#while still continuing to steal and 'hurt people' with his clumsy lying

[dnangelic]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ?

Guilt .

Your guilt gnaws at you like a cancer, slowly destroying you from the inside. It is a constant reminder of the mistakes you have made, of the people you have hurt, of the opportunities you have wasted. You deserve to suffer for what you have done, and the only way you can atone is by punishing yourself, by making yourself suffer. You want to torture yourself, knowing you let everything happen, and your pentinence will eat you whole. It is a small price to pay for the pain you have caused others, but do you truly deserve it?

Anger .

You are a pot of boiling water, your anger a bubbling liquid that froths and spits, threatening to overflow and destroy everything in its path. It is a consuming fire, an unstoppable force that burns everything in its path, leaving nothing but ash in its wake. Please, do not blame me- I was trying to protect you. Every bruise you inflict- trying to return your pain- strays you farther from humanity. When you enter purgatory, you will see the Devil’s face and think of yourself, for your rage turned you into a monster.

tagged by @mistcursed thank u!!

[noodleheaded]

Revelations and Redamancy

word count: 5051

“Can you stop leaving your underwear all over the fucking floor?” she asked him, walking past a pair for the third time today. “Don’t tell me what to do with my clothes when your underwear is laying on the floor in your bedroom,” Jaehyun spoke, not missing a beat since she chided. “That’s extremely violating. Not only did you look into my room without my permission, but you also stared at my underwear. Thanks, pig,” she rolled her eyes, heading to the bathroom. “Ouch, tiger, that one hurt me,” his words dripping with sarcasm as he observed the contents of his wardrobe. “If you didn’t leave your door open all the time, I wouldn’t even be able to see inside.” She scoffed, “that’s not an invitation to pull a Peeping Tom, you pig,” she hissed, putting on her jeans. “Well gee, it sure is an invitation whenever you bring guys and girls over.” “Look at you, acting like you wouldn’t tidy up the moment you planned to have a girl over. Or a guy. You do you.” “I don’t have time for this,” he sighed, pulling on his shoes. “Where do you think you’re going? We’ve got an inspection tomorrow and, as I mentioned before, your shit is everywhere,” she tied her shoelaces. “On a date, tiger. If you care so much, why don’t you come along-” “Okay.” He froze, slightly taken aback by her instantaneous reply. “Don’t back out on your word now, pig. I’ll surely tell your date all about the kind of guy you are at home,” she grabbed his keys and was already out the door, seating herself in the passenger seat. “Oh, so tiger wants to play?” he muttered to himself. “Fine then, let’s play.”

Sending a quick text off before exiting their shared flat, he got into the driver���s seat. The drive started quietly before Y/n thought of something she could say to rile him up. “Whatever happened to Miss Red Lingerie?” she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “What? Why were you in my room?” He said, almost turning around to look at her disapprovingly, before remembering he was driving. “I’d assumed you were soulmates, the way she left her underwear lying around,” she continued, leaving his question unanswered. Jaehyun scoffed, tongue in cheek as he brushed off her comment. “So, where’d you meet them this time? In an alleyway? At that run-down club, you still go to? Or was it a basement party?” Jaehyun huffed and smirked, “at a concert, ever had enough money to be at one?” he shoots back, catching Y/n off guard at first. “No, unfortunately. It costs a lot to put up with your bullshit,” she quipped, and the man next to her rolled his eyes. “Honestly, I can’t believe how people still want to go on dates with you-” Jaehyun purposely slammed the brakes, watching Y/n lurch forward. “We’re here,” he says, throwing her a million-dollar smile before exiting the car. “Asshole.”

“Jaehyun!” Y/n’s head turns to see a tall man approach her and her roommate, “Johnny!” Jaehyun greets back, meeting the man halfway with a hug. “Oh, who’s this?” The man, presumably named Johnny, asked. He slowly looked her up and down. “Babe, this is my roommate, Y/n. She was curious about who I was meeting so I invited her along.” “It’s nice to meet you,” Johnny smiles. Y/n’s neck was craned up to meet his eyes. “He’s so tall,” she thought “and hot as fuck. If he liked girls I might be tempted to steal him from Jaehyun-” “Tiger? Are you listening?” Jaehyun’s voice, disrupting her thoughts. “Johnny asked if you wanted to come inside with us,” Jaehyun rolled his eyes. “Uhhh… no it’s okay. I’ll just use the bathroom and go,” she gives Johnny a small smile. The taller man kissed her roommate’s cheek, walking hand-in-hand into the cafe. 

Y/n walked through the small cafe, noticing the hanging flower baskets and soft light fixtures. She turned back, watching Jaehyun and Johnny laugh. “Oh well, if they enjoy each other’s company-” “SHIT!” Y/n felt the hot liquid spilling down her shirt, feeling it become sticky. She reacted quickly, catching the cup that fell off the tray before it could touch the ground. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Miss. I wasn’t paying attention and I-” “It’s okay, I wasn’t watching where I was going either,” Y/n cut off the barista, absentmindedly handing him the cup. “You look kind of familiar,” the barista voiced, handing her paper towels, while she didn’t even spare him a glance. “He sounds familiar,” her thoughts rang in her head as she looked around the cafe, no one taking any notice of the small collision. “Y/n?” She turned towards the voice, meeting a pair of brown eyes she hadn’t seen for years. The barista smiled warmly at her, and she recognized him instantly “Mark Lee... Since when did you start working here?” she asked, remembering him as the clumsy boy she had met when she was fifteen. “I moved back about 2 months ago, so I started working here as soon as. It’s conveniently close to my apartment block,” he answered, pointing to a complex across the street. “Why is everyone so tall? His shoulders look much wider and his baby cheeks are gone. Then again, what did I expect?” A small silence fell between them both before Mark remembered why they were both in this situation. “Oh, I’ve got a spare shirt if you wanna change out of that one. It’s in the backroom,” He rubbed the back of his neck. “If it’s not too much trouble, please,” Y/n answered, clasping her hands together. 

Y/n came out of the bathroom, feeling much cleaner in the black shirt she had been given. She looked around the cafe for Jaehyun, seeing Johnny and him still sitting at their table. “Comfortable?” She turned towards Mark, who had changed out of his apron and into more casual clothes. “I’m assuming this means you’ve finished your shift?” she asked. He nodded, “I’m heading out to get something to eat if you want to come. I don’t think you even ordered anything from the cafe and it’d be a great chance to catch up-” “You don’t have to make excuses to have dinner with me, Markus,” she joked. “I’d love to go eat with you regardless.” “You wish I’d make excuses to hang out with you,” he laughed, the two of them walking side by side out of the cafe.

“So what’s with you and your roommate? Why am I currently pretending to be your boyfriend?” Johnny asked, taking a sip of his coffee. “To annoy her,” he answered matter-of-factly. “What? To make her jealous or something?” Jaehyun laughed at the idea, “And why would I need to make her jealous?” “The sexual tension is astronomical,” Johnny shrugged his shoulders. “What sexual tension? The sexual tension falling out of your ass?” Jaehyun ignored the possibility of having feelings for her. “I mean look at you, Jaehyun. You have a pet name for her. You make every effort to rile her up, including getting me to play into whatever the fuck this is. You keep glancing around for her, and you wanna tell me there’s no sexual tension there?” Johnny chuckled at his obliviousness. “What a Valentine boy you are.” Jaehyun checked his phone again, no texts. “Even checking for her texts I see,” Johnny side-eyed him, taking another sip from his cup. “Piss off, I’m checking the time,” he lied, deciding to text her himself.

Where are you?

Sent: 7:32 pm

“Shut up, I hate you,” she laughed, punching him in the shoulder. “Still punch hard I see,” Mark rubbed his arm. “How come you were in the cafe today?” he asked, taking a swig of soju. “My roommate came in on a date with his boyfriend, so I came in to use the bathroom,” Y/n answered. He laughed at her answer, “why did you come with your roommate on their date?” “Because he invited me” she replies, shrugging. “Well, you and your roommate are both strange then.” “How so?” “Why would your roommate invite you to his date if he didn’t have to and why would you go, you idiot,” he giggles. “I’ll punch you again I swear to-” Her phone pings, Mark shielding his head with his arms, and she pulls it out of her pocket. “You okay?” The boy across from her asks, seeing her pause upon opening her phone. “Yeah, just an Instagram notif,” she replies, locking her phone and slipping it back into her pocket.

Where are you?

Sent: 7:32 pm

Seen: 7:34 pm

Jaehyun furrows his brow, upon opening his messages. Being met with the word ‘seen’ wasn’t exactly what he was expecting. “What’s wrong? Hasn’t your girl texted?”  Johnny teases. “She’s not my girl,” he answers before texting her again.

I know you’re getting my messages.

Are you at home?

Sent: 7:41 pm

Mark throws his head back in laughter, Y/n doing the same, attracting the eyes of by-passers in the process. “Dude shut UP!” Mark giggles, smacking the wooden table they were seated at. “ It’s not my fault! You’re the idiot who put water in the oil can!” Y/n laughs, causing Mark to crack up. Narrowing her eyes at Mark, her thoughts were interrupted again by a ping from her phone. 

I know you’re getting my messages.

Are you at home?

Sent: 7:41 pm

I’m out with a friend

Sent: 7:46 pm

“Who keeps texting you?” Mark asked her, mouth half-full of ramen. Y/n grimaces at her friend, “roommate, and don’t talk with your mouth full, idiot.” Mark grins, his cheeks jutting out because of the food. “Pfft, you look like a demented chipmunk,” the girl laughs, and Mark throws her the finger.

Jaehyun checks his phone again, concealing the small smile he had, seeing that she had replied. “Oh, Valentine boy? Do you think you can hide that smile from me?” Johnny mocks. “I didn’t smile.” “Yes, you did.” Brushing off the taller man’s comment, he smirked as he thought of a reply.

I know you’re getting my messages.

Are you at home?

Sent: 7:41 pm

I’m out with a friend

Sent: 7:46 pm

You have friends?

Sent: 7:50 pm

“Bitch,” she mumbled under her breath, smiling as she thought of her reply. “Smiling at our phone now, are we? Who’s the lucky guy?” Mark questioned, giving her a look. “Fuck off, it’s my roommate being an ass,” she answered, fingers moving quickly across her keyboard 

You have friends?

Sent: 7:50 pm

Do you have friends?

You’re replying very quickly

for someone who doesn’t have 

time to care about me

Sent: 7:56 pm

Ten minutes passed, Y/n found herself unconsciously awaiting that ping. It didn’t come.

Seen: 7:57 pm

 “Hey, I’m in the mood for ice cream. There’s a cute little ice cream store across from my flat,” she brought up, getting up from her seat. “As long as it’s your treat,” he smiled, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

Jaehyun heard his phone, smirking and expecting a witty reply. While it was indeed witty, her words stirred up thoughts inside his head. The smirk fell, and Johnny noticed the small change in Jaehyun’s demeanor. “Jae?” He avoided Johnny’s eyes. Johnny furrowed his eyebrows, “What did she say?” he thought. “You in the mood for ice cream?” Jaehyun asked him, his million-dollar smile reappearing. “Why not?” Johnny replied, choosing not to bring the change in his behavior up.

“Mark, I cannot deal with you!” Y/n yells at her friend on the street. “What?” he laughs. “That’s the seventh pole you’ve knocked into! You’re still that clumsy 14-year-old I met in the park,” she laughs, smacking her palm onto her forehead. “No, I’m not! I’m 22 this year!” he shouts, and Y/n huffs, “hurry up, moron, ice cream shop is just a few stores down.”

“You’re dating who!?” Jaehyun asks again, looking at his friend with wide eyes. “Ten, the one who takes dance classes with Jimin,” Johnny confirms, opening the door to the ice cream shop, and walking in. Jaehyun follows him in, “isn’t he from Thailand?” he asks, eyes scanning the room and landing on a particular pair of people. “Yeah, why- Jae where are you going?” Johnny’s voice goes unnoticed by the other man as he walks over. 

“Honestly, Jaehyun, you’re so stupid-”  “Y/n?” Y/n turns her head to find Jaehyun towering over her, eyes boring into hers. “Has he always been this tall? His eyes… they look so- snap out of it.” She’s brought back to reality from her thoughts, her ice cream starting to drip down her wrists. Mark returns, handing her a napkin before noticing the two other males’ presence. “Uhhh… hello?” Mark shyly waves, receiving one back from Johnny. “Sup, little dude” Johnny greets, and Mark laughs at the nickname, “sup, man.” “There’s a park nearby, we should all go for a walk,” Johnny suggests. “Sure,” Y/n answers, speaking for the first time since the unplanned encounter. 

They all stepped out into the cold breeze. Y/n, instinctively shivering at the cold wind’s touch. Mark handed her his jacket wrapping it around her shoulder. It was obvious, the way Jaehyun eyed the jacket resting on her shoulders. Johnny coughed in an attempt to ease the tension. “So how long have you known Y/n?” he asked. “We met when I was 14, but I moved away when I was 17. I moved back about two months ago,” he explained. “If Y/n hadn’t come to the cafe today, I probably wouldn’t even have known we lived so close to each other,” he answered, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. Jaehyun knew he shouldn’t have, but he wished he had never invited you on his ‘date.’ Maybe if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t be smiling with Mark, and he wouldn’t be feeling unfamiliar pains in his chest. Y/n laughed, “back then you were much shorter, and dumber- although, you’re still very dumb.” Mark flipped her off and Johnny laughed along. The next 20 minutes were filled with laughter and jokes from Johnny and Mark, who had seemingly created a great friendship with the tall man. Jaehyun attentively watched the genuine laughter spilling from Y/n’s lips at the other two’s jokes. The night eventually grew darker, all of them deciding to part ways. 

The keys jangled as Jaehyun unlocked the door, letting Y/n first. He may have been an asshole, but ever the gentleman. Y/n nods in acknowledgement, walking into the apartment.  He sits down on the couch, immediately pulling out his phone. Taking off the coat she was wearing, she remembered she had forgotten to give it back to Mark. He side-eyed her, quickly looking away when she turned her head towards him. However, not quickly enough, Y/n caught his eyes for a split second. “You were awfully quiet tonight,” she spoke, taking off her shoes. “I would’ve thought having Johnny around would bring more out of you.” Jaehyun put his phone down, “Do you like Mark?” Y/n froze, taken aback by his forwardness. “Why?” she asked hesitantly. “Do you?” he asked again, his voice soft and almost inaudible. She sensed he wouldn’t be in the mood for her to rile him up. “No. I don’t like Mark that way,” she answered. Her thoughts were racing, “would you be jealous of him if I said that I did?” untying her shoelaces. A genuine question, she didn’t dare to turn around, for fear she would meet his eyes. He silently stepped towards her, so silently that she didn’t realize how close they were till, refusing to follow her instincts, she turned around. “And if I said I would be?” Y/n stood there, staring into his eyes, flustered at the answer he gave her. His hand reached down to the hem of her shirt, the one Mark had given her. “Is this his?” he asked, voice still soft. “Yes, so?” she answered, her words almost getting caught in her throat. “If you like wearing guys’ shirts so much, you should ask me. I’ll give you one of mine,” he smirked down at her, taking a step closer if it was even possible to be any closer. She laughed, rolling her eyes, “There’s enough of them on the floor, I wouldn’t need to ask you.” “Are you saying you want to wear one of my shirts?” he looked at her, eyebrows raised. “I’m saying,” she pulled him closer till their noses almost touched, “I’m saying I want you... to pick up your fucking clothes before the inspection tomorrow,” She shoved him away, walking to her room and locking herself inside. 

“Why is my heart beating so fast? Stop pulsing so much. I’d rather die than have my chest going crazy. Over someone like him especially. Am I dying?” She lay on her bed. Her head was clouded over thoughts. “How am I supposed to get this shit out of my head?” Y/n pulled out her phone. “This motherfucker better be up.” 

Good morning, fool

Sent: 12:26 am

Noting the time, she didn’t expect to get a reply back. This is why she almost fell off her bed when she heard her phone ping, her ringtone on its highest volume.

Good morning, fool

Sent: 12:26 am

We literally saw each other

yesterday. Miss me that much

already?

Sent: 12:31 am

Y/n laughed. “You think you’re funny?” she spoke aloud to no one but her walls. 

Up for a walk in the

park? You know which one

I mean

Sent: 12:34 am

At midnight? You’re a psycho, Y/n

Sent: 12:38 am

An expected answer. It was wishful thinking for her to think he’d be up for a walk at this hour. She’d just have to find another way to vent. Lying on her bed, she sighed, before hearing an unexpected ping.

I’ll be there in 10

Sent: 12:45 am

Smiling at her phone, she came out of her room. She noticed the absence of clothes littering the hallway floor. She walked to Jaehyun’s room, letting him know that she was going out, but noticed he was absent as well. Putting on Mark’s coat, she left their flat, walking to that familiar park.

