#so there will almost certainly be typos and errors

[catsafarithewriter]

Been a bit since we had some angst 👀

"How much more do you need? How much more do you need me to give?"

"All of it. More than you could ever give."

A/N: How dare you throw this angst at me when you know I'm already looking at Slay the Princess AU angst?! How much angst do I need to offer to satiate your thirst?? Anyway, this is not a StP AU, but is loosely based on Moonlighter, an indie game where you play as a merchant moonlighting as a dungeon delver to collect stock for your shop.

I've been eyeing this particular AU for a whlie, so thank you for inadvertently giving me an in for this.

(This, uh, hit 10K, so heads up for a lot under the readmore. I'm gonna post this to AO3 in time, but for now, enjoy this monstrosity here.)

Happy birthday, you menace <3

x

Baron has been gathering dust in Moonlighter's cellar for longer than he cares to count.

This, however, is less remarkable for him than it might be for another; he is built of magic and wood after all, ageless in a way that makes noting the passage of time meaningless.

There is also precious little to mark such time, down in the cellar. There are no windows, no sunlight, not even the changing breeze that might denote seasons. All he has are the brief sightings of Moonlighter's owners – a man and a woman, and in his early days he had seen them come and go often to the cellar, but now their hair has greyed and their limbs have slowed and their detours to the basement are brief.

Recently, it's been only the woman.

Until one day it's not.

"I'm telling ya, there's nothing to be worth selling down there, Chicky."

The voice isn't young, but it is new. From his vantage point on the shelf, Baron can see the light spilling from the doorway is almost entirely eclipsed by the man on the threshold. Another light – that of candlewick rather than sun – bobs past the man and a significantly smaller form begins the descent.

"Maybe not, but it has to be worth a look."

"Your ma told us everything in here was either impossible to flog or cursed."

"Yeah, my mother also worked herself into an early grave trying to run this place solo," the other voice retorts, "so forgive me if I want to deviate somewhat from her teachings."

The second figure nears Baron, and now he can make out a face notably similar to the woman he has watched grow old. Her hair is darker, and her skin is clear of not only wrinkles, but also the scars that had marked even the younger years of the previous woman. Only her eyes show signs of wear – red rimmed and tired.

"Moonlighter was never meant to be run alone," the man says. He begins a cautious descent after his companion. "It was manageable when your pa was alive; then he could delve the dungeon for artifacts during the night, and your ma could sell them in Moonlighter during the day."

"And people wondered why I was an only child," the woman mutters.

"Moonlighter has been in the Yoshioka family since it started–"

"I know. But a lot of those inheritances were sideways along the family tree for good reason."

"Look, Chicky, if yer need any help, Toto and me can run the shop a few days so you can rest between delving. We used to help yer ma out when Daichi passed–"

"You and Toto have your own shop to run though," the woman says. She opens up a chest and finds only moth-eaten breeches. "And I can't just rely on the kindness of others to make this work, Muta."

"'Course you can."

"There's got to be a way to make ends meet – properly." The woman stops before Baron and looks – really looks. There's a fire in her eyes that Baron hasn't seen in a long time. "You're different," she says, and lifts him off the shelf.

The man joins her, and he eyes Baron with distrust. "Don't bother with that one, Chicky."

"Why not? It looks like fourth tier – and no one's been able to get as far as the fourth tier in decades. Someone's gotta be willing to pay up for it."

"Yeah, yer ma thought the same. Only it kept coming back."

The woman turns Baron over, running calloused hands over the immaculate morning suit and painted fur. The callouses are unfamiliar to Baron, earned from daily chores rather than wielding a sword. "Coming back? Coming back how?"

"Depends. If she sold it to a hero, they'd usually enter the dungeon, do pretty well for themselves, and then one day never be seen again." The man rubs a hand across his chin. "They'd always get... weird towards the end, too. Reclusive. And then yer ma would find it abandoned in the upper levels of the dungeon and no hero in sight."

"And if she sold it to someone who wasn't a hero?" the woman asks.

"Then they'd usually complain about hauntings and return the damn thing. In the end, she gave up on it. Guess she could've kept selling it to wannabe heroes, but she felt bad about it."

"Bet it paid the bills though," she mutters, but without any real rancour. She sets Baron back on the shelf and moves onto the next artifact.

That's okay.

Baron can wait.

x

He sees the woman half a dozen more times before he makes his approach.

