his side.

Sweet is the first word to come to mind at such a brazen promise being bestowed upon him. Briar is sweet. How could she not be? Gentle in nature with consideration tucked under her belt. A dosage of sugar and spice he never knew he needed in his life. She is fun and a blast in the wake of his somber lifestyle.

Makes a request for rum and ginger ale, something sweet to satisfy his tongue. Far too odd for him to simply order whiskey on the rocks in a club. A drink meant for isolation, not mingling.

He pulls back and Qrow brushed at her shoulder with his hands to get rid of everything that left him. Disgusting as it is. Small smile on his lips as nervous laughter follows next. Doesn’t know what to do with himself as he stood there awkwardly, drenched to the bone in Briar’s apartment. “Hey,” he tried, “I’m back.” What else can he say after all that? The moment gone and Qrow more than ready to move on like it never happened.

It’s Briar! Qrow LOVES Briar. Qrow loves Briar except for when Briar is being the most Briar she can be and this, long pointed finger in his face as vermilion eyes narrowed at the sight of painted nails mere inches away from his nose as he drank is the least version of Briar he liked. Briar with a point.

The people outside the tribe far too fragile about their precious masculinity and feminity. Whereas Qrow could not care about these gender norms they aspire to. He sees a pretty outfit. He wants to wear it. It’s as simple as that.

OKAY ITS BEEN HOURS I NEED TO STOP AND MOVE ON BUT I COULD CONTINUE FOR MORE HOURS. I WANTED TO PUT SOME SIENNA ON HERE TOO BUT THIS IS SO LONG ALREADY SEND FROM THAT BLOG IF U WANT IT I GUESS. OKAY. ILU BEST BITCHHH

[rhnuzlocke]

Chapter Ten: Street Fighting

Slateport was a bustling port city that had slowly taken over the entire cape and began to creep inland. It wasn’t as built up or modern as Kogane, in whose shadow Ren had spent her childhood. Instead it reminded Ren of the more distant Asagi, complete with a towering lighthouse shining above it all.

Ren bought them fresh Carvanha fritters and kumara chips in the crowed market by the fishing docks, then picked up a bag of ginger-coconut biscuits at a bakery as they wove their way south. She’d been missing fish and there was nothing like getting the morning’s catch before noon—even if it wasn’t quite the same as the Koiking korokke and roast yakiimo she used to pick up on her way into town.

Slateport’s beaches were enormous—the largest Ren had ever seen. They wrapped two-thirds of the way around the city and stretched at least a hundred meters beyond the dunes and smooth slate walkway. There were sandbars out further still that people and pokemon had swam to. Ren took off her boots and let her feet sink into the dry, shifting sand. She winced at the scorching heat until it was up to her ankles, but Tāraki flopped down and let out something akin to a purr as he splayed out.

“According to the visitor’s guide, all the battling in the city takes place out here,” Ren told her team.

Māia gave a few experimental flaps on her shoulder. “Excellent! The wind is perfect!”

Panahi clacked her beak in agreement.

“Akahana, you should still be taking it easy, so just let me know if you’d rather rest in your ball.” She nodded. “Iki.”

The Surskit startled out of Ren’s shadow. “Y-yes?”

“I want you to take the lead, if you feel up to it.”

“What?”

Ren rubbed at her shoulder. “Sometimes it seems like you still don’t think you’re a battler. But that’s my fault for neglecting your training. If you give me another chance, I bet I can prove to you that you can be.” Iki fidgeted. “What’d ya say, little bug? Want to give this a go?”

Iki glanced at Akahana before squaring up to Ren. “Y-yeah, let’s do it!”

Was it hope, or did you see potential in her?

“I knew she could be great. Even though it scared her, she always had such unshakable dedication. It ran deeper than even I knew. She threw her all into every fight. The fear never made her freeze, it only made instincts keener. There was no way she wouldn’t become a top battler.”

I see.

“Is that why I chose her in the first place? I thought…”

Do not doubt yourself. The way you have sought to heal and empower all of those bonded to you—to use your strength to protect even strangers—is why I chose you. It is at your very core, Ren.