“Hey there, bean pole,” Y/n joked, punching his shoulder. “Hey there, chickpea,” Mark answered, rubbing his shoulder once again. “What’d you want to talk about?” he asks, starting to walk along the path. “So, hypothetically speaking,” she starts. “Let’s just say there’s a certain person, and you hate them so much. It’s like every little thing they do is an attempt to rile you up.” Mark nods along, “That’s a mouthful but continue.” “This certain person suddenly does and says something that makes your stomach hurt, and you can’t seem to get them out of your head. Why can’t you get them out of your head?” she finishes, looking to Mark for an answer. “I’d say that means… that you have feelings for your roommate?” “Who said it was about him?” “Who else could it be, Y/n?” he asked her, it was the most obvious thing. “He’s the only other person you’ve talked to the whole night,” he said, flicking her forehead. “I talked to Johnny last night,” she said, attempting to make a point. Said point was immediately shut down by Mark’s logic, “you don’t hate Johnny, though.” “I was hypothetically speaking.” “Hypothetically speaking, you have feelings for Jaehyun,” he said, once again, giving her a look. “Even if I was talking about Jaehyun, what makes you think I have feelings for him? I told you he made my stomach hurt,” she said, denying. “Yeah, dumbass, those are butterflies. Butterflies aside, you kept smiling at your phone while we were eating and you know so much about him.” “Because I hate everything about him-” “No, it’s because you care about him,” he cut you off. “What am I supposed to do then if I ‘hypothetically’ have feelings for him?” “Depends on what made your stomach sore?” “He asked me if I had feelings for you and I asked if he would be jealous and then he asked me what I’d do if he was and then he invaded my personal space and then-” “Woah, slow down. Judging by what you’ve already told me, you should just talk to him about it,” Mark offered his advice. “Terrible advice, I can’t do that.” “Oh I’m sure you can,” he smirked. He held your phone in his hand, showing you a text that had already been sent and read. 

Meet me at the bridge in 

the park

Sent: 1:11 am 

On my way

Sent: 1:11 am

“Good evening, hopelessness,” Johnny greeted the younger male. “Shut it,” Jaehyun grumbled. “What happened?” “I don’t know…” Truthfully, Jaehyun didn’t know. He didn’t know whether you had feelings for him, he didn’t know whether he had feelings for you, and he most certainly didn’t know what he should do. “Do you have feelings for her?” “I already told you that I don’t,” he lied. “Are you kidding? You don’t even look like you believe yourself,” Johnny scoffed. “Look, Jaehyun, it has been a day. In the space of one day, you have texted her to check on her, you have teased her and you have sent the most jealous look I have ever seen to Mark because of her. Whether you realize it or not, you have a huge crush on her, dude,” Johnny finished. He turned to Jaehyun, searching his face for a reaction. “What do I do about it?” he asked. “Talk to her, idiot.” Jaehyun brushed his hands through his hair in frustration. “After what I pulled before I’m sure she doesn’t want to talk to me.” Johnny laughed, “I wouldn’t be so sure.” In his hands he held Jaehyun’s phone, an opportunistic text showing. Snatching it from Johnny’s hands, he sent a quick reply before running towards the park bridge. “Gee, thanks,” Johnny spoke to himself, as he watched Jaehyun run off.

“Y/n.” His deep voice resonated through her ears. “Well, you look like you’ve been running.” She noticed his deep breathing. “I was already in the park talking to a friend.” “Same.” He stepped closer to her. “You sure like invading my personal space, don’t you?” she asked, looking into his eyes. “You never seem to tell me to stop,” he countered. “So…” “So…” She had never noticed before, but his eyes were beautiful. If it wasn’t for the fact you were in the middle of a conversation, she would’ve happily gotten lost in them. “I assume we were both talking about the same things with our friends,” he looked down. “If you were talking about our feelings for each other, then you’d be correct,” she quietly laughed. “Our feelings for each other? Does that mean you have feelings for me too?” his eyes were wide and hopeful. Grabbing onto the hand resting by his side Y/n nodded, “I guess so.” “This would’ve been a lot easier if you had just admitted that you wanted me earlier,” The cockier side of him returned. “Don’t talk about me wanting you, when you were so jealous of Mark. If looks could kill…” she joked. “An eventful day for us, don’t you think-” Y/n was cut off, soft lips pressing against hers. “Wow, kissing you is better than I imagined,” Jaehyun’s dimples appeared. “You imagined kissing me- whatever. Jung Jaehyun, we’re in public. I would prefer if you didn’t-” Another kiss. She slapped his shoulder and he simply responded with her favourite million-dollar smile. Little did they know, those ‘friends’ of theirs watched from a distance, fist-bumping and coming up with several ways to tease them. 

(a/n - sorry for the trash ending I literally had no idea how they were gonna end up together so fast escalations were my go to lmao)

- 𝕯𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖔𝖓 𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓 ⚡

[sleepyfan-blog]

Dream and Nightmare, prompt 18?

Fandom: UTMV

Characters and pairing: Nightmare, Dream, Dreammare

Word count: 2,020

Warnings: murder, minor chracter death, lying, ask to tag

Summary: Nightmare comes home after a wonderful day spent in Dream’s clothes.

Taglist: @anxiety-is-married-to-depression @angelofthehalfmoon @trainwreck-of-skeletons @hisame-amadashi @therandomskelekey

Nightmare  walks back from the village, a tiny smile appearing on his face, shaking himself a little. It was amazing that somehow, the little trick that Dream had come up with seemed to have worked so well. He had tentatively told the other that sometimes the villagers could be mean to him when he was by himself, no matter how nice he tried to be to them... So Dream had proposed that the two of them switch clothes for the day, to see if they would be mean to dream, if he looked like Nightmare... And considering the fact that the two of them had opposing auras, the idea of that working had been really silly at the time...But the temptation to actually able to go into the village and pick out as many books as he wanted without Dream at his side or having to dodge nasty questions and dark looks from the village librarian had proved too much for the young guardian to resist.

Dream had promised to stay at the tree today and guard it while he went out and got books. Nightmare had also promised to help some of the villagers, should they ask him for assistance. He hadn't thought that they would ask him for his help - unless it was to go away forever and not steal away Dream's attention from them. But... The villagers had greeted him with warmth and openness - they were happy to see him for once - and the baker had given him his favorite pastries for free - insisting that he do so, as he had helped the other bring in several huge sacks of flour. 

Some of the fruit sellers had been having difficulties with rats getting into their wares, so Nightmare had woven a spell over their stalls, which should prevent the rats from getting into their food, and as that had proven true, he had been given some very tasty pears and peaches to eat. He saved a couple for Dream to try... And as word had spread that he could make a spell to keep rats and other vermin away from the stalls, the rest of the food selling shopkeepers had begged him for his help. Nightmare had been happy to help them purely for the way their eyes lit up in gratitude, and the praise that they gave him... It felt amazing.

If this was what it was like when Dream was able to help people... The young negative guardian understood why his positive counterpart liked being able to help them so much. Not only did he get the satisfaction of helping people, being thanked for it by other people was wonderful... He hummed happily as he made his way over to their tree, his arms full of books, inventory full of food that neither of them really needed, but enjoyed eating nevertheless, realizing with a bit of a blush that he was skipping on the way home... He felt a little bit silly for doing so, but he couldn't help the giddy grin on his face. They absolutely had to do this again sometime!

Dream... Wasn't sitting at the base of the tree, and nor could he clearly sense his other half. The smile faded on his face as he heard soft, hiccupping sound from the far side of the tree, the books tumbling from his arms as he rushed around the big tree, the dusk light dim, but his other half's pale golden eye lights shining in the darkness. He could see bruises on the other's arms and across his face, golden ichor long dried on his tunic. "Dream! What... What happened?"

Dream burst into tears and threw himself at Nightmare, burying his face into the other's chest "I-I-It w-was a-awful! A-About an hour after you were gone, s-several of the y-young vi-villagers showed up and s-started th-throwing rocks at me. They laughed a-and mo-mocked me wh-when I as-asked them to s-stop... C-Called me a d-demon and a pa-parasite! I... I ch-chased th-them off as one of them t-tried to reach the roots of the t-tree and th-their parents c-came back and a-attacked m-me... I... I had... I had to... They w-wouldn't stop..." Dream shakily gestured to the ground beneath Nightmare's feet, confusing the negative guardian. "N-No ma-matter what I t-tried to tell them... I had... I had to..."

Nightmare realized that he was standing on a pile of... Dust. He hadn't noticed at first, as he was focused on his injured other half. Oh no... He hadn't realized that Dream would experience a day like he usually experienced, while wearing his clothes... It was so obvious to the both of them that they were just changing clothes... Were the villagers really so blind? "I... Dream... it's... It's okay... We... We were made to protect the tree, and that means protecting each other and ourselves..."

"Do... D-Do the...Are the... Are the villagers m-mean to y-you like th-that a l-lot?" Dream stuttered tears continuing to fall from his face.

This stopped Nightmare dead in his tracks. He mentally scrambled ot figure out how he should answer that question - as the truth might break the other more... Especially as he'd been lying to him about where the injuries had been coming from, as the villagers had been getting meaner and more violent the longer they stayed to pester the two of them "I..."

"Ni...Nightmare? You... You can tell me... Tell me the truth... Please? You... I... You weren't clumsy before the villagers showed up. Not that clumsy..." Dream stuttered, sniffling a little bit as he presses into the negative spirit a little further, grateful to feel the other's familiar and safe pulse of magic beneath the shirt. 

"I... They've never not stopped when I drew a weapon on them... I'm... Well... That's not... Quite true. But that was an older villager, and he was really smelly and slurred his words a lot. I think he might have been... Drinkin? I... Wh-what happened to the kid of the person who attacked you?" Nightmare asked, mentally scrambling. If someone had seen Dream dressed in his clothes kill someone... Things could get way worse really, really fast.

"Th-They att-attacked me too... What... What if the villagers realized that they went missing? What are we gonna do?" Dream asked, panicking a little. The first guardian had never allowed mortals to live so close to the tree... Dream hadn't understood why util today. They could be every bit as cruel and violent and mean as the memories had stated that they were.

"We're going to take the Dust and we're gonna bury it in the forest. That way they can't prove that they went missing here, alright? If the mortals push it, we'll remind them that they live around this tree at our sufferance, and if they don't like it, they can leave." Nightmare huffed, violet eye lights shining. All he had wanted was a day to find out what it was like to be in Dream's shoes... He hadn't realized that Dream would suffer so much... That the villagers were so blind as to who the two of them really were.

"O-Okay... S-Sounds good to me.... H-How was your day, Nighty? W-Were they... You... You're not hurt..." Dream stuttered, as the two of them gathered up the Dust from the two beings who had attacked him, using the underside of their flag to carry it all.

Nightmare thought about how to answer, then again went for the truth "I... I think they thought I was you... Like they thought you were me. They were all really nice to me... On the plus side, that means that we have food so that you can heal up. I was able to look at all the books that I wanted... It was... It was a really good day... I'm sorry, I idn't think that they would hurt you... It hough they'd realize we'd switched clothes and chase me out of the village, or demand that we switch back... Not... Not this..." He hadn't wanted Dream to suffer like he had. They walk side by side, the flag between them as they walk a good distance into the forest, out of sight of The Tree. Nightmare casts a spell to dig a two foot square hole that's ten feet deep. They carefully pour the Dust into the hole and once the flag has been shaken clean of Dust, they shove the dirt back on top, patting the newly turned over soil down as much as possible. The flag is still kind of dirty, so they walk a bit further into the forest, washing the flag so that it was clean.

Dream speaks a warming spell over their flag as it also dried the flag, The two of them walk hand in hand back to the tree, as true night fell. Dream spoke up after they reached the tree "They hurt you a lot... Do all of them, or only a few? Please... Please tell me the truth."

"I... Not every single one of them have gone after me, but a lot of them have." Nightmare admitted as he fidgeted with his hands "You seem to like the villagers a lot - and as they were really nice to me, I understand! such praise is really nice. It felt so strange coming from not you... But good... I wouldn't want to take that away from you."

"No! We're going to ask the village council to drive out all those who have gone after you like that - including the council members themselves who have hurt you, if some or most of them did! We have to protect one another, as well as the tree. I... I'm sorry I failed you. I should have been there. I should have realized that the mortals were hurting you. I'm not going to help any of them, should they refuse. And we'll chase all of them away if necessary." Dream hisses, shaking his head, a determined expresion appearing on his face. "I won't let this happen anymore."

"I... Dream..." Nightmare began, unsure as to what to do now. On one hand, the idea of being rid of those who hurt him sounds wonderful. But it could be difficult and dangerous to drive them away. "But... But what if they refuse?"

"Then we make them leave. We are the guardians of the tree... But just as important as that... We have to guard and protect each other from those who would cause the other harm... I... I failed you, and for that I am deeply sorry. I'll speak to them tomorrow, in my clothes? Or we could go together, and reveal to them what should have been a harmless little trick." Dream explains, his eye lights shining strangely. "And we'll see how they respond. Hopefully the ones who hurt you will leave peacefully... But if they do cause trouble..." He swallowed, and shuddered a little "I... We'll do what we must... Right?"

"I... Okay. If... If you're sure..." Nightmare murmured, hope flaring in his chest, despite the probably awful way that this is going to end. He'd try his best to make sure that any additional Dust created or blood spilled is by his hands, rather than Dream's... He doesn't want to see more of the warmth and gentleness in the other's eyes to fade. "Tomorrow morning, we'll confront them, and show them what they've done." 

Dream nodded as the two of them sat down and leaned against the tree "Tomorrow morning we'll call for a village meeting and confront them on what they've done. I love you, Moonstone."

"And I love you too, Sunshine. I'll take first watch, you rest." Nightmare murmured, reaching out to gently stroke the other's cheek.

Dream leaned into his touch and nodded, and yawned tiredly "I... Okay... Wake me if trouble comes..."

"I will..." The negative guardian promises with a small smile, watching as the other fell asleep cuddled into him. Tomorrow would be... Interesting, but for tonight, he held Dream in close, watching for anyone who might try to take the apples (or Dream) from him.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

“I don’t care if they’re watching. I’m not done with you yet.” is giving me some serious Courtesan AU vibes

@soft-bram requested this too, so a fic for two lovely people

I call this fic, Caleb Realises He Has An Exhibitionist Kink

***

The inside of Marion’s brothel was a whole other world.

It was as if the whole place were made of light alone, barely tangible, always shifting and changing and dancing teasingly before Caleb’s eyes, crooking it’s finger to beckon him forward. He knew it was because Marion kept a flotilla of hanging glass lamps suspended at different lengths from the rafters. In fact, he’d sourced the resin glass for her in every colour he could produce in his lab and calculated the exact lengths at which to hang them to get the best effect. But even knowing this, the otherworldly beauty of it still stunned him, made him feel half cut before even a sip of the thick, molasses coloured ale he liked so much here had passed his lips. It made him forget everything beyond the heavy oak doors that muffled the sounds of song and laughter and love so well, bland and plain on the side that faced the street but carved into a vast scene of many lovers entwined around each other on the other face.

It made him feel like he could do something truly insane. Something wild and crazy and beautiful as falling in love for an hour.

Frumpkin had followed him in tonight. He did that sometimes, disappearing and reappearing as he willed, sometimes over in Jester’s lap, sometimes sat atop the bar, glaring at Marion’s cat Sune, sometimes with Marion herself, lying at her elbow as she scratched his ears, sometimes wherever he went in the fae realm when Caleb didn’t need him close by.

But now he was around Caleb’s shoulders, tail swaying lazily back and forth and paws drooping sleepily. Caleb petted his flank idly as he sipped from his tankard and turned the pages of his book.

His appointment with Mollymauk didn’t start for a while yet but he liked to sit in the brothel beforehand, enjoy the drinks and the atmosphere, so he always came early. It was probably good for him to spend some time around people, he reasoned, rather than staying sequestered in his lab with nothing but conical flasks of sulphurous powers and flickering flames for company. He’d gotten some odd glances at first, treating a brothel like a library, sat there with his drink and a different book every night, like he was some deranged lunatic who’d wandered in off the street and mistaken this pleasure house for a lovely, homely tea shop.

But now, of course, they were used to him and he got smiles and hellos and winks as the workers walked past. None attempted to proposition him, they all knew who he was here to see. Just the usual good-natured flirting; it was always a good idea to stay on the good side of an archmage. Even one as unconventional as Caleb.

He came upon him as he always did, almost like it was accidental. Like there was no rhyme or reason why someone as bright and bold and alive as Mollymauk Tealeaf could possibly have stumbled into Caleb’s grey little life. And yet here he was, in defiance of the way things should be. As if daring everything that held Caleb down to try and kick him out, flitting in and out too fast for it to right itself. One moment absent, the next suddenly appearing in the booth next to Caleb, his smile as bright as the sun.

“My little stray cat comes wandering back once again,” Molly hummed, practically whispering in his ear. That was how he always teased Caleb, comparing him to a ragged ginger tabby, always returning hopefully at the same time each evening, begging with wide, wheedling blue eyes for some milk.

Caleb grinned, blushing a little as he always seemed to do in Molly’s presence, setting his book down on the table. He kissed his companion’s cheek in greeting, noting how it was always soft and perfect without the need for any kind of make-up, “Good evening, Mr Tealeaf.”

The tiefling wrinkled his nose at the formality, “I’ve told you, sweetling, just let me know when you get here and I’ll come fetch you, you don’t have to wait around.”

“But I like it here,” Caleb reassured him, taking his hand, “And I don’t want to make you work when you don’t have to.”

His expression softened, less playful, “It doesn’t feel like work when I’m with you.”

It never failed to strike him, how easy it was being around Mollymauk. Everything that was always tight and tense everywhere else relaxed in an instant, he no longer scrutinised every single word before it left his mouth. Everything else was so exhausting, being with Mollymauk was freedom.

He looked nothing short of stunning tonight. The tiefling moved between dresses and trousers as if it was the most natural thing in the world, expectations and established roles less than a vague amusement to him, always managing to look gorgeous in whatever he chose. Tonight it was tight, clinging leggings made of a dark, silk like material that looked like it would be so nice to touch, a dark diamond pattern on one half and pinstripes on the other. His shirt was billowy and white with a black leather waistcoat over the top, high boots of the same material all the way up to his thighs, the whole outfit making Caleb think of a roguish pirate with a dangerous grin, come to claim him as treasure and steal him away. And, as always, he was wearing enough jewellery and precious metal to make a dragon envious.

