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ckret2 · 6 months

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Chapter 29 of human Bill Cipher will find a way out of being the Pines' prisoner or so help him, featuring:

Summerween!!!!

and also:

Henchmaniacs.

Kryptos doesn't actually talk like that, it's just how he's currently feeling.

####

January 1, 1982

"You're late," Bill said, a bit reproachfully.

Ford gave him a surprised look. "Did we have an appointment?" He didn't remember one. He was pretty sure he'd remember an appointment with his muse, even if he'd made it in a dream.

"Pfff, appointments are for people without an eternity of time! No, I'm just used to you dreaming by midnight. It's weird for you to stay up past two when you aren't working on a project."

"I suppose it is." Ford was flattered Bill was paying close enough attention to notice his sleep habits. "I thought I'd stay up late to bring in the new year."

"The what?"

"The... new year?" What wasn't registering. How do you explain New Year's to an alien/angelic messenger? "It's when—"

"Oh, oh right." Bill waved off the rest of Ford's explanation. Several calendars and clocks spiraled in the air like a Ferris wheel in front of Bill, "Between trying to figure out whether you meant it was 0 Pop or Tishrei 1, I completely forgot about Chaos 1. You guys have too many calendars!"

And he'd skipped over January entirely. Wryly, Ford said, "The next time somebody asks for my input, I'll let them know you want us to use a few less."

Bill laughed. "Smart aleck." The calendars and clocks vanished. "And all you did to celebrate was stay up a little later than usual? No parties? Okay, I know you don't know anyone throwing a party—but you didn't even celebrate at a bar?" Bill ruffled his hair. "All work and no play makes Ford a dull boy!"

Ford endured the ruffling. He wasn't quite sure whether Bill was scolding him for staying up celebrating, or for not celebrating enough. "I... suppose I could celebrate in here?"

"What do you want, a fireworks show?" In the distance in Ford's mindscape, a single large firework exploded. It shifted colors, purple to yellow to green to red, before fading. "I don't think so! If you wanted fireworks, you should've gone to the show on the lake. I've got some prophecies to pass on, and I'd rather get to them this REM cycle."

By "prophecies" he probably meant a random assortment of warnings about Ford's upcoming week, which historically had varied in severity from "don't visit the lake Tuesday evening or you'll get caught in a snowstorm and die of hypothermia" to "you'd better get groceries in the morning before they sell out of your toothpaste brand." And Ford was always grateful for such messages—but now he wished he could see what sort of fantastical color-changing dream fireworks show his muse could put on. "I take it it's not a new year on your calendar."

"I don't keep track of that stuff. When you're as ancient as me, celebrating the new year is like celebrating a new hour."

Bill had so easily brushed off the implicit invitation to discuss "his" calendar. Ford wasn't surprised. Over the years of sporadic meetings with his muse, Ford had noted that Bill never shared information about where he'd come from or how he filled his time when he wasn't bestowing his wisdom—as if Bill was a thing that simply is, a muse that offered inspiration because it was made to inspire, with no history or identity outside of its role in service to humanity. He always dodged the questions gracefully.

But he never seemed bothered that Ford had asked. In fact, as long as Ford didn't pry into Bill's history and kept his inquiries comfortably shallow, Bill always seemed happy to receive personal questions. Ford had found that even when Bill talked like he was in a hurry, it was very easy to get him off track (and consequently extend his visit to two or three more dreams) by asking him about himself.

Ford wondered why that was. Was it a part of his duty—was he compelled to answer his chosen students' questions, to enlighten them on the mysteries of the universe, to help tug back the curtain of reality to reveal wonders unknown—wonders that included Bill himself? Or perhaps Bill was used to students seeing him as a source of knowledge without seeing him. Perhaps he was grateful that somebody was interested in him enough to ask.

Whatever the case—Bill clearly liked being asked about himself, and Ford liked getting his muse to stick around a little longer than planned. So rather than letting Bill get on to the prophecies he'd promised, Ford asked, "Do you ever... participate in any human holidays? After all, you've offered so much to humanity. I'm sure any of your prior protégés would have been honored to invite you as a guest to our celebrations. I would be honored." And Ford wouldn't mind having friendly company on the holidays that he'd gotten in the habit of ignoring until they shrank to nothing but a square on a calendar.

"Ha, I know you would! But no, not really," Bill said. "Don't get me wrong, it's not that I look down on your cute little local festivals. They just don't have any relevance to me! A celebration of a bountiful harvest, a prayer to get through the winter, the veneration of a local long-dead celebrity... I come from a timeless realm of divinity, sublimity, color and light! Most of your planet's holidays are about issues that don't matter to me."

"Ah. I see," Ford said. "Are there any human holidays you care about?"

Bill mulled over the question. "Maybe one or two."

####

June 22, 2013

Bill thundered down the stairs, charged into the kitchen, and announced to the Pines, "If I don't get to wear a Summerween costume I will literally die."

Without looking up from the morning paper, Ford said, "Then die."

####

It took ten minutes for Bill to bargain Ford up from "death" to permission to wear a costume—provided that it was free; that Bill agree to stay inside for the holiday without complaint (WITHOUT COMPLAINT) no matter what fun activities he heard happening outside; that Ford didn't have to do anything to help Bill obtain said costume; and that Bill take a dang shower.

Bill groaned. "Another shower already?"

"You wouldn't need so many if you didn't insist on running around in an acrylic sweater and polyester leggings in summer."

Bill knew that. That was one of the reasons he did it. It was useful for the humans to think the showers were their idea.

Bill agreed to all terms, and even volunteered to get the dang shower over with now so they could both get on with the rest of their days.

He'd never admit it, but Bill had been wanting a shower. Not for the hygiene, but for the privacy. This was the first time he'd had a door between himself and the Pines since he'd broken the shack's unicorn hair barrier.

Time to call in reinforcements.

Bill covered the mirrors, turned on the shower, undressed, stuck his head under the shower stream so that if anyone barged in on him he could use his wet hair as proof he'd been showering, and squinted through the wooden door to confirm there weren't any humans lurking nearby. Coast was clear—but wow, it hurt to bend his eye that way. He rubbed at it irritably as he set up his ring of candles again, and wasn't surprised when his fingertips came away bloody. He thought it hurt more than it had last time. He wondered how many more times he could glance into higher dimensions before this body's eyeballs gave out on him. Hopefully he wouldn't need them that long.

He drew Kryptos on the floor, lit the candles, and started muttering the chant to summon him. "Rhombus sapphirinus. Fraternitas, caritas..."

The steamy air went chill, the water pattering in the tub grew muffled, the whole world slowed and paused. For weeks, Bill's every attempt to break into the mindscape had been a futile strain; but now, instead, the mindscape surged up and swallowed him into its gray twilight, like evening embracing the land on the heels of sunlight's departure. Bill knew he wasn't awake anymore. It was working.

A force outside of Bill borrowed his throat to speak the last of the ritual—it worked!—and before his eyes, a diamond window opened into the Nightmare Realm.

####

Standing at the edge of one of the Quadrangle of Qonfusion's many perpendicular floors, arms crossed, scowling deeply, Pyronica glared at a neon-acidic cotton candy nebula light years away. "Guys," she said, "it's doing the thing again."

8 Ball, Keyhole, and Zanthar glanced away from their video game toward the nebula. Amorphous Shape peeled a few squares off a column to peer at it with Hectorgon.

"Look at this." Pyronica clapped her hands.

In the nebula, crackles of lightning-like bolts of light millions of miles long shot through the starry clouds. A noise like thunder boomed from it, rattling the Quadrangle. An ugly statue fell off a column-shaped pedestal and landed on a wall.

She clapped twice more—each time, eliciting more lightning—then gestured emphatically at the nebula. "How am I doing that!"

"Can't be you controlling it," Amorphous Shape said. "That nebula's over a dozen light years away. That light had to have happened years ago, we're just seeing it now."

Already turned back to his video game and determinedly trying to murder Keyhole, 8 Ball said, "Maybe the nebula's controlling you."

Pryonica said flatly, "You think a bunch of stars is making me clap."

"Eh. Like astrology or something."

Hectorgon said, "Could be a time loop thing."

"Could be," Amorphous Shape said thoughtfully.

Pyronica threw up her hands, which made the distant nebula's colors shift slightly. "If it's not weird butterfly effects or faster-than-light light, it's time loops. I hate this place. All it'd take is a hard sneeze to knock the whole dimension down."

She'd been saying things to such effect for the past few months. Consequently, nobody really paid much attention to the latest round of griping about the Nightmare Realm's poor maintenance, until she said, "I'm bailing on the Quadrangle. Soon as I can find a decent rock in some other dimension. Who else is coming?"

8 Ball glanced down at Pyronica from the floor with their gaming setup. "Hold on, are you serious?" He quickly had to look away as Zanthar took advantage of the distraction to attack.

"Yeah, I'm serious. I don't wanna break up the gang, but I'm sick of this dump."

Huddled on a nearby wall like an unemployed gargoyle, Paci-Fire said solemnly, "I will stay, Mother. The Quadrangle of Qonfusion is the only home I have ever known."

"Probably one of my worst life decisions," Pyronica muttered. "The Quadrangle isn't our home, it was Bill's. We're just... just..."

Ducking in from between two columns that seemed to lead to a purple-shadowed nighttime meadow, Teeth said, "Eternal couch-surfers."

"Ha! Yeah, that. Hey, where you been the past week?"

"Took a wrong turn to the bathroom. I ended up in that pocket dimension Bill grounded the electrical wiring into."

"Again?"

"I never know how many times to cross that one infinitely looping hallway!"

Pyronica gestured at Teeth. "See, this place is a complete mess. We'd be better off moving to any other dimension. And you'd like living in a real dimension if you gave it a shot, Paci!"

"No." Paci-Fire crossed his arms. "I do not want to."

"At least think about it. Wouldn't you like to live somewhere that has moons? Instead of going on a road trip to another dimension every time you want to drive a civilization to extinction?"

Keyhole muttered, "I hate those stupid road trips. They're always a zillion light years long and we never do anything fun."

"Hey!" Pyronica pointed at Keyhole. "Watch it! My kid's a lunarcide prodigy, he gets to go on as many moon-destroying trips as he wants!"

Keyhole cringed. "Right, right, sorry." 8 Ball muttered something disparaging about Keyhole's intellect, right before blowing him up for the second time.

Paci-Fire asked, "And say we were to move to a dimension with more moons. What would we do when the authorities follow us home after another successful slaughter?" A side-effect of growing up in the Henchmaniacs was that Paci-Fire regarded The Authorities as a nebulous bogeyman that was personally out to get him and all his family and friends. "Are we to lock the door and cower from them like—like cowards? Or constantly flee from one dimension to the next? No, Mother. I do not wish to live like a pariah in the dark corners of—" his lower mouth sneered around his pacifier, "civilized dimensions. There is nowhere safer for us than the Nightmare Realm."

"Sweetie, you don't have to be afraid of the authorities in other dimensions—"

"Mother! I know no fear." Paci-Fire's eyes flared a bright, dangerous red.

Pyronica playfully tugged one of his horn. "We can find a dimension as primitive as 46'\ without any interstellar cops. Like—which dimension were you from, Teeth, it doesn't even have any organized space authorities, does it?"

"Oh, yeah, pretty much every world in my galaxy was still ground bound when Bill recruited me." Teeth stepped on a column, slid off, and shuffled around it, trying to remember which side doubled as a walkway to the kitchen. "I don't really mind staying here, though. I mean yeah, we don't have a roof, or consistent walls, and the wiring's a mess. But the rent's really reasonable for a place this size in this part of the Nightmare Realm."

Hectorgon processed that. "Hold on." He lay on a wall and slid up it until he was mouth level with Teeth. "You've been paying rent?"

Teeth paused mid-column. "Wh—yeah? What's that supposed to mean?"

Pyronica bit her lip to keep from laughing, elbowed Paci-Fire, and hissed, "I thought Bill was joking about charging Teeth rent!"

Paci-Fire murmured, "Bill Cipher was always a most droll prankster."

"Who are you paying it to?" Hectorgon asked.

"I mean—I was paying it to Bill. But I dunno who took that over, so I guess, kinda... no one?"

With a mildly offended tone, Hectorgon lied, "You were supposed to give it to me now."

"Oh." Teeth shifted awkwardly. "Uh... sorry, Hect, no one told me. I don't think I've got enough on hand to cover all the..."

"It's fine, everything's been topsy-turvy since... the last few months. Just give me what you have and pay back the rest as soon as you can, okay?"

"Sure, sure, no problem. Thanks, man."

Pyronica bit her lip to keep from laughing. "All right, so Teeth is stupid enough to stay here."

"Hey!"

"But I don't see why the rest of us should be." She looked up at the trio playing games below her, then tried to remember which stupid paradox staircase led to that level. She hesitantly headed up one that looked promising. "Moving out would be worth it just to be somewhere with consistent physics!"

"I am contented with the inconsistent physics," Paci-Fire said.

"It took you fifty years longer than most kids to learn how to walk," Pyronica said. "I know you're my little genius! It's this dimension that's holding you down!"

"Boo," Paci-Fire said sulkily.

"Paci, you don't even like the Quadrangle. Nobody does."

Amorphous Shape let out a chorus of sharp gasps. They slid around a corner and reappeared sliding from the underside of the staircase to the top, laying zigzag atop the steps to glare at Pyronica. "Excuse us."

"I'll step on you, Morph," Pyronica threatened. Amorphous Shape grudgingly slid over for her to pass. "Fine, Bill's stupid 2D groupies like the Quadrangle. But the rest of us don't."

"What's wrong with it?" Morph demanded.

"What's—?!" Pyronica gestured upward at the floor below them. "You don't see the problem with this?!"

"It's supposed to be like that. It's a shortcut."

"It's a—!" Pyronica covered her face and suppressed a scream. "It's giving me vertigo!"

"It doesn't give us vertigo," Morph said defensively. They partially peeled off the steps to look at Hectorgon. "Does it give you vertigo?"

"No, I'm fine."

"What about you, Kryptos?"

There was no answer.

"Krypt?" Morph reluctantly peeled off the stairs entirely and hovered in the air to try to get a better view.

"He probably got sucked into The Void," Keyhole muttered, "it was vibrating this morning."

8 Ball sighed. "Why do we even have that Void?"

"Man, I dunno."

Pyronica ascended to the bottom of the stairs, sat on the arm of the gamers' couch, and said, "The point is—none of us need this place. I got by fine before joining Bill, most of you guys did too, and we can get by just fine now without squatting in his weird architecture project."

She leaned behind Keyhole and 8 Ball to poke Zanthar's arm. "Big Z, you still have worshippers in your home dimension, right? Aren't you still getting offerings?"

Zanthar shrugged noncommittally.

"They've still got legends of you, you can whip them back into shape in no time. Keyhole, you've got family—"

Without looking away from the screen, where he was losing hideously, Keyhole muttered, "I'm not moving back in with my mom."

"I'm not talking about your mom, stupid, what about your sisters?"

Keyhole winced, though it was hard to tell whether it was from Pyronica's question or from getting killed for the third and final time. "I don't know... Bill and I were talking about them once, and I realized they're as bad as Mom was. Bill said probably the only reason they didn't treat me as bad is because they never got the opportunity—"

"Who cares what Bill said," Pyronica snapped. "Bill's dead! We don't have to listen to him anymore!"

"Hear hear," 8 Ball muttered; but he couldn't throw in anything else, lest Zanthar blow him up and win the match.

Pyronica said, "Face it: the only reason the rest of us didn't leave the Nightmare Realm millennia ago is because Bill couldn't leave."

Morph drifted through the kitchen—reaching around Teeth to grab a drink out of the fridge as they passed—and unfolded questioningly around a corner. "There you are."

Kryptos was in the rec room, lounging on Bill's stupid tacky optical illusion throne with the fabric of reality upholstery, staring out a window (or skylight, depending on your point of perspective). He grunted at Morph.

Morph said, "Bill's gonna be furious you're using his throne."

"Whatever. Z's already spilled time punch on the armrest." Kryptos pointed at the patch of reality on the armrest that was out of chronological synch with the rest of the throne.

"He's not gonna be furious," Pyronica said, shouting through the doorway that inexplicably connected to the rec room. "He's not gonna be anything because he's dead. He died. D-E-A-D."

"He's not." And suddenly Morph were in Pyronica's face, all of their polygons and lines and piercing slitted eyes circling her head like angry moons. Keyhole leaned toward 8 Ball to see the screen around them, and 8 Ball elbowed him back over. Morph said, "He can't be. If Bill was dead, the Nightmare Realm would be falling apart even faster—"

"So let's bail while we can—"

"—but it's not," they said. "If anything, its degradation is slowing down. That would be impossible if he were dead, he's instrumental to holding the Nightmare Realm together—"

"Unless he lied about that, and he was actually making everything worse," Pyronica said.

"Bill's not a liar! We have the data to prove it, we've been measuring the degradation for billennia—"

"I'm sick of your stupid measurements! It was your 'measurements' that said 46'\ was perfect to take over! Was that stupid barrier part of your measurements?!"

"That barrier was extremely localized, there's no way we could have detected—"

"The portal was right in the middle of it! How did you idiots miss it?!"

8 Ball groaned as Zanthar whittled away the last of his HP. Zanthar let out a gentle hum like the sound of an apocalyptic vacuum cleaner as the game declared him the winner.

8 Ball tossed his controller at the TV. The TV squealed in fear. "If Bill is alive, that's just another reason to get out of the Nightmare Realm! Leave before he gets back! He can play king in this dump by himself."

Paci-Fire said, "Surely, you do not mean that. Were Bill still around..."

"No! No, I do mean it! The only reason we've stayed so long is because everyone's too starstruck or too scared to ditch him! Not anymore! If his flat-brained cultists wanna wait for him, fine! But why do we all gotta stay?"

"Hey!" Hectorgon rushed in from the kitchen to snarl at 8 Ball. "Who're you calling flat, cue tip—?"

Kryptos tuned out the argument downstairs/next door as 8 Ball and Hectorgon started brawling. Who were they kidding? Nobody was leaving. Maybe 8 Ball, he'd tried to split four or five times before crawling back, but Kryptos didn't care about him anyway. Bill had always been right about him: he was too selfish to care about the rest of the gang but too stupid to make it on his own. They'd taken in losers like that before and it had never been a big loss when they left. But no one else would leave. Where would they go?

Where could they go?

Kryptos didn't care about the outerplanar Henchmaniacs' reasons for joining Bill; but the shapes were here because Bill had promised to make them a new home. He was the only one in all of reality who could do it. Kryptos was as desperate to hear from Bill as Morph and Hect were. They'd held fast to Bill's promise for a trillion years—so how could they let go of whatever thin thread of that hope remained? Who would they be if they lost it?

But in his heart, Kryptos didn't really believe Bill was out there. He'd been gone too long. And Kryptos couldn't imagine anything less catastrophic than Bill's destruction could have reversed Weirdmageddon.

Yet he was still here, and still waiting, because he didn't know what else to do. He'd stay in the Quadrangle until the whole realm finally fell apart, just in case Bill casually floated back in one day. He'd do anything they could think of to find him and bring him back.

And then Kryptos got a call from Earth.

He sighed heavily.

Calls from Earth weren't unusual. Perks of having helped found the Fishmasons: Kryptos was occasionally summoned by the Fishermen high-ranked enough to be told their organization really did know an interdimensional alien who was their de facto secret leader and presided over their most important rituals. Assuming "de facto secret leader" meant "living equivalent of a beloved sports team mascot," and "presided over" meant "got free invitations to," and "most important rituals" meant "most fun parties." But the humans liked to pretend that their little group was a lot more important and cloak-and-dagger than the social club it really was; and all the wink-wink-nudge-nudge pretending-Kryptos-was-in-charge, while silly, was also kind of flattering. You didn't get many chances to be the star of the show when you lived around a supernova like Bill.

So, Kryptos got calls from Earth from time to time—at least a handful a year—typically from a middle-aged man in a business suit trying to pretend he wasn't giddy about being the guy who'd gotten permission to pull out the candles and contact The Alien.

Kryptos was not in the mood to talk to humans. Humans were why they were in this mess. Humanity could go jump in a lake.

But it wasn't every human's fault that a handful had somehow taken out Bill. And maybe they were calling for a party. Maybe it would cheer him up.

So he sighed again, half heartedly shouted, "Guys—guys, shut up a second, I'm getting a call," and opened up a window to Earth.

His vision was filled with a brown-skinned golden-haired haunted-eyed human who, at the sight of Kryptos, gave him a relieved, face-splitting smile. "H—"

Kryptos hung up.

To reiterate: he took calls from middle-aged men in business suits. That was a naked woman crouched on the floor like an animal.

"Who was it?" Hectorgon asked.

"No one. Some woo-woo witchy type who probably dug up a leaked Fishmason ritual online."

Hectorgon laughed. "I bet it thought it could ask a 'demon' for lottery numbers."

"Sorry, sister, but that's Bill's schtick," Kryptos said. "My number is unlisted for a reason."

Kryptos wondered about Bill's human pals. Well—"pals" was a bit of a stretch—devotees and students. How often did he get calls? And now they couldn't reach him.

Stinks for them. Must be awful, reaching out to someone in another dimension for help and getting nothing back.

####

An ethereal, sourceless voice whispered in Bill's ear, "The all-knowing dream demon you're trying to reach is currently unavailable for visions and prophecies. If this is an emergency, wake up and call your nearest Masonic lodge. Otherwise, please leave your prayers or petitions after the beep." Beep.

Bill stared, jaw dropped, at the empty patch of air where Kryptos had been projecting just a moment ago. After several seconds of mute outrage, Bill said, "Kr... Kryptos. You... I swear, if you don't get back here this SECOND—"

The sheer force of his anger woke him up. His eyes fluttered open to the world of color and humidity and pattering water. He grabbed every towel he could reach, wadded them up, and screamed into them. "KRYPTOS YOU SON OF A— I KNOW YOU NEVER CHECK YOUR VOICEMAIL! AND WERE YOU ON MY THRONE, WERE YOU SITTING ON MY SPECIAL THRONE—!"

He shrieked until his lungs were empty.

####

At sixty minutes exactly, Ford knocked and opened the bathroom door. Bill stood scowling behind it.

Dryly, Ford asked, "Have a pleasant shower?"

Wet hair hanging in tangles, face flushed red, eyes even redder, Bill snapped, "Yeah. Refreshing."

####

"Mabel?"

Mabel glanced down from the stepladder at Bill, then pointedly looked away and continued taping Summerween decorations to the hallway wallpaper. "What."

"Mabel," Bill tried again, a touch more pleading. "O great Shooting Star. My hero. My one and only friend in this hostile universe. Last person who hasn't utterly forsaken me." He leaned on the wall, the back of his hand pressed to his forehead. "The sole illumination in the dark night of my accursed postmortem existence—"

Mabel grudgingly looked at Bill again. "What do you want?"

"Listen: I know I upset you at the mall, and I still need to make it up to you—I do, I do, I just haven't had a chance yet—and you're still a little mad at me, okay—buuut... can you help me make a costume." He pressed his hands together. "Please. I'll owe you one. I'll be in your debt. Just let me dress up for Summerween."

Mabel frowned at him. She frowned a little more. She said, frowning, "You're so lucky I love costumes."

####

(Next week: Summerween part 2!! Thanks for reading, if you enjoyed I'd love to hear from y'all what you think! I've been waiting to get to the Henchmaniacs for a long time. Mainly in the hopes y'all will yell at me for putting Bill through heck again.)

#human bill cipher #bill cipher #kryptos #henchmaniacs #gravity falls #gravity falls fanart #gravity falls fic #my writing #my art #fanart #bill goldilocks cipher

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joshsindigostreak · 2 months

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I See Hell in Your Eyes

Chapter Eleven

“Revel in this, my lover.”

Vampire!Josh x Vampire!Reader

Authors note: Once again I am SO SORRY this took forever. I hope you can forgive me. Enjoy this rollercoaster of a chapter!!

Word Count: 8,586

Warnings: Detailed descriptions of blood, World War 2 discussions, brief SMUT towards the end, but nothing out of the ordinary.