The second time she enters the cellar, she sets to work furiously dividing the room's contents into possible sales versus the lost causes. Some of the latter she removes – presumably to be thrown – whilst others she leaves to gather dust.

She stares at Baron for a good long while before setting him into the final category.

It is some time before she returns. Baron wonders whether she followed in her mother's footsteps and attempted to run Moonlighter solo. Sometimes he wonders if she sold the shop and left for greener pastures. And sometimes he wonders whether she's died, ending Moonlighter's Yoshioka line once and for all.

But return she does, and she looks all the older for it.

Not older in a temporal sense, although Baron would be the first to admit difficulty in recognising that, but life has been unkind in ways other than time. Her skin is sallow, untouched by sun, and a scar clips her jaw. She moves such a way to make him question when she last truly slept. She doesn't stay long, just long enough to gather up some of the less hopeless causes, and haul them into the upper belly of Moonlighter.

He sees her sooner after that, and the following descents into the cellar become more frequent – and each time, she looks the worse for wear. Every time she looks a little bit more like her mother, and every time he wonders if this will be the last time he'll see her.

On the sixth visit, she collects him up and he sees sunlight for the first time in decades.

The light is low outside – either dusk or dawn – and she sets him onto a display stand. There are no sign of the artifacts previously claimed from the cellar; instead the other stands are filled with low-quality offerings, items foraged from the upper levels of the dungeon. Their prices are notably lower than the value she sets before him.

After writing out his price, she leans against his display stand, staring into his gemstone eyes and evidently seeing something else reflected in them. "Oh, don't look at me like that," she says. "If I sell you, I'll make enough to cover this month's rent and be able to skip a few night's delving in favour of sleep." She sighs, and Baron notes a new scar, running along her throat. "And goodness knows I can't keep this up."

"There are other ways, you know."

To her credit, the woman doesn't scream. He's usually found that to be the most common response to his initial greeting – occasionally paired with a clumsy swing of the nearest makeshift weapon – but, then again, she looks too tired to scream. She merely blinks, once, twice, and then says, "Oh goody, the cursed cat doll talks."

He sweeps his hat from his head and gives a once well-practiced bow. It's a little rusty after all these years, but whatever passes for muscle memory in him remains. "Greetings, miss. I think you'll find that I am no cursed cat doll, but a Creation. When someone creates something with all their heart, then that thing is given a soul, you see?"

"I see that the sleep deprivation is already on the hallucination stage."

Personally, Baron thinks the sleep deprivation is probably a few notches further along than that. But, then again, what would he know? He's immortal. "I assure you, I am no hallucination, Miss...?"

"Haru." She yawns, and there's a tremble in her limbs that the yawn exasperates. "And that's just what a hallucination would say, Mr...?"

"Baron. Call me Baron." He sets his hat neatly back between his ears. "And if I am a hallucination, what harm could come of merely listening to my proposition, Miss Haru?"

"Time. In case you weren't aware, I don't have much – or any – of it going spare."

"And if I were your hallucination, I should know such things."

She blinks slowly. He can visibly see her try to comprehend his words. And fail. "I'm too tired for this. I'm going back to..." She falters, brow furrowing. "No, I'm not. I've got a shop to run."

"And then a dungeon to delve," Baron hazards, "and then a shop to run, and then a dungeon to delve, and so on and so forth. Tell me, Miss Haru, when exactly is sleep scheduled in this busy life of yours?"

"Never. Sleep is for the broke."

"It is going to break you, Miss Haru."

"I don't have much choice," she says. "The pittance I make from dungeon artifacts barely cover a day's rent. I don't have the money spare to skip a day." She grimaces. "Or night."

"That's because you're only selling the artifacts from the very highest levels of the dungeon," Baron says. "If you went deeper the artifacts would fetch enough to tide you over for longer." He pauses. "Long enough to sleep."

"Nice theory, save for one fact." Haru gestures to herself. "I'm a librarian. Or I was, until I inherited this place. If I go any deeper than the shallows, I'll get myself killed." She brushes a hand, subconsciously, across her throat. "Quicker than I'm already likely to, anyway."

"As you are, there's no doubt," Baron agrees. "Not without help."

She blinks again – but this time it's laden with suspicion. "Muta said you only stick around with heroes."

"I do."

"I'm not a hero."