“You look wonderful,” Caleb murmured, his words feeling muddy and clumsy as he tried to fit them together in such a way that they’d even come close to describing something as otherworldly as Mollymauk.

“You’re always so sweet, darling,” Molly smiled, resting a hand on the side of Caleb’s face, as generous with touch as he was with everything else, “You do know how to make a boy feel wanted…” His eyes, wide and red and demonic looking to people who didn’t know him, studied his companion’s face, an adorable little crease forming between his eyes, “Long day?”

Caleb bit his lip, there was no hiding anything from Mollymauk. He read faces, open or closed, as easily as he himself read books.

To call it a long day would be putting it mildly. He had come into the lab that morning to find a letter- not even a face to face conversation, a bloody letter pinned to the door- informing him that funding for his work was to be reduced yet again and all of his requests for new equipment from the last month had been denied. Bitterly, he knew it was retribution for the way he’d spoken out at the last meeting of the council. He always tried to keep his head down and say as little as possible, knowing anything he did say would be ignored or ridiculed, but when the Grand Mage had proposed his new cripplingly high tax on all non-human beings wanting to enter the city to live and work and escape the fighting in the empire, Caleb’s fury had overtaken his good sense. And of course, it had been for naught. The tax would be implemented anyway, the poor would continue to suffer, and now he was to be punished as well.

But he didn’t want to bore Molly with all of his woes, so he just sighed and nodded, “Yeah. A long day.”

The tielfing stroked his thumb across Caleb’s cheekbone, tilting his head as if to admire the view better, like Caleb was actually something worth looking at, “Well…you’re here with me now, sweetling. Nothing’s going to hurt or upset you here, not if I have anything to say about it.”

He had to swallow hard to clear the tightness in his throat. To most the words would sound foolish, the kind of thing you said to soothe a child who’d had a nightmare, not a grown man who’d paid for your time. But somehow Molly knew that it was exactly what Caleb needed to hear. And he said it without hesitation, with no judgement, making it clear that Caleb was allowed to want to hear it.

“Now…” Molly’s attitude shifted, lightened, turned back to his usual boyish, playful brevity, “It’s been far too long since I had you to myself.”

“It’s only been two nights,” Caleb chuckled, feeling better already.

“As I said, far too long. Practically criminal.”

He moved over, settling on his knees so he could seat himself comfortably in Caleb’s lap. Now he was so wonderfully close, his breath warm against his skin, smelling of coffee and sugar, his hands now both on his face, stroking back into his hair. His lips ghosted across his jaw, every so lightly, deliberately to make Caleb moan and want more which, of course, he did. Molly sniggered, delighted with himself, continuing to brush his fingers through his lover’s coppery hair and give him the most delicate, teasing kisses along his neck.

Messing around in the bar was far from uncommon, it was where the workers interacted with clients who hadn’t made appointments with a specific individual, so there would nearly always be at least one pair, or more than a pair, getting things started in one of the booths with gossamer curtains, or hell, even on one of the tables or up against the bar. At this point, the poor bartender just worked around them.

But Caleb had always been swept safely up to Molly’s suite, all the times he’d visited before. All the many times, at this point. The more Molly toyed with him, delicately, giving him just enough to wake up all those places inside him, those deep wells of want, but not enough for him to get anything but hot and bothered, Caleb began to notice. There were eyes watching them, mouths curving up into appreciative little smiles, eyebrows rising in interest.

And he liked it.

By now his blush had become a full-blown conflagration, probably looking ridiculous against his hair. Molly’s deft fingers had found the leather band that kept it tied away from his face when he was working, undoing it within a second so his hair fell loose like a curtain of wild, tangled fire. Caleb had realised very quickly why he’d been warned against ever playing cards with Mollymauk. His hands could be everywhere at once, fingers moving like they had minds of their own.

Caleb’s cock was like an iron bar, straining against the lacing of his trousers, well aware of the closeness between it and the heat rolling off the sweet valley between Molly’s thighs. It was just how he liked it, somewhere between pleasure and pain, the desire so strong it was too bright to look at, too burning hot to touch, like a scream bit between teeth.

“Molly…” he began, his voice strained and shivery. The request for them to move upstairs hovered at the back of his throat. Molly would do it within an instant if he asked, he knew that for a certainty, but…

“Hmm?” Molly tilted his head. Again, he’d read the thoughts behind Caleb’s eyes, pulling them free without any struggle. He saw the desire there, the way those eyes were making him feel, only increasing the fire in his chest. But also, the uncertainness, “My love?”

The offer was there, the willingness to let him choose.

Caleb swallowed hard, “Nothing…it’s just…people are watching.”

Mollymauk saw the decision made and grinned, his eyes sparking like two fires, devilish but still Caleb felt the sudden urge to put his hand in it.

“I don’t care if they’re watching,” he purred, voice low and carrying, no doubt audible to some of their closer audience, “You’re mine, Caleb Widogast. And I’m not done with you yet.”

Caleb could have melted then and there.

Molly’s hips began to roll, a long, slow movement like he was dancing, though to something certainly more risqué than the enchanted piano that played sprightly bar tunes of its own accord. The friction built slowly but surely, an agonising climb that had Caleb squirming and panting within seconds.

“They’re looking at you, y’know,” Molly whispered in his ear in a voice like thick red wine, “Seeing how glassy your eyes are getting…seeing the moans you’re trying to hold back…seeing how your fingers are digging into my shoulders…they all know.

“Oh gods…” the sound was strangled and fractured as it burst from Caleb’s chest. He could feel the slow, regular throbbing in his trousers, his own pulsing heartbeat.

“They’re only jealous,” the tiefling continued, not even breathless as he rutted against Caleb, all while keeping him pinned, “And who could blame them, sweetling? You’re nothing short of delicious but you’re mine, aren’t you? No one else’s. I can keep you dangling like this all night long if I choose.”

Caleb gave a loud keening noise, one that echoed a little further than he’d intended. The embarrassment wasn’t its own entity, it was one with the intense pleasure, the smoky edge of the heady cloud in his mind, inseparable, inextricable.

“I won’t, sweetling, I won’t,” Molly soothed, grinding down hard to make Caleb give a muffled shriek then pulling back, “I want to see your face when you finish. I want to see you make a mess of your nice palace clothes.”

“Trying…” Caleb groaned through gritted teeth, “Can’t…can’t get there…oh fuck, Molly…”

He wanted it so badly but it was just out of reach, it was maddening.

Molly bent closer, nipping his earlobe tightly, “Yes you can, sweetling. You can do it for me, I know it.”

And suddenly, just because Mollymauk said, it was so. Caleb pressed his face to the front of his shirt, toes and fingers and teeth clenching as he trembled his way through a sharp, hard won orgasm, just about managing not to scream.

There was a ringing in his ears as he came back down, a dizziness behind his eyes. But Molly was beaming at him, holding his face again with his thumbs stroking his cheekbones in that lovely way, and that was all that mattered.

Vaguely, Caleb reflected that he probably wouldn’t be able to sit here and read his book on evenings any more.

“Look at you,” Mollymauk simpered, grinning in sheer delight, “Naughty little thing, couldn’t even wait until we got upstairs. Come on, we’re going to have to get you out of those clothes and you’re going to have to make this up to me somehow…” He winked.

Caleb had never shot up the stairs faster in all his life.

[sweetcatmintea]

Pedigree part 2

Here’s the second part to Pedigree! I hope you enjoy this little story ^u^ Feedback appreciated!

Part One: Here

Words: 1850

          Romeow learned quickly. Still clumsy on his paws, he took to launching face first at prey. He missed more times than succeeded, but the ones he caught were so sweet. He learned to trot blindside to Rosa. Of all the animals in these woods, she was the only who wouldn’t take the opportunity. His curiosity was voracious, her mothering was not soft. Too many times he ran headfirst into danger, saved only by a furious caterwaul and a blur of claws slamming into would be predators. There was no time to be grateful before she turned around, cuffing him about the ear for his foolishness. Somehow, he preferred that to what fallowed. Without fail, he would end up pinned down while she fretfully groomed his face until she could convince herself he was okay. She was a fearsome mother.

          There was no denying that Rosa had become, comfortable – for lack of a better word, with the solitude of her wild life. Equally, she’d be lying if she said everything wasn’t a little more with her son. The breeze was a little more pleasant. The water a little more refreshing. The scents a little more vibrant. He made her happy in a totally new way. The trance like happiness of her past was nothing like this new vitality. It was a buzzing feeling that swelled in her chest in a way she never imagined possible. She loved each and every one of her kittens but there was something different about this one. Perhaps she was covering her constant dread of the very real dangers of the wilderness with joy. Perhaps she was starved for someone to look after. She couldn’t tell. But when he would tear out of the long grass, rat clamped in his jaws and tail high with delight, she couldn’t hide her happiness. She was so very proud of him.

          He would speak of his old life every now and then. Musing about what his siblings were up to – had they gotten ribbons yet or was he still the only one? He would boast that, had that dog met him now, it’d be the one limping away. Though Rosa didn’t believe that for one second, she humoured him, purring at the thought. Sometimes he’d wonder about when his people would return for him. She really wished he wouldn’t. She had tried to be gentle about it, in her own coarse way. It wasn’t that she was worried they weren’t coming back, but that they would. And he would go with them. The thought that they’re hurt him again terrified her.

          The shivering winters gave way to spring, filling the woods with new life. Birds became reckless, dive bombing anything to step foot neat their nests. Rats and mice scurried about, collecting food to support their massive families. Though the cats did not have to worry about going hungry, the spring brought a different threat with it. Humans ventured into Rosa’s territory, attracted by the blooming flowers and the chance to see a baby animal. Although not exactly teeming with people, there were still more than she’d have liked. Given the option, she’d take none. As though she didn’t have enough to worry about without kids stomping through the bushes, climbing trees, and scaring all of the prey away. She thought she’d have a heart attack when Romeow was grabbed when he approached one. She’d torn out from the leaves, hissing and thrashing until they dropped him and fled. She marched him straight home, asking over and over if he was hurt anywhere. At this rate, she was going to go bald with worry.

          Despite that mishap, things were going well again. Romeow had been scared straight and they’d managed to avoid all human contact thus far. A particularly nice day, Rosa lay sunning herself on a forgotten slab of granite. She lazed, listening to the rustle of life around her. An especially daring skink copied her idea on a smaller rock. Luckily for him, she was full. She licked her chops at the memory. Rabbit was such a special treat. She wasn’t sure when, exactly, but at some point, she realised that she hadn’t heard her trouble making son for a while. She wasn’t too worried. He wasn’t entirely useless on his own. Still, she sat up, chirping to him. No reply. He mustn’t have heard her. Gliding off the stone, she wandered towards their home, calling as she went. When she arrived alone, worry began to twist her stomach. When there was no response to her calls, it took root, vines of anxiety tied her guts in knots. Her easy lope turned into a trot, then a sprint. He was nowhere.

          Catching a scent trail, she raced along it. Paws barely touched the ground as she slowed just enough not to lose it. Her heartbeat slammed her ears, but she heard it anyway. The frightened cries of her child. She’d never moved so fast in her life. Claws ripped open the earth and were frayed in revenge. White nothing filled her head. Romeow was struggling. Immobilised by human’s arms and wrapped in a towel. He saw her and shrieked. The person hurried to their car, another was halfway in with a box open, and a third behind the steering wheel. She hadn’t even processed what was happening as she ran to him. She wouldn’t let them take him. They couldn’t have her son! Whether because of the screaming mother or the renewed struggles of the son, they sped up. They all but threw themselves into the car. Gone before she could reach them. The roaring motor couldn’t drown out Romeow’s cries. She gave chase. Of course she did. It didn’t matter that it was useless, she couldn’t just let them go. Exhaust fumes teamed up with her biology to suffocate her, stinging her too small nose and making her eyes burn. Legs giving out, she collapsed, numb. Everything was too loud and silent at the same time. There was nothing left. The world had ended and everything was exactly the same. Eventually, she hauled herself to her paws and staggered back to her empty nest.

          Her husk fell into routine. Wake, hunt, eat, sleep. Wake, hunt, eat, sleep. She didn’t care when she’d caught a hawk. It was just a matter of survival. She didn’t bother grooming sticky barbs out of her matting fur. It left too much freedom for her mind to wander. Wake, hunt, eat, sleep. The rapid weight loss didn’t bother her. She hardly felt her bones creaking together. The instant her mind escaped her claws, it returned to Romeow. Where was he? Was he okay? Were they hurting him? What if they dumped him someplace else and he was cold and alone? It was too painful. She dragged her unkempt claws over stone to shut herself up. She knew that one day, she’d likely have to farewell her son. It was a part of motherhood after all. But not like this. This was too cruel.

          When her nest became too big and too cold, she left it. Preferring to curl in a hollowed log near where Romeow was taken. There was always the dull hope he’d find his way back. So, she waited.

          And waited.

And waited.

          And waited.

          When a car pulled up, she considered moving. Slinking back into the brush, returning only once they’d left. Lingering resentment whispered to stay. Chase them away. This was her territory. The decision was made when she heard an unexpected noise. Over the human chatter, Romeow called to her. She was going to vomit. There was no way. Peering out from her hiding place, a little cat with a squirrel-stolen tail stood amongst the people.  The world snapped into hyper focus. A harness wrapped his torso, a long lead in one of their hands. Blue met yellow and both cats became rigid. The humans seemed to notice, shushing one another. Romeow let out a delighted meow, running to his mum. Rosa met him halfway. All but barrelling him over to lick his face and inspect for damage. It wasn’t until one human tried to approach that she stopped. Arching her spine and teeth bared, she stood between them and Romeow. Whispers passed between them. Seemingly in agreement, they nodded to one another, then slowly lowered themselves to the ground. Rosa didn’t know what to make of their behaviour but growled for good measure. She almost choked on it when Romeow trotted back to the people, purring as they scratched his back. The human cooed softly to her, trying to coax her with chicken strips. She couldn’t move. They couldn’t be trusted. Humans let their dogs run free. They abandon their kittens to die in the cold. They steal your children. They leave you alone to wait and wait and wait. But there was her son. Returned to her and trying to convince her that these ones were different. These ones were good. Yeah right. They would get bored soon, probably try to take Romeow with them, and leave her alone again.

          But they didn’t. The moments stretched out and they stayed put. Night birds chittered and they continued to coo sweetly at her. Cold wind cut them until they shivered and they still didn’t leave. Rosa’s defences stood no chance against their gentle patience. One timid step at a time, she managed to approach. They fed her the chicken, or what was left thanks to Romeow, without a fuss. When Romeow led her into a carrier that shut behind her, she panicked, but he soothed her, gently grooming her like she’d done for him so many times.

          It took a long time to adjust to her new life. These new people were different to the ones she’d once known. They enclosed an entire section of their yard for her to go into whenever she wanted. The birds couldn’t get int, which was a shame, but neither could any of the other creatures that had stalked her just as often and she’d hunted them. She and Romeow were allowed anywhere they wanted to go in the house. No-one seemed to mind the fur that stuck to every surface. Romeow was spoiled with toys, scratch towers, and walks whenever he made a fuss. She was too old for that nonsense. She definitely didn’t race around batting the feather orb when no-one was looking. She wasn’t lonely anymore either. Each person greeted her every morning. Whenever they left, they petted her as soon as they returned. They didn’t mind when she didn’t want to cuddle, simply stating that her highness required space. Her fur had been shorn, too matted to brush. As it regrew, they took it upon themselves to ensure she remained knot free, not because she was beautiful but so she would be comfortable.

          Life was different here. She wasn’t Rosa Once anymore. Now she was Daisy. Romeow had many titles but was best known as Spunky. It’s been said that cats go by many names, but if she was honest, she liked being Daisy best.

Tag list

@inkovert and @snobbysnekboi

[swanandapirate]

A Muted Hue of Grey (2/14) -- CSBB

Summary: Emma Swan liked being a PI in Boston. It was a fun job, she had an okay income and she was a good one at that, so there was no logical reason to try and leave. Except for the fact that she wanted to, so badly. And, when she received a job offer for what seemed to be the opportunity of a lifetime, she did exactly that. Leave. Run. All the way to London. The job was simple: trailing a man called Killian Jones. Easy enough.

Well, until things get complicated, that is.

Rating: M (later mentions of violence, alcohol abuse, and sex)

Wordcount: 4131

Links: ao3 // ff.net // chapter 1 

A/N: Here's chapter two to finally answer those questions of how Emma is going to handle this very inconvenient situation. Though I do have to say that if this cliffhanger was already difficult to handle (looking at you @sambethe 😉) then oooooh boy have I got some things in store for you.

Eternal gratitude to my two favorite internet people in the world: my betas @acourtoftruelove and @ofshipsandswans who turned this jumble of sometimes incoherent words into an actual fic. 

Also major thanks to @shady-swan-jones for her banner and all of the cool art that she is posting and will post!

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

Shit, shit, shit.

There went her cover.

Way to go. She definitely deserved the Private Investigator of the Year award. Stellar work.

Emma opened her mouth and filled her chest with air, only to release it again without an answer.

“Can I help you, lass?”

The question still hung in the air. What should she—could she—even answer?

Jones lowered his eyebrows, not content with the lack of response, of explanation.

The heat of his hand on her felt like it was two hundred degrees, his touch burning through her clothes and onto her skin. It was almost painful for how long it remained there, not moving, not leaving, just comfortably—for him at least—wrapped around her upper arm.