To say that this particular Blood Den in Chicago had a different vibe than the first one Josh had been to, was an understatement. Instead of the antique furniture, there were plush booths that lined the walls, each paired with a set of curtains for added privacy. Instead of classical music, there was enough bass booming through the sound system to make the floors shake. The color scheme was varying shades of red and black, and the matching lights added to the dramatic atmosphere.

Josh tried not to let his nerves show when the two of you were escorted up to the VIP section, which was a roped off area by itself on a red carpeted platform that was in the corner of the Den, and had its own circular couch that wrapped all the way around it. The second you both walked in, hand in hand, eyes turned and stared. Some Vampires who were in the middle of feeding looked up and paused as you both passed. Josh would openly admit he loved being the center of attention but this was…different.

His steps slowed, and you looked over your shoulder and saw the look on his face. You squeezed his hand as you led him through the crowd, following the security detail Dimitri had assigned to you for your stay in Chicago. At the gesture, he squared his shoulders and caught up to you.

You could hear the whispering as you wove through the crowd. The music was loud enough that you couldn’t make out much, but the words hunter and Kiszka were crystal clear. Thankfully you were finally walking up the short flight of stairs to the VIP section, which was entirely vacant as Dimitri had explicit instructions that it was for you. Anyone else who would normally sit up there would have to get over it for the nights you were in attendance.

As the both of you settled on the red couch, the security guard turned and took his post at the foot of the stairs. It felt surreal and almost fishbowl-like where you were sitting, but thankfully the crowd went back to what they were doing and for the moment the spotlight wasn’t literally on you both.

You turned to Josh, “this is still…very weird.”

“It’s definitely…a lot.”

You searched his sweet face, trying to find every question he had swirling behind his eyes.

“Hey,” you said as you reached up to turn his chin towards you. Your fingers lightly toying with the hair that grew from it, “what’s going on in that head of yours, Boy Scout?”

He stared at you as if you were the only person in the room, his eyes softened at your touch.

“This…this is the first time I’ve walked into one of these as…,” his voice trailed off.

“One of us?” You tilted your head slightly as you smiled at him and your thumb rubbed back and forth on his jaw.

It was only three words, but there was so much weight to them.

“Yeah,” he all but whispered.

“Boy Scout, I saw them staring too. But just know that they’re not looking at you like you’re a hunter. Because you aren’t one anymore, and they know you gave that up. They’re probably confused as to why you did something so selfless. We’re not known for our generosity, as you know. What you did doesn’t happen very often, if at all.”

“I’d do it again.”

Now it was your turn for your eyes to soften.

“You would?”

His hand slid across the small space between you, taking your free hand.

“Wouldn’t even hesitate…”

You started to lean in to kiss your Vampire, but someone clearing their throat in front of you made you freeze centimeters away from his lips. Annoyed, your eyes slid to the side to see the source of the noise.

It was one of the Den servers, who had been awkwardly standing there for most of the exchange.

Sitting back against the couch, you said, “...yes?”

“I was sent to get your drink orders.”

You perked up a little at the question, automatically telling him you’d like your usual A-Negative Manhattan. He looked over at Josh, who seemed a bit lost at what to order.

An idea struck you, “OH! Do you do Blood Flights here?”

The server gave you a slight, duh, look but he quickly smiled and said, “yes we do.”

“Ok can we get one then? It’s been awhile since we’ve had some real variety.” You smirked at Josh, happy you smoothed over a potential awkward moment for him, and got him a treat in the process. You were about to have fun.

“Do you want only Negatives, Positives, or-”

“Oh no give us the whole eight please, a full spread!” He gave you a slight grimace before nodding and turning to leave.

Josh turned to you as the server hurried off to the bar, “is a Blood Flight what I think it is?”

“You haven’t figured out what you like yet, and this is a good and safe way to do so for someone as new as you.” Your finger reached up and lightly booped his cheek.

He tried to fight a smile but failed miserably, and relaxed on the back of the couch with you. A few Vampires approached the bottom of the stairs, looking up at you two curiously and speaking to the security guard. He shook his head at them and promptly shooed them off.

You rested your arm behind Josh on the back of the couch, and lightly toyed with the curls at the base of his neck, “did you read the itinerary?”

He shrugged, “I skimmed it before we went to sleep this morning.”

“Well, apparently the first night we’re here, we aren’t going to have any visitors, but the next few nights we’ll slowly get more and more people up here with us. Dimitri has some friends that are regulars here that he felt needed to be seen with us.”

“Great.”

“Oh it’ll be fun. You need to make more Vampire friends anyway. They’ll love you, I’m sure of it.”

“We’ll see, I guess,” he said, not fully convinced.

“...and if anyone is rude to you, I’ll rip their fingers off,” your tone was so light and cheery it made Josh give you a look. “What? They’ll grow back.”

“Have you ever done that before?”

You smiled and gave him an innocent shrug, “maybe, maybe not…”

“Sweet-”

“You see the trick is,” your fingers of one hand wrapped around the middle finger on your other hand and you pulled it back slightly, “you have to do it quick enough to shatter the knuck-”

“That's enough, I get the picture,” he took both of your hands in his to get you to stop.

“Well, like I said, if anyone is rude to you, I’ll show you how to properly do it,” you smiled at him.

Before he could properly reply, the Den server was back with your drink. He placed yours on the table in the middle of the platform that the couch wrapped around. Behind him was another server who was holding a long tray containing eight small glasses, all filled to the brim with dark red blood. After delivering the drinks the two of them scurried down the stairs to tend to the booths on the wall.

Josh scooted forward to the edge of the couch to get a better look at the “Blood Flight” as it was called. The long wooden tray looked to be hand carved, each glass was labeled by the blood type etched into the wood in front of it. The smell wafted up into his nose and he could feel his gums itch, with pressure around his canines. It was getting easier to look at blood and actually want to drink it. He tried to equate the smell with the smell of his favorite food before he was turned, but each night that memory was getting more and more distant and faint, and the instinct to crave blood was getting stronger. He even tried to think about something as basic as pizza, but found that he had to concentrate really hard to remember the taste, and when he finally did it didn’t even sound appealing to him.

You took a sip of your Manhattan before putting it down and scooted closer to him.

“This is going to be fun, Boy Scout,” you encouraged as you draped your arm over his shoulders and leaned in even closer. You gave him a quick peck on the cheek before turning to the glasses on the table. “Now, they line them up from most to least common blood types, starting with O-Positive, the Ol’ Faithful of blood.”

He gave you a sideways glance, before reaching for the small glass and bringing it to his nose. The smell was a little unfamiliar but sweet. As he brought the glass to his lips, he felt more pressure around his fangs, and he looked at you curiously. You flashed him an encouraging smile as he brought the glass to his plush lips and took a sip.

First impression? He liked it. He couldn’t pinpoint why, but there was something…hardy about it? It wasn’t overly remarkable, but it was pleasant. He took another sip for a second impression, and he wobbled his head back and forth before looking at you.

“It's not terrible,” he concluded.

You nodded in agreement, “yeah, it's not my favorite either. But it’s the most prevalent so you’ll get used to it eventually.”

A-Positive was a step up, but it was definitely different from the O-Positive, and going in knowing they were two different blood types made the whole notion of different flavors start to make sense in Josh’s head.

His first sip of B-Positive, however, was the game changer. His eyes went wide and he went in for a second helping immediately, loving the bright and fresh taste.

You rested your chin on your hand, a serene and fond expression was all over your face.

“You like that one?”

He turned to you and smiled, “oh yeah this one is the best so far. There’s kind of a kick to it but in a good way?”

You glanced at the type he had in his hand, “B-Positive, huh? Noted.”

Josh made his way down the flight, stopping at A-Negative, remembering it was your favorite. He could see why you liked it so much, and your words that first night in the Den made sense to him now, and he made sure to tell you that.

“Ok…I get it now,” he said as he sipped on the A-Negative.

“I told you!” You laughed.

It was when he got to the second to last glass, B-Negative, that his face scrunched up and he quickly put it back down.

“No…definitely not that one.”

“B-Negative is one of those either you love it or hate it, I’ve never really cared for it myself.”

“So it's like the Merlot of blood?”

You had a very limited understanding of human wine, and you blankly stared at him.

“Is Merlot bad?”

“It’s not great.”

“Oh well then yes I could see that.”

Finally he was at the last glass, AB-Negative, and as soon as he drank it he recognized it. The girl he fed from at Dimitri’s tasted the same, or at least very close to it.

“I’ve…I’ve had this before,” he said softly.

You remembered the girl from his first feed and it clicked for you too, “Dimitri did love the rare types. I think it's some sort of status thing.”

Josh nodded before going back for the B-Positive glass and downing the rest in one gulp. Even with the loud music, he could still hear your soft laugh float towards him.

“Ok ok, Boy Scout, we’ll get you some more,” you said before flagging down your server from earlier.

~!~

Jake kept stealing glances at Lou, who was silently watching a baseball game on the TV mounted on the wall. He sat on the same barstool every time he came in, ordered the same drink (double whiskey with a splash of O Positive, or a double O Positive with a splash of whiskey, depending on the night), and minded his business. He had been a regular for at least two decades now, and even knew CiCi’s father before he died. He wasn’t the only Vampire to show up at the bar, but he was the most consistent. Jake wasn’t sure how “old” he truly was, just that he still looked to be in his early twenties. Regardless of his appearance, CiCi would warmly call him ‘Old Man’ in conversation with the same reverence one would give a grandparent.

The first night Jake showed up at the bar, a little over a year ago, he didn’t make a good first impression with Lou. Mainly because he tried to kill him, but CiCi had put a cork in that quickly. Thankfully, Lou didn’t take it personally, and just went back to his drink. Ever since that night Jake hadn’t really gone out of his way to talk to him, but he was cordial to him when he needed to be.

But Jake looked at him differently now. Different in the sense that when he looked at Lou drain a glass of O Positive, he saw his own brother. He had been back in Tucson for about three days now, and he hadn’t spoken of Josh at all. They had exchanged a few texts here or there, but they were just letting the other know where they were in their travels. Josh had sent him a few regular texts, asking Jake how he was, and a few photos of Chicago, but Jake hadn’t answered them yet. He couldn’t pretend everything was normal. He couldn’t pretend that Josh was just on a roadtrip with his girlfriend and seeing different cities. No, the truth was that Josh and said girlfriend were both Vampires now, and were being paraded around different Blood Dens to draw in business. It was so fucking stupid.

Neither Jake or Sam had said anything to their parents yet. Josh had texted both of them that he wanted to be the one to tell them, so they respected that. It helped that they were still busy with whatever they were up to in Canada, but Josh would have to rip the bandaid off soon.

For now, Jake sat in his own girlfriend's bar, trying to make sense of it all.

“You know I can see you looking at me, right,” Lou said after throwing a sideways glance at Jake. Jake’s eyes snapped back to his beer in front of him.

“Sorry.”

“Is there anything I can help you with, son?”

The nerves got to Jake and he blurted out the first thought he had, “when did you get turned?”

Lou’s eyebrows slowly raised in mild surprise, “hi Lou, how are ya, wasn’t on the menu I guess.” He sighed and turned on the barstool to face Jake, “1942.”

Jake nodded, “and how old were you?”

Lou could tell something was deeply bothering Jake, even if the hunter was trying his best not to show it. Jake typically had a haunted look on his face, but he looked even more tormented tonight. “What's this about, Jake?”

“I can’t just try to get to know you?”

“Well I don’t know who taught you social skills, but asking a Vampire about how they were turned isn’t the first thing you bring up. We can be touchy about that subject, depending on who you’re talking to.” He continued to eye Jake curiously.

Jake nodded, and internally argued with himself over what he should do next. Everything was eating away at him and for the first time in his life he didn’t know how to fix it. With a rough exhale, he picked up his beer and hopped off his barstool, moving to the one nearest to Lou.

The Vampire was taken by surprise again as Jake found his new seat. For a few moments, the two sat in awkward silence. Lou only glanced back at the TV when he heard a ball get hit, and cursed to himself when it was caught by the other team. The Cubs had been trailing behind the last 3 innings, and it clearly wasn’t their night.

“I was just…” Jake started, “my brother was, umm…”

Lou knew that Jake wasn’t a bad kid, in spite of his ‘profession’. Over the past year he had seen a gradual change in the hunter, a good one, and he knew that CiCi deserved a lot of the credit. He still didn’t entirely trust him, but he had the CiCi stamp of approval, and that was enough for him. He perked up a little at the mention of Jake’s brother. He knew Jake came from one of those hunter families, but he didn’t know what his immediate family consisted of.

“You have a brother?” He asked, deciding to play along with Jake’s impromptu Q&A.

“Yeah, two actually...”

“Is one of them in trouble or something?”

Jake took a long pull of his beer, stalling to answer, “he was…he still is, I don’t know.”

The distress was all over Jake’s face, and Lou gave him a sympathetic look, “what happened?”

The hunter gritted his teeth, not wanting to say the actual words. He had avoided truly verbalizing the situation since he left Josh’s apartment.

“Hewasturnedintoavampire,” he mumbled his words together.

“...Into a- oh,” Lou replied carefully. Now the sudden interaction made sense.

Jake nodded, not able to meet his eyes.

“I’m not going to ask you how it happened, as I said earlier, it can be a touchy subject,” Lou started, which made Jake’s shoulders relax significantly as he didn’t think he’d be able to tell the whole story. “But I will ask you if he’s ok?”

“I guess…I didn’t see him much before we came back.”

“It’s a lot to adjust to,” Lou took another sip of his drink, “the first few weeks can be rough, especially if you’re alone.”

“He’s not alone, not really. The umm…the Vampire that turned him is kind of his girlfriend,” Jake added.

“Oh? Is she nice?” Lou was even more curious now.

“She’s alright…for a V-,” Jake caught himself before he finished the word.

Lou sighed, “you know, Jake, some of us are actually nice and personable. Sure, there are plenty of murderous bastards among us, but name me a species that doesn’t have any of those.”

Jake’s cheeks reddened, “I-I know, I just…I just never thought that Josh would ever be one of them.”

Lou purposefully ignored the use of the word ‘them’, “I get that. Is he your older, or younger…?

“Older. Well, by five minutes. We’re twins.”

Lou’s eyes softened again, “oh that's tough, son.” It was strange to Jake that someone who looked younger than him called him “son”, but he could tell that Lou wasn’t trying to be patronizing. “How is that going to work with your…family business…”

“I have no fucking idea. Our parents still don’t know.”

“Well, shit.”

Jake nodded in agreement, “yeah.”

Lou looked up at Stacy, the other bartender besides CiCi, “another round for us please, Stace.”

She looked up from the glass she was washing and nodded, making her ponytail bounce in the process. She quickly sat down two fresh glasses in front of them, with Lou’s drink having a darker hue from the added blood. She flashed a grin at Lou, who gave her a shy smile in return.

As Stacy bounced away, Jake mumbled a thanks to Lou. “You looked like you needed it,” he replied softly. The Vampire took a substantial sip from his drink, before turning to the hunter and saying, “it happened when I was shipped out to France.”

“What-“

“When I was turned. It happened in France.”

“I thought it was rude to-“

“I said it’s rude to ask, it’s just a personal decision to share. And I’m sharing,” Lou took another sip of his drink, his eyes seeing all the usual questions forming behind Jake’s eyes. “I was 22, and my unit had stopped in this small village that hadn’t been taken over yet, miraculously. We were only staying for the night, and planned on leaving at dawn. But somehow a few bottles of wine from the village ended up being passed around and we got hammered. But honestly after walking for three straight days we needed it. After a while I needed to piss so I got up and went down the little path we were on, when this stunning, and I mean beautiful, woman appeared out of nowhere at the tree line. I was so drunk I thought she was a mirage or something, but she was real. She asked if I could walk her home, and who was I to say no to that? That’s when she says there was a shortcut through the woods, and I stupidly fell for it. We got maybe a hundred feet or so into the trees, where you couldn’t see the road and no one could see you either…” His voice trailed off as he stared at his drink, his thumb wiping at the condensation absently.

“You don’t have to tell me the rest if you don’t want to…”

As if Lou didn’t even hear Jake’s voice, he continued, “suddenly I was against a tree, this woman’s lips were on my neck, and I thought ‘holy shit how lucky was this?’ But then I felt her teeth, and then I really felt her teeth, and everything went dark soon after that.” He took another swig of his drink, “I kept blacking out, I don’t even remember her giving me her blood to complete the process. ‘Next thing I know is that I’m alone in the woods, extremely disoriented and hungry. But I didn’t know what exactly I wanted.” At this, Lou gave Jake a pointed look, the answer being obvious. He didn’t want to divulge anymore, at least for now.

Jake didn’t know what to say. Lou’s story was the first he had actually heard. Vampire’s backstories were never a priority to learn about growing up. They weren’t supposed to live long enough to even know their names.

Lou broke the silence again, slightly pivoting the subject, “you said his girlfriend turned him?”

“Yeah.”

He raised his eyebrows at Jake, “He’s lucky, you know, to have someone help him through the transition. Most of us don’t get that.”

“I wouldn’t call being forced to be turned ‘lucky’,” Jake grumbled.

“He was forced? By her?” Lou’s brows knitted together in a mix of curiosity and confusion.

“No, not by her, but he, uh, pissed off the ‘Council’ and it was either get turned or…death,” Jake gripped his glass a little tighter as he spoke.

Lou made a face at the mention of the Council. He knew enough about them, though he had never dealt with any of the members personally.

“The fucking Council, of course,” he rolled his eyes and took another sip.

As if a dam in his mind had broken, Jake started rambling, “the first time I saw him afterwards, he didn’t look different but he looked different, if that makes any sense. He walked differently? He always stomped around the house growing up with those flat feet of his, but that night I could barely hear his shoes on the floor. I hugged him, and for a few seconds…things felt normal…but I couldn’t just carry on as if nothing had happened. Everyone else in the room as if it was a regular Tuesday night. My other brother was sitting on the couch next to him, asking him question after question as if he had just come back from a stupid vacation. They were all Vampire questions, harmless ones, but even then no one was acknowledging the elephant in the fucking room. Like we weren’t going to talk about the fact that he’s dead now, but he’s not really dead, but he can’t go out into the sun anymore, and-”

The grip Jake had on his glass was getting to the point where he was about to break it, and Lou wisely reached over and wrenched it out of his hand before that could happen.

“Let's not break anything tonight…,” he said as he placed the glass out of Jake’s reach for the time being.

Jake flexed his fingers before setting his hand back down on the bar, his gaze fixed on the wooden surface. His nose twitched, the heat rising in his face and he felt his eyes start to sting. His voice was much softer when he observed, “he has to live off blood now…and that’s it. I know Vampires don’t eat actual food, and he won’t either and…this sounds so stupid but I’ll never be able to share a meal with him again.”

Lou’s face was riddled in sympathy, and his voice was equally as sympathetic, “yes you can, Jake. His plate will just look a little different is all.”

“It’ll just be a glass,” he snarked as a defense mechanism, trying to hide any emotions bubbling up to the surface.

“Then it’ll just be a glass. But he’ll still be there. Sitting with you just like I am right now.”

“What am I supposed to do, stock my fridge with blood bags now just in case he comes over?”

“That would be the courteous thing to do.”

Jake finally looked up at Lou again, “how do you even get blood bags anyway?”

“Would you believe, we Vampires have a delivery service?”

The hunter gave Lou a blank stare, “...what?”

Lou chuckled, “yeah, it's a whole network here in the states. There’s a number to call and they set you up with a schedule if you want it. Instead of the MilkMan showing up at dawn, it's the BloodMan showing up at dusk, leaving a cooler at your door.”

Jake didn’t find it as funny as Lou did, “that’s…different.”

“It's not as popular as you think, most prefer their dinner a little more Rare, as you know. But it’s helpful for the introverts out there.”

“...do you use it?”

“For the most part, but I mainly use it so CiCi can have her own stock on hand. BYOB, as the kids say.”

Jake blinked at him, trying to digest this information.

The Vampire went back to the subject at hand, “But what I’m saying, Jake, is that he’s still your brother, differences and all. It’s a lot, I know, and it won’t be easy to get used to, but being ‘normal’ like you said everyone else was the other night, is exactly what he needs. Don’t treat him differently. It's pretty rare for newly turned Vampires to even see their family again, let alone stay in their lives. You have a gift on your hands and you don’t even know it.”

Jake chewed his lip, he hadn’t thought about it that way.

His voice was soft, nearly a whisper, “I…I want to do all of that, I really do it’s just…I’ve never looked at a Vampire with any other thought than to finish them off as soon as possible. Ever since I saw one for the first time when I was a kid, they’ve just been anonymous monsters that I needed to get rid of.”

“Not to state the obvious, but maybe it’s time you reevaluated that.”

Jake was quiet, trying to absorb it all. But one truth was still lingering in his mind.

“The thing is, even if I stop, I know that Josh is now going to be a target for other hunters out there. Even if he’s good, even if he doesn’t make a mess, keeps his head down, I know some personally that wouldn’t hesitate to-,” he bit his lip hard, not wanting to finish the sentence. “The fact that he was a hunter that was turned, and turned willingly, makes him an even bigger target than just a regular Vampire.”

“To me, it sounds like you’re the perfect person to use this knowledge and to protect him as much as you can. You know how they move, where they go, and whatever tells and patterns they have. Use it to your advantage, remind him to do the same.”

Jake was emotionally drained at this point, but Lou made a great point there.

He nodded, “that makes sense. Umm thanks for the talk, Lou.”

Lou shrugged, “you know where I’m at if you need to talk again.”

Jake nodded again, and hopped off the stool. He wordlessly made his way to the corner of the room where the stairs to the rooms above the bar were. More specifically, where he and CiCi lived. He needed some quiet now, and he needed to think about what he was going to do next in his life, and what that meant for Josh.

~!~

It was your fourth night at the Chicago Den, and true to the itinerary, each subsequent night led to more and more Vampire’s populating the VIP section. Both you and Josh were a little timid at first, but so far everyone had pleasant, even if they were overly curious about Josh. He fielded questions with ease, his natural charm coming out instantly. Everyone still had intact fingers, though every once and awhile you’d make eye contact with your Vampire across the VIP section and pull back one of your fingers just to make him laugh.

His drink of choice now, a tequila and soda with a splash of B-Positive and a lime, was resting in his hand as he listened to a Vampire you couldn’t remember the name of droned on and on about his last trip to the south of France. He was holding his own very well, and you were comfortable enough to not have to be right beside him the whole night. Your own charm carried you around the VIP section, and after asking nicely and batting your eyes at the security guard at the bottom of the steps, you were allowed to follow a few of your new friends out onto the dance floor. It felt so…normal to you. Being surrounded by other Vampires, the various Human Companions, being able to look up and catch your lover’s eye whenever you wanted, in a world that was entirely yours. While the circumstances that led you here were troubling, being able to exist and experience all of this with Josh had you focusing on them less and less.

However, while you were enjoying yourself, the lover in question was getting more and more irritated by the minute. Josh is the last person you’d describe as clingy or even worse, needy. But ever since your night had begun, you had been distracted by nearly everything and everyone else besides him. Mingling with everyone you came into contact with, greeting anyone new and introducing yourself quickly. Swapping stories while you sipped your drink, occasionally making eye contact with him, but otherwise left him to his own devices. Which isn’t a problem, but if he had to hear one more Vampire reminisce over a time period over a hundred years ago he was going to try that finger trick you mentioned on someone.

It was your last night in Chicago, and before dawn the two of you would be whisked away on Dimitri’s jet to your next destination: Seattle. He liked the Chicago Den well enough, but he was ready to see what else was out there.

He looked down at the dance floor, and saw you with a few of your friends. A few of them were old friends from a few decades ago when you were in Chicago last, and some were brand new but you had no problem befriending anyone. A thought briefly ran through his mind, that this was probably how you normally were before you met him. The version of you that wasn’t preoccupied with hunters being in your business, or following you around. The side of you that only other Vampire’s saw, where you were completely relaxed and not worried about protecting a fragile human. It had been a welcomed sight for him, he just wished he wasn’t watching from the sidelines all night.

His thoughts were interrupted when he saw a very tall man weave his way into the crowd towards you. Josh was instantly on alert, even though he knew you could handle yourself. He mentally cursed that even with his newly heightened sense of hearing he still couldn’t make out what was being said when he saw the man dip his head down to say something in your ear. You turned around excitedly and mouthed the word ‘really’ to the mystery man. Your face lit up as you loosely took a hold of his arm, letting him lead you out of the crowd and back towards the VIP section. What the fuck was going on?