“You’re right. I’ve always wanted to do good with my abilities, even when I still wanted to do great things.”

It is my belief that you will do both.

Trainers were scattered all around and battles took place wherever they could find enough open space between the other beachgoers. Much to Tāraki and Māia’s delight, there were more than enough opponents around the right badge level for Ren’s entire team to get some practice between Iki’s bouts.

The matches by the seaside were particularly exciting and informative. Water moves could manifest so differently with a source so readily available, and fully aquatic pokemon could maneuver in in wholly new ways. And Iki could skate across the waves with a speed and grace that blew her movements across dry land out of the water.

But high on the beach, where the sand was loose and drifting, her spindle legs sunk beneath the surface and her speed fell behind the Slugma she was facing. It glided across a layer of glass melted by the heat of its magma, and Iki only managed to escape by turning more sharply than it was able. She zigzagged away from a Rock Throw only to be driven further into the sand by an Ember. Ren could see her trembling.

“Dig deep, Iki! You can do this!”

The shaking stopped as the Slugma surged forward, but instead of ducking down for a Fell Stinger, Iki stood tall and released a rushing stream of bubbles from her open mouth. They burst and hissed upon impact, splattering the Slugma’s viscous skin asunder until is disappeared in a cloud of steam.

The sea breeze cleared it a moment later, revealing a sunken puddle of black rock with magma glowing through the cracks

“Oh,” Iki murmured in shock.

“That was Bubble Beam!” Ren cheered. “You have a water move now! This is gonna change the game for you!”

“Really?”

“Absolutely, little bug!” Ren grinned wide and Iki smiled tentatively back.

The other trainer stood back up from inspecting her Slugma, and withdrew it. “I’m gonna take Mote to the Pokemon Center.”

“Thanks for the battle!”

“Oh, uh, you too.” The trainer almost turned to go, but hesitated. “You said this was your first time in Slateport, right?”

“Yeah!”

“Then you might not have heard, but they hold tourneys at the Seashore House every Friday. It’s a bar just down there on the west end.” Ren followed where she was pointing and spotted a blue roof a ways off on the beach. “It’s worth a go if you’re still in town tomorrow. I always go.”

Ren threw her an appreciative smile as thanks. “Sounds great! We’ll be sure to check it out.”

“Maybe I’ll see you there then bye!” She said in a rush before jogging off.

Ren turned immediately back to the task at hand. “This is perfect! We just need to do a little target practice and we’ll be ready for thing!”

Iki looked over at the sunken hole where the Slugma had been. “If you say so.”

...

The pink and orange of sunset painted the horizon and set the sand alight as Ren and her pokemon set out the next evening. The Seashore House was packed when they entered—filled to the brim with trainers and their pokemon. A smiling middle-aged man and a Tentacool bustled behind the long bar serving up drinks while one harried waitress took orders from the seated patrons. Buoys and lifesavers splashed bright color across the slatted wood walls, and the smell of fried seafood wafted powerfully from the direction of the kitchen. The room was buzzing with conversation and pulsing with excitement. Ren felt her heart beat a little quicker and a grin overtake her face.

She drifted outside with the rest of the mingling trainers to find the large stone patio being cleared. She grabbed the end of one of the remaining picnic tables with some of the others and set it down in the sand in line with the rest now encircling the patio.

“Hey, y’all! Listen up now!” A voice boomed from an amp near the side door. The buzz quieted and everyone’s attention turned to a girl who couldn’t have been over twelve, mic in one hand and the other thrown in the air, standing on a crate to see over the sea of heads.

“This is your Master of Ceremonies, your Officiator of Fun and your ultimate Judge of Battle Badassery, KAT KORRAAAAA!”

The regulars roared their approval while some of the new initiates clapped unevenly in confusion. Ren whooped. After an appropriate amount of adoration, the girl lowered her hand and all fell quiet.

“Let me lay out the rules for the new blood and all them that’s just passing through. All matches are one v one, standard League rules. The first tournament is for greenhorns through two badges. Next is for three and four badges, so on and etc. You get the idea. Winner of each tourney gets as many free drinks as they can knock back! Remember, you can only lose once, but you can win again and again so step right up hopefuls, gather round spectators and prepare yourselves for the BEATDOWN!”