Emma shook her head, trying to shake the feeling of fumbling clumsiness. She smiled, flashing her teeth. “I’m sorry for bumping into you. I don’t know where my head is today.”

He tilted his head and Emma internally berated herself for not being more convincing. For not being more prepared. He was not buying it and that put her in big trouble.

His head remained cocked, his messy eyebrows moving into a frown.

“You’ve been walking behind me for a while, I feel.”

She needed to get out of here, to run as fast and as far as she could. But his hands were still on her, locking her into place, preventing her from dashing away. Running would also completely blow her cover; if he saw her following him again, his suspicion would not only grow but be confirmed and she’d be compromised. How on earth was she going to explain that to her boss?

It was out of the question, for both her own pride and reputation, and for the clause she’d signed as part of her contract. There was no room for failure, only for success, which left one option.

She had to lie. Had no other choice than to think of a plausible cover that would explain it all and maybe take Jones’ wary look away. But what would do the trick?

“I’m sorry?” she said, apologizing for the second time in the span of a minute. Emma grimaced as she realized that too. “It’s just that— I—” Anything, just think of anything. “I have this feeling like I know you and I know that doesn’t condone the stalking but I was trying to figure out why I’m having this feeling. You aren’t a movie star, are you? A famous rock star?”

She was about to continue her list of possible—very impossible—professions he could have but it seemed the two options she’d given him had done their job.

He looked at her dazed.

“I’m guessing that’s a no. I don’t know where I could know you from, if that’s the case. I mean, this is my first time in London and I doubt you spent a lot of time in Boston.”

Take the bait, take the bait.

“I did actually.” Every word came out more surprised than the last. Jones seemed surprised himself. If only he knew.

She was acting and it felt like the fakest thing ever, it felt like she was being obvious, like the over-expressive, melodramatic actors in daytime soaps the moment they discovered their wife had had an affair with their twin brother and she was now pregnant with no idea who the real father was. Shocked .

“What?”

He interpreted the question wrong and completed his own statement.

“Spend a lot of time in Boston.”

“You did? Really?”

Of course, she knew this. She’d memorized his biography, up to every trivial fact like which Bostonian coffeehouse he frequented and what his order consisted of. She even knew where he lived. Close to where she used to. An odd thing their paths never crossed.

“Aye.” Killian slowly nodded. “I lived in Boston up until last year. I moved back a couple of months ago.”

“Huh.” She let her lips form a smile that read something in the lines of this person is currently pleasantly surprised. “Guess it’s not that far-fetched I actually know you from somewhere.”

“I suppose not,” he was forced to agree. “But you don’t seem familiar, if I’m being entirely honest,” he then said apologetically, his lips somewhere between a grimace and a smile.

“I don’t really try to stand out.”

She didn’t like to stand out because it made her job easier, a shadow in the night, a flash of movement during the day; it left her subject unsuspecting, unguarded and it was the easiest way to gain information and to get the job done. She didn’t like to stand out because that’s what led to problems back in the foster system. Standing out led to being singled out, being ostracized from the group. It led to bigger kids stealing her dinner, taking away the few dollar bills she managed to save. In short, it led to heartbreak and hurt. Laying low was a tactic, something ingrained into her being, perhaps that’s why she excelled at doing what she did. Maybe that was why she spent most of her life alone. Not lonely, per se, but alone .

And it was finally something that did not taste bitter in her mouth, that resembled the actual truth. This lying to his face, after the short amount of time she’d done it, was a whole different thing from spying on him from afar. She signed up for the latter, the former wasn’t how she liked to do things, how she liked to handle her work.

Jones’ eyes reflected the rays of light emitted by the sun, flecks of grey standing out in the sea of blue.

In an instant, a moment as fast as a fingersnap, she became aware of their unfortunate placement; it was as badly chosen as the place where the tween had picked out to take her selfie earlier. The irritation Emma had then experienced was now endured by other people, people trying to pass but they could not because of the blockage the two of them were creating. Jones seemed to come to the same realization as he apologetically smiled at some angry-looking people, his right hand delving into his hair to scratch the back of his scalp. Emma mentally added it to her list of information. Killian Jones had a tic, a tic which was quite adorable. She wouldn’t add that last bit to her folder, though.

They looked at each other and the clumsiness of the people swerving left and right, the slight embarrassment due to the angry glares caused them both to hesitantly snicker, a connection forming through the shared amusement.

With resolution and completely in sync, they stepped out of the way, much to the content of the passersby. As soon as they did, the cacophony of the city fell away; only a subdued buzz remained as they fled away towards a small alcove of sorts. It wasn’t more than a glorified dirty corner hidden from view, graffiti sprayed on the otherwise grimy walls, puddles of suspicious substances covering the floor. Not that she was paying attention to those, Killian wasn’t either.

They were only watching each other in almost silence.

It brought a kind of intimacy, let the calm slowly descend onto the two of them. Two new lovers might search it, two experienced ones might treasure it, but Emma and Killian were neither. Far from it even.

They barely knew each other.

He barely knew her, they hadn’t even talked for more than a minute.

So the intimacy was odd. Unsought.

“This is going to sound a bit forward of me,” Killian finally broke the silence, “but would you like to continue this conversation in a place that’s slightly more suitable and reeks slightly less of piss?”

There was no other acceptable answer but yes. Declining would mean she’d rather stay in a shady alley than go somewhere with him. Even though she didn’t really owe him anything and she had every right to say no, it was quite an offensive thing to say. And nothing in his conduct or words had warranted such an insult.

“Yes. To the ‘no piss’ thing,” she specified after a beat.

It may have sounded as a joke, a jest to add amusement but in reality, to Emma there was nothing humorous about it. It was Emma trying to backtrack, recede to a place where it was safe and where she could blend into the shadows again.

Killian perceived it as a joke. He rumbled a laugh before looking over his shoulder, scanning the street for any oncoming groups of tourists or traffic, and, after the briefest brush of his fingers against the edge of her hand, he led the way.

It was accidental, nothing more.

It was just to signal that he was leaving, nothing more.

All things she told herself but failed to convince her, did not manage to omit the tingle in her flesh his touch had generated.

There was no use to think about the reasons behind his actions. She didn’t need to think about it, all she needed to do was follow him, continue and maintain a shallow conversation, end it with a friendly smile and an insincere “I hope we see each other again”, and disappear; never to be seen again, never to encounter each other again. It would require a moment to collect her thoughts and strategize, come up with a new tactic to bring this assignment to a fruitful end but those were worries for later.

The thing she needed to worry about now was how to converse with someone she already knew everything about, someone who wasn’t allowed to know anything about her. It didn’t exactly leave a lot of room for a topic of conversation.

Lost in her own thoughts searching for a subject other than how hot the weather was today, she was too busy to pay attention to her surroundings or Jones. Emma’s absent-mindedness resulted in her not seeing he had stopped moving in front of her and almost running into him again. Jeez, a second time would not only be embarrassing but also a testimony of pure clumsiness.

And she didn’t require any additional unnecessary touches and even more tension, she’d had quite enough of that for one day.

He didn’t speak or explain the sudden emergency brake situation that had just taken place, but twisted to face her. He stared at her. Only stared, his gaze scanning her face. It felt like a judgment, as if he was trying to figure out something but Emma hadn’t the slightest idea what that might be.

“What?” she eventually settled for plain out asking, her curiosity and impatience getting the better of her.

It jostled Jones back to reality, his eyelids moving to blink away the hitch.

“Killian,” he said. “That’s my name.” His head softly shook. “I realized I hadn’t introduced myself yet.”

“Oh!” Yeah, she hadn’t thought about asking his name because she already knew. “Nice to meet you.” Lifting her hand, she extended it towards him but as she did, the urge to retract came instantaneously. What if the feeling she’d tried to shake off earlier returned? This time, she couldn’t hold static energy accountable or pretend it was just an itch. It was too late, however, as Killian’s hand enveloped hers, a flood of warmth following.

She could attribute that to body heat, she supposed.

“I’m Emma.”

She stopped there to retain a kind of simplicity, of mystery. It was better for him not to know a lot about her, but Killian thought differently as he raised his eyebrow and nodded at her to continue.                                                                 

“Emma Swan,” she completed begrudgingly.

The name—her name—brought a smile upon his face and Emma wanted to ask why, wanted to smile along before she remembered. No attachments.

“Swan?” he questioned. “Really?

An affirmative nod.

“What’s yours?��� she asked, perfectly aware of how she shouldn’t already know it. But it was the normal thing to do when two strangers met for the first time.

“Jones,” he replied. “Couldn’t be more generic than that. Although, I could be named Killian Smith, but that wouldn’t ring quite as good, I think.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Killian Jones is a good name.”

“So is Emma Swan.”

“Thank you.”

They began walking again, a slow pace and now next to each other instead of Emma letting him leading the way.

“I once knew a chap called BJ Dickerson, that wasn’t a good name.”

“No way,” she said in disbelief and when Killian nodded, she frowned. “Whatever his initials stood for, it could not have been worse than BJ Dickerson.”

“I beg to differ,” he said, trying to suppress his smile. “His parents called him Bachelor-Januarius. He wasn’t even born in January. I don’t think his parents were too fond of him, poor lad.”

Emma couldn’t help herself as she burst into laughter, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. Killian stopped attempting to not laugh, his chuckle joining her giggle, the two sounds blending perfectly. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes, she wiped them away with the pad of her thumb as she tried to compose herself and catch her breath.

Once she did and once they focused on walking again instead of laughing, she came to the pathetic conclusion that this was the first time she’d laughed—really genuinely laughed without any inhibitions—in quite some time. Long enough for her not to remember when or where or why. She should’ve expected that to happen seeing that she left all her friends back in the States.

Coming to a halt before a Pret A Manger establishment, Killian gestured with his head to propose entering to which Emma agreed. It was the afternoon, the peak hours of coffee-craving businessmen and women already gone so they were able to sit in a relatively calm environment. A young man greeted them and they both smiled in return.

The table they chose to sit at carried remnants of its previous occupants, some drops and crumbs scattered across its surface. Before sitting down, Killian reached for the napkin dispenser, grabbing two and swiping them across the table, getting rid of the traces and clearing it for them. His prosthetic motioned towards the chair opposite of him, inviting her to take a seat. Before he did too, he searched for a trashcan and disposed of the napkins.

It gave her some time to prepare, to take a calming breath and wipe her sweaty palms across her jeans as she went over the battle strategy again. It was one she was familiar with but it had been some time since she had utilized it, since she needed to. This resembled one of her bailbonds dates. The ones where she had to drag her words through a process of hemming and hawing, giving an altered, watered-down version of the truth while keeping it believable. The purpose now, however, wasn’t to expose the target but to prevent herself from being outed by them.

“Would you like something?” Killian asked with a friendly smile when he returned.

“Umm,” she thought for a second before answering, “A hot chocolate would be fine.”

“Great, I’ll be right back,” he told her.

Another big difference with her past as a bail bondsperson; back then she acted as seductive as possible, bending her body the right way to sit and show off some cleavage, watching her date the right way by batting her eyelashes, pretending to get tipsy after two glasses of red wine (her alcohol tolerance was better than that). But nothing like that now, a hot chocolate was as far from being seductive as it could be.

When the steaming cups—hers the aforementioned hot chocolate, and his a plain cup of coffee—were placed on their table, Emma wondered for a moment why exactly she chose a warm beverage when it was sweltering hot outside. But she had never been the healthy juice cleanse kind of girl and, once she took a hesitant sip and the chocolaty taste coated her tongue, she forgot all about the outside temperatures and could only think of her tastebuds reveling in the taste. It was okay at best but she couldn’t remember the last time she had taken the time to enjoy some.

God, why was she getting emotional about a cup of mediocre hot chocolate.

Killian drank from his cup as well, flinching. It would appear his cup was mediocre at best too. He grabbed the container of sugar that stood on the table and poured some into the black liquid.

“So what did you do back in Boston, if you don’t mind me asking?” Emma asked, the comfortable silence not sitting well with her. It was too comfortable when it should be anything but.

He looked up from his cup of coffee, his expression open and kind, before he answered, “I did technical writing for an engineering firm.”

“Sounds interesting.”

He took a sip, the sugar clearly helping, before he shook his head with a tiny smile.

“It wasn’t,” Killian said, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. “I quit. I got sick of it all and I needed something new.”

An idea formed in Emma’s thoughts, a lightbulb in the center of her mind that gradually became brighter and brighter until it glowed ever so powerful and made everything so clear. How to respond, what to say, how to proceed.

“What company did you work for?”

She just met the man, some curiosity was allowed, was even expected. Conveniently, that granted her the opportunity to steer the conversation to where she wanted it to go, to subtly guide Killian to a place where her act was believable and unsuspicious. Innocent.

Emma let her head rest on her hand, her chin propped up on her palm and her fingers spreading across the apple of her cheek.

“It was called Spencer Mechanics,” Killian answered.

“Really?” Her eyebrows rose. “I think I just figured out why you seem so familiar.”

Well, she just came up with a story to explain why he seemed so familiar, but semantics. More or less.

“You have? Do share,” he encouraged, slightly leaning closer in intrigue.

“A friend of mine once had a shitty temp job there and I came to her rescue with lunch sometimes. I probably saw you in passing a couple of times. I have a weird memory like that. Don’t ask me what I ate for lunch two days ago, but faces often stick.”

She could see him considering it—her story—for a moment, most likely wondering if it wasn’t too much of a coincidence, but dismissed the matter after having thought about it for a moment of silence.

“I apologize for not remembering yours,” he spoke again. “It’s a face worth remembering.”

Emma suddenly wished she hadn’t ordered a hot beverage but a cool one instead so she could cool her body down, rub the cold condensation against her heated, red cheeks. Why is she getting so flustered over small things and comments? Jesus. She had been flirted with before, so why was Jones different?

The answer wasn’t difficult to find, all she had to do was look up and there it was, visible in the way his eyes exuded sincerity and authenticity and the small smile that followed, as if the comments weren’t made to get something but simply to tell her, to make her aware of how things were from his point of view. A genuine compliment without any ulterior motives. She had to admit that had been rare in her previous experiences.

She didn’t want to be flustered, but she definitely was right this minute and Killian saw it too, a little cocky smirk appearing on his lips and then immediately disappearing again as he widened the distance between them again by leaning against the back of his chair.

“Do you like living in London?”

“I’d say so. Moving here was pretty hectic, however, I’ve been here barely three weeks and there are so many things to take care of.”

Rent, for one; money, her dollars wouldn’t get her far here; transport, she felt the loss of her beloved bug.

“It’s a big transition, isn’t it?” He nodded sympathetically. “I’m from here and it was still quite an adjustment for me.”

“Did you live in the States for long?” she asked before drinking the last of her beverage and placing the cup back on the table.

Seven years.

“About seven years,” he confirmed her information.

“That is a long time.” Her eyebrows shot upwards in something fluctuating between agreement and appreciation.

Killian shrugged before shifting the focus back onto Emma. “How long are you in London for?”

“A couple of months. It all depends on how much my boss likes the work I do.” That was true, Jones just didn’t need to know what exactly it was she did.

“What do you do?”

She should’ve seen that one coming, fuck.

“Oh, I don’t want to bore you with it.”

She waved it away, a fearful smile appearing on her face. It wasn’t more than a slight arch to hide the way she was clenching her jaw.

“You wouldn’t,” he assured her, lowering his head to meet her eyes, a sign he was a good listener, a kind one at that. For once, she wished her date—he wasn’t that but for lack of a better term he was—would only think about himself, talk about himself without asking about her, self-centered and selfish. Killian wasn’t, however. “I’m interested.”

Which was what she needed least, interest. In her and what she did.

“I’m um… what you would call a bail bonds person.”

Killian blinked and shook his head simultaneously, both obvious signs of how he was taken aback by her profession—even though it was her previous one and not her current, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Really?” he asked, yet again confirming his surprise.

Emma couldn’t help that her answer sounded just that little bit prickly. “You sound surprised.”

Her prickliness was justified, though. Because it was getting tedious and monotonous, the misogynistic air that hung around the oh’s and really’s and the you must be joking’s.

Because everyone sounded surprised. Men especially. They thought women weren’t powerful enough, were too emotional to succeed. It was why she was a bailbonds personand not man. She was a woman. And a damn powerful one.

“Only because I’ve never met a bail bonds person before. How on earth could that ever bore me?”

“It all sounds really exciting but in the end it’s more paperwork and boring stake outs than anything else.”

She toyed with the empty cardboard cup of her hot chocolate, her fingernail denting the ridge before letting her hand compress it, until the cup was completely flat.

His eyes fell on the camera now safely stored in its bag and hung across the chair Emma sat on.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt you during one.” His features turned worrisome.

“You didn’t,” she reassured.

Lie.

“I was simply exploring a bit.”

Lie.

“I haven’t had the time yet.”

Truth.

“You’d never come to London before moving here?”

“No,” she admitted, shaking her head. “Sometimes it feels like I have absolutely no idea where I’m going. I’m just following the masses.”

Emma assumed that they knew where they were going—at least vaguely. She just let the stream carry her, calmly floating along and she’d see where she would end up. Killian, however, clearly disagreed.

“You shouldn’t! London is better than the masses make it out to be.”

“If you feel inclined to be my personal tour guide, feel free to,” Emma joked.

“Well, there’s an idea.” Killian smirked.

“I was joking,” she explained, the panic rising inside. She was already regretting her words. Why did she have to say that and give him ideas? “I don’t want to claim any more of your time.”