The security guard at the bottom of the steps stopped the both of you, which Josh was grateful for, until you waved your hand at the guard and pointed back at Mystery Man as you said something that Josh still couldn’t make out over the music pumping through the speakers. He drained the last of his drink, and slammed it on the table a little too hard as he stood up, but he didn’t care.

You practically bounced up the stairs, Mystery Man following right behind you.

“Josh, guess what!”

Josh looked at you curiously, his eyes darting back and from between you and your ‘guest’.

“What, sweetheart?”

“So…since it’s our last night in Chicago, Dimitri sent us a…treat…,” your eyes swiveled up to the tall man.

At the risk of asking a stupid question, he said, “What kind of treat?”

You smirked at your Vampire, “…a B-Positive one…”

Josh used every muscle in his face to not show his surprise. He did not want you to pick up on any inkling that he thought there was anything else going on with B-Positive Mystery Man. Nope. He would never live that down with you. Instead he rolled his lower lip into his mouth and raised his eyebrows to play it off.

“I’m Alex,” Mystery Man said while extending his hand out to Josh.

“Josh…,” he replied while shaking his hand. “Dimitri sent you?”

Alex smiled sheepishly and explained, “yeah. I’m kind of a regular around here but I’ve never gotten a call from the boss himself, you know? Couldn’t say no to his opportunity.”

Josh was a little skeptical, but played along, “I get that…”

You wasted no time to pull Alex over to an empty spot on the VIP couch and sat down on his left. Josh followed and sat on the other side of him, and ‘treat’ aside, it still felt too far from you.

“Now Alex, do you have any bite preferences?” You asked brightly.

He turned and smiled at you, “most of the time it's usually the wrists but, you can go for the neck if you want.”

The flirty tone in his voice was so obvious to Josh he had to fight an eye roll, but he silently hoped you’d turn it down. He wasn’t possessive, but you hadn’t fed from anyone’s neck besides him in the last few weeks, and part of him wasn’t ready to share you in that way.

He didn’t have time to unpack whether this was some kind of Vampire social norm he was getting used to, because when he looked up you were nodding and descending towards Alex’s neck while your fangs lowered down.

Alex kept his attention on you while he offered his wrist to Josh, and while he didn’t want to be impolite, Josh also wanted to shove his hand out of the way and walk out of there.

Instead, he let the spite take over. His own fangs popped down a lot faster and harsher than they had previously, and he swiftly brought Alex’s wrist to his lips and bit down with little care. The first thing he noticed about Alex’s blood was how it was almost…minty. He was definitely B-Positive but in the four days he had been in that Den, Josh had had better samples of that type from the bar instead of this human. He looked up to catch a glance at you, while you happily dined on Alex’s neck. Alex himself had his head thrown back against the couch, which only made Josh burn hotter.

Being fed on as a human versus being fed on as a Vampire wasn’t entirely different, but there was something so raw about offering yourself to a Vampire when you’re human. He remembered the first time he feld your fangs bury themselves in his skin, how it stung and burned but you fed from him in such a way that pleasure had rolled through his body within seconds.

Josh continued to feed on Alex for a few more minutes before wrenching his wrist away from his mouth sloppily pricking his finger on his own fangs and healing the wound. He frankly couldn’t give a shit at this point, especially with how you were still latched onto Alex’s neck. Rather petulantly, he sat back with his hands in his lap, waiting for you to finish your “treat.”

After the slowest five minutes of his life, you finally popped off of Alex and quickly wiped away a stray trail of blood from your chin with your thumb.

You looked up as you healed the bite wound with your own blood and saw the hard stare coming from your Vampire. His sudden shift in mood confused you.

“Is something wrong, Boy Sc-”

“Can I talk to you,” he gave a sideways glance at Alex, “alone.”

“I- sure,” and with that he reached over and took your hand, quickly leading you down the stairs and around the security guard, not even glancing back to see how your “treat” reacted.

In every Den there are private rooms, soundproof and lockable for even more privacy. Some Vampire’s were weird about feeding in front of others, or they simply wanted proper alone time with their Human Companions, but Josh wasn’t thinking of their intended purpose now. He quickly weaved through the crowd to get to the back corner, where the private rooms were. The universe was on his side when he saw the door on the far left open, leading to an unoccupied room. He beelined towards it, rushing the two of you inside.

“Josh what the-”

He turned and pushed you against the door, smashing his lips against yours. You let out a squeak in surprise but quickly melted into the kiss. Your arms wrapped around his neck and your fingers went into his hair. His hands moved down to your hips, gripping them through the thin fabric of your dress. Before you knew it you were swept off your feet and your legs locked around his waist.

Clothing was practically ripped off on the way to the lone L-shaped couch in the middle of the room. Your back hit the plush cushions as your Vampire pinned you against them, his lips leaving a hot trail of kisses from your mouth down to the base of your neck. You weren’t complaining by any means, but you were curious as to why he had this sudden change in mood. Nothing felt wrong, but it was decidedly different from the norm.

“J-Josh…wait a second,” you let out an airy laugh as you pulled his head from the crook of your neck to be above you, cradling his square jaw.

He looked down at you, eyes dark and unblinking, “what?”

You didn’t want to seem clueless, but you were truly at a loss, “what’s gotten into you tonight?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he quipped before giving the other side of your neck attention.

“Yes you do,” you whispered in his ear.

He turned his head slightly and ran his tongue along the shell of your ear, “I can’t just love on my girl?”

Your retort was cut off when you felt his hand snake between you and start gliding through your folds, his thumb circling your clit while his other fingers dipped into your entrance. A loud gasp escaped your lips at the sudden feeling, and you felt him chuckle against your neck.

“You were saying, Sweetheart?”

He curled his fingers inside you, teasing all the right spots, causing you to clench around him and dig your nails into his back.

But as soon as you started to feel that delicious build up in your core his fingers left you.

“JOSH!” you yelled out in frustration.

“Turn around…,” he whispered as he lifted off of you.

You stared at him for a second before doing what he told you. Slowly you rolled over on your stomach, your back to him now. His hands reached for your hips once again but this time pulled them roughly off the couch, the skin on your knees burning slightly from the sudden movement. You rested your weight on your hands as you looked over your shoulder at him.

His eyes were even darker then they were before, and they were gazing down your back as he slowly pumped himself. Deciding to play along, you faced forward, and rested your elbows on the arm of the couch. You felt the head of his cock move through your folds, dipping down to your clit before traveling back up to your entrance. Josh was mumbling behind you, words you couldn’t even make out as he slowly started pushing inside you.

You hissed at the stretch, and when he reared back and surged forward to bottom out you didn’t even try to muffle the strangled sound that flew from your mouth. His nails dug into the skin of your hips as he set a brutal pace.

Josh stared down at where you were joined, not wanting to take his eyes off the sight. He quickly got lost in you, the sounds you were making, the way you were clenching around him, the sheer warmth of you, the fact that you were his. At a particularly hard thrust he threw his head back and noticed what was on the ceiling: a massive mirror. His eyes became fixed at the reflection, where he could see more of your face, down your spine, to where he was pounding into you.

He started mumbling again, but this time you were able to make out at least a few words out: mine, all mine. That's when it clicked. His attitude for most of the night, his reaction to Alex that he tried to hide, and why he pulled out into this room as soon as he could. Your Boy Scout was jealous. This was a side of him that you hadn’t seen very often, if at all at this point, but it made you turn your head completely away from him once more to smirk at yourself where he couldn’t see. Now you could fully play along.

Looking back over your shoulder again, you saw him slack jawed staring at the mirror on the ceiling, his eyes rolled back in his head.

“...am I yours, Josh?” you baited.

A harsh growl was made in the place of words, accompanied by another hard thrust. He was getting close, and both of you knew it. He pulled you backwards, gathering you toward him so that your back was flush with his front, his breath coming out in puffs against your neck.

This time he made no mistake with his words, whispering them directly into your ear.

“Mine…all mine…”

You turned your head to capture his lips with yours, letting him know that he was absolutely correct. Your hand tangled in his hair to hold him in place as your tongue swirled in his mouth and ran along his teeth, his fangs clearly present.

He continued his fast pace as one of his hands held your hip while the other snaked around your front and made its way to your clit. You cried out against his mouth, and he took this moment to bite down on your lower lip, relishing in the sounds you were making. Neither of you cared how loud you were being, or how the sound of skin slapping against skin rang throughout the room. Your end came hurtling towards you, quickly sending you over the edge and shaking in his arms.

He couldn’t hold back any longer himself, and just as he teetered on the edge he drove his fangs into the flesh of your neck. Letting the welcomed taste of you be the final act he needed before spilling inside you. His hand continued to work you through yours as his thrusts became uneven and started to slow. All he could feel, see, and hear was you. Even the memory that was shown to him at the taste of your blood was you all by yourself, sitting at your vanity touching up your lipstick in the mirror. The decor and dress you were wearing suggested the twenties, but the memory went dark before he could take in more details. He lifted his fangs from your skin as you both came down from your highs. Slowly he withdrew from you, the loss of your warmth making him hiss slightly.

You turned around to fully look at him, and his arms wrapped around your waste, not wanting to let you go just yet. The both of you rested there for a few moments, enjoying the sudden silence.

Eventually you brought your hand to his face, rubbing your thumb into his cheek.

“I’ll always be yours, Boy Scout,” you whispered.

He still didn’t look you in the eyes quite yet, the realization he had acted out of pure jealousy causing his cheeks to redden.

“I know…,” he said so softly you barely heard him.

“I’m not even going to remember Alex after tonight anyway,” you reassured him.

“It wasn’t…it wasn’t just him.”

“Oh?”

“I…just missed you tonight,” he finally looked up and met your eyes, his dark brown irises full of sincerity.

“I’m sorry if I get a little caught up out there, it’s been a while-”

He cut you off, “no you don’t have to apologize, you were having fun and you deserve to.”

“Next time, just come get me, push people out of the way if you have to. People will get over it.” You gave him a sweet kiss against his lips for reassurance. “Now…my turn…,” you grinned wickedly as you took this moment to properly pounce on your Vampire, toppling him onto the couch.

~!~

Many rounds and hours later, you were both back at the hotel. The sun was about to rise, and the black out curtains were preemptively shut. Sleep quickly overtook you, and while you began to snooze, Josh peered down at you, loving the way you cuddled up to him as you slept.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand, alerting him of a text. He looked over at the screen and saw Jake’s name at the top.

Jake: is this a good time?

Josh typed out a response: sure

He was expecting another text, but instead his twin called him directly.

“Hello?”

“Josh? Are you about to go to sleep? I can call back later if you-”

“No no it's fine, what's up?”

“I just wanted…how’s Chicago?” The tone in his voice sounded tight, as if he was unsure what to say.

“It’s been pretty great, man. Not a bad place to start at all.”

“That's good, I’m glad. How is…how is she?”

Josh was starting to get confused at the sudden small talk, “what’s this about, Jake?

“It’s not about anything, I promise, I just…wanted to see how you were.”

Josh looked back down at your sleeping form, fully knocked out at this point and beginning to snore slightly on his chest.

“She’s good, Jake, really good. How’s CiCi?”

Now it was Jake’s turn to look down at his girl, who was also still fast asleep beside him.

“She’s CiCi, incredible as always.” Jake paused before asking what was truly on his mind, “I just have a question…and I’m not trying to start anything I promise I just…what made you do it?”

“Do what, Jake?”

“Choose to be turned instead of-”

“Instead of death, Jake?”

Jake quietly answered, “yeah.”

“They were going to have her Meet the Sun, Jake. In front of me. I couldn’t let that happen.” The emotion he felt while sitting in Dimitri’s study crept up on him, as did the vision he had had of her burning in front of him.

“You must think a lot of her, then.”

Josh could tell what Jake was trying to do, in his own way.

“I love her, Jake.”

There was silence on Jake’s end, but he cut it off by saying, “does she feel the same?”

Josh drew patterns on your bare shoulder as he answered, “she absolutely does.”

Jake tried to angle his phone away from his face to hide the sniff he made as he took in this information, but Josh heard it anyway.

“Can I ask you a question now, Jake?”

“Yeah.”

“What was the first thing you noticed about CiCi?”

Jake was caught off guard now, not expecting this turn in the conversation. However, he instantly knew the answer.

“Her laugh. I had only been in her bar for about 5 minutes before I heard the most beautiful sound coming from across the room. She was making small talk with some customers and the way she commanded attention without even trying…I was mesmerized.”

Josh smiled, having not known this little fact before, “and did it sound almost familiar to you?”

“I suppose so?”

“That’s how I felt the night I met my girl, Jake. The familiarity.”

“Really?”

“She was supposed to be a target, just a target, just a job. But when I walked into that bar that night, and saw her sitting in the corner, there was something about her. I knew, even if I didn’t want to admit it at the time, that she wasn’t going to be just a job. I didn’t know how or why, but I knew she was going to be something to me. I’ve never looked at a Vampire and felt that way before, and you of all people know that.”

Jake nodded, “I’m umm…I’m glad you found someone, Josh. I mean that.”

Josh smiled softly, “I appreciate that, and I’m glad you did too.”

There was another silence between the brothers, but this was a comfortable one.

“I don’t mean to keep you up, I know the sun should be rising about now…”

“No it's ok, it’s good to hear from you, man. Call whenever you want.”

“I will…talk to you soon…”

“Talk to you soon, Jake.”

Jake hung up the phone and put it down before settling back into bed next to CiCi.

“...so, my laugh, huh?” She mumbled as she turned over to look at him.

“How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough,” she said before tracing the outline of his nose with her finger.

Jake playfully rolled his eyes before gathering her in his arms, “go back to sleep.”

“Gladly.”

To be continued….

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#josh kiszka #josh kiszka x reader #i see hell in your eyes #jake kiszka #jake kiszka x oc #enemies to lovers #slow burn #josh gvf #jake gvf #greta van fleet #my fics #my writing #🩸🖤

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paperultra · 3 months

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THE FIVE NONSENSES

[ SOULMATE!AU ] Pairing: Miya Osamu x Fem!Reader x Miya Atsumu Summary: Like most people, you do not meet the Miya twins so much as they are thrust upon you. Unlike most people, you are thrust upon them as well. read on ao3 | read on quotev

CHAPTER THREE: SMELL Word Count: 8,205 words Warnings: Swearing

“Hey, you! Join the photography club!”

You narrowly dodge the flyer thrust in front of your face, knocking back into someone in the process. Flustered, you move in the opposite direction, only to knock shoulders with another student walking the other way. Both of your apologies get lost in the noise.

“Join the basketball team! Winter Cup finalists two years in a row!”

“Improve your focus in calligraphy club!”

“Join kyudo club!”

“Join marching band!”

With a small huff, you grab the strap of Osamu’s schoolbag and squeeze through the crowd. Osamu looks over his shoulder at you, and you meet his raised eyebrow with a grimace; not long after, a hand presses between your shoulder blades to usher you forward.

“Dammit,” Atsumu grumbles, digging his phone out of his pocket. “Where’s the volleyball club?”

“Hell if I know,” Osamu says. “Call Aran.”

“’S what I’m doin’, dumbass.” Punching a few buttons, the other boy presses his phone against his ear with visible impatience. “Aran!” Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as Atsumu’s voice carries high over the clamor surrounding you, causing several students to swivel their heads. “Where the hell’s the volleyball club? … Class 1-7? Seriously?”

Hanging up without so much as a thank-you, Atsumu quickens his stride down the congested hallway. Osamu follows suit, and you end up seizing the back of his blazer as the three of you head to Class 1-7, evading arms and signs and flyers the entire way.

Having visited the school before to watch Ojiro play, you had known that Inarizaki High School is big; navigating it as a student on the first day of school, however, is a whole different animal. You hadn’t realized it was this big. Or this crowded. After a year of being large fish in a small pond, you now find yourselves in an ocean.

At least you have the twins to rough it with.

(It should be noted that your thankfulness varies wildly from hour to hour.)

Near the entrance to Class 1-7, you spot Ojiro wielding a bright sign advertising the volleyball club. He easily stands head and shoulders above most of the other students, and the sight of a familiar face helps you relax – even though you’d just seen him at graduation a few weeks ago, he somehow looks older here, comfortable and self-assured in the raucous halls of Inarizaki.

“Yo! Aran!” Osamu and Atsumu call out, running up to the second-year. You, still holding onto Osamu’s blazer, are unceremoniously yanked along.

Ojiro perks up and grins widely when you all reach him, freeing one hand to bump fists with the twins. “’Bout time you guys showed up. Thought ya chickened out or somethin’,” he exclaims, then nods at you with a grin. “Good to see you here too, [L/n]-chan.”

You smile back. “Hi, Ojiro-senpai.”

(Of all the people the twins consider friends, which have always been rather scant in number, you like Ojiro Aran the best.)

“Chickened out?” Atsumu scoffs. “No way. You scrubs are gonna need us if ya wanna win nationals this year.”

A laugh bursts out of Ojiro’s chest. “Don’t ya think you’re gettin’ a little ahead of yerself?”

“Yeah, well, what’s new?” Osamu pipes up. He elbows his brother’s side, jabbing a thumb at the doorway when the latter chokes up and glares. “Hurry yer ass up, ‘Tsumu, we haven’t even signed up yet.”

You cough. Ojiro laughs again, leading the three of you into the classroom.

There’s a ton of students already inside when you enter. In one corner of the room is the girls’ volleyball club, and in the other is the boys’, though many are mingling and wandering around to chat. A few are upperclassmen wearing the Inarizaki volleyball team’s jacket – the rest, you assume, are first-years hoping for a chance to join.

It’s not surprising for a school that’s gone to the Spring Tournament almost thirty times. Most of these applicants will be benched for their entire high school career.

Following Ojiro to the desk for the boys’ volleyball club, you encounter the two people sitting behind it.

“Arata-senpai, Kobayashi-senpai,” Ojiro announces, clapping one hand on Osamu’s shoulder and the other on Atsumu’s, “got a package deal for ya.”

The first thing you notice about Arata is how tall he is when he’s sitting down. Then he slowly stands up, and your eyes widen as he keeps going and going, finally stopping about half a head taller than Ojiro.

Arata breathes in, vulpine eyes narrowing, before he slams his hands down on the desk with a loud thwap.

“If it ain’t the Miya twins!” he chirps, voice much peppier than expected, and you choke back a surprised laugh. “I watched yer match last year at nationals. You two think ya have what it takes to be part of a powerhouse?”

“Why talk big when we can just show ya, senpai?” Atsumu says, as if he hadn’t been gassing himself up to Ojiro moments before. He pulls out his signup sheet, already filled out in his usual large, messy print, and slides it over to the captain, leaning over the desk with one hand on his hip. “Got yers, ’Samu?”

“Yup.” Osamu slides his over as well, handwriting slightly neater.

Arata takes the sheets happily. Your gaze falls upon his hands by chance, and then it remains there, taking stock of the scribbles of purple and red decorating his skin.

Ojiro whistles. “Looks like yer soulmate’s havin’ fun with some gel pens,” he comments, pointing at Arata’s hands.

“Hm?” The other boy blinks and takes a moment to inspect the words curving below his knuckles. His brow furrows, and he squints before finally breaking out into a goofy smile. “Ah,” he says, and his voice takes on a distinctly fonder, dreamier tone, “guess they are. They’ve been practicin’ hiragana a lot lately. See? Pretty good, eh?” Arata stretches his hands out face-down, showing them off.

(You can barely read the characters.)

“Neat,” Atsumu says, though his tone has flattened just slightly.

“Right?” Arata doesn’t seem to notice. “We’re gonna finally see each other in person next summer after I graduate. They’re graduating high school this June in Spain …”

“He’s really excited,” Ojiro mutters to the three of you, “in case ya couldn’t tell.”

The volleyball captain’s cheeks turn an endearing shade of pink. “What’s wrong with that, huh, Ojiro? I’m gonna spend the rest of my life with them, so it’s a good sign I’m lookin’ forward to it.”

Next to you, Osamu shifts and shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants. You feel his elbow brush against your arm, bare skin separated by layers of fabric.

The rest of your life.

A strange feeling forms in the pit of your stomach. It’s the same kind you get whenever your parents ask about Osamu, and whenever you see couples wearing matching outfits at the mall – a feeling a little less than longing, and a little more than guilt. Like you ought to be doing more, saying more, expressing more. Feeling more.

You wonder what it is like to be Arata, infatuated, proudly flaunting the colors on his hands.

The girl sitting at the desk finally speaks up.

“I thought we were talkin’ about volleyball, not yer love life, Arata.”

Your gaze moves away from Arata’s wrists and onto the girl.

Still sitting, she and the captain paint a picture of a mouse and an elephant, her tiny form complemented by large, expressionless eyes and a small nose. The maroon jacket hanging off her shoulders looks one size too big.

And yet, when her gaze flicks over and meets yours, you’re overtaken by a sudden chill.

Scary.

Arata jumps and glances down at her. “O-Oh, right! Sorry, Kobayashi-chan, I guess I got carried away.”

“It’s fine.” Kobayashi continues to stare at you, and you start to feel slightly uncomfortable. “’S why I’m here.”

“Yeah!” Coughing, Arata rubs the back of his neck and turns his attention back to the twins. “Gettin’ back on track … if it isn’t obvious already, Kobayashi-chan is our manager. She’s real good. Real detailed.”

“But I’m also in my third year, which means we’re currently lookin’ for a new manager for next year,” Kobayashi supplies. “So if ya happen to know any first-years who’re qualified and willing to apply for the right reasons, please let me know.”

Your brow furrows at that.

“Whaddaya mean, ‘the right reasons’?” Osamu asks.

A sheepish laugh escapes Arata’s throat. “Well … the volleyball team’s pretty popular, so we get a lot of folks wantin’ to be manager just to get closer to the team and see if one of the members is their soulmate.” He sighs. “It’s not that I wanna keep any soulmates apart, but those kinds of applicants slow down the search, and obviously, we want a manager who actually wants to manage.”

Ah. Already, some of your peers already seem like they’re on a time crunch to find their person. Soulmates are getting to be a bigger and bigger deal as you get older, and with that comes certain expectations. It’s not hard to figure out why some would hope to have someone popular and athletic.

“Sorry, don’t know anybody like that,” Atsumu replies at the same time Ojiro says your name.

You look at your senior, surprised.

He directs a finger upwards. “Ya know volleyball pretty well,” he points out. “Wanna apply? You already manage the twins, after all.”

“Oi, what’s that s’posed to mean –”

Arata seems to finally notice you, eyebrows raising. “Oh! Sorry, didn’t see ya there,” he exclaims. “What’s yer name?”

Reluctantly, you step up next to Osamu and introduce yourself.

“[L/n]-chan. So ya know the twins?”

“I’ve lived on the same street as them since elementary school.”

“Really! Ya must know them well, then.”

“More than well,” says Kobayashi.

She points down at your hand. Arata follows her finger, and you resist the urge to curl your pinkie when his mouth drops.

“Oh, damn, you’re soulmates with – er, uh –”

Osamu and Atsumu just stand there, watching the captain flounder. After a few seconds, you reach up and tug Osamu’s earlobe sharply.

“Osamu,” you say, both as an answer and as a scolding, ignoring the muttered ‘ow’ coming from your right.

Clapping his hands, Arata nods. “You’re soulmates with Osamu-kun! Wow, that’s amazing. And you’ve been together since elementary school? He’d think and play better with you just bein’ there.”

You smile, embarrassed.

“That doesn’t make her the right candidate, Arata,” says Kobayashi. “Even if she really wants to manage the team, she might still prioritize Osamu-kun over everybody else. The last thing I want is a manager who picks favorites.”

She says it so bluntly, so seriously. Your smile weakens as her words hit a sore spot you didn’t know you even had.

There must be a good way to disagree. The two truths of the matter are that being a good manager would mean risking being a bad soulmate, and that being a good manager is a risk you can afford. Osamu isn’t the type of person who needs to be worried about. He gets scraped up, but he doesn’t mind it, and he knows his limits. If a player got hurt right as Osamu called you for something, you know you’d check on the other player first. Even if the other player was Atsumu. (Maybe.)