Baron cocks his head. "And yet you enter the dungeon."

She snorts. "For artifacts. I'm a merchant. Heroes go into the dungeon for glory, fighting monsters and suchlike, while merchants are just doing a job. Or, at least," she adds off-handedly, "that's the idea. In theory, a job pays."

"I have little interest in glory," he says. "All I'm looking for is someone who wants help in exploring deeper into the dungeon. In the past, that's only ever been heroes."

"Yes, and look what happened to them."

"Yes, indeed."

Her gaze narrows. "What did happen to them?"

"They pushed themselves too far, too fast. My aid can only do so much; they sought monsters too powerful too soon and were killed in the encounter. But, as you said, you're not in it for the glory. Perhaps your survival instincts will be stronger."

Haru snorts. "Given my life choices so far, that's a bit of a leap."

"Maybe," he admits, "but I've been offering my help to heroes for long enough to no avail. Maybe a merchant is exactly what I've been looking for." He offers a hand. "What do you say?"

Haru eyes the tiny gloved hand. "What kind of help did you say you give?"

"I can unlock a human's potential for magic," he says, and it's true enough. "Over time and practice, your power will grow, enough to face even the monsters of the fourth tier. So long as you take it slowly, you will be at no risk."

The first lie he's told but not, he knows from experience, usually the last.

Still, Haru doesn't take his hand. "Why help?" she asks. "What's in it for you?"

"It's what I was made for. All Creations have a purpose. This is mine."

For a moment, he fears he's misjudged, that she's going to refuse. But then she glances to the windows, where the sun is steadily rising and the flicker of shadow denotes people passing by, and a fresh wave of fatigue passes over her. Baron wonders just how close she was to breaking.

"Fine," she says, and drops her hand against his. Her palm dwarfs his. "I only need to go a little deeper anyway."

Baron smiles. He's heard that before, and no one has ever kept to it. "Good," he says instead. "Now, lock up the shop and tidy yourself to bed. We have a big night due."

x

The entrance to the dungeon is much the same as Baron last remembers it. The dirt track opens out into a dirt courtyard, and a large stone doorway is built into the hillside. Seated on Haru's shoulder as she pushes the door open, Baron can see the interior is also much the same – wooden beams outline the tunnel, deceptively manmade, with lanterns set at regular intervals. It almost looks like a mining shaft, except mining shafts don't usually echo with the sound of tiny skittering feet further within.

Haru falters before entering – as if she's tempted to flee – but enter she does, even if the hand that holds her rusty blade shakes.

"Alright, you promised me magic," Haru says, "so how does this work?"

"Magic works through intent. You must focus your desires and manifest them through intention." He thinks of previous would-be heroes. "Start small; that's all you'll be capable of at this point."

"So don't try running straight to fourth tier, otherwise I'll end up barbecued," she says.

"No, the fire monsters are on third tier. If you go up against fourth tier monsters unprepared, your remains will be less the charred type, and more the type best left to a dustpan and brush."

Haru glances Baron's way, eyebrow raised. "Are you speaking from experience or...?"

"Just take it slowly." He's spent years, possibly decades, sitting on a shelf. If he loses this mortal, there's no telling when he'll next find another willing.

Haru raises a hand, and Baron can feel her focus narrow. He converts the magic as needed, unlocking just enough potential – and a smidgen more – to fulfill her request. It's a modest affair, just a sphere of light that chases away the shadows that the lanterns cannot reach. It surprises Baron – but maybe it shouldn't. He's learnt from experience that too much magic, too soon, can burn out a mortal, but that hasn't stopped previous heroes from attempting more than they ought on day one. He's learnt now to keep a tight rein on a mortal's magic level, but Haru is a merchant, not a hero. Her priorities are based in survival, not glory.

Still, too restrained can be as dangerous as too ambitious.

"You can do more, if you so wish," he prompts. "You'll feel it when you reach your current limit."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." After all, he has no interest in burning through a mortal so soon.

Haru focuses again, and the light dissolves into dust. It hangs, suspended in the air like stars, and then begins to dance.

Baron blinks. He's never seen the magic used for that. "What is the purpose of this?"

"Light," Haru answers, and she starts down the tunnel. The lights bob around her, still not using up her current magic potential. "And they're pretty."

"Beauty is rarely advantageous in survival."

"Are you going to be so judgemental the entire time we're working together, or are you just getting it out of your system early?"