“It’s fine,” he reassured and Emma wished he didn’t. “I was going to go to the library but I wouldn’t mind taking a stroll about the town.”

A creature of extreme habit and he was altering his routine. Changing something almost set in stone. For her.

She didn’t want to think about what that meant.

They stood up, their chairs scraping against the floor. Killian took Emma’s crushed cup and his own, still in its original state, and threw them into the trash. She smiled to thank him while attempting to get that lightbulb in her head to work again, for it to provide another story she could use to her advantage and get out of this situation. But it stayed completely dark and so she followed him outside.

“Welcome to the real London, Emma Swan.”

In the masses of the crowd, they disappeared together.

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

Fun fact: I actually know someone who is called Januarius and he wasn’t born in January either. I hope you liked it! See you next Thursday!

[youngjaelook]

Up & Gone [II] — Mark Tuan

author's note — everybody has been asking me to make a part 2 lmao so here u guys go(!!!) hope you like it. #UNEDITED! part I

summary — Mark hasn't stopped loving you even after you've left him.

warnings — angst & language.

word count —2K

Mark feels like he's eighteen again as he stares at your picture. His mother had taken it at his birthday party. He had an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close until his cheek mushed against yours, a wide grin on both your faces.

When his mother had sent him the photo a few years ago, the day before his debut, all Mark wanted to do was set it on fire and watch it crumble into nothing but ash.

Mark was different then. He was young, hurt and resentful. He blamed you for everything.

As the years passed so did the anger, and the bitterness that took shelter in his soul.

Mark was older now, more mature and refined. Sure, the hurt still lingered here and there. But he was no longer angry, or bitter. He came to terms with the fact that some people come and go, and most never come back.

Though, he hoped you were an exception.

"Aren't you excited, Mark-hyung?"

Youngjae was beaming brightly at Mark, eyes wide and teeth showing. He was practically bouncing in his seat.

Mark hadn't even noticed Youngjae was talking to him in the first place.

"Excited for what?"

Youngjae frowned. "To meet Jackson-hyung's parents, to see his house?"

Mark's face fell. Oh, that was right. They were currently seated on a plane for Hongkong to meet Jackson's parents for the first time.

"Y-yeah, of course." Mark stammered.

Youngjae merely nodded and leaned back against his seat, much to Mark's relief. Youngjae's noticed that his hyung had been acting a little off these past few days ever since that game of truth or dare.

He would be lying if he said he wasn't worried about his hyung. Mark was quiet, but these days he's been too quiet.

Youngjae had brought the issue up with Yugyeom and Jinyoung back in the dorms. He was nearly on the verge of crying as he explained his concerns about Mark to his other bandmates.

Jinyoung was convinced it had something to do with the truth or dare game, which Yugyeom suggested in the first place. Youngjae pouted at the maknae and flicked his forehead. "Dumb-ass," he grumbled after.

And as the plane took off, Youngjae squirmed in his seat, stealing glances at Mark from time to time.

He wondered if Jinyoung was right, if Mark was going through a relapse. He prayed that it wasn't the case, Youngjae really liked the bubbly, and clumsy Mark-hyung. This Mark, the one that sat still beside him, face blank, was cold and detached.

"Stop staring, Youngjae-ah." Mark grunted. "It's creepy and I want to get some sleep."

Youngjae squeaked and murmured an apology before turning to his right to stare out the window.

This is going to be a long flight, Mark thought.

No one spoke, not even as the plane shuddered when it experienced turbulence, and not even as they landed. Youngjae was biting his tongue the whole airplane ride, while Mark didn't even have the energy to talk to anyone, Youngjae included.

Jackson led the boys through the airport, a slight bounce to his walk. It was evident he was excited for his brothers to meet his parents.

Mark walked alone at the back, gaze distant and walk sluggish.

There was a small crowd surrounding them, and there were no security to be found. Great, just great.

Mark kept his head down the entire time, and the boys did the same. He could hear his name being screamed from left and right, he could feel them breathing down his neck. But he kept quiet and continued walking.

Then finally the screaming seemed to cease, and Mark could make out the figures of Jackson's parents by the exit outside. They both had big smiles on their faces.

Jackson practically ran in their arms. The sight was enough to make Mark smile a little.

"Ma, pa," he started. "These are the guys!" he said in English. Jaebum was the first to speak, bowing in respect as he did, followed by the rest of the boys. Mark was last to introduce himself.

"Hello, I'm Mark."

Jackson's mother's gaze seemed to linger a bit on his face. Her hazel eyes twinkled with familiarity. Mark shuffled awkwardly and flushed pink.

"Shall we get lunch, then?"

Jackson loved seafood. And this time it was his turn to pick where they were going to eat, so of course, Jackson picked— you guessed it — a seafood restaurant.

The boys engaged in small talk with Jackson's parents, aside from Mark, who kept to himself as he ate his prawns.

Jackson's mother was the first to initiate the conversation between them. "So Mark," she started. "Jackson told me you grew up in the States?" Mark wiped the corner of his mouth with the white napkin and nodded slowly. "Yeah, I uh grew up in Los Angeles." Her eyes did that twinkle again.

"I know someone who grew up there, too. I think you might know —" Jackson started to choke on his food. He was litrerally choking.

The table started to panic, and Yugyeom had to do the Heimlich maneuver on him, which was definitely a sight. Bambam recorded the whole thing in secret.

The next few days were relaxing and tranquil. Jackson took them to Disney Land, of course. He had simply shrugged, and said "it's an essential for all tourists to check out the happiest place on earth while they're here." when Jinyoung had questioned him about it.

It was there last day in Hongkong now. The boys were burnt out, Jackson included. They all decided to stay in for the rest of the day, and start packing. But Mark had other plans. He wanted to explore and wander for the last time, and it didn't really seem to bother him that he'd be going alone.

Mark bumped in to Jackson's mother as he descended down the stairs. "Oh hello Mark, are you heading out?" She asked. "Yeah, wanted to see a few things before I leave tomorrow." He smiled.

She studied him as he laced his shoes and shrugged on his coat.

"There's an art gallery just a few blocks from here. Maybe you could check it out." Mark blinked at her, and nodded. "Thanks, I'm a big fan of art." Jackson's mother smiled knowingly. "I know."

Mark stared at her, dumb-founded. What did that mean?

Mark didn't want to seem impolite by staring too long, so he nodded again and bade her goodbye.

By the time Mark had finished exploring the streets of Hongkong, he was exhausted. But decided to go and see the art gallery Jackson's mom mentioned to him earlier.

He stumbled around for a little bit, but managed to find the gallery before it closed.

The art gallery didn't look very big. Though, he noted that the interior looked stunning; high ceilings, polished wooden floors and cream walls. The paintings themselves looked ethereal underneath the bright studio lights.

Mark felt at peace.

He wandered the empty hallways, lingering for a bit anytime a painting caught his eyes. Most of them were contemporary art, though some were abstract. They weren't exactly his favorite, but he appreciated them none the less.

Mark liked the renaissance paintings.

He liked it's depth, the naturalistic realism of its faces — to Mark, it was comforting to look at, and to admire. They reminded him of you.

In the middle of the room, under it's own spotlight, hung a renaissance painting.

"It's called Venus," voice like milk and honey. "Sandro Botticelli painted it. It's only on display for a couple of days before they ship it back to Italy."

Mark didn't want to turn around in fear that if he did, he'd be wronged again. If he turned around, would it be you standing there, and not someone else?

"Do you like renaissance paintings?"

Mar turned around.

He saw you, everywhere he looked it was always you.

You stood there, eyes clear as day, hair now cut short but still looking as beautiful as ever. And as Mark stared at you, he felt like his eighteen year old self, up on that rooftop with you, his hands touching you, your lips kissing his lips.

"You left me," A hello would have suffice. "why did you leave me?"

You found it hard to speak when Mark was looking at you like that — like you ruined him. And you probably did.

Mark spoke again. "I waited outside your door for nearly a year until I graduated! All I could ever think about was you, all I ever wanted was you! How could you leave me like that?"

Mark was yelling, but he didn't mean to. Everything at that moment felt all too much for him. The resentment and the bitterness came surfacing the moment your eyes locked. Staring at you right now, he felt betrayed.

"I loved you," he was whispering now. "and I thought — I thought you loved me too."

You shook your head and reached out to him, but he pulled away as if your touch would burn his skin.

"You have to listen to me, Mark! Please!" He was silent, an indicator that he was all ears.

You sniffled. "Daddy owed people money, and they found out where we were staying. T-they went to take back what we owed them. I've never seen such violence in my life," you choked a little, suddenly overwhelmed by the haunting memories. "Mom saved us enough money to fly us to Hongkong. We left the next day, a few days after the party. I was going to say goodbye to you, I swear! But they jumped grandpa on his way to the groceries. We had to leave, Mark." You cry.

"I'm sorry I never called, or texted. I j-just —" Before you could cripple to the floor, Mark held you in his arms, pulling you close to his warmth.

"I love you, Mark. I have never stopped, and I don't plan on ever stopping." You sobbed.

There are tears in Mark's eyes, they stream down his cheeks, falling on your head, though you don't find it in you to care. You just want to feel him against yo, touching you, holding you. 

"I didn't know, I'm so sorry." Mark feels guilty for yelling at you, for being angry with you. He should've known better.

"Don't say your sorry, Mark. It's not your fault." You whisper against his shoulder. "And it's not yours either." He tells you, softly.

There's a silence that envelops your figures. You can hear his heartbeat against his chest, and it's a sound you would love to fall asleep to.

You peer up at Mark. "How did you end up here?"

"A friend's mother suggested I come visit this place." You raise your eyebrows and nod, "What's her name?" Mark racks his brain for an answer. "Ping? Zhou Ping." You blush and mumble something under your breath.

Mark blinks at you. "Do you know her?"

You nod and smile. "She's friends with my mom. I think I know why she suggested you to come here." Mark looks confused, so you embarrassingly admit the truth. "I may, or may not have spoken to her about you, and showed her a few of our pictures?" Mark laughs, and buries his face in your hair. "That explains a lot."

The gallery is about to close, and you need to lock up. But Mark continues to hold you, despite the aching feeling in his legs. He wants to cherish the feeling of your chest against his. He wants to cherish the way you smell; an intoxicating mixture of lavender and pomegranates.

He wants to stay here forever.

"Please don't leave me again," he murmurs, quietly. You smile against his skin, teeth white and showing. "I don't think I can ever do that to you again."

He hums contently. "Kiss me then." And so you do. Your lips press against one another, slow and softly.

And as the night shifts today, and when Mark has to leave for Seoul, he kisses you again in the middle of the airport, where everyone can see. He tells you loves you, and that he'll be back.

You hold on to that promise because as he disappears into the crowd of busy people, he smiles at you and you just know he'll come back for you.

[yourelysianbeauty]

Short Story - Purple-Eyed Wellington

Even the most beautiful rose has pierced those who tried to touch it, wanting to make it theirs. Its petals looked extravagantly red, smooth as silk, fragrance sweet like the morning rays. Those who have laid eyes upon the flower were captivated by its beauty that going oblivious to its thorns will seem nothing. The rose was painfully beautiful, who cannot resist just simply looking at it? Even if the liquid dripping from open skin matches the rose’s striking color. Such beauty can mislead those not careful enough to know that innocence can be a mask to cover its opposite underneath.

For a young maiden like Jane, it would be similar to darkness, if she were to put that thought out specifically. The kind of darkness that light simply cannot bring life upon.

Although, a part of her life had been filled without light. As if they had been there since the first day her memory started working. Doors closed, so did the walls she built up around her as she grew up. Not that she expected it, but a new door had opened for her, inviting her to embrace things she did not know she could find and feel. That even with flaws waving at her, there still are people who welcomed her with open arms filled with warmth.

Was it the color of her irises differentiated from the rest of her family? Or how she easily trips to the ground while doing housework? Jane wished she could get answers to why she is treated like rubbish the most in her family. Relatives, rather. She shares the same blood and race as them indeed, but she is certain the definition of a family is not enitrely close to how she got to know of while she was under their watch. Her real family, her parents, were left in ashes from a fire in Canterbury, not even given a proper memorial. Jane moved to another house where her mother’s siblings lived.

She thought they would be as caring as her parents, but it was only a thought.

Constant words that hurt went out of their lips towards her direction as she tried to get houseworks done. Jane was referred similarly to her mother as alike as to how they were the only ones capable of doing chores. The Cinderella to her aunts and uncles, minus the prince charming and glass slippers.

Young Jane lived those years in that same cycle. Harsh attitudes and words spat on her way while she worked, teased for being clumsy (when in reality it was the youngest aunt as the cause of Jane tripping to the floor while carrying things).. Everything opposite of what a real family should be.

Then there finally came a time when young Jane had enough. Another set of cracked plates were on the floor that night. It was caused by the same doer yet again, but all Jane got was a smirk and a fake look of distress.

‘Ponderous, rubbish, useless.’

Her sudden burst of anger stilled everyone. All those years of not being allowed to speak and bottling up emotions, the result was like an explosion for young Jane, the quiet and obedient girl they did not think could express such feelings out. She knew they would never listen, but her chest could not take the heaviness inside anymore. It erupted without warning.

Soon, she found herself out of that house. Except it was her legs that brought her farther away despite going tired from continuously walking. Anywhere did not matter, she just wanted to get away from them. Toxicity was getting too much for her.

Jane found herself in the dark streets of London. The alleyways are darker, but enough for her to make shelter at. Survival tactics were picked up after the night she fled from Canterbury. She was taught that stealing is wrong, but it was her only way to get food. Surprisingly there was never a time when she got caught for swiping bread from bakers’ baskets. The first time she picked a knife to defend herself from getting kidnapped did faze her a bit. Criminals like to lurk around during the evening to achieve their needs.

At least, Jane is still sane enough.

Living in the dark also must have helped her auditory senses lifted. Small footsteps from afar can already reach her hearing. It’s a good tactic for kidnappers, staying as low as possible so to not get caught by their target. Jane must be the only one to have them lying in a red pool of defeat. It’s another cycle in her new life, but it did not bother her. Definitely better than to be with a bunch of wankers pretending to care.

“Even the reddest of all roses has pierced those who were pricked by its neglected thorns.” An unrecognizeable voice uttered out, but Jane trusted her instincts more than the smooth tone that reached her ears. Instead of successfully thrusting her knife out, her hand was stopped by another. The maiden gasped in sync with her widening eyes at comprehending what just happened.

“Now, I am no acquaintance of those men. Just here to ask you something.” Jane’s gaze moved from the gloved hands up to the speaker himself. A fine looking man, she noticed. Dressed in all black looking all elegant in an alleyway, he must be from a rich household.

“I do not easily answer questions from strangers, that is,” she hissed, about to insist of letting her knife go but the grip of those gloved fingers seemed tighter than normal.

“Oh, pardon me. Where are my manners?” He did not seem fazed about her snarl, in fact sending a carefree smile as his fingers let go of her knife. Jane watched the stranger fix his posture and gave a polite bow with a hand to his chest. “Enoch Augustus, butler of the Wellington household. I was out to do some errands for my young master when I came across here. I have seen what happened seconds ago, and I’d like to know if you want to come with me along my fellow servants in the Wellington manor.”

Still uncertain, a crease formed between Jane’s brows. “Is that not a similar way to kidnap someone?”

Enoch hummed in thought. “Suppose it may sound that way, but I tell no pork pies just now, especially when I refer about my young master.”

“Why do you need me to be one of your servants, then?” Jane persisted.

“The master’s, not mine,” Enoch corrected, ignoring the flinch of a nerve in him. “Your skills radiate uniqueness. That and how it can be used for something better. Like keeping danger from crawling its way to my master’s manor.” He paused to look at her with concern. “A lady like you have been in these streets for a long time and yet no one has come to get you. It’s a pity.”

Glancing down on her clothes covered in dirt and ripped like rags, she suddenly couldn’t look up to return the man’s gaze. But the latter remained his eyes on her, reassurement present this time.

“Live and lend your abilities with us. And the Wellington household shall provide you with your needs.”

There was a wave of silence that flew by before both stood up from the ground. She could feel how he wanted to hear her answers.

“May I know your name?” Enoch eyed her patiently, catching up to the number seconds that passed and she finally looked back at him.

“Jane.”

Despite everyone’s odd personalities, she stayed as poised as she could around the mansion. For weeks, she got to be tidier and work with 3 other servants while getting to know the place’s specifications of rooms and staircases. On one of those weeks, Jane took time to sit on a white bench in the garden. Minutes of just spacing out was interrupted when she heard crisping grass. She turned to where they came from, only to blink in surprise and confusion.

“Enoch,” she uttered. She saw him nod with a grin and moved aside, giving way for another presence to walk towards the same bench Jane sat on.

“Master Henry?”

“No need to be incredibly shy around me just because I’m the head of this mansion. Both of us are merely humans, after all.” He spoke as what he said should be common sense already. She moved aside for him to take the other space of the bench.

“I understand that you don’t fully trust us yet. It’s not easily earned, let alone to be there as soon as people met one another. If you still don’t think there’s point in living here, none of us can stop you. But I want you to have this for a while.”

Jane swiveled to see a white frilly headband resting on the younger boy’s palm. She caught him smiling for a moment as he returned her questioning gaze. “Your hair keeps getting in the way. What lady lets her hair hide her beautiful face, let alone while she’s tending on her errands?”

For a boy at a young age, he sure does speak a tone not close to his childlike features. But Jane always finds herself agreeing to his words anyway. She took the frilly object from Henry, analyzing it like it’s the first time she’s seen one.