Osamu simply does not need you to take care of him. You don’t know how to express this without seeming like you don’t care as much as you should.

Atsumu cuts in before you can organize your thoughts into words.

“She wouldn’t,” he says, “unless it’s me. But ’Samu and I are soulmates, so we’re already at our best when we’re on the court.”

The upperclassmen before you tilt their heads simultaneously.

“… Wait,” Arata says after a while, slowly. “You’re tellin’ me that Osamu-kun has two soulmates?”

Osamu glances at you, eyes half-lidded, and you can only meet his eyes for a few seconds before you have to look at the ground.

“Guess I’m favored,” Osamu replies.

“Wow.” Huffing out a laugh, Arata crosses his arms. “Two soulmates … huh. I wonder how that works …” Kobayashi grunts and he clears his throat. “S-Sorry. Anyway, [L/n]-chan, if you’re interested in the manager position, just fill this out and give it to Kobayashi-chan. We’re taking applications until July first or until we find someone, whichever comes first.”

He hands you a sheet of paper, and you take it tentatively.

“My phone number’s at the top in case you have any questions,” Kobayashi adds. Her voice lowers, but its monotony remains. “And if ya end up applying, know that I won’t show any favoritism just because of yer soulmate.”

You take in a breath through your nose, fingers curling into the application in your hands. “Yeah, of course.”

She nods once, then leans back in her seat. The set of her mouth relaxes just slightly, and she crosses her arms, morphing from a cutthroat manager to a tired senpai.

“See ya after school. Good luck,” she says. Her eyes bore into yours. “To all of ya.”

There’s a moment of silent surprise between you, Osamu, and Atsumu. Then all three of you bow as Ojiro and Arata chuckle.

“Thank you!”

—

The twins, predictably, become one of three first-year regulars on Inarizaki’s boys’ volleyball team. You place your manager application in the top drawer of your desk, which you pull out frequently over the next three weeks just to stare at the blank form, unsure about the whole thing.

Saturday afternoon rolls around, and you’ve taken the paper out of your binder and set it on top of your desk at home when your phone buzzes.

Osamu: you home

You: yeah

Osamu: ok

And that’s it. You stare at your screen for a few seconds, unblinking, before you shoot up from your seat and scramble to your dresser to get changed.

Five minutes and a bit of haphazard cleaning later, there’s a few firm knocks on the front door, followed by incessant banging. You stalk over to open the door before it’s knocked off its hinges.

“I could hear you,” you tell Atsumu, unimpressed, as the two enter and shuck off their shoes.

“I know.”

He deftly dodges the kick you aim at his ankle. This usually happens nowadays, unfortunately, but it doesn’t stop you from trying.

“’S just you here?” Osamu asks, shuffling into some slippers and walking further into the house. His gym bag hangs from his shoulder, big and bulky, and you look at it curiously.

“… Yeah?”

“Fer someone left home alone all the time, you’re duller than a rock,” Atsumu says. “Folks’re gone and ya don’t even throw a party? Geez.”

You narrow your eyes as he grins. “Maybe I just want peace and quiet after havin’ to sit in class with you all week, Atsumu. Anyways, why are you guys here?”

You receive no answer. After eyeing the kitchen, Osamu turns and heads down the hallway, prompting you to follow. You’re further confused when he enters the bathroom and sets his bag on the countertop.

As he unzips it, Atsumu squeezes past you and reaches into the bag, pulling out a –

A shower cap.

“… Is the shower at yer place broken or something?”

“No,” Osamu says, and he pulls something else out. “Ma’s home.”

You stare at the box in his hands. Then you look back up at the twins.

“She’s gonna kill you.”

—

Watching Osamu and Atsumu bleach each other’s hair is like watching a train wreck in slow motion.

Their dark T-shirts have speckles of orange on them, there are bits of foil littering the sink and the bathroom floor, and the acrid stench of bleach filling the bathroom is starting to creep down the hallway. You can only hope it doesn’t linger past Sunday night when you go back to the dorms.

“If you screw this up, I’m shaving yer giant head in yer sleep.”

“I’m doin’ it better than you did, ya scrub!”

You stand outside, shirt collar pulled up and over your nose, as Atsumu finishes combing through the top part of Osamu’s hair. It’s an incredible thing to witness: Osamu sitting on the shower seat, hunched over and holding a sheet of foil over his undercut while Atsumu hangs over him, wearing one of the shower caps to keep his own hair out of the way. It’s also a disaster.

You lift your phone up to snap a quick picture.

“Oi! What’re ya doin’?”

“Making a present for Ojiro.” Upon viewing the photographic evidence, you realize something. “You’re not gonna tell Auntie that you dyed yer hair at my house, right?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Osamu assures, letting Atsumu hold onto the foil while he pulls on a shower cap. He sets a timer, and the two of them hurry out of the bathroom to escape the fumes. “She won’t be thinkin’ about the details when she finds out.”

“Like she’d ever blame ya, anyway.” Atsumu scoffs. “You’re the favorite and you ain’t even her kid.”

“Well, I don’t wanna take my chances.” You recall the countless number of times the twins had received a whooping for something stupid they did, and the countless number of times you had just barely managed to slip under the radar by keeping your mouth shut. “Y’know, she might make ya dye it black again if the school doesn’t like it.”

“Please. If anything, they’ll thank us fer givin’ them an easy way to tell us apart.”

“Is that why you’re dyein’ yer hair? You’re already in different classes.”

“It ain’t fer class,” Osamu says. “It’s fer volleyball.”

Atsumu presses his back against the wall and slides down to the floor, pulling up a game on his phone. “Some of the scrubs still can’t tell us apart on court,” he sniffs. “’M tired of it.”

That, you think, makes a lot more sense.

Osamu and Atsumu have always taken full advantage of being identical twins. You’ve seen them pull just about every stunt in the book – switching the way they part their hair on random days, pretending to be the other when one of them gets in trouble, making money off classmates who bet on knowing who’s who (and lying on more than one occasion). Looking alike isn’t usually a point of contention between them.

When it does bother them, volleyball is usually involved. They don’t always wear different shirts or numbered jerseys at practice, and you’ve been to enough of them to know that this can cause issues at the beginning of the year. The coach calls out the wrong name, a teammate calls for Osamu when they mean Atsumu, things like that.

They get especially miffed when one gets praised for something the other did. Atsumu, in particular, hates that the most.

“Ya have anythin’ to eat?”

Head snapping up, you look at Osamu and nod halfway through absorbing what he’s just asked. “There’s leftover onigiri in the fridge and snacks in the cupboard,” you reply, stepping over Atsumu’s outstretched legs to lead his brother towards the kitchen.

(“Heat up an onigiri fer me,” Atsumu calls out.)

(“Get it yerself, lazy-ass,” Osamu shoots back.)

In the kitchen, you fish out the last two onigiri the twins’ mom had given you yesterday and present them to Osamu.

“Here. You and Atsumu can each have one.”

“These the ones with salted salmon?”

You nod.

Osamu thinks for a moment. His lips purse, his eyelids droop, and even though he kind of looks like a lunch lady with that shower cap on, it’s cute.

“I’ll make ochazuke and yaki onigiri,” he decides. “What do ya want?”

“I’ll just have some chips or something. I just ate lunch, so I’m not that hungry.”

He stares at you, then accepts the onigiri from your hands. “Okay.”

Putting the rice balls on the counter next to the stove, Osamu retrieves a small plate, a bowl, and a mug from the cupboard. He finds most of everything else pretty quickly – the cast iron skillet under the oven, the spatula in the drawer right next to the fridge, and the soy sauce and oil in the lower corner cabinet. The only thing he asks for you to locate is the green tea, which you get from the depths of the second shelf in the pantry.

While he works, you grab a bag of your favorite chips and pop it open, leaning against the unused counter on the other side of the stove to watch.

You like it whenever Osamu cooks. The click of the stovetop turning on, the curve of oil being poured into the skillet, and you’re rocking gently in a small boat, curled up in an overstuffed chair on a rainy day.

(It’s an extension of how he feels, you’ve learned – for as much as Miya Osamu loves volleyball, he loves food just a teeny bit more.)

When the oil is hot enough, he unwraps one of the onigiri and places it in.

You turn the opening of your chip bag towards him as he wipes his hands on a towel. “Here,” you offer once he notices.

“Thanks.”

Atsumu’s onigiri sizzles in the skillet while the water for Osamu’s tea continues to heat up. Osamu mirrors your posture on his side of the stove, messily crunching down on several chips, and the two of you wait.

“Didja apply for the manager position yet?”

You swallow too early, rough shards of chips cutting down your throat. Fighting the urge to cough, you shake your head and reach for the water you’d left on the table this morning. “No. Still thinkin’ about it.” He hums. “You guys haven’t found one yet?”

“Kobayashi-senpai’s real picky.” He flips the onigiri over with one sharp push of the spatula, brushing soy sauce over the freshly grilled side. The water boiler beeps right after, and he seamlessly transitions over to pour the hot water over the teabag in his mug. “Most of the applicants we saw were annoyin’, anyway.”

“Oh.”

You recall the last practice you’d attended, watching from the balcony with your homework as the team ran laps around the court. The applicant on trial that day had watched them go by a few times, still and proper, before suddenly turning to Kobayashi and excusing themselves from the gym. They never came back.

On the walk back to the dorms that evening, Atsumu explained that the student had a counter for how many times their soulmate would pass by them.

(“Waste of time n’ space,” he’d complained. “Who’d wanna be with someone that desperate?”)

“Ya wouldn’t be half bad at it.”

“… Yeah …”

“If ya don’t wanna apply, just say so.”

“It’s not that. I just don’t know if I’ll wanna do it for the next three years.”

“Whaddaya want to do, then?”

“I dunno.” With a sigh, you set your bag of chips down. “I mean, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to apply.”

Osamu shrugs. “If ya are,” he says, turning off the stove top, “don’t do it just ’cause of me.”

Your teeth sink into your lower lip, sharp and knowing as he flips the yaki onigiri onto the plate he’d pulled out earlier.

After calling Atsumu, who had migrated to the living room couch while he had been waiting, the twins scarf down their afternoon snack in no time at all and raid your cupboard for the complimentary snacks your parents usually bring back from their trips.

Halfway into his fourth wafer, Atsumu’s timer goes off.

“Oh, shit.” Shoving the rest of the wafer into his mouth and silencing the alarm, Atsumu gets up and eagerly makes a beeline to the bathroom.

“… Do ya think it worked?” you mutter as you and Osamu stand up more slowly.

“I dunno.”

A loud swear explodes from the bathroom.

You look at each other sharply. Wiping the crumbs from your lips, the two of you run over to investigate.

As you get closer, you hear the sink running, then Atsumu muttering underneath his breath.

When you peek into the bathroom, your eyebrows shoot up into your hairline.

Holy shit.

“Holy shit,” Osamu says, leaning past you to get a better look. “’Tsumu, ya look like a carrot.”

“Shaddup, ’Samu,” Atsumu moans, rinsing his hair angrily. “I know. Fuck.”

Hair bleach on dark hair, as you find out, works similarly to hair bleach on dark fabric. Contrary to the sandy blond the older twin had desired, the result he had gotten is instead a bright, burnt yellow-orange matching the stains on his T-shirt. Not carrot, necessarily, but definitely not blond.

“Ugh.” Nose and forehead wrinkling, Atsumu leans toward the mirror, pinching a section of hair between his fingers. “It … it ain’t that bad, right?” His pitch rises with the slightest hint of denial. “I’m pullin’ it off.”

“It’s that bad,” Osamu says.

“’Samu!”

“Maybe you can bleach it again?” you suggest.

“And then his hair falls out? Bad idea.”

“Dye it, then, like you are.”

“We don’t have money left to buy a different color.” With a sigh, Osamu puts his hands on his hips. “Damn. Sorry, ’Tsumu.”

Atsumu groans and thunks his forehead against the mirror, dripping water all the way down its surface onto the counter. His frustration is so palpable that you can feel it prickling your skin.

If he hadn’t been so excited before, you’d probably poke fun. You should poke fun, but the disappointed twist of his lips and the droopiness of his sopping wet hair just makes you feel bad. He looks like a wet puppy.

Dammit.

You take your phone out.

Osamu tracks the movement. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Lookin’ something up.” You press on the first link you see, skim the webpage quickly, and put your phone back into your pocket. “I’m headin’ out fer a bit. Stay here.”

“… ’Kay.”

“Whatever,” Atsumu grumbles.

After grabbing your wallet and checking its contents, you head outside to drag your bike out from underneath the vacant carport. And as you hop onto the seat, pedaling down towards the nearest drugstore, you tell yourself that Atsumu better thank you on his hands and knees once you get back.

—

“Blue shampoo?” Atsumu’s tone is suspicious as he slathers the back of Osamu’s hair in grey dye.

“It’s supposed to cancel out the orange.” Turning the bottle to face you, you read the description beneath the brand name. “‘Eliminates brassy, orange undertones.’ See?”

“It ain’t gonna fuck up my hair even more?”

“’Course not,” you retort, all hopes of veneration quickly fading away. “I ain’t an asshole, Atsumu.”

His eyebrow twitches, hands slowing. You take the opportunity to place the bottle sideways in the crook of his neck, forcing him to tilt his head to hold it in place.

“Oi –”

“Go try it. I’ll finish Osamu’s hair.”

“Yer so bossy,” Atsumu grumbles, but he lets you nudge him out the way, peeling his gloves off and grabbing the shampoo.

You snap some gloves on in turn, keeping one eye on Osamu’s hair and the other on Atsumu as he ducks his head beneath the sink faucet. They’d pretty much finished up applying the dye for Osamu, at least from what you can tell, so you start combing through the locks with your fingers to make sure everything is covered.

Miya hair is very thick. Soft, too. You hope all this bleaching and dyeing won’t ruin it too much.

“Hm,” Osamu hums abruptly.

You stop. “What?”

“Nothin’.” You furrow your brow but resume, only to just barely hear him mumble, “… Feels nice.”

Oh.

A smile crawls onto your lips without warning, the space behind your ribcage suddenly cozy and soft.

“Alright, I’m doin’ it,” Atsumu announces. You look up just in time to see him squeeze a dollop of shampoo into his hand. “Euch! It’s so blue!”

“Why do ya sound so surprised?!”

“Shaddup, I just wasn’t expectin’ it to be so dark! … Smells okay, though …”

While the shampoo does its work on Atsumu’s hair, you take a little extra time combing Osamu’s. He remains quiet and still, thumbs tapping idly on the dark screen on his phone. You wait for him to make more snide remarks at Atsumu’s expense or complain about the smell of the dye, but he doesn’t.

You eventually finish up while the water still runs blue and sudsy into the bowl of the sink. Osamu mutters a thank you and ambles off after eyeing his brother for a few seconds. You linger for a while longer.

(God, you hope it works. If not for Atsumu’s sake, then for your pride and your wallet.)

After what seems like forever, he rinses out the last of the shampoo, wrings his hair out a bit, and straightens up to look in the mirror.

You examine his reflection as well. It’s less orange, yes, but still not as light as he had wanted, more gold than sand. Not necessarily good, but certainly less bad.

Atsumu fixates on the more muted shade of his hair for a minute or two. His lips press downwards at the corners, and then they part to say your name.

You blink.

“What?”

“Why’d ya buy the shampoo?”

He sounds almost accusatory, but not quite; there’s an undertone that you very, very rarely hear in his voice. He meets your eyes in the mirror, hair a dripping, tangled mess.

“… ’Cause I felt bad fer ya,” you admit unwillingly. Atsumu makes a face, and you sharpen your tongue, because that is what feels comfortable with him. Normal. “And I didn’t want to hear ya mopin’ and complainin’ about it all week.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” he persists. “I coulda pulled it off.”

You scoff. “Just ’cause you’re taller than most of the school doesn’t mean they wouldn’t’a noticed. And anyways, it’s better now, ain’t it?”

“I didn’t ask ya to buy it.”

“Ya didn’t even know what it was until I told you.”

“An’ if I did, I still wouldn’t’ve asked!”

“Yeah, ’cause yer prideful ass would rather die than ask fer help!” you snap, jabbing his bicep with your finger. “God! I knew ya wouldn’t even say thank you!”

“Well, if ya knew I was gonna be a dick about it, why’d ya waste yer money?!”

“I felt bad fer ya!” you screech. “My mistake!”

“Yeah, yer mistake!” Atsumu shouts back.

Chest heaving for breath, you glare at him. He glares in return. Temper pinks his face and the tips of his ears, flares his nostrils and curls his lip in that fierce and familiar way. In the back of your mind, you know you are doing the same.

Asshole.

You’re angry, yes. And offended, and exasperated, and and and –

And hurt.

“It’s so hard,” you say, your voice deciding to crack at the worst time possible, “to be nice to you sometimes, Atsumu.”

When the words leave your throat, his face grows blank in that way you’ve always hated, his mouth pressing into a fine line.

“So?” he replies.

You roll your eyes. “Forget it.”

Casting one last glance at the bottle of shampoo next to the sink, you clench your fists and turn to leave. What a waste of money. This is the last time you’re ever going to feel bad for him.

A hand wraps around your elbow upon your first step outside the bathroom.

“… Are ya cryin’?”

“No,” you bite, wishing he hadn’t asked because now you do feel like crying, just a little bit.

Atsumu pauses for an excruciating moment. You can practically feel his distaste for whatever words he’s about to say.

“I’ll pay ya back,” he mutters. “Fer the shampoo.”

“No.”

“Whaddaya mean, no?”

“I don’t want yer money.”

“Well, what do ya want, ’cause I ain’t owin’ ya anything.”

“I want a thank you.”

“… Can’t I just –”

“No.”

Atsumu throws his hands up. “Fine!” he says. “Thanks fer buyin’ somethin’ I didn’t ask fer! There, ya happy now?”

“I want ya to mean it,” you say quietly.

“I did mean it.”

You cross your arms.

He groans. Glancing around as if checking for hidden cameras, Atsumu slowly pushes his bangs away from his face and wipes his nose, sniffing.

“… Fine,” he eventually grumbles at the floor tiles. Cheeks puffed, he looks up at you from the corner of his eye and scratches the back of his head. “The shampoo fixed it a little bit,” the words struggle their way out of his mouth, “so … thanks … fer gettin’ it fer me. Ya didn’t have to.”

He looks like he’s just eaten soap, his ears still red, and that’s how you know he’s being sincere. Your shoulders relax a little bit.

“You’re welcome,” you say.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Atsumu’s expression, almost doleful for just that moment, blooms into something more sarcastic once you accept his gratitude. He gestures at the doorway behind you. “Can I go now?”

“Dry the mirror and the counter first.”

“But I said thank you.”

You throw a towel at his face and walk away, more satisfied than not.

—

“How’s Osamu-kun doing?”

You prop your phone up against the wall behind your desk, tilting your pen between your fingers. “He’s fine, Ma.”

“Did ya tell him how good his curry is? He makes it better than me.”

“Yeah, he says he’s glad you guys like it.”

After resolving the blue shampoo issue with Atsumu on Saturday, you’d gone back to the kitchen and found Osamu chopping vegetables and tofu next to the sink. At first, you figured he was hungry again, but upon your questioning, he’d only denied it.

(“’S fer you.”

“… Fer me? No, you don’t have to –”

“Yeah, I know. Ya don’t like the curry at the cafeteria, so bring mine back to the dorm and save it in the fridge fer later. If ya don’t want it, leave it fer yer folks to eat when they get back.”)

He didn’t leave much room for debate. And since he was using your family’s food to make it anyway, you accepted, a bit perplexed but happy nonetheless. You hadn’t expected him to remember your complaint about the cafeteria’s bland curry.

The amount he made was enough to fill two Tupperware containers, one of which you left for your parents when they returned two days later. Needless to say, they were delighted.

“What a thoughtful boy. He’s so good to you, honey.”

You smile, walking back to your desk. “Yeah.”

(“Ya like dark chocolate in it, right?”)

Your mom sighs. It’s a familiar sigh, and you click your pen, knowing what she is about to say before she even takes a breath.

“I just don’t know why he hasn’t asked ya out yet.”

You can hear your dad speak up between chews in the background. “It ain’t like how it was back when we were young, dear. Soulmates these days don’t like makin’ things so formal and official.”

“Oh, I know, but wouldn’t it be sweet? I was so happy when we went on our first official date.”

“The one at the konbini ’cause I couldn’t afford anythin’ nicer?”

“Yes. I loved it.”

“I know. You were smilin’ the whole time.”

“Glad you’re still in love,” you say dryly when they giggle over the phone, your nose wrinkling when your dad comes into view to give your mom a loud smooch. During these moments, you wish you’d called instead. “I’m still here.”

“Oh, I know, I know. Honey, you should bring Osamu-kun somethin’ fer his next game! A snack fer afterwards. He’ll like that.”

“Okay.” You’ve done that before. The first time you gave him an orange in your first year of junior high, he and Atsumu squabbled over dividing it for five minutes. Now you get double portions whenever you have the compulsion to bring something after games, just to keep the peace.

“Speaking of games …”

Here we go.

“… Have ya applied to be the manager for the volleyball team yet?”

“Um.” Glancing at the wall to your right, you click your pen some more, taking your time to answer. “I filled the form out …”

“[Y/n]! If ya dawdle, someone else’ll snatch it up. When’s it due?”

“July first or until they find someone.”

“Turn it in tomorrow!”

“Okay, okay.”

Your mom sighs again, and she places a bowl down onto the table. “… Otherwise, are ya okay? I’m sorry we missed ya at home.”

“It’s fine. I hung out with Kokomi and the twins. How was yer anniversary?”

“We’ll make sure we’re home next time you’re on weekend leave. And it was lovely! Oh, honey, ya should’ve seen the fish yer pa caught …”

You talk with your parents until they finish their dinner, hanging up once they’ve started cleaning up. As soon as the video cuts out, you release a breath and turn your phone face-down.

You don’t know why you’re so nervous about applying for the manager position. It’s the natural thing to do, because it’s natural to want to be involved with something Osamu is interested in, his own opinion on the matter notwithstanding. You think you might like being a manager. It’s not like you want to do something else more.

Getting rejected by Kobayashi would be horrible, though.

Maybe you’ll wait a little longer to turn your application in. Polish it up some more, and such.

—

After volleyball practice ends, and after everyone who had lingered behind to practice some more is ready to call it a night, Atsumu tells you and Osamu that he’s staying a little longer to practice his jump float serves.

“Are ya sure? Cafeteria’s servin’ all-you-can-eat pasta for dinner.”

“I’ll be done before it closes.”

Osamu doesn’t look convinced. To be fair, neither are you; Atsumu often loses track of time when he stays behind, resulting in an extra hungry, extra irritable Atsumu.

“Atsumu,” you say.

He huffs at you. “Seriously, I will!” he insists, before turning to walk back to the end line. You, Osamu, Ginjima, Akagi, and Ojiro all look on helplessly as he throws a volleyball into the air and gives himself a running start.

“Don’t worry,” Kobayashi says, grabbing your attention just as he jumps. She holds up the key to the gymnasium. “I’ll kick him out before he misses dinner.”

Ojiro, ever the responsible one, lets out a noise of protest. “Senpai, I can lock up. You should go.”

“No, it’s fine.” Though her tone is impassive, she makes it clear that her mind is set as she waves him off. “I’m goin’ out to eat with my boyfriend later, anyway.”

You blink.

Though Ojiro is visibly reluctant, he acquiesces. “… Okay. Thank you, Kobayashi-senpai.”

“Mmhm,” Kobayashi hums, and her gaze falls upon you. “Make sure they get to the cafeteria in one piece, [L/n]-chan.”

“I will, senpai.”

You wait outside while the guys change out of their gym clothes and gather their things. Once they exit the building, you join them, listening idly to their chatter about today’s practice as the five of you trek towards the cafeteria.

“Hey, Ojiro-senpai, Akagi-senpai,” Ginjima speaks up during a lull in the conversation. “What Kobayashi-senpai said earlier …”

Attention piqued, you look at your upperclassmen for their reactions to Ginjima’s question. Next to you, Osamu does little to hide his curiosity as well.

Ojiro and Akagi, in turn, share a glance, and Ojiro raises an eyebrow at Ginjima.

“Yeah?” Ojiro replies.