Baron begins to reply, but then hesitates. He's never been called judgemental before – but, then again, his own goals have usually aligned closely enough with his current mortal that such remarks are unnecessary... or, if they are spoken, usually readily agreed with. "I don't mean to be judgemental," he says eventually. "I merely am accustomed to a different nature of dungeon delver."

"Yes, and they all died," Haru reminds him. "If I'm gonna be going out the same way, I intend to have some fun with it." She tilts her head enough so that Baron, still seated on her shoulder, can see her grin. "Come on, Baron. You can't say you don't like them."

The lights cascade around him, and from the eddies twirl forms that might be birds. An unfamiliar emotion skitters through his heart.

He suspects it may be bewilderment. Perhaps he had kept with heroes until now for good reason if merchants are all as impractical as this.

He's saved from the indignity of trying to find an answer by a monster dropping from the ceiling.

Each tier has its own biome and, by proxy, its own breed of monster. The first tier carries its facade of man-made origins in both environment and monster, and the creatures here are oft the animated remains discarded by humanity. The monster that attacks Haru appears to have once been an umbrella.

And not a moment too soon.

Baron braces himself for the inevitable overreaction, for the blast of offensive magic and the smouldering remains. Humans always underestimate their power on the first attack–

Haru smacks the flying umbrella with her rusted sword and sends it slamming into the far wall.

It flaps weakly, and then goes limp.

A beat passes. Haru is breathing hard, her face flushed and her sword arm shaking.

"You have magic now," Baron says, eventually.

"I forgot."

Baron glances to the light show, still dancing above their heads. "You... forgot?"

"I've been doing this job a lot longer with a sword than I have with magic," she reminds him.

Yes, Baron thinks, and the sword is definitely showing its age. It looks like it's seen several generations of Moonlighters.

Haru approaches the fallen monster and kneels down beside it. Baron is prepared to believe she's about to perform last rites – he'll believe anything of this not-hero at the moment – but instead she begins to strip it down for parts.

"Most of this will sell," she says, as if she can sense the raised eyebrow. "Attach a piece of the wings to an arrow and it'll fly farther, or use the rods as arrows and they won't break so easily. But the best part to sell is pretty much impossible to get–"

As she reaches further into the monster, the umbrella-creature twitches, and Haru jolts back. Finally – finally – her magic flares into action, and those dust mote lights fire into the beast, where from its body they erupt into vines, twisting and tightening, contorting the monster until it ceases to struggle.

Baron releases a breath he hadn't, until then, realised he'd been holding. "See?" he says. "It's so much simpler with magic."

Haru rocks forward on her heels, and gingerly drops a hand into the mess of vines and umbrella. The greenery parts ways and both wings and rods are mangled beyond use. "Dang it."

"Oh, what a shame," Baron says. "It's for the best, though; anything worth selling is going to be a good deal deeper–"

"Maybe not." Haru cracks open the centre of the main shaft, and a tiny blue stone falls free. "It's a crystal. I've never been able to break open one of these things to get them, but they're meant to be pure magic. Look."

She passes it up to Baron and he does, indeed, look. It emits a gentle warmth, uncomfortably familiar, and he wonders if his own crystal pulses the same steady beat. "Then all the more reason to keep going–" he starts.

"Keep going? This thing will sell well enough to tide me over for a couple of days. No," she says, and straightens up, "I'm going back home so I can catch some sleep while the sun is actually set."

x

Baron's never had this kind of problem with previous humans. It's infuriating. It's ridiculous. It's... stumped him, honestly.

Usually the promise of power or fame or treasure is enough to lure even the most reserved of heroes into the dungeon's depths, and a merchant should have been no different. After all, everyone knows the deeper one delves, the more precious the artifacts.

And yet Haru is frustratingly, impossibly content with the meagre findings she retrieves from the first tier. The gold she makes is just enough to give her days off and a little to spare.

But that's okay.

Baron can wait.

x

The push Haru needs comes from an unexpected source, when the town's herbalist approaches Haru with a peculiar request.

"These roots you sold me," the woman says, setting dried tubers on the counter, "I need more of them."

"They're only to be found in the lowest levels of the first tier, and even then only sparsely." Haru picks up the roots. She hadn't even been sure they would sell, but had taken them on the assumption that curiosity would trump common sense and purse strings. "How many do you need?"