“Do you not like what the master has offered you, Jane?” asked Enoch.

“Don’t mind. She can use it when she wants to,” said Henry as he stood up from the bench. He saw the maiden giving him another wordless look, to which he answers with a grin. “Get to work soon when you feel like it, Jane. And to remind you, Lula needs some help with washing the dishes.”

Watching them walk away, their figures faded from sight and Jane was alone in the garden again. Soon after, she scurried to the kitchen where her fellow servant was waiting for some assistance, the frilly headband hiding in her apron pocket for now.

When night came, Jane stood in front of the mirror in her room. She can’t tie a knot skillfully, but she managed to get the headband on successfully. It swept her hair strands away from covering most of her face, the loose ponytail resting over her shoulder. When was the last time she looked at her own reflection?

Deep purple irises bounced back at her sight. They were like her father’s.

Henry’s words replayed in her mind. And then, she found herself smiling. Jane couldn’t recognize that smile, for it’s so beautiful she had to keep going.

Perhaps embracing what the Wellington household has given her isn’t so bad at all. Soon, Jane described it all as contentment. Acceptance soon followed. Then came determination. Devotion mixed with the latter.

“Seems like there’s many of them.”

She didn’t give a nod nor a spoken reply, her focus unmoving from the same spot since the second she sat there. Peering through the small slits of the balcony, Jane could make up a number of silhouettes hiding among the tall trees. The moonlight only luminated the green lawn of the manor and those trees are not within the rays’ reach for it faces another direction tonight. Jane does not find the need to rely on the moon’s lumination in order to count those who insist on capturing their young master tonight.

“Do you suppose Jane is listening? She has not moved a muscle since we got here,” a cheery voice spoke.

“Oi, the lass has been in this manor for more than a year now. This is not her first in those times. I’m not sure if you already have it in mind by now, but she listens alright,” answered another, sounding deep and raspy, as if the habit of smoking contributed to it. Very recognizeable, even when heard from afar.

Contrary to her fellow servant’s assumption, Jane could not resist to giggle. That was the first sound she has let out in a while. She turned back to her companions, the curve on her lips matching her eyes as she faced them fully. “What about you? Aren’t you supposed to be in your places by now?” she questioned them with a sideways tilt of her head. “Getting ready and all, no?”

“The kitchen is boring,” the smoking chef sighed. “It’s usually the last place they go to when they step inside the manor.”

“It’s not like they can find the kitchen as soon as they walk in, Gerard. Unless some of them plan on using the back doors.”

“Right? Jane let out the words for us, yes she did,” replied the spectacled maid.

“I mean it’s no fun having to wait until I face them for real. Barging right in through the kitchen first is an idea that excites me. Rifles don’t like waiting too, ya’know.” The chef bit his cigarette stick between his teeth in slight annoyance.

“But Jane is not wrong though. We should be all set for later!” The thin gardener Russel practically skipped his way out of the balcony, the chef standing up to follow suit. “Well, Master Henry and Enoch would not have trusted us if it weren’t for our specialties. Even without preparations, we can handle this.”

“But don’t you think getting ready is still a must?” beamed Jane.

“Surprises are fun, but a caterer must know how to make a good party,” mumbled the spectacled maid, soon removing the accessory and neatly placed them inside the pocket of her white apron.

Raising a brow, the chef could not deny how he sensed an immediate change of aura between the two maids. But chuckled nonetheless. “You two will be here until then, eh? Later, lasses,” he bid before walking away from the balcony with a wave of his hand.

“Gerard does have a point. Rifles aren’t as patient as they seem sometimes.”

Jane smiled, lifting a revolver while sharp silverware sat to her left. “Indeed it has been a while since we last used these, Lula.”

“They’re my favorite things, yes they are,” said Lula, thumb caressing a pistol in hand. “Apart from the glasses Master Henry gave me, of course.”

A loud crashing noise came from below, almost catching the two maids off guard. They peeked through the balcony’s slits to see a big statue thrown over the large group of trees and numbers of bodies starting to run away from their hiding spots, others either sandwiched against trees or lying on the ground.

“That Russel… Can’t hold himself all the time,” Lula groaned.

“We should be there too! He’s not the only one they’re facing,” said Jane, receiving a nod from Lula. The latter gripped her pistols, ready to shoot. “Enoch seemed to have predicted everything right.”

“Partly, we’re here to prevent pests from sneaking around.”

Lula’s smirk matched the mischief on Jane’s excited smile. “Yes, Jane. That we do.”

In a split second, the sound of shooting bullets boomed and countless kitchen knives flew from above, leading to more bodies to fall down to the green grasses now painted red.

The servants greeted Henry and Enoch as soon as they arrived back home. The young master seemed so tired yet they all cannot deny how adorable he looked still. While Henry denied it bashfully, Enoch approached Jane, rays of dawn reflecting on her purple irises that met his dark brown ones.

“Your hair is loose.”

She blinked puzzlingly at first, but Jane comprehended quickly what Enoch meant. She fixed her hair with a pardon while everyone gathered around her.

“You doing alright, lass?”

At that second, Jane paused. She looked at everyone silently, as if something unknown suddenly hit her hard enough to have her so dumbfounded, which Lula and Russel couldn’t help but panic at.

“You did not get any wounds, did you?!”

“Please do not hesitate to tell us anything on your mind!”

“I’m fine, please do not be so jumpy about it.” Jane raised her hands in a defending manner, chuckling at her fellow servant’s reactions. “Besides, the young master is whom we should be worried about, yes?“

“I may be tired, but it doesn’t mean my servants aren’t allowed to have the care they deserve.” The result from his long trip had Henry heave another sigh. And soon going sheepish to his servants’ backlashes.

“We do not deserve your kindness, young master!” Russel wailed along with Lula. “Master Henry can actually bring tears to my eyes, yes he can!”

“That is sentimental, coming from the young master himself,” said Gerard, wiping his cheek.

“What I just said is not something to bawl about, you emotional fools! Now Enoch, tidy all this mess on my lawn and get me a warm bath, while the four of you clean yourselves up then prepare breakfast.”

“Certainly.”

“Yes, sir!”

Jane laughed in enthusiasm with the others as they went back inside the mansion. As a Wellington servant, life made sense to her now. There are people who did not mind what nor who she really is. In fact, she came to feel what true family is like in this household, despite a number of differences. Maybe doing repeated chores could be her destiny. But Jane finds worth in it, if it’s to provide safety to her loved ones for the rest of her life.

[lazare-spyofblu-a]

Mobile About!

It is, of course, the same as his regular about. Just, you know, in an actual post. Anyway...

Lazare Frorich Moreau, occasionally referred to as L, is a BLU Spy OC of mine. Here’s what you should know, starting with some bullets of general information:

His voice is deep and smooth, and it’s not quiet, per se, but it’s at a slightly lower volume than average. He’s just not loud, really. Dulcet tones, a bass/baritone sort of voice. There we go. Okay-ish description.

Lazare is bisexual, no preference.

His birthday is November 11th.

He suffers from clinically diagnosed anxiety. Social and general, and VERY MILD ADHD, which he takes medicine for, along with his anxiety.

He’s an ENFP Scorpio Hufflepuff, if you’re into those sort of analyses.

Those glasses he wears? He needs them, and badly. The man is terribly nearsighted.

Contacts, though more practical, are incredibly uncomfortable for him, so he refuses to wear them.

Lazare is incredibly loving and affectionate, but only to those he knows well/is romantically involved with, of course.

He’s very kind in general, but again, only to people he’s comfortable with.

He drinks a lot of coffee, and likes it with a lot of cream and sugar.

He isn’t very good at dancing. Very stiff, and self-conscious about it.

This man is the biggest fucking coward… on the battlefield. Outside of it, he’s learning to be less afraid when it comes to his interactions with others.

The four languages he’s fluent in are French, German, English, and Spanish. He’s currently leaning Italian and Russian.

Lazare has a massive sweet tooth. I’ll be honest here: bake something sweet for him and he’ll warm up to you a bit quicker.

Especially cake.

He’s come to make so many good friends at this job that he doesn’t want to leave, but at the same time, desperately wants to get away from all the killing. He just wants that part of his life behind him for good. The confidentiality is also a hard aspect. He has people outside of work that he’s close to, as does everyone, and he hates having to keep track of all of his lies for the sake of both the company and the fact that people would know that he’s, you know, a murderer.

Overly emotional, anxious, a bit clumsy, and dependent on caffeine, Lazare is nowhere near perfect. Other flaws include being very indecisive/wishy washy, easily stressed, having an unforgiving nature or holding grudges, being a touch spacey/forgetful, and too sensitive.

Lazare isn’t fully French. His mother was German and met his father by chance in Belgium, him for a family reunion, and her because she felt like it. They were the only two people at a quiet café, so having nothing else to do, they just started conversing, and exchanged numbers, wanting to be friends. They became a lot more than that, of course, having gotten married and bringing Lazare and his sister Ada into the world.

Team Fortress-specific Information:

Lazare’s loadout consists of his own suit, nothing in-game, and for weapons, he wields a Diamondback and his own switchblade, which functions as a Big Earner would. He alternates between the Cloak and Dagger and the Dead Ringer very frequently. Uses stock Sapper, but does own an Ap-Sap that he keeps lying around somewhere.

He travels from base-to-base, but his home base is Doublecross.

Other than that, function-wise, he’s a normal Shpee.

Physical Description:

Lazare has a narrow, angular face, with a sharp jawline, and has a bit of stubble. He’s got a prominent, bridged nose, and warm, chestnut-colored eyes, that appear to be a little larger than they truly are, due to how the prescription of his glasses magnifies them a bit. They’re a bit more rounded in shape, his eyes. The glasses have large, rounded, tortoiseshell frames with thick-ish lenses. His eyebrows are thick and, for whatever reason, are a little darker than his hair, which is a light-ish brown, also of a warmer hue. Almost auburn, but not quite. His lips are pretty average, as are his ears. He wears his hair in what used to be an undercut, but has since grown out into something a bit more even, and it’s wavy, and slightly unruly. When he wears the mask, it always ends up poking out, flopping over his right eye.

He’s thin, around 150 pounds, and not all that muscular, though there is a teeny bit of tone to his arms and legs. You could describe him as lanky and bird-boned, for the most part. He does have a little bit of pudge on his stomach and thighs, though. He doesn’t have many noticeable scars, as he was careful in freelance and Respawn takes care of them, but (TW SELF HARM, scroll down to the next paragraph if this bothers you,) he has some cut marks on his lap. They’re pretty faded, though.

His hands are slender, and of average size, with long palms and fingers. He keeps his fingernails cut very short, because if he doesn’t, he has a tendency to bite his nails. Feet are a little larger than average, and are, like his hands, slender. His legs, in proportion to the rest of him, are longer than average.

On his back, he bears a tattoo of raven’s wings, and has one of a sunflower over his heart, and one more tattoo over his hip, one of daisies. He plans to get more.

Backstory:

Born and raised near Nice, France, Lazare spent his childhood with both of his loving parents, and his little sister, Ada Moreau. As a child, Lazare was curious, kind, and nerdy, as he sort of is now. While outgoing, it wasn’t uncommon to find him by himself, in a tree, with his nose in a book. For an extrovert, he needed a lot of alone time and quiet, and still sort of does.

He never had a group of friends, per se, but instead made friends with a lot of different types of people, and hung out with them individually.

Always himself, and never changing for anyone, Lazare showed his sweetness, was open and honestly loved who he was. He didn’t start doubting himself until the French equivalent ninth grade, when he had this one particular bully who would make jabs at him every second he could. He was always able to pretend to keep his head high, but it did begin to hurt. The worst of it was when he was punched in the face by this kid and called a barrage of homophobic slurs for being who he was. He retaliated, stabbing his arm and drawing blood with a sharp, broken pen, and both boys were suspended. Neither bothered the other one at all after that.

Lazare participated in a lot of clubs, and found his passion for acting in high school, where he joined the improv club, did all sorts of things in the theatre department, and starred in quite a few school productions. He was happy as he could be, getting to play different characters and express himself fully in this way, and then he decided that that was what he wanted to do with his life.

After graduating, he set off for Paris, as he’d landed himself in an acting school, and performed (pun intended) well. His friends were outside of school, and they did… shady things. Theft, espionage, the like, and one offered him a job. Just a single mission, and Lazare thought, “Oh, why not?” and went out, stealing information and bringing it back to his friend.

He was paid a considerable amount, and was offered another job through this friend doing something similar.

And he was paid again.

Gradually, Lazare became somewhat addicted to the adrenaline, the risk, and the reward, the whole cycle of this espionage gig, and he stupidly abandoned acting school to pursue it.

And disappeared.

Lazare Moreau fell off the face of the planet to everyone except for his family, now using the identity Corbin Noir for everything. He changed his appearance, dyeing his hair black and contouring his face a bit to look even sharper, more angular.

“Corbin” continued with espionage, doing more drastic, large-scale work, hardening himself up as he went along. He lost his softness, his kindness. Eventually, he was asked to kill someone.

By this point, Lazare thought of himself as nothing more than a spy, a machine, and he was greedy beyond belief, and the amount he was being offered was more than he could refuse.

So, he got away with a murder.

Lazare had made a friend named Charles, a romance novelist, and Charles was the only man Lazare could open up to, and even then, he kept most of his adventures in espionage locked away inside of himself. Charles was there for Lazare through thick and thin, just as Lazare was for Charles.

Not even his girlfriend at the time, Ella Martin, really knew what Lazare truly did. Who he truly was. She simply loved, no, lusted after Corbin, and as their relationship went on, she grew manipulative, and put Lazare down constantly. She was superficial, and made Lazare feel like he couldn’t say no. He felt trapped, but was sure that this was what love felt like.

As all of this was going on, his father had grown very sick from his nervous chain-smoking, and contracted lung cancer.

Lazare visited his father in the hospital as much as he could, crying his eyes out, as he was about to lose something so monumentally important to him, and when his father passed away, he just felt even more broken. His mother started drinking, and grew mean, and yelled at Lazare, blaming him for his father’s death, for not being around more often, and she moved back to Germany.

Leaving Lazare alone, with Ella and Charles as his only hope.

He continued in espionage, eventually murdering two more people, and growing more and more depressed and alone.

One night, he caught Ella and Charles together, and was shocked and disgusted with the both of them. After all that Lazare and Charles had been through, and Charles still went and accepted Ella’s advances.

Really, though, he had seen this end with Ella coming. She’d been growing distant, disinterested, and seemed to be talking down to him more than she was showing any sort of affection.

The two had been living together, and that night, Lazare kicked Ella out of his apartment, and cut off contact with Charles.

He was truly alone.

It hurt.

He felt as if nothing was left. Ada hardly called, and no one else was around. For a few days, he isolated himself in his apartment, alone, barely eating and sleeping far too much, and at one point, stood on the roof of the building, debating whether or not to throw himself off of the edge, ending the slowly increasing but excruciating pain of being who he was at that time. It was then that his thoughts of jumping were interrupted by the roaring of a jet overhead. In a city like Paris, it was common, but in that moment, it gave Lazare an idea.

I should start over, he thought. I’ve got the money, and I don’t have much to take.

He gathered his things, and left for America, where Corbin now dropped off the face of the earth, and did start again.

Bouncing from job to job, Lazare’s life was the boring equivalent of a nightmare, until one day, he found an odd, tiny newspaper ad for a job at Mann Co. Even though he swore not to get back into espionage, he did anyway, because he feared he would die alone and of boredom if he didn’t.

It wasn’t what he expected. Instead of being by himself, he was with a team, fighting battles, killing people only for them to come back, and dying many a time himself. It was more active, and while he was constantly on edge, he finally wasn't bored.

But he was still somewhat alone, in his heart.

He’d been keeping to himself this whole time, never talking to anyone outside of battle, insisting to be called only by his initial, for confidentiality’s sake, of course.

That is, until he realized that nothing he did mattered. None of these people were going to take him back to France and lock him up if they knew who he was. His actions couldn’t even be traced to his real name, anyway. He’d made sure of that.

So, gradually, he began to open up. And for the first time in years, he had true friends. He cared for them, and let it show, pouring out just a bit of that softness that he used to have.

This went on. He made more friends, he let himself be happy, and he eventually found himself again.

Which brings us to now.

[oddieodelia]

Forsaken: UK Shadowhunters Con Recap

Hi all! So I went to Forsaken this weekend, if you don’t know what that is, it was a Shadowhunters con in London with Maxim Roy (Jocelyn), Jon Cor (Hodge), Kaitlyn Leeb (Camille) and Joel Labelle (Alaric).

It was so much fun, and since it was their first con/they’re not the main cast it was so small, nice and chill. They were all so down to earth, humbled and overwhelmed that we came to see/speak to them. They each had two panels (one on each day) and a full guest panel, I’ve managed to write up most of what I can remember below. Obviously there’s a lot I haven’t captured, but highlights/best moments are under the cut!

A lot of things we discussed were personal/non-Shadowhunter related, if you just want to read the bits to do with the show, just read the bits that have been bolded.

Kaitlyn

Camille will not be appearing in 2b

We were meant to get a scene set in the 1800s when we saw the flashback photo of Camille/Magnus/Ragnor. The scene was meant to be at a ball, and Camille tells Magnus about her dalliance with that short lived Russian. However unfortunately due to budget constraints the scene got cut. 

Another scene that got cut: initially at the beginning we were meant to see a scene between Camille/Raphael that was all in French. As she doesn't speak French she spent a while learning the lines and the accent. She nailed it by the time they did the table read, but after that the scene got cut.