“Well, y’know …” Ginjima presses expectantly, “when she said that she has a boyfriend, did she mean …?”

“That’s somethin’ you can ask Kobayashi-senpai about, ain’t it?”

You imagine doing just that and cringe.

Ginjima’s eyes widen, and he clears his throat. “Well –!” he replies, a bit too loudly. “I would, but I don’t want her to think I’m bein’ judgmental or somethin’. Plus, I’m just a first-year …”

“Aw, I think it’s fine if they know, Aran. It ain’t like she’s hidin’ it or anythin’,” Akagi says. Ojiro looks up for a moment in thought, then shrugs tentatively, and Akagi smiles at you and the two boys. “Kobayashi-senpai’s not datin’ her soulmate. They’re pretty serious, too.”

Ojiro rests his hands behind his head. “He’s a nice guy. Comes to games sometimes.”

“Oh, I see …”

You nod slowly, absorbing this new piece of information. Kobayashi has a boyfriend. A boyfriend that she goes on dates with, one she really likes. You wonder how long they’ve been together.

You wonder if Kobayashi’s met her soulmate yet.

“E-Excuse me! Hello!”

The quick patter of footsteps interrupts your train of thought. Glancing behind you, you stop short when you see one of your classmates running up to your group, waving one hand and holding a camera in the other. The golden orange of the sky burnishes her red hair.

“Naruko-san,” you and Ginjima greet at the same time. Ginjima laughs.

“Sorry to bother ya!” Naruko bows and quickly straightens, holding her camera up and smiling nervously. “I-I was just takin’ some pictures for photography club, and I was wonderin’ if you guys would mind me takin’ a picture?”

“How long’s it gonna take?” Osamu asks.

“Not too long. Five minutes? U-Unless y’all are in a hurry to get somewhere …”

“Not too much of a hurry. Just wanna make it to dinner.” Ojiro smiles, patting Osamu and Akagi’s backs. “Where do ya want us?”

Naruko brightens, her cheeks going red. “J-Just keep walkin’! The lighting’s perfect right now, and I wanna take a picture of yer backs with yer volleyball jackets on.” She glances at you, and her expression grows more nervous. “Er …”

You lock eyes with her for a few seconds before catching on. Nodding, you take a step towards Naruko to join her.

Osamu’s hand grasps your shoulder.

His hold is loose, but you bite back the urge to slump over at the sudden warmth of it, pausing instead to look back at him.

“Where’re ya goin’?”

You answer tentatively. “I don’t have a team jacket.”

“That’s fine. You’re walkin’ with us too.”

“Yeah, but …” You wet your lips. “Like, visually, it’ll look weird if one person doesn’t have one on …”

The corner of Osamu’s mouth twitches, and he frowns. You watch as his gaze moves past your shoulder. A sudden, brief twinge of irritation, not belonging to you, zings through your ribcage.

“Why’s that matter?”

“Yeah. C’mon, it’ll be fine,” Ojiro says.

“It’s okay!” Naruko suddenly blurts, and you jolt slightly, looking back at her. She bounces on her feet, voice even higher pitched. “I can do a more candid shot, now that I think about it! A-Actually, Miya-san, could ya give [L/n]-san yer jacket? And Ginjima-san, you can keep yers around yer waist …”

Her sudden change in idea perplexes you a bit. But Osamu seems to be satisfied, and he shrugs his jacket off, placing it over your shoulders.

After a bit of hesitation, you slide your arms through the sleeves.

(It’s just as warm.)

“Ooh, [L/n]-chan’s wearin’ Osamu’s jacket,” Ginjima teases behind his hand, and your face heats up.

“Okay.” Behind you, Naruko lets out a wistful-sounding sigh. “I’m ready. Y’all can start walkin’ now, just like ya were before.”

With only a bit of self-consciousness, the five of you follow her instructions. There are only a few clicks of the camera before Naruko calls out her thanks and goes off without another word, leaving you and the boys to speculate whether you’ll ever see the results.

“How cute,” Akagi comments. “She looked like she was gonna throw up, though.”

“I hope those were conflicting statements.”

“Okay, Aran, I wasn’t implying …”

While the two upperclassmen start to banter, you move to take Osamu’s jacket off, only for him to stop you.

“’S fine,” he says. “You can wear it if ya want.”

“Oh. Okay.”

And so you do.

—

The boys’ first practice game in July is brutal.

Many of your peers have come to watch. It’s a favorite after-school pastime of Inarizaki’s student populace, you’ve quickly discovered, to hop from one athletic club to the other simply to spectate and speculate. People pack the balcony and peek around the doorway, catching the scent of blood and sweat.

Between the crowd’s cheering and jeering, the squeak of sneakers on the gym floor, and the sound of palms ramming into volleyballs, the atmosphere is sharp, almost electric – something that you feel tingling on your skin as you stand on the sidelines, Kobayashi right by your side.

Atsumu delivers another devastating service ace. It ricochets off the corner of the other side of the court with a thunderous boom.

“Did you catch that, [L/n]-chan?” Kobayashi asks, arms crossed. “That was one of his better ones.”

“Ah, sorry, I didn’t.”

“Hm.”

You watch the slow, satisfied stretch of Atsumu’s smile, and wait patiently. “It’s okay. He ain’t done yet.”

Indeed, Atsumu is just getting started. You spare an amused glance at Osamu in front of the net, his hands locked protectively behind his head, before turning back to Atsumu as the volleyball is thrown back to him.

Raising your camera, you adjust the focus, finger ready on the shutter button.

Toss. Run. Jump.

Click.

On your other side, a girl pumps her fists and cheers.

“Wow! Another one!” she gushes.

You smile behind your lens. “Ya always sound so impressed, Tsubaki-chan.”

“I’m just excited! We’re crushin’ them in the last set!”

“’Course we are,” says Kobayashi. “Our offense is that much better. I’m a little disappointed.”

As your upperclassman patiently points out each player’s strengths and weaknesses, you keep an eye on the team and crouch low. You’ve got plenty of photos now that the game’s nearing its end – lots of sets, a few spikes and digs, some flashy jump serves. Hopefully, some of them have turned out halfway decent. Even though you’d widened the aperture to make up for the gym’s crappy lighting and adjusted the shutter speed for blurring, you still worry about your timing.

By the time Inarizaki scores the winning point, you’ve moved to the opposite end of the court and have to race back to capture their reactions.

One thing you like about the volleyball team is how expressive they are. Joy, passion, pride – off the high of a victory, they bare everything, whether it’s through their expressions or the way they move or both.

Tsubaki says your name excitedly as soon as the teams have finished thanking each other, tugging on your arm. “Can I see the action shots, [Y/n]-chan?” she requests.

“Ah, sure.”

You turn the camera towards her, and she leans in as you scroll through the photos, her grin widening.

“Wow! Yer timin’s amazin’. They look so cool!”

The praise brings summer to your cheeks. “Thanks,” you reply genuinely. After a moment of hesitation, you lift the camera again. “Smile, Manager-san?”

Tsubaki doesn’t hesitate to broaden her already present grin, throwing up a peace sign for good measure. Kobayashi looks your way as well, and you take one shot, knowing it will be kept.

“Cute!” Tsubaki exclaims.

Two shadows loom over your shoulders as the girl bestows you with another compliment. When you turn your head to the right, your nose nearly brushes Osamu’s cheek.

“Ya got any good shots of us, [Y/n]?” Atsumu asks expectantly.

“Yes, actually, I did,” you reply, going back through the camera roll with a particular image in mind. You’re only vaguely aware of the warmth they exude as they budge into your personal space, the smell of sweat lingering on their skin. “Here.”

You’re particularly proud of this one. It had been a split second of pure luck, standing on the sidelines when a window of opportunity opened for a fast-tempo set. You had felt it – you knew Atsumu would set to Osamu, and as Osamu jumped, arm reared back as Atsumu sent the ball to him, you had captured it.

Somehow, you always get the timing right with them.

“Cool,” the twins approve proudly.

“Email that one to us, will ya?” Atsumu says. “I ain’t lettin’ you photography nerds hoard it away.”

“She’s sendin’ all these to Arata-senpai, ya dolt.”

“Hey, I wanna see!” Gintama breaks into your little group, trying to sneak a peek in. “Did ya get one of my spikes?”

“Yeah, how about my jump serve?”

“That super cool block me and Ren did in the second set!”

“Didja get one of Coach?”

One by one, the team gathers around you, eager for a glimpse of their successes. The crowding is uncomfortable, but you try your best to show them what you can anyway, feeling a rare sense of pride about your own accomplishments.

You’re happy with your choice.

Tsubaki will be a great manager. Even when you first met her, you knew she had everything she'd need for the job – a passion for the sport, a desire to help others succeed, and an endless amount of perseverance. Inarizaki couldn’t ask for a better person to replace Kobayashi next year. She’ll do well in what she’s decided to do.

And so will you.

—

#haikyuu #hq #miya atsumu x reader #miya osamu x reader #miya atsumu #miya osamu #miya atsumu x reader x miya osamu #haikyuu fanfiction #reader insert #fem!reader #soulmate au #yeah i got carried away LOL #the miya twins giving themselves terrible dye jobs lives rent free in my head #atsumu's especially. i KNOW they screwed up with his #that color looks way too close to a bleach gone wrong on black hair and he just made it his brand for the rest of high school #this is spiraling i am spiraling #kobayashi i'll miss you i loved thinking you up #the five nonsenses

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lemonrin-i · 16 days

Text

Fondness

Pairing: Floyd Leech X Reader

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

Summary: A submission for the @twst-charity

Floyd being protective over the Prefect Post-Chapter 3

When the Prefect first arrived at NRC, they quickly realize that nobody truly respected them on campus.

Ace and Deuce somewhat respected their position as the Prefect, but that’s mostly because they were friends, and while Jack saw the importance of their title, that was mainly due to the fact Jack was a goody-two-shoes.

One time, during lunch, The Prefect saw a meek first-year being pushed around by a second-year for his lunch money. And the Prefect– who had naively thought that they could make a difference– had stepped in, head held high and demanding that they left him alone.

Their confident demeanor was soon shattered when the bullies immediately laughed at them. Loud enough to attract unwanted attention from a few bystanders.

The Prefect’s ears went warm and the sudden attention on them made them sweat. They remembered that when Crowley gave them the role of prefect, he merely gave them that role as a way to turn them into his little errand runner– not because he thought they could benefit the school environment in any way.

What’s worse was that the meek first year that the Prefect came to defend started to join in on the teasing. Probably in hopes of getting away from their radar and setting their attention on someone else, someone much weaker than him, someone with zero magic capabilities and therefore was incapable of defending themself.

It was only after Jack interfered that the bullies relent. Scoffing at him as he bared his teeth at them, muttering under their breath that they were just joking around.

That day, the prefect finally realized something as Jack asked if they were alright.

They were completely and utterly helpless.

That was. . . Until today.

The Prefect didn't pay it much mind, they were usually found hanging around their friend group and Deuce and Jack can be a rather intimidating duo so no one dare approached them. What was strange was the fact that students were starting to run away from them.

Now, the Prefect knew Jack and Deuce would never harm anyone. Sure they would ruffle some feathers but they’re far from scary– quite the opposite.

But after a while, the Prefect began to realize that it wasn’t those two they were running away from.

It was the Prefect.

The realization had dawned upon them when they were having lunch alone. ADeuce got in trouble again and were now staying behind in Alchemy while Jack had club activities.

Floyd Leech had decided to accompany them for whatever reason– The Prefect wouldn't say they were close with Floyd but they got along pretty well, as least. . . they hope they did?

People tended to stay away from Floyd due to his rapid mood swings and the fact that he was one of Azul’s scary henchmen. While Jade kept his intention subtle and was meticulous, Floyd was his polar opposite. Not even Azul could keep a tight leash on him.

But for the Prefect, they didn’t really mind. Between trying to keep Grim and their friends out of trouble, Floyd was nothing. In fact, he can be very easy to read sometimes once you get to know his patterns– Unlike Jade, who keeps his cards close to his chest.

They couldn’t help but note that Floyd can be quite cuddly at times too. His physical affection varies to the point the Prefect has it memorized. When Floyd’s excited, he would lift the Perfect off their feet and give them a big squeeze or when he’s tired to which he just plops his head on their lap or put his entire body weight on the Perfect.

While Floyd had a hard grip and was quite heavy, the Perfect found it strangely. . . adorable? Yes, Floyd can be scary and intense but his physical affection was also his way of communicating his excitement and they couldn’t help but be fond of it– despite it potentially being bone-cracking.

So yes, the Prefect would say they are close enough.

Out of the corner of their eye, they see one of their bullies. They both shared eye contact before the bully's face suddenly contorted into a horrified expression and they made a run for it. The Prefect had never been more confused, since when did they have Jack and Deuce's level of intimidation?

The Prefect turned around to look at Floyd, who was unusually smiling “That was weird”

“Yeah” He smiled even wider “It was”.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twstプラス #disney twst #🍋citrus_writes #floyd leech #floydyuu #palestine donation #free palestine

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outofangband · 6 months

Text

Comparing the Captures of Maedhros and of Húrin thoughout versions

Note: I did not include all volumes of HoME in this however with the exception of Volume Eleven which contains The Wanderings of Húrin there are few meaningful differences. I will make a later post for more HoME content

Second note: I also have a post comparing the fates of Morwen, Aerin post Nírnaeth and Dor-lómin generally which I also will work on to revise and republish

It is notable to me that Húrin and Maedhros are among the only named figures Morgoth successfully orders the capture of by name. I wanted to explore the similarites and differences between varying versions.

Here are the two that are probably considered most canonical, from The Silmarillion and The Children of Húrin respectively

Maedhros was ambushed and all his company were slain but he himself was taken alive by the command of Morgoth and brought to Angband (The Return of the Noldor, The Silmarillion)

...but they took him at last alive by the command of Morgoth who thought thus to do him more evil than by death (The Battle of Unnumbered Tears, The Children of Húrin)

Morgoth’s intentions for Húrin are far more clear than for Maedhros. He knows ( “by his art and his spies”) that Húrin had the friendship of the King (Turgon in this case). It’s not entirely clear yet if Morgoth has heard rumors that Húrin had been to Gondolin but he certainly knows of the brothers reunion on the battlefield with Turgon and makes some quick connections. The conversation between Húrin and Morgoth spans almost the entirety of chapter three and has some of the most dialogue for Morgoth in the entire Legendarium

@tolkien-feels once made a joke about the conversations between Túrin and Sador in chapter one being like forced to go through the Athrabeth with a child and I think The Words of Húrin and Morgoth function almost in a similar way; some of the deeper philosophical questions of the universe involving mortality and fate and the reach of the gods are raised in these horrifying circumstances.

(I won’t go into it too much here because there is so much to say about this, but I’ll link a couple of my posts on it just for my own reference and organization here and here

Morgoth certainly tried to use the capture of Maedhros to his own advantage when he sends word to his brothers claiming he’d release him if they retreated but this attempt is rather perfunctory and I don’t think he truly thought it would go anywhere. At best, the Fëanorians might be spurred or goaded into further recklessness trying to recover Maedhros. At worst, nothing would happen for some time.

A fascinating difference between the notes of Tolkien that later became this part of the published Silmarillion is that in the original notes, two more words are added to the quote above. Maidros was ambushed, and all his company was slain, but he himself was taken alive by the command of Morgoth, and brought to Angband and tortured. (HOME V, p. 274)

In the version in the Book of Lost Tales, Maedhros is captured at the gates of Angband during a siege. He is tortured for information on jewel making, no word given on the success of this interrogation, and then released alive though maimed in an eerily vague afterthought. I have more on this in my BoLT tag, I find it fascinating for the ways it mirrors Húrin’s release in later canon

In the Lays of Beleriand Maedhros is mentioned only briefly though interestingly, most of his mentions include note of his torment, the most prominent appearing in The Lay of the Children of Húrin

in league secret with those five others, in the forests of the East fell unflinching foes of Morgoth Maidros whom Morgoth maimed and tortured is lord and leader, his left wieldeth his sweeping sword

Both the use of the name Maidros as well as the specifications of ‘maimed and tortured’ appear to take after the Book of Lost Tales version however the Lays goes further and confirms that the maiming left so vague in BoLT did indeed include the loss of Maedhros’s right hand. And of course it’s notable that Morgoth did this, not Fingon during rescue.

Húrin‘s capture and imprisonment remain fairly consistent throughout the more known versions of the story, that is, in the Silm, in the Narn, and in the unfinished tales. Even in BoLT and the Lays the general outline is similar. In the Silm and the Narn, the story is consistent though of course much is cut out in the Silm version. Unfinished Tales has no significant changes to this section of the text.

In BoLT which is not considered canon, Úrin as he’s called there is captured during battle and both threatened with torture and offered great riches to betray Turondo (Turgon). When he refuses, Melko sets him in a ‘lofty place of the mountains’ and curses him to watch the doom of Morwen and his children. (”at least none shall pity him for this, that he had a craven for a father”). Húrin has not been to Gondolin in this version. This version is notable in this regard for a few things: One, Morgoth spends far less time with Húrin and no mention of physical torture apart from threats of it is noted prior to his imprisonment in the mountains and the curse. Two, the actual dialogue between them is rather different and briefer. Morgoth tries to take advantage of the poorer views by the elves towards humans by offering employment to Húrin but without success.

The version in the Lay of the Children of Húrin is more similar to the Narn and Silm. There is more extended contact between Morgoth and Húrin (though the contents of their talk is still different). It’s also perhaps the most vivid in descriptions of torture and imprisonment and the only version where actual methods of torment are mentioned or implied (namely whips and brands).

I definitely want to go into this version more later! As always please feel free to ask more! I will also go into more versions throughout HoME of both these storylines if there’s interest!

Final notes:

No version of Húrin in Angband will be as disturbing to me as Húrin’s imprisonment by his own kin in Brethil in The Wanderings of Húrin

#the silmarillion #the children of húrin #maedhros #Húrin #in the iron hell #musing and meta #BoLT #HoME #the lays of beleriand

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undermine-the-instinct · 8 months

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↳ Nanami x Tiana

↳ After Nanami's return to jujutsu society, he is tasked with an overseas mission, one smack dab in the center of New Orleans, a place with magic, curses, culture...And a woman who mirrors him far too closely, but with enough spitfire to challenge him and a smile sweeter than the beignets she makes. With an eleven day countdown and the safety of New Orleans on the brink, can Nanami differentiate between magic and voodoo, curse and love?

↳ Genre: Romance, Slight pining, Modern AU

↳ Warnings: None ↳ Word count: 4K

↳ Notes: Tiana's story occurs in the 1920's, but I took the liberty of bringing the timeline to the present, aka the 2010's. This also means that Nanami is in his early twenties, when he just quit being a salaryman and went back to jujutsu society.

| Series masterpost | Next chapter. . . |

This place reminded Nanami of Tokyo a lot. Loud, crowded, hot and humid. Human.

The air was more muggy here than in Tokyo actually. It was more dense, hanging in the air and weighing down the suit that now seemed too unnecessary and cumbersome.

‘No’ , he adjusted his tie, and weaved his way through the outskirts of the crowd. He was a sorcerer, and wherever he went he had an image to maintain.

A sorcerer. It felt strange to call himself that again, after four years as a salary-man. Strange but right. It was the only path that seemed right to him, the only one where he felt he could make the smallest differences. It was the only reason he came back.

It was the only reason he was here, six thousand nine hundred and five miles away from Tokyo, in the heart of New Orleans, creeping up on mardi gras season. Music blared from the balconies and in the streets, and Nanami sighed, sticking to the edge of the crowd, as best as he could.

He wouldn't be here exactly if he wanted to. But he hated owing debts, to anyone, much less the insufferable Gojo Satoru.

_ _ _ _ _

“It's a yearly mission for grade 1 and above sorcerers,” Gojo Satoru laid on the couch, his too long legs dangling off the edge. “There aren't many sorcerers in America, but there are plenty of curse users.”

“Then why aren’t we sent to get rid of the curse users and then the curses? It seems like we’re attacking a symptom rather than the root cause.”

“Ah, my dear junior, see? This is where you need my expert knowledge and guidance,” He shot up like a cartoon character, lanky and exuberant.

“Curse users are identified as anyone who uses cursed energy against civilians, with the intent to cause harm. Or, are able to use cursed energy but are not labeled as sorcerers by jujutsu society. But, in the port city of New Orleans there's a special phenomenon. Almost the entire populace are labeled as curse users.”

Nanami's eyes widened behind his glasses. “How does that make any sense? People who are able to use cursed energy are already rare as it is, but an entire populace ?”

“Crazy, right? Even ordinary folks who stay there for an extended period of time are able to see cursed spirits, a general skill that's been lost to most people since the time of the Heian era,” Gojo supplied.

“Maybe it's due to the rich history of the land and the people that came before it. Maybe it's their longstanding voodoo and spiritual practice; though to call voodoo cursed energy is not really accurate, and kinda racist, you know? Anyways, your job is to take care of all the cursed spirits that arrive during the mardi gras season.”

“...And that's all?”

“Now don't think this will be easy kohai!” The idiot grins.

“Due to the highly superstitious and spiritual beliefs of the people, the curses grow strong and unnatural. Due to varying cultures and influences we don't know what kind of curse it'll be, just that it’ll be strong.” He points to Nanami.

“You will take care of all the curses, and the semi special grade that will appear sometime during the end of the season.”

“...This is going to be a very long term mission, isn't it?”

“Oh, don't be like that, Nanamin!” in a blink Gojo is draped over his shoulders like an annoying shawl.

“You just came back to us after four years of no contact, you have to prove yourself! And anyways, it's a very famous tourist attraction so you’ll have lots of fun there, a full week and a half of leisure, pretty much!” he sighs, frowning under that blindfold.

“Honestly, besides the curses it's a very fun, relaxing trip, you should be grateful I'm handing it off to you. Anyways, who else besides you can speak English so well? We need you Nanamin!”

That at least had some weight, a long term mission in America would need a sorcerer who had at least an intermediate level in english. He’d take the job, it seemed simple enough.

_ _ _ _ _

He understood exactly what Gojo meant when he entered the city, a peculiar wave of cursed energy flowing over his senses. It shocked him, how potent it was- the only times he felt energy this vivid and strong was when he was surrounded by other sorcerers, particularly in battle with other cursed users, both spilling cursed energy like blood, giving it their all.

But this was not a place of gloom–it was bright and cheerful and loud and colorful, there was the scent of something delicious in the air, and the people all around him looked self assured and content. The problem lay deeper into the city, and would show itself soon enough.

For now, he needs to find the place he's going to stay. Lodgings had been provided for him at a decent hotel, and after a long plane ride and bus, a full twenty hours of traveling, he was tired and irritated.

The crowd jostled along as he tried making his way, so that he could get to the hotel and rest already. He thought to ask for directions, but the was still getting used to the sounds here.

The language was thicker, richer; the accents ranged vibrantly and almost seemed like its own separate lingo, which he supposes it could be. He could make it out if he focused, so this was good practice for him.

His maternal grandfather had been Dutch, and insisted Nanami learn to speak it, as well as English, as he had with his mother. And just like the heritage he passed down, so too did he pass down the cursed energy; a carrier like his mother, curling softly in their core like the blonde shade of their hair until it at once bloomed in him. He was the only sorcerer in the entire family. They still think that he's a salary man.

There was a loud commotion further down the street, a large crowd of people moving his way, and he sighed hard, moving off the curb so he could let the crowd pass.

A lady suddenly fell not too far from him, landing right on the edge of the curb. And while people stopped to help her up, it was much too crowded, and they kept being accosted and jostled.

Nanami moved, forming a barrier between himself and the crowd so the lady could be helped. She was an older woman, and fixed her skewed hat as she was helped to her feet and the crowd started to thin.

“Oh goodness, If only I was young again to go charging through a crowd and carry on my way, yeah?” He held out his arm so she could straighten herself. She was tiny, brown eyes and a wide mouth, set in a warm smile. Her skin was dark and weathered; she looked kind, but also tired.

“Are you a tourist? Here to enjoy the last of the mardi gras season are you?”

“Something of the sort.” The words felt clunky on his tongue, but manageable. She patted his arm and smiled wider.

“You're not from around here are you? You must have come a long way.”

“From Tokyo ma’am. Are you alright? Are you heading somewhere?”