"As many as you can get your hands on. Julian's daughter is sick, and nothing I've tried has helped – but these. She's making a recovery, but I fear she'll worsen if I don't get more."

Baron waits for the gentle refusal – the explanation that such plants are too deep for reliable sourcing, the apology – but instead Haru's mouth curls into a stubborn twist that Baron will come to know well. "I'll see what I can do," she promises.

x

"It was only chance that brought you upon those roots originally," Baron tells her on their next dungeon delve. Usually Haru skips a night and savours the sleep, but tonight she has gone straight from shop to dungeon. "If you want to be sure of finding them, you'll need to descend into the second tier."

"Then that is what we'll do." She glances his way. "Only for as long as it takes to find them, mind you. No more."

He smiles. "No more," he agrees, knowing the oath will never keep. She's already proven a willingness to break such promises, even if she takes longer than most to alter her priorities.

By this point, Haru's magic is strong enough to make the journey down to the second tier almost an afterthought. The monsters that dwell on the upper levels can sense her power enough to steer clear, and most only attack now if cornered.

The monsters on the second tier are a different kettle of cave fish altogether.

The mine shaft tunnels become more natural, more roughly-hewn on the second tier. Here, light is sourced not from ever-burning lanterns, but from glowing moss that clings to the walls and bioluminescent fungi sprouting at the edges. The monsters also alter in appearance, offering threat in the form of carnivorous plants and thorny poison. They are bolder, stronger, than their first tier brethren, and it doesn't take long for Haru to encounter one.

The vines that snare her are uncannily like the ones that spring from her magic, and they are little defence against her new opponent. Baron is quick to leap free – the plants ignore him, as they always do – and even if he was inclined to help, there is little aid he can offer at his current stature.

What he can do is transmute a little more magic her way, strengthening her power.

"You'll never defeat it like that!" he calls. He watches a new wreath of greenery spiral out from Haru and immediately be throttled by the snaring vines. "You must tailor your fighting styles to your opponent! Try fire!"

She stumbles backwards, trying desperately to kick her feet free. "If I lose control of that kind of magic, I'll set everything aflame!" she shouts back.

"You don't have the power to do that!"

"Once it gets going, I mightn't be able to stop it!"

The plant monster lashes out and strikes lucky. Its vines catch around Haru's waist and she is dragged off her feet.

Dammit.

"If you don't do something, you won't need to worry about losing control!" he shouts. Dammit. No other human has ever needed such coaxing; usually he's the one preaching the virtues of restraint. "Attack it, Haru!"

She swings at it with that ridiculous sword, its blade too dulled to do more than dent the monster, and the vines tear it out of her hands almost disdainfully. The vines curl up along her arms, around her shoulders, towards her throat, and Baron remembers vividly the mangled mess Haru's own plant magic had made of that first umbrella monster.

Lesson learnt: next time he sticks with heroes.

All he can do is watch as her feet kick uselessly against the monster, nails scrabbling in vain, face reddening, hands reddening...

Wait.

Hands?

Her fingers dig into the vines about her neck, and now he can see her palms are molten-red. He catches the smell of smoke and firewood, and suddenly Haru is thrown free from the vines. She rolls to the side as a thorn-lined vine slams where she had been only moments before. It hits the ground with enough force that Baron feels the floor shake.

"Baron! In the bag!" Haru yells. She pulls her satchel open and lingers only long enough for Baron to follow her instructions, before she's off running along the corridor.

Thankfully, what plant monsters have in thorns and vines, they lack in the way of feet. Haru outruns it with ease, even injured as she is. When they reach a secure corner, Haru slumps to the floor. Her breathing is heavy, irregular in a way Baron recognises to be pain.

Baron is out of the bag almost before Haru has sat.

"What happened back there?" he demands.

Haru doesn't answer immediately. She has her right arm close to her, her left hand tight just above the elbow. "Plant monster," she says eventually. She proffers a thin grin. "Or weren't you paying attention?"

"Not that. I meant with your magic." He gestures to her obviously injured state. "At your level, you shouldn't have had any such issue with it. Your magic is strong enough, trust me. So why didn't you use fire back there?"

"You're made of wood."

"And?"

She blinks. "You're made of wood," she repeats, slower this time like he's missing something obvious. Like that comment should mean anything in this context, like it should explain why she nearly got herself killed instead of–

Oh.