When discussing ships that would never work, she said Camille/Alec. We agreed that would only happen if she did an encanto on him. After discussing for a while Kaitlyn said that to get back at/hurt Magnus for sending her to Idris, when Camille breaks free she'll encanto Alec.

If Camille wasn't such a lying cheating bitch she believes Camille and Magnus could've had a future, because deep down they do and will always love eachother.

Kaitlyn has a few projects coming up: she's continuing with Heartland, a Netflix show coming up (Slasher 2 I think she said?), and another show that also stars Paulino Nunes.

Her favourite scene to shoot was the first scene with Simon and Raphael.

She loves her scenes with Magnus because she loves working with Harry. After Harry, her favourite person to work with is Alberto.

Hardest thing to shoot/skill she had to learn whilst being on Shadowhunters was learning to speak with fangs in her mouth. She was pretty bad at speaking, but at least she was better than David. David was awful at first. Trying to do anything (e.g. pouring the bloody marys) whilst she had the long nails was very difficult too.

Another hard thing to shoot was the graveyard scene. Avery was born 5 weeks prior and shooting went till about 7am. She was also wearing heels which isn't easy on grass/mud.

She initially auditioned for the role of Izzy. They then brought her back to audition for Camille, which she got after one audition.

If she could play anyone else in the show it would be Magnus because his character is amazing, but if she's talking about a character she could physically play (e.g. a female) it would be Izzy.

On who is the biggest mother hen on set? Kat. Not in a particularly maternal way, but she always makes everyone - especially new cast members - feel welcome and part of the Shadowhunter family.

Kaitlyn loves British TV. Fave shows include Downton Abbey and Keeping Up Appearances. She also loves the Royal Family and Kate in particular.

Her comfort movie/movie she's seen the most is Monster In Law. She loves Jane Fonda.

One place she'd love to visit? Somewhere in Africa to see safari. However she'd have to wait till Avery is a little older as the flight is so long.

Her favourite animal is an ostrich. She'd love a pet ostrich, she'd name it Betty.

If she could dress Avery up as a Disney princess it would be Pocahontas. For Halloween last year she dressed her up as a gypsy bride, and her friend's son was the gypsy groom.

She loves being a mother cause it makes her feel like a wonder woman. Being able to juggle so much and look after another being is so fulfilling.

Her mother was her role model growing up, so she wants to be the same for Avery.

She doesn't really get starstruck, but when she was on Total Recall she had a moment of being starstruck when she saw Colin Farrell. Her husband joined her at the premiere and when he saw Jessica Biel he totally freaked and asked for a photo. 

Joel

Firstly Joel is like the funniest dorkiest man ever. He reiterated many times that if he does 'make it' and become a super famous actor in the future and becomes a douchebag, he wants us to call him out on it. He wants to always stay down to earth like he is now.

Joel is an actor and a stuntman. Trying to break into acting was difficult: casting directors would see his stunting resume and not really give him a chance. Luckily he's now seen as both and has a few different projects coming up. He's currently doing some work on Fargo.

He initially auditioned for the role of Meliorn, but that then went to Jade. They brought him back a few times and he then landed the role of Alaric.

He loves working across Isaiah, they were both such fun on set. Joel really wanted to pull a prank on Isaiah (saran wrap the toilet bowl in his trailer) but was scared Isaiah would kill him.

He was super freaked when he first heard that Isaiah was cast as Luke. 'That's the Old Spice guy??!!' but got over it pretty quickly. Secret: Isaiah literally is the Old Spice guy in real life.

Joel doesn't really get starstruck, but he once was at the craft table making a sandwich and Gary Oldman was next to him making a sandwich and he didn't know what to do with himself.

His favourite scene on Shadowhunters was when he kidnapped Clary/Simon and put them in the car, because he actually drove the car afterwards. He was told to 'drive safe but make it look dangerous'. He told Kat/Alberto to buckle up and just sped round the corner, as they hadn't buckled up they flew across the seats.

As a stuntman and professional skydiver he's broken like every bone in his body. (Don't quote me on this, but it was like his arms 3 times, every finger, both his wrists and all his ribs on one side?) He was actually in a coma once too. One of his arms has like metal and screws, it always beeps when he goes to the airport in China.

Though he's got a few projects he still professionally skydives and is going back to Toronto to do so very soon. He promised Dom that he'll bring him skydiving soon.

He didn't steal any clothes from the set because Alaric's clothes were 'so lame'. He hated on his dip dye plaid shirt.

He wishes he could've had more fight scenes. As a stuntman he would've loved to have more fight scenes and done all the stunts himself. If he could've redone his death scene it would've been a dramatic battle death.

He didn’t really prepare for the role/read any werewolf lore when he got the part. He feels if he prepares he tends to over prepare and just mess up. Acting is meant to be like real life - in real life we don’t prepare everything we say and have set lines, acting should be as natural as possible. You just have to learn your lines, hit your mark and listen to what others are saying to you.

He'd love to play Aladdin in the live action version. (Someone then started the hashtag #JoelLabelleForAladdin)

Actors he looks up to? Denzel Washington and Shia LaBeouf. (The first because he's an incredible actor, the latter as he's so famous yet his personal life is not in the limelight. Shia is a very 'normal person'.)

Worst/most embarrassing thing that has happened on a set? He was on Reign and was part of a battle scene outside where they all had to run/charge forward. He tripped over a log and fell pretty much into a really expensive camera and completely broke it. He's super clumsy on set and has knocked over/broken many props too.

He was so flattered and humbled about this weekend. It was his first con and 'one of the best things he's ever done.' Speaking to his family about it, his mother and sister were like 'why? why would people want to come and see and take photos with you?' his sister sent him a whatsapp like 'why, you're ugly'.

Jon

Firstly Jon is super poetic and everything he said was just so wonderful, quotable and long winded, so I probably won't be able to capture everything that was said. Like not from the panel, but his autographs took so long. Maxim and Joel were totally making fun of him and were saying he was writing poems for everyone. Every autograph had a little message, he was such a sweetheart (mine said 'you have a wonderful smile').

Jon's read all of the main TMI books and seen the film, he wanted to have his own take on Hodge. He wanted him to be seen as like an older brother/uncle, someone who was close to the Lightwoods. He wasn't a Lightwood though, and he's not part of the Circle, he's just somewhere in between, on his own.

He thinks Hodge felt so guilty after what he did, he was just so surprised and like 'oh no what's happening' when Valentine just took the cup from him.

His favourite Lightwood to work with was Alec, because he gets along really well with Matt.

If Hodge hadn't died yet, Jon would have loved to have done the scene from the books with Sebastian.

He can't say anything because of NDAs, so we don't know if Hodge might be able to come back. Perhaps in a flashback with Jace and Alec?

If Jon could play a superhero it would be Batman. Jon has a few different projects coming up, most recently he filmed a pilot for the CW. It's an adaption from a YA novel, I think he said something about mermaids? They don't know if they'll get picked up or not but from what they've heard, the pilot is being very warmly received.

If Jon wasn't an actor he would just be a writer. He talked a lot about his book and short stories and gave advice to writers. He started writing his book when he was 19 and every now and then he goes back to it and rewrites bits. It's been finished for years, he just always changes bits and doesn't want to publish it yet. When he does publish it, it will be free and proceeds will go to charity. He said he thought about going to an editor or publisher but he doesn't want restrictions. With acting, he is just an actor who is told what to do - by the script, directors, producers.. etc. Writing on the other hand is something personal and truly where he can be free to do whatever he wants.

Jon talked about his mother a lot. She was a 16 year old single mother and daughter to a priest (I think he said, or granddaughter?). He was originally meant to be put up for adoption but once she had him she couldn't let him go. She went to the prospective parents and apologised that she couldn't give him up. She's basically his biggest constant and role model in life, and why he cares and admires women so much. He got really emotional and choked up and I thought I was about to cry. The whole room was just silent.

Jon and his mother moved around a lot when he was younger so he was always the 'new kid' at school. That's how he ended up acting - he once joined a drama class and realised acting was a way he could almost deflect any of the mean things people said about him/how he could make others laugh. He felt like as the new kid he always had to prove himself to others.

So obviously his name is Jon Cor - when he was bullied his nickname was Jon Apple Core, his nickname from friends was Jonny Hardcore.

He talked a while about gaming (unfortunately I can't really remember the games he talked about) but he was saying how he appreciates games as an art form. Some games have beautiful storylines and are way more than just *sings Super Mario theme song*.

He laughed and talked about some of his past projects, including Saw. He said it was such a fun and crazy experience, there was one scene where he was just handcuffed to a chair for a while, whilst his co-star was hung above him. They took her down every few takes and made sure she wasn't hanging for too long, but she still became numb from the waist down and had to go to hospital.

Jon’s all time favourite band are The White Stripes. He also absolutely loves The Doors.

Maxim

Obviously the first thing everyone talked about was Jocelyn's death. Similarly Maxim talked about NDAs so can't confirm or deny if she'll be able to come back at all.

She found out about Jocelyn's death after shooting 2x02.

If Jocelyn were still alive she would've loved to have had more scenes with Isaiah. Following the books, Jocelyn and Luke would've eventually gotten married.

Isaiah is also a great kisser. As on screen kisses are so mechanical they’re often pretty awkward, so it’s always a pleasant surprise when you find an actor who kisses great on screen.

Her favourite episode is the pilot. There was just something so magical about the first episode, everyone was so excited to film and to be part of such a huge project.

Her favourite scene with Kat is the one from the pilot where Jocelyn gives Clary her stele.

She loved the World Inverted episode, she'd love to explore that again. She said when her and Alan were dancing, he kept saying that they should kiss. 'Alan is so in love with me!'

She thought everyone was so great in the AU episode, she though Isaiah was hilarious and Emeraude did such a great job with nerd!Izzy.

Her best friends on set were Alan and Jon.

Maxim only did one audition and got the role. She filmed her audition on her iPhone in a hotel room and got it straight away. (Joel was so amazed, ‘one audition? ONE audition?! one audition on an iphone???’) She submitted her video on a Thursday, got told she got the role on Sunday, flew out on Tuesday and started filming on Thursday. 

Though Jocelyn and Maryse had a rough relationship, Maxim thinks Jocelyn would totally approve of Clary's friendship with Isabelle. She wouldn't judge Izzy on her parents' mistakes, and be happy that Clary has someone so strong to show her the ropes.

On Climon/Clace: Jocelyn would approve of Climon because she knows Simon is like the nicest and sweetest boy who would treat Clary right. (As Maxim she totally does not ship them though). With Clace she at first wouldn't approve as she never wanted Clary to get involved with a Shadowhunter cause she'd be scared he'd turn out like Valentine, but in the end would approve. She'd realise that Jace is a good person who will treat her right and protect her.

She said that Alberto is so much like Simon and is the nicest, sweetest boy. She once asked him if she could adopt him. She wants a small Alberto that she can carry around in her pocket.

When the younger actors were filming the flashback episodes, Maxim spoke to the actress portaying young!Jocelyn. She gave her more physical pointers such as how she moves and how she fights - she held the blade in one hand which was unfortunate for the younger actress as it was super heavy. (Maxim said after the day they shot the flashback in the park where Jocelyn kills the demon from the lake in the park she could barely move her arm.)

She feels like she was the mother hen on set, though she's not particularly serious herself. She played pranks and scared people too. She wanted to hide in Dom's bathroom and jump out at him but she was scared of what he'd do afterwards.

Speaking of pranks, she said her best one ever was on a film that was shot in Mexico. One of the actors was kinda drunk and like asking them to all go out at like 3am when they had a call the next morning, so the next day they told the director/producer. They hired two guys to act as cops and pretend that he did something wrong and would get arrested, they staged a whole argument between the cops and director in Spanish (the actor doesn't speak it so was just standing there scared). They convinced him he was going to get arrested and wouldn't be allowed back to Canada. This lasted two hours.

She also pulled a pretty harsh prank on her mother. Her mother always used to buy the lottery, and one day when she was out she asked Maxim/her husband to write down the numbers for her. Maxim and her dad decided it would be fun to pretend she won a lot of money, found her ticket and wrote down 5 of the 6 numbers. Her mother thought she had won like $250,000 dollars and was totally freaking out, then they told her they lied.

Maxim is a scuba diver. She’d totally recommend scuba divers to go to Belize.

She loves British music. Currently she’s loving Adele, Ed Sheeran and Coldplay.

And finally just a few notable thoughts that came up in the group discussion with Maxim/Jon/Joel (Kaitlyn had to leave early to fly back to Canada):

Which character would win a THG battle? Everyone agreed Alaric would die pretty soon, it was a toss up between Jocelyn and Hodge though (brains vs. brawl)

What weapon would they use in a THG fight? Joel said a machine gun. Jon said a pen, because the ‘pen is mightier than the sword’. He then went on a ramble about how he’d just do small things like steal Maxim’s toothbrush and slowly make her think that she’s going insane. Joel and Maxim pretended to fall asleep as he discussed his plans.

Favourite colour? Maxim and Joel both said blue. They think perhaps because it reminds them of the sea/sky respectively (scuba diver/skydiver). Joel’s is red.

What crazy colour would they dye their hair (in real life or for a role)? Joel - blue (because it’s his fave colour), Maxim - platinum, Hodge - purple (perhaps for a punky dude who steals things? Again, he went on a roll and Maxim/Joel just started laughing)

Spirit animal? Joel - pig (I’m so lazy), Maxim - dolphin, Jon - lion

And that’s about it for my write up. It’s 11:30 and I’m super tired, hopefully this all makes sense! I wrote half of this whilst on the tube home from the con, so if there any grammatical mistakes I apologise. If I think of any more I’ll update this, feel free to ask me any qs! And check out my forsaken tag, I’ll upload more photos later.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading! xx

[goodcyndaquill]

This is a written piece about the DnD campaign I have going on with @turianjournalist , @felxndaris, and a few other friends. To clear things up for anyone that wants to read it: Yevelda is a half-orc fighter, Maeve is a halfling bard, Emry is half-elf ranger, Torrin is a dragonborn druid, Eze is a gnome barbarian, Safaris is a tiefling rogue, Obsidian is Emry’s panther companion, and Billy is Torrin’s goat companion. So, if you read this thanks! If you don’t want to follow this content I will be tagging them as #DnD and #Mavelda every time.

Yevelda smiled as she walked with Maeve perched on her shoulder down the winding road. The weather was perfect for walking in between towns, providing a nice day for traveling for the party. Eze was sitting on top of Billy’s back smoking a joint and trying to get the goat to join her. Thankfully, Torrin was keeping a watchful eye on her actions. For the life of her Yevelda would never understand that gnome. She was beyond aggravating, always managing to hit on Yevelda’s last nerve, but still they kept her around. Eze was at least useful in a fight. Emry kept up a conversation with Obsidian as they traveled. They discussed the tree growth in the area and how healthy the grass appeared. After the hellscape of the big city, the ranger was excited to interact with nature again. Torrinn, the darling, was humming a bit under his breath as he walked alongside Billy and Eze. Yevelda couldn’t help but smile at the small dragonborn. Safaris trailed toward the rear of the group, lurking along without much conversation. She was a mysterious person, but she was loyal to their mission. Finding Kriv was easier said than done, but Safaris was willing to help in order to keep Torrin happy.

Yevelda had never felt this level of contentment before. She had been treated like a lesser being her entire life, and to have friends that depended on her was a new concept. The responsibility was frightening, yet added a sort of comfort to her day. She knew that every morning she was going to be met with the faces of her companions.

“It’s nice out, huh? Emry sure seems to be enjoying himself,” Yevelda said to Maeve.

“Yeah, not bad. I’m glad we are all out of that city,” they said in response.

“Definitely. I never thought I would have to go back. I’m just glad we got out without too much trouble. My past could have quickly caught up with us, and I didn’t want to put that on the group.”

“I understand that. There are a lot of bad memories in that city,” Maeve sighed and their body kind of drooped. Yevelda felt panic twinge through her chest at the distress Maeve seemed to be feeling. Out of everyone, Yevelda trusted in their friendship the most and knew that if worst came to worst she would always side with the halfling.

“Is there...I don’t know” Yevelda grumbled trying to put her words into a cohesive sentence, “Can I help? With anything?”

Maeve was silent for a second, “ I don’t…”

Their words were interrupted by a man standing in their path along the road, “Hello travelers!”

Yevelda tensed up at the introduction, feeling on edge with the sudden appearance. She knew that this was most likely a robbery, kidnapping, or assassination attempt. However, the last was the least likely given that an assassin would be an idiot to announce their presence.

“You are all very kind to donate to our fund today! I’ll need money, jewels, weapons, and any other valuables you may be carrying,” the man announced while holding out a bag of holding.

“Oh yeah! Let’s-” Eze began before being cut off by Emry and held back by Torrinn.

“You, sir, should not attempt to steal from us. This will end poorly for you,” Emry announced.

“Yeah, yeah you filthy noble. Come on prissy pants, put all your shit in the bag and none of you will get hurt,” The thief snarled.

“You think you could take all of us on? By yourself? Our gnome here would love to kill you right where you stand.” Emry rebuked. Yevelda strained to stop herself from rolling her eyes. The sad fact of the matter was that Emry wasn’t even lying.

“You might not be afraid of me alone but how about-,” the man whistled loudly, “15 of my men?”

“Hey, Fuckwit,” Yevelda gruffed while gently placing Maeve on the ground and stepping in front of them, “We are going to walk through here with all of our stuff and there isn’t a thing you can do to stop us. Your men don’t scare me.”