“Oh my lord, that's a long ways away. Are you-oh!” she took a step and stumbled, wincing as she leaned on his arm.

“Goodness, must of hurt my ankle in the scuffle.”

“Are you going anywhere? Let me escort you.” He couldn't leave this lady injured in the midst of this crowd. He could get her to sit somewhere, and phone someone to come to her aid.

“I’m heading over to that restaurant a couple streets down, my daughter works there and imma pay her a visit. She is always so busy, and never has any time to visit her poor ma.” He helped the lady, letting her lean onto his side he went down the street she gestured towards.

“So what brought you all the way here from your Tokyo young man?”

“I’m taking a vacation from work; I decided to go somewhere far away.”

“Well you certainly got the far part down. Did you just arrive? Forgive an old woman but you look a fright.” He's sure he does. After quitting his job he was finally able to get some decent sleep, before his missions started up again in earnest. He hasn't felt this tired in weeks.

“I’ll be going to my hotel after I drop you off ma’am.” She chuckled, and Nanami could smell her perfume, floral and powdery fresh.

“Well, thank you for helping out a frail lady. My name is Eudora. Eudora Breaux, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Nanami Kento. Likewise ma'am.”

She led him to the street and pointed him inside a bustling restaurant; despite the amount of people inside the servers and waitresses shouted out greetings to the lady as they stepped in, obviously familiar. Immediately a waiter ushered them to a table, where a large robust man sat with a pink clad lady, both the same shade of blonde.

They all greeted each other warmly, and Nanami was ready to leave, until they managed to drag a seat and pull him down, setting a plate of powdered beignets in front of him.

“Another tourist for the mardi gras season, huh? Welcome to New orleans! I'm the mayor of this town, you can call me Big Daddy La Bouff.” He wasn't going to call him that, ever. Mayor La Bouff hooked the lady next to him under his arm, near suffocating her in his affection.

“And this princess right here is my daughter, Charlotte La Bouff.” She was an elegant woman with bright eyes and a cheeky smile, as she introduced herself and held out a hand for him to shake. Her grip was surprisingly strong, for those dainty hands.

“Nice to meet you Sir, how's your stay been so far?”

“I just got off the bus, so I couldn't tell you, miss.”

“Oh!” She covered her mouth, her hands covered in delicate lace.

“You just got here? Goodness, do you have a place to stay?”

“This young man was on his way to his hotel when he stopped to help me, after I hurt my ankle,” Breaux cut in, wiping the powdered sugar from her lips.

“And what hotel are you staying at son?”

“The Peter and Paul hotel. If you could give me directions I could be on my way.”

“Nonsense!” La Bouff waved his hand.

“Guess what, I own that hotel! Its near booked with tourists now, so I'm not sure if you’d be able to get a room any time soon, son.”

“A colleague of mine booked me a room there, so I should be fine.”

“Well that's well and dandy then. And, you already met the owner,’ Miss La Bouff said conspiratorially, with a sneaky grin, “So if you have any problems or want a better room just speak up, ‘kay? I'm sure we can hook ya right up.”

“Charlotte! Just what are you saying? Is this how I taught you to do business?”

“'Buy cheap sell high', I know Daddy! But look at him, he seems like an honest, hardworking gentleman; I only want him to enjoy the last few days of Mardi gras in comfort! As a thank you for helping Mrs. Breaux, of course.”

He’d be comfortable if he could leave and get some rest before working tonight, but it would be rude if he just got up and left. He would have done it to anyone else, said his polite farewells and left, but he was in the presence of the mayor and his daughter, so it was best not to.

He reached out and took up one of the beignets in a napkin, biting into it. Immediately, the texture of the treat stunned him, and he swallowed. It was good. The slight crisp on the outside, the soft buttery layers of the inside, the sweetness of the powdered sugar. Like, really good.

“Are these the best darn Beignets you've ever had or what?” Mrs. Breaux rested her chin on her hand. “They’re made fresh here everyday and sell out fast, so lucky we came in to a fresh batch.”

He had to admit, these were incredibly good. Almost like they came from an actual bakery, and not a dime a dozen restaurant in this port city. And he’s traveled a bit and gone to some truly extraordinary bakeries. These were on par.

Memories of a brunnette baker flooded his mind, a heartfelt thank you, but he let it slip away to the back of his mind.

“Who made these? They’re delicious.”

“My baby girl, Tiana! I tell you, she's the best cook in this whole spot, and when she gets her own restaurant, people are gonna come here from everywhere .” It was easy to see how proud she was of her daughter, pride and love gleaming in her eyes.

“Ever since her daddy handed her a cooking spoon when she was five, she's been in love ever since.”

Hm, perhaps then…Maybe it’ll be alright to stay for a meal, if the beignets were this good.

“Then I’ll have to give my compliments to the chef.”

“That you will, and I’d like to see you fed before you go off your way. Look at how sharp and gaunt your cheekbones are!” His face was not gaunt, he just had a shaped face. Nevertheless, Mayor La Bouff chuckled jauntily.

“Those eastern types don't put on weight that easily miss Breaux. Strong and lean types I tell you. But I agree, let's get some food in this man's belly! Where is your daughter Breaux?”

“Right here folks, can I take your order?” Nanami turned and a young woman stood behind him. Her skin was dark, covered in a layer of sweat from all the humidity, a dark curl of hair escaping from her hair net. Nanami could recognize her, she had the same face as the woman he brought in here.

“Tiana!!” Miss la Bouffe shot up from her seat, rushing around the table to throw her arms around her friend. She quickly let go after noticing the sweat sheening her skin. She smiled bright at the lady, before taking stock of her mother, the way she kept her injured ankle raised.

"Oh, ma! Are you alright?!” She set down her notepad and came around to her mother, who raised her hands to wave her away.

“I’m fine, I'm fine girl. I fell and hurt my ankle a little but this man right here helped me.” She turned to him, and Nanami met her gaze.

His eyes were still covered by his glasses, but it seemed that didn't matter because her eyes immediately knew where to look. Her gaze was direct and scrutinizing, and he felt himself being evaluated. For a moment, he felt a fluctation of cursed energy, a slight waning, like opening a window to let in a breeze; But before he could really remark on that it slipped from his grasp. It was for no more than a second or two, and La Bouffe spoke up.

“We wanna get him a nice meal before we send him on his way, so give us the best you have to offer. Can you do that for us, Tiana?”

“Who do you think you're talking to?” She hadn't drawn her gaze away from his face as she took back her notepad. but she smiled at Nanami, analyzing him for a moment more and nodding.

“It can be a little hard to know what you want, but I got just the thing for you, A perfect taste of New Orleans. Don’t worry, you helped my mama so it's on the house.”

“I couldn’t possibly accept. I’m fine with paying.” Despite the trouble with changing currencies and how expensive things were in America. Damn their economy. But she shook her head, scribbling in her notepad.

“It’s fine, I insist. And I already know what you folks would like. I'll be out in just a minute.” She turned and left, disappearing past a door leading to the kitchens.

“Your daughter works as a waitress here as well?”

“Waitress and cook, when they’re short staffed like this, honestly she does it all,” Miss La Bouff sighed, fond and tired.

“She's trying to save up for her dream, owning her own restaurant. That girl’s a heck of a cook, and she's got a great head on her shoulders.”

“Which she all gets from her mama.” Mrs. Breaux flushed a little, bashful.

“It’s been hard on that girl. The towns never fully recovered from Hurricane Katrina, so there's been less jobs and less money to make. Still, she doesnt stop.” Mrs. Breuax sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Seriously, even if she's got free time she's either budgeting or meeting with realtors or cooking up new recipes; Charlotte girl, why don't you take her dancing or something?”

“I’ve tried Mrs. Breaux! We all have! She never wants to go!” The table burst into loud, playful conversation that only those close could, and Nanami zoned out.

He’ll go to his hotel and rest for a few hours, before he heads back out again to go curse hunting. There was another foreign sorcerer that he could meet up with, in case anything went wrong. They were ranked as a special grade, and according to the report, kept to themselves in the swamp, only leaving to help if the situation was dire. Introverted, but not unfriendly.

But he could deal with things for now, the way they were. In the meantime, he’ll dig for intel on this town, to help him parse out what kinds of curses he’ll be dealing with. It’ll take a few days to get an idea of what this semi special grade will be, since he doesn't know what kind of cursed energy surrounds this place.

Even now, he can feel it like a second skin, a film that won't dissolve on his tongue. There was something strange about this town, and it wasn't the strange amount of cursed energy either. Despite being in such a large crowd of people, he hasn't seen a single curse. Not even a single third grade, or flyhead or anything.

It was suspicious.

Miss Charlotte tapped on the table to get his attention, and he slipped out of his thoughts.

“Yes?”

“Oh, you looked like you were lost in thought. I was asking what it's like up there in Tokyo? How different is it compared to here?

“...Not much, it's just as crowded, though not nearly this loud. And it's only ever this hot in the summers, which unfortunately is when I'm at my busiest.” Summers were notorious in jujustu society, people were hot and agitated, and it was an apt time for those with seasonal depression to have those feelings flare up, birthing more curses.

Miss Charlotte tilted her head. “Huh. What kind of salaryman is busy in the summer?”

“The kind that are in tokyo.”

“Hm, you dont look like a typical salaryman. I tell you though, that white suit is snazzy! Though you could have chosen a different tie. Was that one a gift maybe?” His tie was custom made, so it could match the wrapping around his blunt sword. It was perfectly fine.

He opened his mouth to maybe tell her that, but in a rush the young miss Breaux came bearing a platter of dishes, setting them around the table to their respective peoples.

“And for the mister, a plate of creole gumbo, it doesn't get more authentic than that,” She grinned at him, the same warm smile as her mother.

"I hope you enjoy.”

“It's your cooking Tiana, who wouldn't like it?” Charlotte rolled her eyes, already starting to dig in.

“If anything, you're gonna ruin him for any restaurant in this city!“

“Don’t be silly Charlotte.” She shook her head. “I’m pretty sure there are other restaurants he will want to try. It’s Mardi Gras season, everyone is creating new specials for the people to try out.” As they were talking he spooned some of the gumbo and rice, with an Itadakimasu, tasting it for himself.

Onion, bell pepper and okra simmered in a light roux, with spiced ham and shrimp mixed in, and served over white rice.

It was amazing.

“It's amazing. It tastes delicious.” The best thing he’s had since the airplane food, and the rushed onigiri he had on his way to the terminal. And honestly, it was the perfect first meal in this city. Maybe he didn't really need to visit another restaurant if this one here already seemed like the best one. The flavors weren't too heavy and everything was balanced--fresh and savory and a hint of spice.

‘Oh, I'm so glad you like it, Mister! Remember, it's on the house so no worries.”

“I’m going to pay for my food, it’d be rude otherwise.” He took a spoon and spoke again when he swallowed.

“This reminds me of a home dish, Hayashi rice. It's more of a beef stew though, served beside short grain rice.”

“There's no better compliment to a chef than when their food reminds someone of home. A beef stew, hm? What kind of beef? Could you make that with Wagyu beef, maybe?”

“If you’re feeling especially decadent, yes. Though it's more of a home meal.” He fed himself another spoon of the gumbo, the flavors delightfully balanced and rich. He had heard the food was good here, but this exceeded his expectations.

“Sir, might I ask where you'll be staying? I had heard that you might need directions.”

“He’s staying at one of Daddy’s hotels–The Paul and Peter Hotel specifically.”

“Oh, that's just northeast of the french quarter right? Well sir if you’d just head…” The directions were actually simple enough, and the food was also gone quickly. He wiped his mouth with a napkin , and as Mrs. Breaux gathered his plate, he stood and slipped a few bills into the side pocket of her apron.

“Hey, sir?! I told you said–”

“And I appreciate the sentiment, but there's no need. You're working hard and I simply want to pay my fair share. I left you a tip as well.” He set his napkin down, and before he remembered his manners he bowed his head towards the people at the table. Oh well, a mishap.

They didn’t seem too perturbed though, having charmed smiles on his face when he rose.

Miss Breaux had too many platters to hand the money back to him, so she just sighed and shook her head.

“I can see you’re a man of principle. Oh well, I’ll just have to owe you a meal then.’

“And you’re a rather stubborn woman. I assure you, there is no need.”

“Well, I said I'd like to repay you for helping my mama; foreign stranger from a strange land. I’ll pay you back before you leave this town, I promise you.” A playful challenge lit up her eyes, and he shrugged.

“You can certainly try. Anyways, the directions seem easy enough to follow, so thank you for your meal and time.”

“Come back again sometime, before you leave! We’d be glad to see you.” Miss La Bouffe waved enthusiastically, nearly tipping her father’s glass over. Mrs.Breaux set it right before it could fall.

“Preferably when it's less crowded. Early mornings are best, when the coffee and the bread is freshest. Have a good day young sir.” They waved him off, and he left the restaurant. It was hot outside, but compared to the restaurant it was just the slightest bit cooler.

He wasted a lot of time, but he didn’t feel it was a complete waste. Knowing the mayor and being on cordial terms with him could prove useful; He didn't forget the importance of building connections from his old job. It was an important thing not just for work but for life as well.

And the food was actually really good. He heard food was one of the many reasons people traveled so far to get here, and honestly, his hopes were lifted a little. It would at least get rid of some irritation over taking on this mission.

The restaurant was loud, crowded and hot, but quaint. And if Miss Breaux was a frequent cook there, it would be worth it to make another visit sometime soon. As long as she didn’t insist on giving him a free meal again.

Now if he could find a decent bar somewhere in his time here this mission might just become bearable.

#tianami #nanami x tiana #jjk nanami #princess tiana #jujutsu kaisen #princess and the frog #my stuff #my writing #Spellbound!

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thricedead · 23 days

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This is going to sound like CRAZY armchair psyhchology crap but without exaggeration I think that Jojos Bizarre Adventure part 7: Steel Ball Run can be used to agitate and observe latent homosexual (and Id even go as ar as to say submissive) desires in cisgender heterosexual identifying men. I have attentively studied this in real life and here are the results of my research.

In a real bad phase of my life, I hung around about 4 or 5 men (all but one identified as cishet, one identified as bisexual) who liked Jojos Bizarre Adventure. Weirdly, ALL 5 of these men named Steel Ball Run as either their parsonally favorite part, or the part they perceived to be objectively highest quality. This baffled me a lot, because while me and my female and transmasc friends enjoyed Steel Ball Run to varying degrees, and it does differ from the previous parts by making a jump from shounen to seinen which affected the story dynamics and maturity, its not really too perfect. However, none of the cis men I interviewed brought this up directly in their reasoning of why they value SBR so much. They each listed a different reason, and those were:

Heterosexual men: Villain has a more interesting and realistic ideology (nationalism) than the previous villains whise goals were cliched (a greed for power, stability, revenge). The story is about a journey, they enjoy this because it makes the pacing dynamic and builds up expectations for the goal (however this was also a case in part 3, and the man who said this does not particularly enjoy part 3). The stakes feel high and you can really sympathize with Johnny because he is trying to improve his own life, he enjoys how selfish Johnny is (but this is also the case in part 5 protagonist Giorno, who is very self centered and goal oriented in the same vein)

Bisexual man: he listed some of the reasons above, but also noted that he enjoys how the relationship between the male protags easily reads as romantic even though he didnt put too great a focus on this

When the bisexual man brought this up, it prompted me to compare the relationship between Gyro and Johnny to the other popular ships in the Jojo fandom (most of them enjoying a LOT more popularity and fan content than Gyro/Johnny) and I feel like the difference is in hmm lets say. Gyro being the first "Jobro" in the saga to play a central, extremely tangible and also multiple role in Johnnys life/arc. This isnt of much consequence to a person whos in Jojo for shipping, bc since they are approaching with predetermination to find ship content, that content is more easily squeezed out of a pair who has some fun and memorable scenes like Avpol n Bruabba, than Gyjo who do not really share much in the way of memorable oneliners and comedic gay framing, but instead sort of more subtly complete each others arcs. I feel like this sort of a dynamic appeals to cishet men because it is one of DEEP malemale affection (it really is just fondness and affection that is hard to misread as just admiration at the others strength/character. Johnny having the discomforting emotional realization that he is prepared to sacrifice his goal of curing his disability and proving himself to his father in order to stay with Gyro is a prominent topic n conflict in SBR. Gyros death is the SOLE death of a companion in JJBA [and there are many] to which the protagonist responds not with vengeful rage but by breaking down into pathetic, emasculating tears, and making a naive blunder that causes the antagonist to overpower him. Even once Johnny does turn the tables, its notable that he is underwhelmed and unsatisfied once he fulfills his goals of walking and making his father clap for him, with sorrow at the loss of Gyro taking precedence. The last scene in the entire story is Johnny setting sail to return Gyros corpse to his homeland, assuming a much more pacified and mature disposition than before and telling Gyro "Let's go home" as he leaves his own homeland. Also, the series of chapters where Gyro dies is called "break my heart, break your heart" with covers featuring a sobbing Johnny with the ghost of Gyro lol). This is the most heavily established and emotionally weighty Jojo/Jobro relationships, and unlike some others, it is never put on a shameful pedestal of being a "gay gag" like many other moments of perceived homosexuality in Jojo that are heavily framed as jokes or oddities. Because of this, I feel that the cishet men reading SBR are able to get "into" this relationship between men because it isnt ever acknowledged as a relationship that crosses the boundaries of "appropriate" malemale friendship, even though it does so for the established world of Jojo.

Because they can indulge in and identify within the duo of Gyro and Johnny without feeling like thats "gay", the men I observed and interviewed allowed themselves to get emotionally invested in the concept of cohabitation and affection with a man eithout even realizing theyre doing so. Most of these men vehemently denied that Johnny and Gyro are gay, but even so, they admitted (whether explicitly or implicitly) to being drawn to it as a dynamic they havent been invested into previously (bc they dont want either anything explicitly gay nor something that caters primarily to women bc they are misogynists). Two men were even able to jokingly agree that Gyro plays something akin to a "manic pixie dream girl" role to Johnny, being a deus ex machina attractive companion who turns Johnnys world upside down, gives him a goal, helps to affirm him, makes him laugh and encourages him etc. And ultimately sacrifices himself for Johnnys sake, and becomes his motivation beyond death to defeat the villain, Johnnys "man pain". Despite playing this role traditionally reserved for disposable female characters, Gyro is not really distinctly effeminate in the world of Jojo, and also plays the much more "appropriate" roles of being Johnny's mentor in mastering the power of Spin, a powerful fighter in his own right, and a male travel companion who tells tales of his trysts with women and dirty jokes and so on. Because Gyro embodies many roles, both that of a yet nonexistant woman in Johnnys life (Johnny goes on to have a heterosexual marriage, yes, but only once he's avenged and likely set Gyro to rest) AND of a man, he is safe and appropriate for these cishet men to be drawn to. When asked why they like Gyro, they can always say something like "he's funny, he's powerful, he's resourceful" etc. A MAJOR dimension of his character which is being Johnny's "heroine" is noticed and internalized, but it doesn't have to be acknowledged, and thus exists without threatening the cisheterosexuality of the male reader.

Here comes the "reach" part, but despite embodying the "heroine" role, Gyro is the older, physically and emotionally "larger" and more assertive of the two men. He habitually passes "lessons" onto Johnny and is shown to be pretty "macho" (implicitly dominant) in his pursuit of women. He is also Italian <- kind of relevant in my head because at least here Italian men are stereotyped as pushy and demanding lovers LOL. So like. I feel that there's something really really telling in these specific (and maybe other but who knows) men who all pursue very traditionally cisheteropatriarchal relationships IRL in which they expect to financially and emotionally (to a degree where this is expected of a man) provide for their female partners to feel drawn to the character of Gyro (in the way of admiration rather than projection). Because I don't really think any of them envisions themselves uprooting the dynamic Johnny has with Gyro (in the hypothetical case of meeting Gyro lmao), I think they'd all want to be his little male friend mentee and learn Spin from him and well what happens in the tent stays in the tent but I don't think they're calling the shots if you get me. (Gestures vaguely) If the men I spoke to, being attached to Jojo to the degree they were, didn't have a single weird dream about being manhandled by Gyro call me Mucius Scaevola and I'll put my right hand into an open flame.

TLDR we all know men are emotionally stunted AF and crave malemale closeness but won't reach out for it bc they don't want to be gay and I don't really pity them or care about them but it's kind of reallyreallyreally funny seeing a cishet guy literally running a fever from his hardon for a jacked Italian superman to take him on a journey of self-discovery, fuck him in the ass and die for him without even realizing what he is going through and why he likes the comic so much lol. Let them simmer, don't tell them what they're experiencing and why it's their fault, it's really funny. Unless you're a girl who wants to top her bf reaaally badly then make him read SBR and buy a hat.

If you read this far and still don't trust me on the framing of Gyro and think it's just typical shounen stuff, look carefully at the framing of these chapter/volume covers. My special note is that this is not supposed to pander to women, because Araki has given a whole interview to a really pushy fujoshi fan during SBR's run and was kind of extremely surprised and unsettled (sometimes rightfully bc the woman was an incest pedo shipper um) at the idea that women read malemale Jojo relationships as homosexual and enjoy this. It's just that Araki also really wants to get fucked by a jacked Italian man and is drawing this shit for himself and other men which is kind of really really funny to witness from the outside omfg.

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liketwoswansinbalance · 5 months

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Update and More Facts about The One True School Master of Vault 41

The Update:

I've finally been doing more transferring of my notes and partly-written, unordered scenes into one document, so things are in chronological order. Thus far, draft zero of TOTSMOV41 has reached approximately 151 pages, or, by its word count, 48,042 words. Although, a lot of the document is made up of my extraneous notes, so it's not all actually story.

⸻

The Facts:

The fic will have various epigraphs, and one of them is a Japeth quote.

There will be no true epilogue because I'm leaving room for sequel potential.

After the Wizard Tree business unfolds at the Bank of Putsi, the vast majority of the fic is set at the Schools.

I haven't exactly decided on a structure for TOTSMOV41 yet, so it might either consist of a triumvirate of "parts," with each section being exceptionally long, working like a triptych of sorts, or it will be broken up into more traditional chapters, possibly of varying lengths. My plan, once the whole fic is done, would be to post a section per week or so.

Does anyone have an opinion on the structure? At the moment, I'm leaning toward having three, massive sections because it makes the most sense narratively, especially with regards to time and settings, and could flow better.

That said, unless anything changes drastically, the title of part one or chapter one will be: "Of Solipsism, Sophistry, and Storians."

Originally, it was "Of Sophistry and Storians," which I thought was more compact, and it had a better ring to it while more directly featuring the "balance" between "Sophie" and "Storian" that may be present. Yet, ultimately, the longer title proved more accurate to the contents of that part.

The other two parts are tentatively titled: "Great Mistake II and Great Mistake III" and "Phantoms, Prescience, and the Pen."

Also, for your reference, if needed, I've synthesized definitions from various sources:

Solipsism (n) = the quality of being very self-centered or selfish, or, in philosophy, the view or theory that the self is all that can be known to exist, that what's in your mind is the only reality that can be known and verified. Solipsism comes from the Latin words for alone (sol) and self (ipse), and means that only the self is real. Alternatively, it implies excessive regard for oneself and one's own interests, to the exclusion of others; preoccupation with oneself; extreme selfishness, centeredness, or self-absorption. Also in a neutral sense: isolation, solitude.

Sophistry (n) =

-The use of specious but fallacious arguments, especially with the intention of deceiving.

-The deliberate use of fallacious reasoning, intellectual charlatanism, and moral unscrupulousness.

-Subtly deceptive reasoning or argumentation.

-Reasoning or arguments that sound correct but are actually false.

-Cunning, trickery, craft.

The entire fic technically takes place over the span of approximately one day, or less than a day, really. It's more like several hours have passed, not days or weeks. Though, it's not as insane as you'd think, probably. Well, the plot itself is insane, admittedly.

Although, perception-wise, to the characters, and experientially, to readers, it will feel as if it all takes place over weeks, instead of a single day. Time flows differently within the crystal, and the broken crystal ball condenses time, and so, whilst in the crystal, Agatha, Sophie, and Rafal experience far more than what several hours would allow in reality.