There's blood seeping through the sleeve of her shirt, ruby-red staining the hand pressed to it. Thorns, most likely. Poison, possibly. And all because she feared she would burn him.

He steps forward, and as he does so, he shifts into a human height. Haru balks, but isn't really in any state to do much more than stare.

"Since when have you been able to do that?"

"I always have. But my role here isn't to fight; yours is."

Her mouth sets into that stubborn line, and he suspects she's thinking of all the time that having another body beside her would have been useful in traversing the dungeon. There's a reason he rarely shows this ability to humans.

"You shouldn't have worried about me," he says. "I'm hardier than I look. But you, it appears, are not." He collects the healing kit out of the bag and passes an antidote to her. "Drink. Not all monsters on this floor are poisonous, but we can't risk it."

She takes the vial and downs it with a wrinkled nose. "These things always taste foul."

"Would you rather risk dying a slow, painful death?" Baron asks. "Or perhaps being petrified. I believe there is at least one monster on this floor whose poison turns one into a chicken. How does that sound?"

Haru snorts, and Baron is surprised by the relief that blossoms in his sternum at the sound. Surprised and... unnerved. His purpose is to find a human capable of reaching the final level, so their survival is always optimum – up to a point – but this feels... uncomfortably personal.

He turns his attention onto safer matters, such as rolling the torn sleeve away from the injury. The skin is equally torn; not deep, but intricate lines mar the arm. He sets to binding the wound with bandages.

"Why did you stay?"

Haru rolls her head away from the wall. "What?"

He hadn't meant to ask that, but now the words are out and his curiosity is whetted. "At Moonlighter," he specifies. Between his fingers, he can feel how soft, how delicate human skin is. He wonders why any mortal would take to this life when it could be ended so easily. So off-handedly. "Surely you needn't have taken over the business, even if it is a family affair."

"Oh. That." She leans her head back against the wall. "Apparently, Moonlighter must be inherited by one of Yoshioka blood."

Baron recalls what snippets he has learnt of Haru's life before. "Yes, but you were a librarian. Surely there were better candidates?"

"You'd think so. But, no; it turns out that having a family of dungeon delvers/merchants is a pretty good way to not have a family before long. The death toll is high and the lifestyle isn't, shall we say, conductive to having a kid."

"And yet you pursued a life elsewhere before coming back here."

"I wasn't meant to inherit this place. That was to be my cousin – but then she got on the wrong side of an ogre, and..." Haru shakes her head. "The only other Yoshioka left is her daughter, all of five years. I couldn't let her inherit Moonlighter so... well, here I am."

"Here you are," Baron agrees. "Would she have really inherited Moonlighter if you hadn't accepted it?"

"There are two things impossible to get out of: fairy deals and legal matters." Haru rolls her head to one side, but this time her gaze lingers on the wound she has been so carefully avoiding until now. "I came, knowing a librarian was never going to be a good owner for Moonlighter but, I thought that I might at least last long enough here to give her a chance to grow up. So maybe she'll be able to handle the job when she inevitably comes into possession of it."

Baron slows in his tending. The resignation in her words sets his heart cold. "Is that really how you feel?" he asks softly. "That this life would be the death of you, and still you came?"

"It's killed pretty much all its previous owners," Haru answered, far too blase for Baron's liking, "and most have been much more capable than me. Sooner or later, everyone slows or errs, and this job isn't the forgiving sort. So, yes, I was pretty sure this would kill me, probably sooner in my case." She glances his way, with a smile Baron does not deserve. "At least until I met you. With the magic you've given me, I might survive this. Perhaps even thrive."

Baron doesn't recognise the emotion that pools in his gut, cold and heavy.

He thinks it might be guilt.

x

After that, Haru begins to venture regularly onto the second tier. If he had thought her close encounter with the vine monster would push her further onto the path of cautiousness, he is very much mistaken – instead, it seems to have emboldened her. She still plays carefully with her fire magic, keeping it close to her skin, even after Baron's assurances that she shouldn't fret over him, but it works well enough against the second tier creatures.

She gathers enough of the root to satisfy the herbalist, but news that Moonlighter's owner is venturing deep begins to get about. More come to Haru's shop with requests – fetch these seeds, find these leaves – and Haru is happy to help. If they merely spoke of a rich payout, Baron isn't sure Haru would be so willing, but the offers she accepts are always for a worthy cause.