Ren waded through the crowd and wrote her name in the bracket beside the building. Spectators filled the picnic tables while pokemon took the edge of the patio for a better view. Ren and her competitors surveyed each other appraisingly.

“I’m seeing a lot of plant, dark, and fire-types.” Ren whispered down to her team. “This is yours to win, Iki!”

Iki was trembling, but she nodded resolutely.

Pride mixed with excitement rushed through Ren’s veins and had her tingling down to her toes by the time her first match was called. Her opponent sent in a Houndour against Iki, and Ren glimpsed Akahana don a matching grin.

Ren had Iki douse the ring with Water Sport to dampen its fire and use the puddle to hydroplane around its jaws. A Quick Attack to each flank had it staggering and third to its shoulder brought it down before it had managed to land a single hit. The swiftness and decisiveness of the victory caused a moment of quiet before Kat shattered it with her judgement and sent Iki skittering back between Ren’s legs.

They faced a Seedot in the next round, which proved tougher. But Ren correctly guessed that its joints were the most vulnerable, and Iki had the precision to follow through with Fell Stinger. The third round was a Numel whose combination of Magnitude and Flame burst had Iki quaking, but once again she didn’t freeze and it succumbed. The fourth was a Cacnea, whose troublesome Sand Attack they beat back with Bubblebeam. It was difficult to land any effective hits without getting in range of its Needle Arm, but they managed to distract and encumber it enough to get a decisive hit on its vulnerable crown.

The crowd grew more and more raucous as each successive tier of the bracket filled until the final battle was announced. A trainer with a mohawk and piercings stepped into the ring with his Boldore opposite Ren and Iki.

Finally a real challenge! Ren felt her body lower and her hands come up like she was preparing for a judo bought, and Iki mimicked the stance in front of her. The other trainer sneered and his Boldore postured to play to the crowd. It was about four times Iki’s size and must have been near ten times her weight. They would have to be quick and careful to beat it, but that was where they excelled.

You seem to think of your confidence as a weakness of late, but to my mind, it is perhaps your greatest strength.

“Thinking I could handle things I couldn’t has gotten pokemon killed! You know that! You’ve seen it!”

I disagree. Look again, Ren. Look harder.

Ren and Iki waited for the opening move they knew was coming, and the Surskit sprang to the side to dodge the rock launched at her. It shattered by Ren’s feet, but she felt rather saw it as her eyes followed Iki’s zig-zagging path around the edge of the ring. Three more rocks narrowly missed before the attack was spent, but by then Iki had lined up a clear shot and hit it square in the leg with Bubble Beam.

The Boldore stumbled in surprise, but then leapt back at her with a Smackdown. Instead of running, Ren had Iki parry with Fell Stinger, which unbalanced and sent it stumbling back.

The crowd roared almost as loud as Ren’s heart in her ears, the pitch of it climbing at her audacity. But Iki paid the price when her own unsteady legs failed to carry her out of range of a Headbutt. The crowd gasped as the force of it pinned her to the ground. There was no getting away this time, and the Boldore raised a leg to stomp her.

But Ren didn’t reach for her ball or call their surrender. Instead her command rang out in the relative quiet as the audience anticipated the end. Iki raised her head and blasted the Boldore point blank in the face with Bubble Beam. It staggered as the first bubbles exploded against it, wobbled as Iki pressed the attack, and collapsed as Ren and Iki’s strength outlasted it.

The crowd went absolutely wild. People and pokemon were jumping and screaming and cheering. Iki didn’t jump this time. Instead, light suffused her and a breeze rushed out from her, quieting the crowd.

Iki emerged from the shell of light looking unlike any of the many Masquerain varieties in Ren’s Pokedex. Her head was crowned with a pointed, golden helm with a plume of red rising from the back. Her false eyes were a stark and hypnotizing contrast of black and white, and her mask was a deep shade of pink. She was amazing.