And, it's not quite time travel, even if that's how it may appear. For a particular, currently undisclosed reason, I'm going to call it "psyche travel," by the term I remember Soman using for ACOT.

Lastly, Rafal will come to dread the prospect of nonexistence, which I intend to treat as a concept distinctly separate from death. Not to worry though! It'll be explained eventually.

#school for good and evil #rise of the school for good and evil #agatha of woods beyond #sophie of woods beyond #rafal #rafal mistral #sge #sfgae #the school for good and evil #tsfgae #rotsge #rotsfgae #one true king #my post #my fics #the one true school master of vault 41 #totsmov41

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jkoo-njoo · 1 year

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College crush - 3

summary : college au l when the frontier between a crush and an obsession blurs, how can you draw the line?

pairing : shy n clingy bf! jk × black fem! reader

genre : fluff, soft yandere | headcanons

word count : 2150, on going story

warnings : stalking, fixation, home intrusion

author’s note : Hi loves ! This is supposed to be the second to last chapter of this story, but I don’t feel like ending it so soon. I’m still hesitating on wether to write a sequel in the form of drabbles or just add 2 or 3 more chapters instead of just one. You tell me what you would prefer most (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵) Enjoy my angels ~ ♡

previous | next / masterlist

3/ the moth searching for light through darkness, with hope

- the first time : just reaching out to you

Jungkook was really set on taking the leap of faith and sending you a message directly.

he is very nervous but also confident that you will appreciate this gesture because he has backup :

a few days ago, after the bi-weekly photography class, he followed you a bit around before going home

you went to grab coffee with some of your friends at the local café

and he just sat at a table behind you lot, making sure not to be noticeable

he was glad that you and your friends had the habit of talking a bit loudly so he didn’t have to sit right next to you to listen to your discussions

anyways

what he heard that day left him completely speechless

you guys were talking about the type of actions you’d consider romantic from a significant other and what you’d love to experience

best believe he was absolutely tuned in when it was your turn to speak

and that’s when he heard you say that you were a delusional and hopeless romantic that would really love to have a secret admirer that sent you letters and gifts

everyone clowned you and kept telling you to give it up because it would never gonna happen

but he, on the other hand, couldn’t be happier

he was going to make your dream happen, with the upmost joy doing it.

fast forward to today, with Jungkook going insane over trying to choose the perfect first-letter-from-a-secret-admirer between the 3 piles of tens of already written letters he had in his room

he settled for this one short letter :

“Like a bee drawn to a flower, I am endlessly attracted to your being, your beauty and existence essential for my survival.“

he signed — your secret admirer not yet ready to put any indication about his identity

he folded it with great care and put the message in a beige ancient style letter that he sealed with red wax

he hesitated on perfuming the letter or not but he eventually decided against it, because what if you don’t like the odor and throw away his letter, rejecting him before even checking him out ?

he was ready to go all out for you, but that didn’t mean he wanted to take reckless risks

he truly wanted to make an impact on you in the best way possible. And that included being very meticulous

when he was done, he walked up to the building next to his and deposited the letter in your letter box, whilst shaking uncontrollably the entire time

he did that in the middle of the day, so he figured he’d check the day after if you opened your letter box

he went there 3 days in a row and noticed that you didn’t really check your letter box that often

so he went against one of the main restrictions he imposed on himself : not to go all the way up to your front door.

but he did. and from now, he’d give you letters by putting them in between the front door and the wall, just above the handle so you’d inevitably notice them immediately every single time.

- the second time : being too greedy

this little back & forth of him writing letters and giving them to you lasted a few weeks

he would send you letters every 2 to 3 days, and they would vary in length but never in substance

they would always be very light and easy to read, whilst intensely dripping with passion and love

the one he sent you yesterday was :

“if anyone ever asks me which is more important between my life and yours, I would tell them that I have died to myself and that I live only for you.”

he was taking his secret admirer job very seriously.

and judging by the way you would take all of his letters and not throw them out — he regularly checked the dumpster assigned to your building — you were visibly enjoying it.

one day, the routine got interrupted when he came up to drop off the LLOTD [love letter of the day] and…. your door was unlocked.

in his defense : he was sliding the letter between the door and the wall like he always did, but this particular time it didn’t want to stay in place ; the letter kept falling

so he grabbed the handle to have more balance while trying to make the letter fit in the crevace

then the handle just… moved. and opened the door.

he didn’t even do it on purpose like,,, it just opened ???

and now he was standing there, frozen in the middle of the hallway with the handle still in his hand, unable to move.

his hands inevitably start to sweat because even if he’s stuck, he knows what he wants to do ; but he can’t bring himself to do it.

he has always dreamed of entering your place. He has been wanting this for so long.

and there was now a golden opportunity to fulfill this dream……. he couldn’t let it pass by him. He just couldn’t bring himself to close the door and go home

so… he enters.

he is absolutely delighted to be in your space ; but he’s also getting very overwhelmed

there is so much to look at, so much to smell, so much to admire and ingrain in his brain

he gives himself like 5 minutes to get around and puts on a timer to make sure to go out on time.

you are living alone so your room’s decoration is very sweet & unique

also meticulously clean and organized

though he takes notes that he should buy you a basket to put your fruits in it, and a duvet cover so you can snuggle your cute self inside, and more plushies to horn your bed

he cannot wait until the time he gets to decorate this place with his own special touch too

the timer goes off indicating that it was time to go back to his place

he pushes the letter between the front door & the wall, then leaves

he was in such a state of euphoria that when he got back to his place he wrote like 5 letters in one sitting

when he noticed that you never really locked your door but just shut it, and since he knows your schedule by heart, he starts breaking into your home a bit more often over time

each time, he tries as hard as he can to not touch or move anything

he only verifies that you do not throw his letters by checking your bins, and lays on your bed while daydreaming of cuddling with you on it while watching movies, or play with you on your pc set up

he is very careful to not do anything that would make you notice that someone is coming into your place while you’re not there, because he doesn’t want you to be scared.

he would never deliberately cause you to be uncomfortable, afraid or to resent him

but it’s getting harder and harder everyday to not touch or take anything when he wants to go back to his place with each and every object that you use as a souvenir

he’s getting tormented…

so close, yet so far from the goal,,,, it was driving him crazy.

- at the same time : a curious appreciation

it’s been a few weeks since you’ve been regularly receiving love letters from a secret admirer

you would be lying if you said that you weren’t completely enjoying and indulging in it

at the beginning, you thought that it was a prank, because it was just so random & the timing was almost too perfect since you started receiving letters right after that one discussion with your friends

but it started being more recurrent, and it progressively made you flattered to receive such sustained and lovely attention

the words of this admirer were sure having a strong effect you.

so much that you kept absolutely every single one of their letters in a little box hidden in your nightstand

nowadays, you were catching yourself waiting for their letters or thinking about their words more than once throughout your day

you didn’t talk about it to your friends because you didn’t want them to make fun of you ; or worse : that one of them admits that this has all been a big joke and that it was all fake

this is your own little secret that you keep between you and your heart

and it’s just letters, beautiful letters at that. The admirer does not seem to be a creep, so you’re safe. There’s no need to alert anyone… right ?

at some point, you’ve tried to find out about the identity of your admirer.

the only information that you have at the moment is their signature : they sign every single letter with the mention — your secret admirer

you do not even know their gender. This is as anonymous as it gets like you cannot make this up

you have no idea about who it could be : no one in your social circle or the circle of your closest friends seems to be a good enough pretender to this spot, so it was surely intriguing you

but what you do know is that you are going to meet them soon. You have to.

- the rest of the time… too far gone to go back

eventually, one of your hoodie disappears. Like straight up vanishes.

you noticed it because you were looking for something to wear as lazy pajamas and it was one of your appointed “trash clothes” to put on

it is not that serious though like you must’ve just lost it.

So you wore something else and went on with your life, not caring much about that.

a few days later, you received a letter from your secret admirer.

it was weird because they haven’t sent you anything in like 10 days ; that was very out of character for them.

so, you were relieved to receive something from them again, but this letter was rather unusual

it wasn’t a poem ; but an apology.

the title was “please pardon me my love” and their writing was very clumsy, like they’ve been shaking while writing it.

in the letter, they admit that they took your hoodie — you assume that it must be the one that you lost the other day. They apologize for it by saying that they just wanted to have a piece of you with them and knowing that you didn’t value this particular hoodie that much they couldn’t help themselves. They promise to buy you absolutely every clothes that you want, and that they’ll replace the hoodie with a new one of your taste by tomorrow. At the end, they beg for your forgiveness and implore you to not stop loving them ; some water drops that you assume to be dried out tears adorning their words.

if you were being honest, you really couldn’t care less about the hoodie disappearing ; but it did make you feel kinda uncomfy knowing that they intruded your sacred space

their confession made you reflect on the past few days, and validated the feelings of confusion and uneasiness you felt seeing some of your belongings slightly changing places sometimes while you did not recall moving them yourself

you were definitely not crazy nor were you having hallucinations.

despite this… you still couldn’t find it in you to fear them or worry in any way.

like, they just took a hoodie that you didn’t care about. This was harmless, right ?

so, for the first time since the beginning of this whole ordeal : you decide to write an answer to them

you didn’t take yourself too seriously : you told them that you weren’t mad about the hoodie, but that the next time they come in here they better clean up your place a bit because you were pretty busy at the moment and didn’t have the time to do so

you would leave it on your desk tomorrow and see what happens

but for now, it was time to sleep and rest. Or at least try.

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theyareweird · 2 months

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Nurturing Beastman – Chapter 5

Showcase of Strength

Onica and Kianna exchanged looks. Worry graced Onica’s face as they stared at the five-foot-two tall girl. Kianna’s amber eyes concealed any emotion. Her face was straight of any expression. Despite this, Kianna was internally troubled by this situation as Onica was. If she didn’t do something, she was going to be separated from the one person who has not only helped her since arriving in the Beast World but was also from the same world as her. “I refuse to be separated from my sibling.” Kianna blurted.

Onica immediately sealed their lips. They were afraid if they talked, they would ruin the plan Kianna had in mind. Onica simply hoped this would work.

Kiki examined the two Nurturers in his presence. Looking back and forth between them, he noticed some similar traits they both seemed to possess. Firstly, Onica and Kianna were quite short, as well as thin. Secondly, their skin tones were pale white. Both of them also have large eyes, despite the obvious color differences. Finally, the two share jaw-length dark brown hairstyles.

“You two do share characteristics of some resemblance.” However, Kiki already took note of Onica’s mate preferences earlier. If these two were from the same litter, it was understandable why the pair were close and refused to separate until being matted off. In addition, Onica and Kianna’s budding maturity rates were almost in sync. Although most children from the same litter matured at the same time, there were cases where the runt of the litter would be a late bloomer in comparison to their stronger siblings. Based on Kiki’s observations, Onica would likely mature later than Kianna if his theory was correct. With this in mind, it was a simple solution in his eyes. “Very well, you will both be sold tonight.” Kiki concluded.

For the chief, this was perfect timing. The King of the Cat Clan had ordered every tribe under his reign to prepare for an exchange with the cousin Tiger Clan. Although the nations were lands apart, warriors were assigned to make the journey into each other’s clans to collect their promised resources in return for equally valuable goods. Of course, what was handed over weighed entirely on what both clans had to offer. As such, the haul would vary each season.

When Kiki turned around, Niko finally returned to the mud hut with the fish for Onica and Kianna. He had slowly turned the trout over a fire using a steadily burning stick to cook it.

“Niko, Onica and Kianna are going to be part of the exchanged goods tonight.” Kiki announced. “Seeing as you rescued both Nurturers, you will escort them to the gathering.” He instructed.

Niko bowed his head respectfully. “Understood, chief!” He replied.

Kiki then patted the young man’s shoulder and exited the clinic hut. With the fish on a stick in hand, Niko used his sharp nails to carve out two fish filets. Utilizing his keen eyes, the black cat was able to see the fish bones camouflaged in the flaky trout and pick them out. Niko then handed Onica and Kianna their own wooden plate of a trout filet. “The Oak Wood should’ve given the fish great flavor. The flavor of the meat changes depending on what wood you use.” He explained. Before either of them could begin chowing down, Niko filled two wooden cups with clean water he also boiled. He then handed Onica and Kianna a cup each to provide them with fresh water to drink.

“Thank you, Niko.” Onica sighed. A deep frown was plastered on their face at the news.

Kianna gratefully took her plate and said “Thank you very much, Niko.”

Regardless of what Niko said about the wood flavorings, Onica knew the food still likely tastes bland. Since Felix wasn’t gardening the many ‘medicine’ baskets, they decided to borrow some salt, pepper and parsley to spice up both their food with some real flavor. Even though the meal was decent, it didn’t settle the pits in Onica and Kianna’s stomachs.

That night, Niko escorted Onica and Kianna to the center of the tribe. There, several long torches were lit to illuminate the area. Crickets chirped and fire crackled all around. The night air was cool, but not cold. Flowers bloomed across the tribe grounds. Several tribal warriors were outside to receive what welcomed goods the Tiger Clan had in store.

Being outside at night caused Onica to feel a bit panicked. Without city lights and neon signs everywhere, the land revealed how dark it could truly be. Not even Kianna dared to wander past the fire’s glow out of fear she would become lost in the darkness of the surrounding forest. The black environment caught Onica and Kianna by surprise when a bengal tiger emerged out of nowhere. Various bags were strapped to its back as if the tiger was cattle. The tiger, along with a few others, were eighteen feet tall. Onica and Kianna knew Nature Beastman were able to change their overall size at will, but neither of them knew it was to this extent. Now, it felt like they were being sacrificed to this clan of tigers rather than being sold off like mere objects.

“Welcome dear warriors of the Tiger Clan!” Kiki greeted them. “You may be one of many tribes, but I am grateful you chose our central tribe this fine spring season out of the many other flourishing tribes in the Cat Clan. This is our first exchange of the year out of four. I hope we’ll be off to a strong start.” Kiki stated.

All the tigers curled up on the ground. Then, more Nature Beastman stepped forward from behind the large beasts. These males and females all possessed a pair of tiger ears. Amongst them, a woman with orange hair approached and respectfully bowed to Kiki. “Greetings, Cat Chief. I am the appointed warrior in charge of this expedition on behalf of my clan.” Kiki bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment. “Tonight, we bring you rattan, camphor oil, palm oil and salt... If you shall choose.” She presented.

Kiki gasped at the female Nature Beastman’s last offering. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “Salt? Surely, you jest.” Kiki chuckled. “Even if you obtained such a high demand resource, why trade it away? Your Nurturers’ immune systems need it more to avoid illness.”

“Our King sought council with the Mermaid Clan’s King and struck a bargain. A year’s supply of salt in exchange for a Nurturer.” The female tiger explained.

Onica inched their neck forward. “Did she just say Mermaid Clan?” They asked, turning to Kianna. The teenager nodded to Onica in response, but held no reaction. Regardless, even Kianna was internally stunned. If mermaids existed here, it begged the question of what other mythical beings lived in this world.

Kiki nodded. “How fortunate for your people.” Turning to the side, he curled his fingers towards him. Several soldiers then followed his command and came forth carrying hefty chunks of stones. “If you wish to choose, you may have coal, iron, limestone and Nurturers.”

On cue, Niko gently pushed Onica and Kianna forward to present the offered Nurturers. Onica nervously balled their hands into fists and held them to their chest. They were too shy to meet anyone’s gaze. Meanwhile, Kianna held her head high, but her jaw was clenched as she narrowed her eyes at those around her. She was angry at the entire ordeal.

Several people gasped in response. “This is fantastic news!” Someone exclaimed. “We’d be very fortunate for one Nurturer, but two?!” Another cried, flabbergasted. “What incredible luck!” Somebody cheered.

In case Nurturers were ever offered in transactions, only the strongest and eligible warriors of Nature Beastman were allowed to participate in clan trades. It’s common to face dangers while traversing between clans. Thus, Nature Beastman safely guard any resources obtained during said trips to ensure everything arrives to their designated clan.

The female tiger from before then approached Onica and Kianna. She looked at the two with sorrow in her eyes. “I’m terribly sorry for your losses, Nurturers. I hope none of you suffered the pain of losing your children along with your mates”. The female said in a low and sympathetic voice.

“Neither of these Nurturers are being offered because they’ve lost their families.” Kiki reassured her.

The female tiger raised an eyebrow at the chief. “Oh? Are these Cat Nurturers simply interested in Nature Beastman from another clan? This isn’t an unusual circumstance and my tribe would certainly welcome them for being open-minded.”

“Ha-ha, this pair of siblings aren’t from the Cat Clan. You could say they were a gift from the Ape Clan.” Kiki grinned through a chuckle.

The female tiger then bowed slightly to Onica and Kianna. “I’m grateful to have you both join my tribe in the tiger clan. I hope you’ll share your wisdom and knowledge with us.”

Once the exchanges were made, the female tiger took Onica and Kianna from Niko. She then assisted the two onto one of the shifted tigers and the beast rose from its place. Onica and Kianna’s bodies swayed as they rode on the huge tiger. Jumping off would likely cause them to sprain or break a bone. Despite being bought with salt, Onica and Kianna had to admit they were a bit excited to be riding on a tiger. This would have never happened back in their home world.

The journey took several days as everyone traveled on foot. Warriors were on watch at all times against any potential threats along the way. Stopping only occurred for meals. At night, the group set up camp to rest until daylight the following day. While traveling, Onica and Kianna had talked a lot. The two wanted to run away at any opportunity, but had mutually agreed only to escape if either of them were in any real danger. If they ran now, they were both sure to be caught by the alert tigers. Besides, it was obvious by the passing landscapes there wasn’t anything to run to. Onica and Kianna would be fending against the wilderness at every turn, but they were willing to do it if it meant they would be free. Regardless, the option would always be on the table for future use.

Eventually, everyone arrived at the Tiger Clan. The scenery had changed from a forested valley to a humid jungle. Unlike the Cat Clan, there were no housing structures. A horn sounded as the warriors returned. Suddenly, people sprang from all around and large crowds cheered on either side of the parading tigers. The warriors were showing off the goods they collected to the tribe members, which included Onica and Kianna. Onica was embarrassed to be looked up at by these thrilled strangers. Meanwhile, Kianna was exasperated as she stared straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

The tribe’s leader announced a grand banquet is to be held in celebration. During which, eligible Nature Beastman could spar against one another to show off their strength, skill and fighting techniques in hopes of catching one of the new Nurturer’s attention. Onica and Kianna were told to stay near the chief. Single Nature Beastman were eager to bring the Nurturers food as several male and female-looking tribe members began brawling in their human forms. Anyone not battling were either enjoying the food or rooting for a fighter in the crowd. It was clear this spectacle was pure entertainment for these people.

Suddenly, a hiss reached Onica and Kianna’s ears. A five-foot ten male approached a female tiger. This male was a pale-skinned teenager with mahogany hair and shiny green eyes. However, instead of having small, round ears of a tiger, this young man possessed larger triangular ears of a cat.

“You’re not from the Tiger Clan!” The female tiger growled.

The male’s expression was stern with determination, but his eyes said he was bored. “I don’t care. I traveled from the Cat Clan to be here and I plan on pursuing Kianna.” He said in a flat tone.

With that, the male and female lunged at each other. The two locked hands and began pushing against one other to see who was the strongest. At first, neither opponent budged. Their bodies were rigid and refused to move, but the female saw an opportunity and attempted to trip the male with her foot the second he stepped closer. She hopped to make him slip backwards, but the male feline wasn’t fazed and maintained his stance. In the struggle, he spun her around until the female tiger lost her footing, allowing him to push her off to the side. The female growled as she landed on her butt, too humiliated to ask Kianna to accept her as a mate.

In the end, the male turned and made his way across the jungle clearing to Kianna. “May I become your mate?” He asked in a low voice.

Kianna Komori OC by: @nunezs-stuff

#nurturing beastman #beastman #story #queer #lgbtq+#nonbinary

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pl9090 · 7 months

Text

Impurities and Mutations

Constructive feedback and criticism is welscome as always. (I'm not happy with this draft but I've spent too much time on this post already at the expense of others).

The idea of a, (for lack of a better term) biological connection between The Other and both renagade Timelords, (eg: The, "Affected Generation" and the Deca) and the subsequent newblood generations. But is there any clues in the expanded lore as to how and why?

Basic looms summary

Looms work by combining, "weaving" together biodata material from both the House's own stock from past Cousins, (80%-90%) and the wider distribution system, (10%-20%) to form either a fully ground adult or a baby. (The percentages are a guess based on the idea that the distributor biodata exchange is intended as a degredation prevention measure as each House was essentially endlessly recycling the same biodata for millions of years which along with Rassilon's later intelligence reduction modification resulted in the: stagant, unvaried, and elderly civil servant mentality civilisation seen in, "The Deadly Assassin"). Just before the start of the Second War in Heaven the new stasis tube like looms were introduced and used to mass produce Timelord soldiers aswell as Timelord citizenry. The Other's Plan

In Lungbarrow chapter 30 The Other threw himself into the loom network's prime distributor, the open progenitive cascades unravelling his biodata. His plan is generally considered to be rebirth millions of years later via a random loom, (the term "huanting the network" has been used) because he was overcome with a deep self loathing depression over: the way Gallifreyian society had changed to become stagant, Rassilon's increasing despotism, and his self perceived partial blame for both.

However this interpretation doesn't make sense for the following two reasons:

The first is that as the co creator of the loom technology with Rassilon, The Other would know that as opposed to loom jumping this would not result in ressurection regardless of how long he, "waited" as his unravelled biodata would be irrevocably lost by being dispersed throughout the entire loom network mutating when it combines with those in each individual House's store which is shared resulting in each generation accumulating more of it. This is backed up by: a.Both the appearance and increased impurities, (ie: Biodata, "errors" and thus personality eccentricities) starting out very minor with barely any effect on the status quo about 1,000,000.B.T.W. to the more widepsread renegade upheaving the status quo, "Affected Generation" about 700,000.B.T.W.. b.The term reconstitution is specifically used instead of ressurection and has a defintion of, "the act of changing something so that it has a different form". In this case his self sacrifice so his biodata could change future loomborn's biodata makeup so that they are more wombborn like, (eg: Varied individualistic personalities) and thus more open to change. c.The fact that as one of the four main mutations of the, "Affected Generation", (replacing Avus/Grandfather Paradox as a Lungbarrow Cousin when he retired himself from history) holds and can access only some of the Other's memories while not knowing who most of the people in them were despite the .V.N.A. guidelines clearly stating he isn't the Other.

(It is interesting to note that both Avus/Grandfather Paradox and The Doctor share key apects of The Other's known personality, (cultural beliefs and a sort of restlessness/bohemianism) specifically public questioning of the protocols/implying that change was the most important tool of any culture. Maybe the Lungbarrow loom has a higher concentration of Other tainted biodata?) .

"'Millennia later, Cavis mused that travel, extreme violence, and "Murder, sex and adventure in exotic frocks' were the zenith of what the Other had envisioned", The Shadows of Avalon.

The second is that The Other's dialogue with himself and others, (see the quotes below) this was not a spur of the moment ressurection plan but a pre thoughout last resort suicidal contingency plan to maybe ensure that future generations of loomborn would eventually have the varied individualistic personalities as the wombborn had as explained above. Did he know it would work? Maybe but it's clear that he was so depressed that he probably didn't care. While his order that Susan leave Gallifrey was to save her from Rassilon's wombborn ethnic clenasing it could also been an attempt to preserve a fully wombborn Gallifreyan for later study and for her to become an inspiration example for the surviving Interventionalists.

"I warned him. I warned Rassilon that if force was used against the dissenters, if their sanctuary in the Pythia's temple was violated, then I would leave his accursed planet to its own devices!".

"But if I go, there will be no way back. Rassilon will be left with absolute control. No checks, no balances. Gods, how I long to be free. Free of schemes, ambitions, and free of my dark, brooding self".

"But there will be much to prepare for my departure and one impossible farewell to make".

Whether or not Rassilon knew what The Other planned to do is ambiquous though his relevant dialogue, (ie: Asking him not to leave) and actions, (ie: Activiating a forcefield and ordering the guards to prevent his departure) suggests he thought The Other was simply going to physically leave Gallifrey never to return which makes sense given he founded the Interventionist movement, (the Azazel/Eblis mini diasporia could have been one of his schemes).