Once upon a time, Baron would have been relieved she was finally comfortable delving deeper, but now the thought seems to give him vertigo; satisfaction and grief warring inside him.

One of the owners of the neighbouring weapon and armour shop stops by, and he eyes Moonlighter's array of stock with a wary look. He's tall, birdlike somehow in the way he holds himself, and avian in his sharp eyes. "When Muta told me you were managing, it set my heart at ease," the man remarks, "but I'm startled to see you've been delving so deep. What did you say your profession was before?"

"Librarian," Haru replies.

"Librarian," the man echoes. "You've caught on well, then."

"Thank you, Toto."

His gaze roams the shop, until it seems to find what it's searching for in the form of Baron. He starts towards it, but Haru is quicker. She scoots between them, as if guarding Baron from the man.

"He's not for sale."

"Glad to hear it. Muta did tell you what happened to the heroes who bought it, didn't he?"

"He did."

The frown burrowed into the man's brow doesn't lessen. He regards the stock around him, salvaged from levels even experienced heroes were reluctant to venture to. "Haru, if things are difficult, if Moonlighter is proving impossible to run along, you know you can always ask myself and Muta for help, don't you? You don't need to turn to... alternative sources for aid, you understand?"

"I understand. Muta made it quite clear what happens to heroes who bought the cat doll." Haru smiles. "So it's just as well I'm a merchant, isn't it?"

x

Baron knows it is only a matter of time before Haru braves the third tier.

All it takes, as all it ever takes, is someone asking for something from the fire levels – Baron can't even remember what she needs; all he remembers is that she's one step closer to the final level – and she's venturing yet further than she promised she would.

The third tier is one of fire and smoke, lava flowing in molten-red rivers that home monsters built to scorch would-be heroes to cinders.

Haru almost refuses to bring Baron along.

"And if a stray fireball hits you, what then?" she demands. "Poisonous trees and over-active accessories are one thing, but the monsters on the third tier could really kill you."

"I'm at no greater risk than you have been during our adventures," he reminds her.

"That's different."

"How?"

Haru opens her mouth. Closes it. But Baron has a pretty good idea of the kind of answer she'd like to give – that the standards she set for herself, and the standards she set for other people are two very different things.

She admits defeat, and he accompanies her on her next delve.

This would all be easier if he could convince himself the care she affords him is purely self-serving. And he's met plenty of those sorts over the years. Those who have protected him, as far as they have felt the need, have been doing so because of what he grants them; because if he is destroyed, then maybe their newfound magic will be destroyed also. It has always been a means to an end – and that's worked just fine for him. After all, the exploitation goes both ways.

But Baron has seen the way Haru cares for those around her, sometimes even fetching high-priced items from the dungeon and refusing payment if the need is too great and the cost too dear for the recipient. It is easy to believe that same reckless care has been aligned over him. However ridiculous it may be.

"You needn't worry about me," he assures, all the same. "I've been here before and, as you can see, I'm still here."

"You've been to the third tier before?" Haru asks. Here, the only light to be found is in the glowing lava and ever-burning torches, and it bathes the tunnel and its occupants in an ember hue. Her hair carries a reddish shade that almost looks like her mother's in her younger years.

"And to the fourth and beyond," he answers.

"There's a fifth tier?"

Baron shakes his head. "There's only a single floor below fourth tier."

"I wonder why no one's heard of it."

"It's because all who venture there only meet death."

Haru eyes him. "Except for you."

"Except for me," he admits, "but I, as you have probably discerned, am a special case. The monsters here have a preference for attacking humans over a cursed cat doll," he says, echoing her words from so long ago with a smile.

"So what's down there?"

Nothing, he wants to say. Nothing worth seeking.

"The monster," he says instead.

"Same old, same old."

"No. This monster is the reason this dungeon exists."

Haru stops walking. "What?"

He's told this tale a hundred times, and each time tailored to pique his mortal's curiosity. Promises of riches or glory or power tied to success, and yet none will guarantee Haru's aid here.

Good.

"A long time ago, there was a monster terrorising the world, so great in power that to slay it was impossible. Many tried, many failed, and in the end all that could be done was to trap it away. To create a dungeon for it."

Haru blinks. "I never wondered why this place was called a dungeon."

Baron nods. "Some clues to its history have survived the eons. It's sealed away on the very lowest floor, trapped, but still very much alive and very much dangerous."