“Bold much, Half-Orc bitch?”

“Fuck you!” Maeve shouted trying to skirt around Yevelda, “Let’s go!”

“Maeve!” Yevelda barked before turning her attention back to the thieves, “As my companion here was trying to say you can either let us pass or face the consequences.”

The man bellowed out in laughter, and the group took that as a cue to draw their weapons. Yevelda quickly unhitched her warhammer and shield from her back. The familiar weight of the weapon brought a small sadistic smile to her face. She enjoyed the hefty weight of the hammer in her hand, and knew that these men would not be much of a challenge. They reminded her of a gang from her past that was quickly wiped out because they got too ambitious and tried to take from the wrong people. Thievery is a game of wits, and those as bold as this man wouldn’t last long in the real world of crime. Yevelda has seen people from all walks of life attempt this gig only to fail miserably. She was glad to teach this poser a lesson about stealing.

“One last chance, put your shit in the bag and no one will get hurt,” he demanded confidently.

“It’s your last chance to give up now before you all die,” Yevelda growled out, tusks jutting out further in a menacing look.

“Fine have it your way,” the man suddenly ducked and a flaming ball of fire flew straight over his head aimed at Emry.

In that instance the fight had begun. Yevelda watched as Eze went beserk, charging into the group of men with her hand axes held high. She tried to take out as many kneecaps as she could. Emry had dodged the fireball in time by rolling out of the way. He quickly came up to one knee and began firing shots off into the group of men. He ordered Obsidian to attack their leader. The panther lunged forward, only to be struck in the side with an icy blast from another magic user in their band. Emry cried out in horror as his beloved panther fell. Safaris was quick to rush in and scoop up the injured feline and pull him out of the fray. She moved with the grace of a dancer on the battlefield, dodging blows all while carrying the great beast. Once she laid the cat at Emry’s feet, she worked her way back into the fight. Daggers glinted in the sunlight as she struck out against the large human men attempting to pin her down. Each of their clumsy moves was countered by three of her own. In no time she had debilitated two of her attackers and was working on another. Torrinn had shifted into a timber wolf and was circling around the band of thieves quietly, trying to gain the element of surprise. He latched onto the shoulder of one of the archers in the back of the group. His screams rang out, echoing loudly through the trees.  A smile cracked Yevelda’s face knowing that even sweet Torrin was fighting for all he was worth.

Yevelda knew that taking out the leader was the best plan of action for ensuring that the fighting ceased. If he died, his men may not feel like continuing the battle and that could cut down on injuries. Without Warren the group was more vulnerable, and getting injured now could spell death. Launching with a yell, Yevelda swung her hammer out in hopes of striking the leader in the head. Unfortunately, he was quick and deftly dodged out of the way. He pulled a rapier from his hip and squared up to fight. Yevelda let out a large huff of air reminiscent of a laugh. This puny man thought he could fight her with that dinky little weapon. The thief’s eyes glinted as his eyebrow quirked upwards.

“You underestimate my abilities, half breed,” he spat the insult like it was fire in her direction.

“Like I haven’t heard that before from my victims,” Yevelda added a growl to the end of her sentence.

The duo began to circle each other, trying to test the waters without jumping in. Yevelda knew that she had an advantage in strength and reach over the man, but he was much quicker than her. If he got under her swing, he could take jabs at her abdomen. But if she swung upwards he would have nowhere to dodge and get within her space. As they pair finished their appraisal of the other, Yevelda caught sight of Maeve firing bolts into crowds of thieves from a boulder they had perched upon. The sight of was a reminder of what could happen if Yevelda didn’t finish this fight fast. With a plan formed Yevelda faked to the left and swung her great hammer upwards toward the man’s chin on his left side. He had attempted to lunge at her right side with his sword, but that had only put him in a better position for her attack. Yevelda caught the thief under the chin with her mighty swing, snapping his head back and severing his neck from the spinal column. He dropped into a heap on the ground, his lifeless body folding in upon itself.

“I think you underestimated me,” Yevelda bellowed as she attached her shield to her back and grabbed the corpse, “Your leader is dead. Cease and desist.”

“NO!” a man that was lingering back in the group screamed. He quickly summoned a great ball of fire in his hands and flung it out towards Yevelda. Without her shield the fire would inflict massive damage. Frantically she dropped to ground, and tried to roll out of the way of the attack. Her somersault brought her back up to her feet in one fluid motion as she pulled a dagger from its holster on her thigh. With sheer force, Yevelda flung the blade at the magic user and impaled him through his breast bone. She could hear him choking on blood that quickly pooled in his throat and lungs.

“Anyone else?” She replied eerily calm.

“Yevelda!” Torrin shouted from behind her, “Maeve! They’re hurt.”

With that Yevelda turned her back on the enemy, a move that no fighter should ever make in the heat of battle. Torrin was cradling an unconscious Maeve in his arms. They were burned badly indicating that the fireball aimed at Yevelda had indeed met a mark. Suddenly red filled Yevelda’s vision. The world was drowned in blood and she was prepared to add to it. With speed that a person her size should never possess, Yevelda whipped around and faced the five remaining men. They were at fault for hurting Maeve. They were the reason Maeve was burned and in pain. With a blood-curtling scream, Yevelda charged the men with two axes in hand. Rage like she had never felt coursed through her veins, even when she had been tied down and beaten by the orc gang she had not felt this bloodlust. With vicious precision Yevelda cut through the enemies bodies as if they were butter. As she powered onward she could feel weight begin to drag her down, but nothing would stop her from obliterating the cause of Maeve’s pain.

“Yevelda! Stop!” Emry shouted as he clung to her back.

“Fucking hell,” Eze cursed as she was dragged behind Yevelda, hanging onto her leg for dear life.

“See reason Yevelda! That one is the healer! He could fix them!” Safaris reasoned as she tried to wrap her tail around Yevelda’s stomach. Their efforts were making little impact on the rampaging woman. The man was quivering in fear, knowing that the warrior was seconds away from slicing him in half like his companions mere seconds before. However, Torrin stepped in front of the man, clutching the dying Maeve to his chest.

“Yevelda, stop,” he whispered, standing directly in the path of destruction.

Abruptly all motion ceased, and Yevelda stood centimeters from Torrin and Maeve. Great puffs of air were forced from her lungs in an effort to maintain control over her emotions. Peering over the top of Torrin’s head, Yevelda could see the final member of the band of thieves. He had soiled himself in fear, and was currently slumped to the ground in obvious relief. He didn’t appear to be carrying anything other than a dagger and a bag of holding. A thief with so little was most likely support for the others in his group, meaning he was most likely a healer.

“Are you a fucking healer?” Yevelda said, still trying to push her rage and panic down deep in her chest.

At first the man winced at her voice, then slowly looked up.

“Fucking answer me!”

“Yes…” he meekly replied.

Yevelda reached out for Maeve, and Torrin didn’t hesitate a moment before handing them over. She cradled the halfling gently in her arms, the blood from the slaughtered men staining Maeve’s clothes.

“Fix Maeve, or I will end your pitiful life with my bare hands,” Yevelda threatened in a menacing whisper.

“Y-yes,” the man began digging in his bag of holding, “Set her down here.”

“It’s they,” she barked.

“R-r-right. Set them down here.”

Yevelda knelt down, protecting Maeve’s body with her own. She balanced their tiny body on her lap and awaited the healer’s instructions. All the while, Yevelda never took her eyes off of Maeve’s face. They looked so broken, with burn marks running across their chest. The fireball had hit them dead center, a hit Maeve could had deftly dodged if they had seen it coming. But, they hadn’t because the blast had been meant for Yevelda. If only she had taken the hit instead, Maeve wouldn’t be this close to death. Yevelda could still feel small, bird-like breaths, but they were fading out fast.

“I need you to open their mouth. This is a potion of superior healing, so it will hopefully be enough to save their life.”

Quickly following the command, Yevelda gently opened Maeve’s mouth and held it so the healer could pour the potion slowly down their throat. Once the vial was emptied, Yevelda sat still as a statue waiting for any sign of improvement.

“Please Maeve. You have to come back,” she whispered softly so that no one but Maeve could hear.

The halfling’s eyes began to flutter open and they saw Yevelda’s face covered in blood hovering over them. Tears shined in Yevelda’s eyes, and Maeve knew she was fighting back her feelings for the sake of the group. Yevelda was always like that, looking out for everyone but herself. Maeve gingerly reached up and wiped some of the blood off Yevelda’s cheek.

“You know this stuff stains right?” they said gruffly, their throat still sore.

A bright smile overtook Yevelda’s face and a few tears fell, “So I’ve been told. I should have cleaned up before welcoming you back, but I figured saving your life should come first.”

“Eh, I’ve seen you looking worse.”

“Well, you certainly have never looked better. Being alive suits you,” Yevelda hugged Maeve to her chest gently. She had never felt so relieved in her life, and that might account for the swift kiss she placed on Maeve’s hair.

The group let the two have their moment, knowing that it was more significant than either Yevelda or Maeve realized. Emry talked to the thief and let him go on his way after handing over several more healing potions. One of which Emry took to the injured Obsidian and administered immediately. Safaris, Eze, and Torrin began collecting weapons off of the ground and looting the bodies for valuables.

“When are those two going to figure it out already?” Eze whined.

“They have to get there on their own time,” Safaris said.

“I can’t wait till they do!” Torrin chimed in.

Yevelda straightened herself out of the kneeling position and gently placed Maeve atop her shoulders so they wouldn’t have to walk. She grabbed up her discarded weapons and turned to find the rest of the party waiting on her.

“What the hell are you all waiting for? Get a move on,” she commanded while rejoining them, glad to have the familiar weight of Maeve on her shoulders again.

[findinganewshrubbery]

Old Bri’we

When the prospect of sparring Xo’catl came up, Bri would have been lying if she said she had dutifully stepped up as the most durable and adaptable of contenders and offered her services. No, she had -lept- at the chance, and didn't look back. Her preparations had seemed simple, but in truth there was a bit more to them than met the eye.

The first step, had been reaching for each of those segmented sets of instincts and gathering them up, synchronising bear, bat and cat to draw from each at the same time. Empowering herself with a little bit of what was normally inaccessible outside of shapeshifting. But there was more. She was always so controlled, when it came to things that excited her, knowing that it was easy to slip. Easy to get stuck with that itch that went to her bones that could only be sated by whatever she had fixated on revealing its secrets, every last one. Knowing that once she got stuck, it would change how things would be.

She knew part of the problem was the fact that she was clumsy in ways that seemed so natural to the meatbags that surrounded her, and that much as she tried to ape their methods sometimes the mask would slip and she would step left where everyone else stepped right to leave her in the spotlight she both craved and cringed away from.

Xo’catl had proven a unique companion, in that he was one of a handful people she had ever slipped up in front of, one of three it had been deliberate for. He hadn't seemed to judge her when she had stolen his jaguar pelt and plopped it on, merely recovering it and mentioning nothing of the oddities she had let surface. and then, with the chance to spar him… It both tickled that ‘nobody else has done this’ itch and the chance to let her mask slip and actually enjoy something that wasn’t her Necromancer. It was hard, letting go of that restriction she put on herself, far harder than trying to control her temper, but the major thought that ran through her head helped.

_-Just when was the last time I let myself cut loose? He’s the Apex. He can handle it. He won’t think less of me if I enjoy it.-_

Her fur floofed out as that first tingle of excitement ran through her, and she was ready.

_-I have to be careful. I don’t have to be careful. He is Xo’catl, and he is sturdy~.-_

She stepped back, rolling her shoulders and stretching and letting the anticipation tingle across her tongue. Xo’catl had the potential to be particularly dangerous; he was strong, fast, agile, and cunning. The restraint he would have to exercise would be an unfortunate shackle, if a necessary one, but that fact hardly did anything to dampen her enthusiasm. In terms of pure, physical combat, he was the best in the area. She fought to keep the excitement out of her voice, but only out of politeness. He knew. He always knew.

“You ready?”

_-Ohh, what a challenge~!-_

The Apex gripped his axes, shifting them in his hands as if to reassure himself already.

“We are.”

It was all the confirmation she needed, putting her head down and bolting forward. The mark on her face was cold as air hit the wet streaks of blood along her fur, and the same lightness that filled her while running as a panther surged through her. A quick trajectory was plotted, and just out of arm's reach she planted the end of the staffspear and flung herself upwards, leading with her feet. He twisted on the impact to steal most of the force of the blow, and her eyes widened appreciatively at how quickly he recovered. No stagger, not even a stumble as he came back around with the back of the axe to use like a mace.

She felt the impact against her hip, and shivered as she let instinct and thought blend together while the Panther curled and coiled under her skin, leading her through the steps required without a thought. As she spun through the air, she twisted herself using each following impact against the ground to orient herself back upright, already in the process of surging forward once more as automatically a shimmer of green trailed along her hip.

_-Broken pelvic flange, spreading cracks. Again~!-_

She knew would feel that one later, as her pulse surged with the adrenaline and the cracks reknit back together with each step. The druid had almost gotten all the way past the Apex, his head following her trajectory and stance shifting in a preemptive motion to pounce before doubling over as the staffspear connected across his torso to knock the breath out of him.

_-Clever Zandalari, too clever. Let go a little~. Match me. Fight!-_

She had settled lightly after the impact, watching how the Primals eyes had started to constrict, how his torso shifted to finally suck in a proper lungful of air and how he reached up and then brought that heavy axe down. Reversed once more to prevent a possible dismembering, Bri’we noted, and felt her lips starting to twitch upwards. She wasn’t settled properly enough to bolt to the sides, couldn’t move fast enough to get out from under it, and planted herself. The axe impacted atop her shoulder with the crunch of reinforced wood breaking under the strain, leaves dislodged, and -clack- of metal across the enchanted, sturdy wood of the staffspear.

She felt the blow in her hip more than her shoulder, heightened regeneration disrupted briefly as cracks spread once more from the point of the previous break. She had diffused most of the force of the blow, fortunately, preventing anything else from being broken. It would swell later, but for now the druid lost the throb amongst the storm that had suffused her. Her pulse pounded in her ears, even as delight and war danced in her blood. She pressed upwards, smiling as she started her counter.

_-I want proof. I want one of his tusks. I will wear it and the world will know that even the Best can be Beaten~.-_

The upwards press with the staffspear angled, and then went outwards to buy her that inch of space she needed to disengage the weapon and spin to gain some momentum so that she could crack it across those jutting tusks. Neither broke, but she didn’t have much time to mourn the lost opportunity as as Xo’catl stumbled back with axes raised, hissing and bristling. He took a more deliberate step back, giving ground, giving way.

_-Trap, tricks and falsehoods! The Apex does not give ground!-_

The line of thought was proven true as the Apex sprang forward with both axes raised, blades bared as he brought them both down towards her uninjured shoulder. Two things happened, in the heartbeat before the impact came.

She felt light, lighter than she ever had as she watched both blades descend while the world about her slowed. The intricate detail on both axes caught her eye, and she appreciated their beauty even as she started to bring the staffspear upwards on an angle. There was no fear, only that razor's edge of focus, and her eyes slid past the weapons to focus on the Zandalari’s face.

_-His face. I can see his FACE.-_

His eyes were blue. The colour had never registered before, in all the times she had noted the size or shape of the pupils. It had always been simply an indicator of his state of being. They were set under prominent ridges that gave his angular features a true raptor’s cast. His jaws had opened, revealing the fanged maw that, theoretically, she had known was there but was only truly seeing for the first time.

“BREAK!”

Ridges spread out from the enchanted wood in her hands as the axes were caught along the side of the staffspear and slid to the side, sparks brightening the darkened glade as they slid along the ironwood haft. Strength surged through her arms even as the jagged, spined end of the weapon rounded and blunted itself so that as she stepped in to whump it into his torso, it wouldn’t puncture him and go through.

“But I’m Havin’ FUN!”

This. This was what she had been seeking. In all the spars amongst the clan members, she had been right in guessing that only the Apex could provide what was needed to get her into this heightened state of awareness, of existence!

_-A worthy opponent! A proper Challenger! I Will Be KING!-_

The impact lifted the much larger male from the ground by almost an inch, and he stumbled as he landed, folding in on himself. Struggling to breath, the Apex shook his head as if to clear it before rearing back with his jaws pulled open in preparation to pounce and-

And he clapped the axes against his torso as he reached the height of what would have become a lunge, stepping back and rumbling. Every physical fiber of his being was primed to continue, and yet instead of the next step to their dance, words came forth.

“Stop! Stop. Win. You win. Need Stop.”

_-WHAT!? NO!!! I-_

_-This is not a win! You still stand! You still…-_

_-If I ever want to be able to do this again, I must do this thing, even if it burns.-_

The manic grin that had spread across her face vanished as she promptly lowered herself into a submissive crouch, keeping her head down to hide the way her teeth were bared in frustration. The druid backed away slowly, carefully even as she lightly set the staffspear down. Visual cues that she was no threat, no challenger, barely hearing a word that he uttered in broken zandali to bring himself down from the edge through the thundering tempo of her pulse.

It took a long moment for the Druid to settle into a comfortable niche between readiness and relaxed, a long moment spent focusing on mending the broken piece of her pelvis.

-That will hurt for a few days.-

Bri glanced at Xo’catl from under her hood, eyes holding a faint green glow.

_-Worth it.-_

She kept her voice low when she spoke, soft and gentle, analyzing the cadence of his responses coupled with the words he chose, and felt a coil of confidence curl through her chest.They’d do this again. It was only a matter of being patient until the next opportunity arose.

The druid lowered her head once more to hide the way a manic grin split her face.