“What a tournament! What an upset!” Kat yelled over the mic. “Folks, it looks like we have our winner! Give it up for Ren Kosugi and her MVP, Iki the Surskit!” The crowd cheered wildly again and the girl waited for a lull to continue. “Or should I say Masquerain? Let’s congratulate her on that awesome evolution!” The cheering picked up again, but this time with more applause and a few lycan-whistles. “I think we can all agree we’ve never seen a bug quite like that folks! What a sweep! Be sure to collect your reward, Ren!”

Iki’s head was tilted down, trying to catch her reflection in the sheen of water over slate.

“Iki!” Ren called.

Iki turned and looked up, but her eyes found Akahana instead. The Poochyena’s black lips curved upward in a rare smile. Iki’s wings began to beat furiously, propelling her up several feet before she got them under control. Ren ran to her rescue, scooping Iki up and hugging her in her arms.

“You look awesome, little bug! I’m so proud!”

Ren felt Iki press her face into her shoulder. “Thank you.”

In another moment, Ren loosened her grip enough to look down at her pokemon “So do you believe me yet?”

Iki took a moment to answer, but there was hope and happiness in her eyes.

“Yeah.”

...

Later that night in their room in the Pokemon Center, Ren was drifting off on a bunk with Akahana already snoozing beside her, when a low whistle pulled her back to consciousness. It repeated, sharper this time.

“Iki!” It was Māia.

Ren cracked an eye open and saw Iki’s red plume jolt in the shade-filtered moonlight.

“Y-yes?”

“The others and I wanted to congratulate you on your evolution,” said Panahi gently.

“Really?”

There were murmurs of ascent all around.

“Of course, dear. You worked very hard, and you did so well. We were all impressed.”

Iki fidgeted in her cushion. “Oh, wow, thank you. I-I mean that’s very kind. I didn’t think I was doing that great…”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” hissed Māia. “That tournament was awesome!”

“Especially that last battle!” Tāraki gushed. “The way you received that Smackdown with your head spike!” He was on his feet, imitating the motion with the frond sprouting from his head.

“That took guts!” Said Māia. “And I would know.”

Iki was quiet for a moment, then ventured: “because your ability is called Guts?”

“Yeah!”

“Oh.” Then Iki let out a little tinkling sound that might have been a giggle.

Ren pressed her hands over her mouth to stop herself from squealing and giving herself away.

“You see?”

Yes. I see a trainer who cares very deeply about her pokemon and their happiness.

“I—You!—Don’t laugh at me after being so kind!”

Only if you cease mocking your virtues.

“Personally I liked the way you used Water Sport to speed yourself up and Bubble Beam to slow the others down,” said Hakeka. “I didn’t know you were so clever.”

“Ren helped me with—”

The Shroomish interrupted before Ren could: “still, props on the execution.” Iki did not deflect again and Hakeka continued. “Now that you’re talking to us, I’ve got a question for you—if I may?”

“Um, sure. What is it?”

“Why do you hang out with the grumpy Poochyena so much?”

Ren saw Iki rise up off her cushion, false eyes flaring. “Aka is not grumpy! She’s really nice!”

“Yeah, lay off her, Hakeka!” Māia chirped. “Akahana defeated me in battle. She’s super cool!”

“Whoa! Alright, okay. Clearly I’ve been missing out on something.”

Tāraki started giggling, and soon the rest of them joined in until Panahi gently shushed them and made them go to sleep.

...

Ren wove between the colorful stalls of Slateport’s central market, laden down with bags and Panahi perched on her shoulder. The crowds dissipated as she made her way north to a small park in the shadow of a large, gaudily decorated building. She collapsed onto a bench by a fountain that shot elegant arcs of water from the snouts of patinated copper Horsea, Seadra, and a single Kingdra atop the rest. Panahi hopped down to float in the pool and Ren leaned back to let the mist cool her face.

“I hate shopping.”

“Well I love it!” Panahi declared, paddling around placidly behind her.

“Happy you’re a trainer’s pokemon now?”

“I can no longer deny it has its benefits.”

“That necklace was one pricey battle item, so I’m glad you’re happy with it.”

Panahi huffed. “You think I got this for me? Please, Honey, this is a service to humanity! Just look at me. I’m radiant!”