Texts Used

.8.D.A. Lungbarrow.

.8.D.A. Shadows of Avalon.

Gallifrey, Notes on the Planet's Background.

.F.P. The Book of the War.

#faction paradox #book of the war #doctor who #great houses #timelords #whoniverse #bbc doctor who #lungbarrow #shadows of avalon #Gallifrey #looms #The Other

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theluckywizard · 6 months

Note

Hawke/Rose, Dickens prompts, "Accidents will occur in the best regulated families."

Hiii Ammy. Here's the second chapter of my Distraction Fic, the disastrous (at least according to Alsatia!) introduction between Rose Trevelyan and Garrett Hawke. For @dadrunkwriting

This follows the first part which I did for DADWC a few weeks back.

Summary: Leandra Hawke and her old friend Alsatia Trevelyan introduce their incorrigible children at the Hawke Estate in the hopes that a favorable match can be made. Rose POV

Rating: Teen

WC: 1692

Pairing: Rose Trevelyan x Garrett Hawke

oOo

Alsatia’s near giddiness at the sight the Amell mansion’s grandeur chafes unbearably in Rose, who glowers lightly at it with the same remonstrance she always applies to these calculating matchmaking endeavors.

“It’s larger than I remember,” says the elder woman, raffish in her admiration of the excess.

The estate is impressive whether Rose wishes to admit it or not, a work of elegant symmetry in pale gray marble with large windows that gaze upon a courtyard dotted with trees. The entry is festooned in wreaths and garlands of laurel and bay leaves, no doubt the work of Leandra who Alsatia reports has quickly reabsorbed herself in the inane pursuits of most fine ladies.

They pull on their cloaks, the makings of a frigid downpour complicating the short walk between the carriage and the main entry. A stout worn-out looking redheaded man Rose assumes must be a dwarf opens the main entry and stands in wait, a pleasant expression enlivening the deep set lines of his face. Rose could count the number of dwarves she’s encountered on both her hands, the exposure to Thedas’ varied races and cultures she’s long craved and long been denied invigorating her.

“How do you do, my lady Trevelyan. Right this way,” says the man in an immediate breach of protocol that causes Alsatia to stiffen. Doormen should never speak of course. Rose pokes her mother in the back in the hopes of reminding her not to be ungracious with her facial expressions.

The dwarf follows them inside to a substantial vestibule where a fire roars and crackles in wait. A massive creature, so large and muscular it seems one could hardly call it a dog, lazes limp in the fire’s radiance, snoring soundly. A Mabari, Rose notes, delighted to see one in the flesh. Once again her mother is startled by the dwarf, who, in a horrifying turn, appears to be both the steward and the doorman. Rose can gather her mother’s thoughts which almost certainly grapple with the Hawkes’ apparent shortage of appropriate staff.

“Make yourselves comfortable while I fetch Mistress Leandra. My son will see to your luggage.”

Another dwarf enters and stares at Rose, his wide, ice blue eyes fixating upon her face with both awe and utter delight. Alsatia seethes quietly at the impertinence as he collects their luggage and shoulders a trunk easily, watching Rose the entire time.

When he leaves the room, Lady Trevelyan huffs to herself softly.

“No footmen?” she remarks on a hiss. Rose hates that her own suspicions were correct.

“Indeed. How could they possibly make do?” Rose replies, the edge of sarcasm so soft that her mother might not notice. They pace in restrained circles, taking in the cornices and marble tiles and the elegant staircase that bends around the back of the room. The place feels shockingly hollow, barely lived in in spite of the warmth of the fire. But then, they’d only just moved in that autumn after the younger Hawke’s infamous success on his Deep Roads treasure hunt.

As the introduction looms, Rose feels her insides twist and hum, an unruly sense of anticipation muscling its way out from underneath all the disinterest. She chalks it up to being eager to see what manner of man would fail to excite her interest this time, but truthfully the Amell heir has provoked an abiding curiosity that has persisted since she first heard of him. A truth she squashes down as she hears footsteps up above.

A man appears on the mezzanine then descends the steps two at a time, advancing toward them in easy swinging strides and stands over them both with a dashing yet remarkably goofy grin under a beguiling bright blue gaze.

“So which one of you is the woman I’m supposed to marry?”

Maker.

While her mother stands thunderstruck by the gall, Rose fumbles for words behind a savage blush. Nobody told her he’d so Maker damned… tall. She tries not to think about how the rumors had been true, that he’s devastatingly handsome in a sort of scruffy, roguish way. The finery of his apparel does very little to buff away those rough edges. His overgrown chestnut hair is tucked behind his ears and he hasn’t shaved in a few days at least.

Protocol dictates that they require an introduction, but he’s already barreled his way past that and stands waiting for one of them to speak.

“That would be me,” Rose manages. Alsatia fires a sharp look in her daughter’s direction.

“Alsatia!” A refined voice calls from the top of the stairs. “I see Garrett has preceded me.” She glides her way down with practiced elegance that the years spent scraping by in Ferelden could never take from her. If she’s embarrassed by her son’s presumption one could hardly tell.

“Garrett, may I present my dear friend Lady Alsatia Trevelyan and her daughter Lady Rose,” she says. Both women dip in tidy curtsies and he bows politely with an elegance that startles Rose.

“A pleasure,” he says. “Ostwick, eh? You must be utterly knackered.”

“Not at all, our carriage is quite comfortable,” says Alsatia, the kind of polite lie spilling from her lips with such ease. They’re both exhausted and Rose’s mind wanders after her trunk where a comfortable pair of breeches and a jacket she buried under her finery lies in wait.

“I’ve never been a fan of carriages, to be honest. Turns your arse into a funny wedge shape after a day of travel,” he rambles.

Rose nearly breaks composure, a laugh threatening to bust through her practiced demeanor, the truth of his admission reminding her of her own sore, misshapen rear.

“Can I offer you refreshment? Antivan port? Garrett has procured an apricot brandy from Rivain that is just divine,” says Leandra hurriedly, obviously covering for her son’s casual banter. Alsatia glances at Rose, still in their cloaks. “Or… perhaps you’d just like to wash up and change for dinner. Yes. I— should have remembered. Orana will show you to your chambers.”

Behind them the door flies open and a troupe of three saunters in with such casual force that it seems they must live here as well.

“Shit,” mutters Garrett, running his hand through his chestnut hair. Practically humming with interest, she watches his reaction carefully and then turns to ogle the intruders.

“Hawke— Oh. Company! Delightful.” A woman wearing a frock coat over a shockingly limited amount of clothing for the weather and a suffocating assortment of gold jewelry sweeps her eyes up and down the Trevelyans appraisingly. Rose crosses her arms and lifts her chin, steeling herself against the barrage of nosy looks even as she surveys the intruders with the same sharpened curiosity. By the furrow in his brow, Garrett looks ready to tell them off but someone speaks.

“Dougal is on his way here,” says an elf with a shock of carefully mismanaged white hair and a shockingly large sword strapped to his back.

“Dougal? Now? I thought the deal was settled,” says Garrett who then curses softly. Rose watches her mother tally the marks against him as they roll in.

“Not according to him. He says he wants a bigger cut,” says the half-dressed woman in gold.

“Well sod that,” answers Garrett. “He didn’t do a blazing thing to help the expedition.”

“Then we fight,” says the white haired elf again.

“I’m sure I can talk some sense into him,” says the younger Hawke, glancing back at his mother apologetically.

“Garrett,” Leandra scolds him sharply, her expression agonized as he spoils her carefully arranged fix up.

“He’s on his way here,” he says, leaning to kiss Leandra on the cheek and squeeze her arm with genuine affection. He casts Rose and Alsatia a helpless look, a devilishly handsome one, Rose thinks and makes his apologies. The man strides into the front vestibule with his strange group of friends where he begins divesting himself of his fine clothes without a scrap of shame. Rose’s face is claimed by a wave of heat that washes up into her cheeks as she glimpses his thickly muscled torso before it disappears under a tunic again.

“I’m— dreadfully sorry, perhaps you’d like to settle in right now,” Leandra says, glancing past the pair to see her son donning full plate while he discusses the details of this Dougal character with the others.

They’re swiftly ushered away from the sounds of chain mail and plate as Garrett Hawke dons his armor and makes ready to duke it out on the streets of Kirkwall. Rose feels her mother jerk her forward up the stairs each time she turns to peer at them once more.

The door to their guest wing closes behind them.

“Well. Perhaps it’s just an unlucky coincidence. Even the best regulated families have incidents. And they’re still working out the details. The staffing. The manners will come,” Alsatia rambles like she’s soothing herself.

“I was sure the man’s fortune would quiet all those other concerns of yours,” Rose jokes, laying her cloak over the back of a chair.

Rose flops down onto a chaise, poked again by her Maker-forsaken stay.

“What do you think that was all about?” asks Rose. “Dougal. The expedition.”

“Nothing decent,” her mother laments. “You saw those ruffians. But I suppose a wife could remake his ways.”

The daughter smirks doubtfully at her mother, who scoffs again momentarily before the corner of her mouth twitches in a reluctant admission of the ridiculousness of it.

“You’re right. This could be disastrous,” says Alsatia with a sigh.

Letting her head fall back against the chaise, Rose gazes absently at the ornamentation of the ceiling as she considers it. A thrill is busy consuming her insides. This is already so much more interesting than every other attempt to pawn her off. She smiles to herself softly and bites her lip.

“What are you simpering about?” snaps Alsatia.

“I was just thinking of how well he looked without a shirt.”

“Utterly indecent,” says Alsatia sternly, but her brow twitches ever so slightly. Perhaps the woman isn’t dead after all.

“Utterly and completely,” declares Rose.

#rose trevelyan #garrett hawke #hawke x trevelyan #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age 2 #matchmaking moms AU #leandra hawke #isabela dragon age #fenris dragon age #the awkward introduction #they're in trouble

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n7punk · 9 months

Note

Okay sooo I’m fully aware the answer to this might just be ‘my brain just works that way’ lol buttt: you post as you write, but surely this must have kicked you in the arse at some point. Like have you ever written anything and then later on realised it’s put you in a sticky situation plot wise but can’t change it bc it’s already posted? Or do you like extensively plan before you start to avoid that? And do you keep notes as you write to make sure you remember key details? My brain cannot comprehend how you can write a story without knowing for sure how it’s gonna end without having the flexibility of changing a few things that happen earlier in the story lol your brain is so impressive.

Lol thank you. So the answer for this actually depends on the project. Usually I know like 3/4th of the story's overall structure and what an end goal would look like it by the time I finish the first chapter. I say the first chapter because a lot of changes or ideas can come from actually stepping into a story/world for the first time. That said, sometimes I just have a few scenes (The Scene™️s) and I fill in between them as I go. It's very common for the end to be a little hazy because I need to write the scenes that will effect it first to truly understand what it needs to be.

As far as writing myself into a corner goes: yeah, GUTT lol. Still don't know what to do about that one. But usually it's only in small ways. In CotC I figured out a scene that would have made the 13th fic work better, but said scene needed to be in the 11th fic and I had already posted up through the 12th, so I just had to let that better idea go. I also added the entire visit home/Winter Fest storyline to AMLAIT after I was like 3-4 chapters in (my initial plan for that fic ended up being 20% of what its total was, with a bunch of ideas coming in the middle), so I realized that hey, Catra's birthday should have been Right at the start of the fic, and then had to condense the timeline in one or two places to make it so her birthday had Just Passed, and then I edited in a single line referencing it into the beginning to make the timeline seem more cohesive to future rereads.

I honestly prefer writing this way because it makes you get more creative (and I hate redrafting lmao), but I do typically have some kind of outline (even if it's just in my head) going into the story. If you look at the fic notes for Superzero, I put the entirety of the written outline for that fic in the Original Outline section at the bottom and it... wasn't much lol.

By contrast, Roses & Thorns I outlined extensively because I was really excited about the idea and basically infodumped it all on my friend in Discord lmao. I will say, though, from the four chapters posted so far that outline included: like three sentences describing Catra's arrival, Adora hyperfocusing on her, and Catra being catty (every single scene up until the confrontation was written off-the-cuff when I sat down to do the fic). Then I had the confrontation with Catra and the discussion in the garden heavily outlined, and then... oh yeah nothing until like chapter six lmao. All that I filled in once I started working on the fic, and in fact I wrote a couple chapters and then went back and filled in scenes to give more depth to the story and world. If I had been posting from the start I would have been really screwed when it came to adding those scenes to chapter 2 (I added stuff to 2, 4, and 5 because I had just reached five when I went back), but I kind of knew I needed that extra time with it so I held off on posting.

As far as notes: also really varies! This is my notes for R&T

the main Roses & Thorns document is a copy-pasted version of the outline I wrote for my friend with a few additional notes added in where later ideas came. The Fic Notes doc contains... the fic notes I'll post later, which I write as I go (the sub-documents there are just blank stubs for fic references or extras since this is from a template), and then this fic has a "special" notes file to keep track of all the girls on the show. It's normal for a fic to have some kind of special notes file like that, like in CotC I had one comparing different endings I could do since I had a lot of ideas. For 'the long way down' I had a special note including how I had described Eternia in previous fics so it wouldn't contradict (even though it didn't matter since none of those fics were canon). Often there will also be a separate file for some kind of detailed outline in a specific scene up ahead, but in this one it's all just in the main one. And then the cut scenes document eeeeeeeevverrryyy fic ends up with. If I decide I want to rewrite a scene, I'll save the original version there so I can go back to it if I decide it's better than my rewrite - or sometimes scenes I think might be better off going completely but aren't sure go there temporarily. I always delete those stubs at the end of a fic (or during, like after I post the chapter said scene was from or am certain the new version is better).

In general, another thing that keeps me from "needing" more notes is the fact I reread a Lot. Like right now I'm working on chapter 9, and when I sit down in the morning it's not uncommon for my to skim from the chapter before, or all the way back to the first thing I haven't posted yet (in this case, chapter five). And when I do edit something to post it (say, chapter four two days ago), I usually then read/skim through what's between there and where I need to continue writing (in that case, chapter 8) before setting off again. It helps with the flow.

Now, I'm unusually ahead on this fic because I was a decent ways into it before I started posting (I took a week off), but one thing that helps with writing into a corner is that my usual rule is still to always be a chapter ahead of what I'm posting. So if I just finished drafting chapter 3, then I'm editing and posting chapter 2. This helps me make sure the flow together, and also just lets me give my writing breathing room. Instead of immediately editing and posting three, I can take a step back from it by working on chapter two instead, go draft chapter four, and then return to chapter three for editing only after that's done so I have fresh eyes on it. I don't have a beta and this is the only way I'm able to catch as many typos as I do with my dyslexia.

That was long a kinda rambly, but hopefully that answers your question! Every fic is a little different, but this is my general idea when it comes to each project.

#writing process #ask #anon

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elizmanderson · 10 months

Note

Hi again. You made a few posts about first drafts being ridiculous and cleaning them up later. And I desperately need more writers talking about the writing process as they are writing it (like 'making of' posts/ videos, any creator who does those gets me obsessed with them)

Anywho, I was wondering how your revision process looks? How different is your first draft from your last and how did you make the decisions of what to cut vs what to expand on?

I know for myself, my MC is a constant-overthinker and all of faer POV is stream-of-consciousness, and fae goes on a LOT of unnecessary but characterizing tangents that I don't know how to work with, given the corner I wrote myself into.

TLDR - Any info about your revision process would be much appreciated.

Thanks :)

hello and thanks for asking!

first of all, in case anyone is curious about the original post, it's here. also, there are many ridiculous things in this draft of NettieWIP, but that post was brought to you specifically by this line that I wrote even though it's completely tonally wrong for both this book and this character lmao

okay, revisions. this is gonna get long, but I'm breaking it up into sections that will hopefully be helpful.

general process

so the first thing is, my revision process and how much I cut or add is different for every project. but here are some general principles I follow. keep in mind that ymmv with any and all of these! you have to find what works for you. this is just what works for me.

1. finish the draft first

I will never finish a draft if I'm focused on editing while I go. I've been hardcore resisting with NettieWIP because I keep having ideas about how to make it better mid-draft. but I know if I don't finish the draft as-is, it's not going to get done.

2. let it breathe before diving in

sometimes I have the urge to rush right into revisions after finishing a draft, but I do force myself to wait at least a month or two before returning to it. it gives me the emotional distance I need to be able to make decisions about what to cut, no matter how much I like things that don't serve the story.

(again going to have to fight this urge hard with NettieWIP in particular lol)

3. read it before diving in

the one thing that stays consistent from project to project is that I always do a full readthrough before I start revising. highly, highly recommend this regardless of what else works for you! reading through my entire manuscript gives me a big-picture view of the whole story and how all the parts work together (or not), as well as what the problems are.

note: when I do my readthrough, while I do make general notes of my thoughts, I do NOT focus on line-level details or edits. which brings us to...

4. fix big things first

okay jk actually this stays consistent from project to project, too. when approaching revisions, I always start with the biggest changes and work my way down. line edits are the last thing I do, because I figure it wastes my time and energy otherwise. what if I put all this energy into line edits or scene-level changes only to cut half those lines or scenes later when I make structural changes?

5. this is the time to plan!

I'm a plantser, which is somewhere halfway between a plotter and a pantser. while the amount of planning I do before a first draft varies, I always dedicate time to planning before revising. the exact process varies, but it's kinda like this.

read the entire manuscript, making note of plot holes and problem areas

brainstorm potential fixes and where they might fit in

write an outline, synopsis, chapter map, whatever (for me it's usually either a synopsis or chapter map because I simply cannot with outlines)

6. start rewriting

...and as discussed in a different post earlier, I always start the new draft in a new document! you never know when something from an earlier draft could come in handy.

7. use beta readers

I typically do a second draft on my own, because I typically have at least some idea of what needs fixing when I'm done with a first draft. I bring beta readers in once I hit the point where the story's cohesive but I know more work needs to be done, but I'm not sure what that work is.

you specifically asked how I decide what to cut vs. what to expand on, and beta readers are one important way—especially for what to expand on. while I have a habit of overexplaining in many areas, things in my head frequently fail to make it onto the page.

(I think this is because things are obvious to me bc I thought them up. but readers cannot see inside my head, so they may be confused or think a character or plot point is underdeveloped even though I have a lot more information about it mapped out internally.)

if readers feel like information is unnecessary or overexplained or like I'm patronizing them, that's a potential area for cutting. if readers are confused, lack insight, or feel like a reveal came out of nowhere, that's a potential area for expanding. that said...

parsing beta feedback

while outside feedback is important, it's at least equally important to be able to decide what feedback to listen to and what feedback to ignore! not all feedback is good feedback. and even feedback that's technically good may not be good feedback for your story.

for example, I had feedback on the manuscript that's now on sub that was drastically different than the rest of the feedback I received on that same manuscript. I love the beta who gave it to me and I respect their opinion a lot, so I took this feedback seriously. but I couldn't make it work, felt deeply frustrated, and spiraled a bit over my ability to write a book even though it was far from my first.

then I got into Author Mentor Match which I applied to mostly because I need some guidance re: this feedback. my mentor basically said, "I think this is good feedback, but I think it would change this book into a pacier, more action-packed book. and I don't think that's the kind of story you're trying to tell."

and my mentor was right! I think this friend and I are simply interested in different kinds of stories. so as much as they love my stories and as great as they are at giving feedback, their feedback may not be a good fit for me.

usually, I like to look at patterns of feedback.* the more readers agree that a plot point is weak or a reveal doesn't have enough build-up, the more likely it is that I really do need to worry about that.

BUT if a single reader's feedback makes me go oh and I really vibe with it, that's also good feedback to listen to! as long as you know what the heart of your story is, you can follow feedback that helps your story do more of what you want it to do and do it more effectively.

*in my experience, patterns are most helpful when your readers share aspects of your identity. for example, I'm neurodivergent and queer. when most of my readers were neurotypical and straight, I'd get told "this doesn't make sense" "no one thinks/feels like that" "this is unrealistic." and I'd be told that by multiple readers, so I'd decide that meant I had to change the story, even though something deep down told me I was wrong about that, that my betas were wrong about that.

now, most of my readers are neurodivergent and/or queer, so they understand when my characters do or think or feel certain things. and at the very least, they never tell me a character is being "unrealistic" or assume that characters' feelings aren't based on things I have really felt. so particularly for marginalized creators, patterns of feedback may NOT be helpful if your readers do not share your marginalization.

examples of changes to my drafts

cutting and combining

The Remarkable Retirement of Edna Fisher was drafted over a year and a half as part of a last man standing-style writing challenge, so the first draft was 160,000 words. it was pretty obvious I'd have to cut SOMETHING, since I was planning on querying agents.

(recommended for adult fantasy if you're seeking trad pub as a debut author: 120k max word count. better to be lower if you're writing contemporary fantasy, while you can be on the high end if you're writing epic fantasy. other subgenres may fall in between.)

I cut...a lot, in some cases through actually cutting while in other cases combining things. for example, there's a scene now where a dragon attacks Detroit while Our Heroes are delayed there. It used to be separate scenes: Edna & Co. delayed in Detroit, with not much happening except the reason for the delay, and a later scene where they came across a random dragon attack elsewhere. additionally, the secondary antagonist runs around with an old friend who used to be two separate characters: the character he is now, and another old friend of theirs who was just sort of a generic asshole who didn't serve much purpose in the story.

thanks to cutting and combining scenes and characters this way, the story moves along faster, the stakes involved in those scenes and characters are higher, and everything is more tightly tied together. when I finally queried, Remarkable Retirement was down to just 98,000 words (published at 99,000 words).

similarly, in the book now on sub (Buried Things aka GroundskeeperWIP), I cut most of a short chapter from the antagonist's POV. I tried it as a prologue but didn't like that I don't do prologues in general although I know some folks love them, then tried moving it later but didn't like that either, and finally ended up just using bits of it that I felt were particularly useful in a chapter focused on a different character. I also cut a chapter from the POV of a friendly ghost/wingman from beyond the grave (but have it saved in case a future editor's like "you know what we need—")

worth noting that Buried Things wasn't massively overwritten. I think the longest draft was 104k or 106k, while it's on sub at about 90k (and the entirety of the last 4,000 words I cut from it was through line edits, not plot changes). however, both chapters stalled the story without adding much. what they did add, I was able to incorporate into other chapters instead.

expanding

while Remarkable Retirement's need for cuts was more obvious, some things were also expanded upon, especially with my publisher! my editor felt that the romantic subplot needed a little more build-up—not in terms of what happens or how it happens, but in terms of making it clearer why these two people start to have those feelings. similarly, a friend who read Buried Things thought it was great overall but that a particular character wasn't fleshed out enough.

in both cases, I think it was that instance of "things in my head do not always make it onto the page." when my friend had questions about the character in Buried Things, I had answers; those answers just weren't on the page. same thing with the romantic subplot in Remarkable Retirement. so it was a matter of taking what was in my head and making sure it actually came across on the page, although in other cases I may realize I don't already know that stuff and need to brainstorm to develop it more.

both together

in the case of NettieWIP, even though I'm not done drafting yet, I already know some stuff I'll need to cut and expand on! I find I'm repeating myself a lot in this draft, plus it's very dialogue heavy. so I'll need to cut back on some themes and emotions I keep bringing up, as well as trim down the dialogue and let the murder investigation not be entirely conversation.

conversely, there's virtually no setting description or atmosphere, so those are things I'll want to expand on in revisions.

tl;dr: in conclusion

okay this got really long because if you get me talking about writing it is impossible to shut me up, but here are the major takeaways for everyone playing along at home:

my general process: (1) finish the draft; (2) let the draft breathe; (3) read the entire draft; (4) focus on big-picture changes first; (5) plan your revision/rewrite; (6) rewrite/revise; (7) use beta readers

knowing the heart of your story helps you figure out what to cut, what to keep, and what to expand on

knowing the heart of your story helps you figure out what feedback might be useful and what feedback might not be right for this book

it can also helpful to look for patterns of feedback, but this is mostly helpful when your beta readers share your identity, particularly if you are a marginalized creator

thanks so much for giving me an excuse to drone on and on about writing your question!

#answered #writing tips #writing process #revision #writeblr #e's writing #the remarkable retirement of edna fisher #groundskeeperwip #nettiewip

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