Ren craned her neck at an awkward angle to watch the Wingull puff out her chest with pride. The cerulean jewels twinkled in their web of delicate silver chains like the warm shallows off the beach. Ren hoped the rest of her team was half as pleased with their gifts as Panahi seemed to be.

Ren sat up as people began to pour out of the building opposite, their excited murmuring overtaking the peaceful splashing of the fountain behind her. Some of them dispersed, but many hung around—in anticipation of what, Ren couldn’t be sure.

“Goodness, that’s a sizable flock,” Panahi commented.

Ren shaded her eyes and squinted to read the golden lettering above the doors. “Oh, it’s a contest hall. One must have ended.”

“Are contests where pokemon put on performances instead of battling?”

“I think so? I’m not so sure exactly what happens. We don’t have them in Johto.”

The crowd suddenly parted to make way for a news crew as a woman in a frilly costume and her equally adorned Altaria emerged. She smiled wide as she answered questions and the pair posed for pictures.

“Must be some life,” Panahi sighed.

Ren turned back to her, and all bubbly satisfaction from earlier was gone. Panahi absently preened  one of her primaries that was nicked by a move the day before.

Ren sucked on her tongue as she fought with herself about what to say. “Ahi, you know you don’t have to be a battler, right?”

“Don’t worry about me, Honey,” Panahi said, brushing the thought aside with a wing. “I don’t mind pulling my weight, even if I’m not as enthused as the chicks.” She yawned. “I could use a nap though.” Ren pulled Panahi’s pokeball off her belt. “Send one of the others out to keep an eye on the shopping,” Panahi instructed sternly before tapping the button and flowing inside.

Ren turned the ball over in her hands. She’d have to think of something. But maybe now wasn’t the time.

Does this Ren seem selfish to you? Impulsive?

“I suppose not. No… I guess I have been a little hard on myself lately.”

Ren stowed Panahi’s ball and tapped Iki’s. The Masquerain emerged in a flash of red light.

“Do you mind being out for a bit? It’s fine if you’re still tired from last night.”

“No, I don’t mind.”

She drifted on whirring wings and landed with the tips on the surface of the pool, hydrophobic coating keeping her afloat while Ren set up her vapor box. She lowered her purchases into it, watching them melt into the wood one by one. Behind her, Iki was staring down at her reflection. She raised her false eyes for a moment and then slowly let them droop. Ren opened the last package instead of stowing it and held it out for Iki to see.

“These are for you.”

Iki snapped out of her contemplation and peered at the pair of polished blue stones instead. “So pretty.”

“They’re mystic water gems. You can wear them in battle to boost the power of Bubble Beam.”

“Oh, that’s so kind of you. Thank you, Ren.”

“I thought we could mount them on your helmet instead of a necklace. What do you think?” Iki tilted her head, watching the sunlight play through them. “I’d like that.”

“Great! The vendor said we could go back and she’d help me attach them.”

Someone passed by them, and Ren’s eyes caught on a dark, tattooed forearm. She glanced up and, even in profile, the broken nose and scared lip were unmistakable. Ren jumped to her feet.

“Josh!” The tall, gangly teen startled and stopped in his tracks, shoulders hunching. “What are you doing here?”

He turned around slowly. “Hey, R-ren.”

Ren’s cheeks puffed out as she bit back whatever she was planning to say. Her eyebrows furrowed in concern. “How do you know my name?”

“They, uh, s-s-said. On the news.”

“Right. Shit.”

“I d-d-d-d—” He stopped, took a breath. “Your f-father is a gym leader?”

“Yeah, um—”

“Wow, your M-m-masquerain is—wow.”

“I know! Isn’t she beautiful?” He nodded and Iki glanced between them, pink mask flushing redder. Then Ren remembered who she was talking to and the warm feeling vanished as quickly as it had come over her. “Wait! Stop that right now! We are not friends, Josh. Remember? I didn’t call you over for small talk!”

Josh flinched and looked down at his feet. “R-right, yes, yeah, of course… Sorry.”

“Good. Now, what are you doing here?”

“N-n-nothing! N-not st-st-stealing! J-j-j-j-j—I’m running some errands!”

“You can’t even lie properly? Why did they hire you?”

Josh swallowed hard, eyes scrunching closed for a second as his adam’s apple bobbed. “Who? What—”

“Cut the crap! You aren’t just some thief trying to make a quick buck.”

“No!” His brows lowered into a scowl, then his eyes widened as he realized his mistake.

“You work for Magma. You’re here for them. What are they doing here, Josh?”

“I’m not—They—N-n-nothing illegal! A n-normal errand! I have to go!” Josh took off running and Ren ran after him.

“Ah, so this is why we’re here?”

You would rather move on?

“I know our first two meetings were important but— I’d rather not dwell on this one. Makes me feel stupid. I should have seen that stunt he pulled on Mt. Pyre coming.”

I had thought his actions there might have gone some way towards mending things. But perhaps you did not see?

“See what?”

He followed you to the peak. He risked his life to make sure you were unharmed and in safe hands.

“Oh… I suppose that makes us even again. But, uh, what did you want ask about this moment?”

Why did you confront him?

“Ah, that’s fair. Of course I wanted my involvement with Magma to be over after what happened in Granite Cave. But it also made it hard for me to [i]not[/i] be involved. I couldn’t just let him go and learn later on that I could have helped but did nothing… Oh, I think I see your point.”

Before Josh had run thirty feet, he stopped abruptly and Ren nearly crashed into him. He pulled something out of hip bag as she recovered her balance and pressed it into her hands.

“This is for you.”

Ren was so startled that took it without thinking. It was something light and flat in a brown paper bag. She reached in and pulled out a TM.

“What—?” She meant to ask him, but he was already gone. “Ugh! What the hell was that? He just—and I—I can’t believe he tricked me into taking this! He probably stole it!” She flipped the TM over and growled in pure frustration. “Smackdown? What kind of joke is this? Why that beanpole son-of-a—”

“Maybe it’s not a joke,” said Iki by her ear.

“What?”

“Maybe it’s a gift. You did save his life.”

“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t just trying to…” Ren trailed off and took a breath. “You know, you’re probably right.” Ren cast around one last time before returning to her abandoned vapor box on the bench. She stowed it and Iki’s gems in her shoulder bag. “Let’s go get you fixed up!”

[tarithenurse]

The good Villain - 4

Based on the prompt “You’re the villain and you know that you just want the ‘good guys’ to understand why”

Pairing:Loki x Fem!Reader (eventually) Content: Slight angst and sadness due to trauma, sexual innuendos. A/N: I’ll be updating more frequently because I’m a slut for feedback and I can’t wait to show what’s in line for you all :D Thanks for all the wonderful responses and reblogs! Seeing your names appear with each post makes me really happy.

Chapter 4

…   Reader   …

As days trickle by, you start to gather an idea of who your new prison guards are while they each take turn watching and “sneakily” questioning you. A few come close to something akin to subtlety (a female called Natasha, and a male with an interesting left arm), but they too have the disadvantage of interrogating someone who has nothing to hide.

“You admit to killing innocents…dozens of families on and off Earth?”

The tall blond male, most often referred to as Captain by the others, is leaning heavily against the glass. Fists balled tightly and chest heaving. He, at least, would never succeed in a game of subtlety. Too righteous. Now you have to listen to another of his rants about right and wrong and innocent lives taken – as if you had done anything but come in and clean up the damage done by pests.

“Oh, Captain, Captain,” you sing-song as you bend into another stretch, “haven’t you read any of the report?”

At this he pauses to look at you but finding your behind to be the most prominent point he neatly turns aside with a blush – a Terran response you have come to appreciate. “IF by report you mean the notes you’ve written? Th–“

“Of course that is what I mean because that is what they are.”

“They’re claims without proof!” Abashed by his own exclamation, he calms down a bit. “Besides…we haven’t translated it all yet.”

Now that makes more sense. “The Asgardians should be helpful there. Once the brothers have done their bit, I am sure you will be busy cross-referencing any statements with intergalactic records thus proving me…right.” Satisfied that you can not make the poor Terran change his facial colour further, you saunter up to the glass. “The longer the investigation lasts, the longer the threat will rage unchecked. Go-go.”

You watch him leave, tight-lipped and with broad shoulders shaking from pent-up frustration, before turning to the airlock where Captain had placed a meal upon arrival. As always, you ignore the bottle of water and turn your attention to the other items on the tray: cuts of bread with stuff in between (the wrapping claims it is a Sandwich), a fruit, and for the first time a puffed up bag. Even through the packaging, you can smell the salt, tempting you to devour those first. Would they poison me? Turning the little package in your hands, you cannot find any signs the wrapping has been compromised.

“I figured you would like those,” Loki’s voice informs you endearingly, “as an alternative to your own stash.”

You shoot him a quick glance where he stands by the comfortable looking chair, but his face in unreadable. “And I assume you want something in return?”

“Consider it a gift,” he smirks, “out of the kindness of my heart.”

Rather than eat in front of the male, you lazily reinvestigate the corners of your cage for the millionth time, poignantly filling up the silence with nothing. Two can play at that game, experience tells. Of these people, these Avengers, quite a few have mastered the concept of waiting for an opponent to talk to end the awkwardness instead of wasting time asking the wrong questions. You first, you will Loki silently.

“If you could break out, you would already have done so,” he yawns, giving in to a long stretch that shows off an unoffendable physique, “not only that…why let yourself be taken in in the first place?”

“Little me? Against all of you? Why waste the energy like that if I can get your help instead?”

The last part is neither meant nor received as a question.

A dark gleam dances in his pretty eyes as he gingerly steps up to the glass. “You’d hoped for the same when your own people came for the arrest.” Long fingers draw unseen figures on the barrier, but it feels like it could have been along your spine judging by the shivers racing along your skin. “No fight then either…why should we believe you now if they didn’t?”

Sneaky bastard. It is clear that at least one of your captors has gotten further studying and verifying you report than the others…unless Captain is a much better liar than you initially have taken him for. Nope, this is the one to play.

“I suppose…I thought you were smarter…” It is with glee you see Loki’s mouth twitch. “Less…blind to the facts.”

 …   Loki   …

“Their dried out minds still cannot see the patterns!” he snaps a second too soon.

Oh, she’s good. It is difficult to gain the upper hand in a conversation with the Betan, and as much as it riles him up it also pleases Loki immensely. With perfectly groomed innocence, she has baited and caught him, causing him to reveal his own weakness in the process of showing off just how intelligent he is.

“Ohh, not only are you looking under every rock…” Her voice is sweetened sin. “You already see the shape of the monster hiding there…and it is not me.” The most delightful giggle escapes the lips. “Tell me, what do you know?”

No peace is left when he steps up as close as possible, their palms only separated by the glass that freezes over in gasps to obscure [Y/N]’s face from his sight. Get a grip. Schooling himself, it takes a moment longer than he would like to admit to calm down. Frustration? Anger? It hardly matters as long as it no longer controls him except…those ever-black eyes hold him so well.

“The missing vessels from the colony…the research station. You tracked them down.” For once she actually seems impressed, although the Asgardian notices something else too which he sets his mind to uncover later. “You followed in their wake as far as you could, am I wrong?” Not giving time to respond, Loki continues with a dismissal wave of the hand. “Half of the notes are crude calculations to establish the most likely course to a next target-planet while some of the rest are a tally and I dare say it’s of the monsters you hunt! The ones that killed your crew!”

He has been too swept up relaying the knowledge privy only to him that he only now notices [Y/N] has slid to the ground, knees tugged to the chest and at least one arm slung bracingly around to hold herself in. To prevent her from falling apart. Short clipped nails are digging through messy locks the colour of Asgard’s waters on a bright day. Listening carefully, Loki hears the first broken sob.

“It…it’s true then.”

A needless comment but what else can he say? That he will help her set it right? Make the Avengers understand and aid as well? Nothing can lessen the pain, share the burden that has driven her wildly while holding her down by its weight.

“What have you done?!” Her sobs are broken by terror, and for a moment Loki actually fears he may have caused her some sort of harm. “I am leaking!”