"Have previous heroes tried to kill it?"

"Yes."

"And I'm guessing none have succeeded."

"None."

He watches her, wary of the urge to seek out such a danger, but she seems to slot this new knowledge aside and move on.

He shouldn't feel relief.

But he does.

x

The fourth tier is the lowest part of the dungeon – before the inevitable, anyway – and the one that best betrays the abilities of those who built it.

Of those who built Baron.

Baron may be a more complex Creation than his bellicose brethren which occupy the fourth tier, but he is still a Creation, and his artisans didn't deviate far from previous forms. Although all monsters in the dungeon run on magic, those on the fourth tier most obviously owe their existence to it. Living statues, living suits of armour, living gargoyles... they all call the fourth tier home, and are so clearly built for that intention that it is only a matter of time before Haru looks to him and wonders.

They sit in an offshoot tunnel, lit by lanterns that glow blue, and Haru has been quiet ever since taking down a statue with a feline face. Baron sits beside her. He's been taking on a human height more often than he ought recently – more often than he ever has before – but for some reason he keeps coming back to it.

Haru runs a thumb over one of the gemstone eyes she looted from the statue. It's a glittering red, and sure to fetch a good price in Moonlighter... but Haru doesn't seem to be seeing that in it.

"Who are you, Baron?"

He offers the smile that has reassured many a hero before Haru. "I told you before: I am a Creation. When someone creates something with all of their heart–"

"You misunderstand me. I didn't ask what you were. I asked who." She looks to him, and suddenly he's wondering if she's seeing his own eyes echo so closely that of the statue, save for colour. "When I first saw you, I said you looked like fourth tier, but I didn't really dwell on that. I didn't really think through the implications." She rolls the gemstone eye in her palm. "Who created you, Baron?"

For all the heroes he's encountered, he's only had this conversation with a handful. Few seem to care exactly what or who he is, so long as he can benefit them.

He doesn't have the practice for this.

The truth – or as close as he is allowed – it is then. He inclines his head towards her hand. "I think you have a guess."

"Is it true, then?"

"Yes."

Her thumb rolls past the stone, and instead carresses the scar that runs across her palm. "You're not like the other creatures in this place thought," she says. "You don't harm."

Oh, how wrong she is.

"They're made for a different purpose," is all he's allowed to say. "They are designed to challenge heroes, to slowly increase the difficulty so that only the strongest of fighters reach the final floor and, perhaps, will be strong enough to slay the monster trapped there."

Haru considers this. "The dungeon is a test."

"And the monsters are the questions," Baron says.

"So what does that make you?"

The guillotine, Baron thinks. But that would warn Haru of the final step in his purpose, and he's forbidden from such truths. "I was designed to find such a hero," he says instead. "Or, more exactly, to make one. The final monster is beyond any mortal's ability to slay it, therefore I was tasked with finding a willing hero and giving them that power."

"Why?" she asks. "If the final monster is trapped for good, then surely it can just be left as it is, no need to throw wannabe heroes at it, unless..."

She goes quiet, and Baron suddenly realises with awful, heart-wrenching guilt, he knows exactly how to get Haru to the final floor.

"The monsters have been getting worse, have you noticed?" she asks. "Even on the first tier, they're more dangerous now than they were in my mother's time. Back then, the boldest heroes could make it as far as fourth tier – not often, mind, but still, it did happen – but it's been decades since anyone's delved this far." Except for herself. She doesn't voice the thought, but the words still hang in the air between them. "The town used to be bustling, but now even the firrst tier is a risky business."

Baron nods. "The binding wards are weakening."

It's true, but he wishes it were not. Not because of the threat it poses – but because he fears Haru's reckless selflessness, the care that has thrown her as far as fourth tier, breaking her own imposed limits again and again.

"What wards?" she asks.

"The wards that keep the final monster trapped. It was always going to happen – no magic lasts forever – but my creators had assumed I would have found a hero by then."

"The monster is waking up," Haru translates.

"Its power is rejuvenating," he corrects. "And with it, the power required to slay it is increasing. So the rest of the dungeon is adapting accordingly – in order to create a hero able to slay it, the other levels must increase in threat also."

"So, eventually even first tier is going to be too dangerous for anyone to enter..." Haru says.

"And the monster will one day break free," he finishes. "Yes."

Baron has been searching for a hero to slay the monster for longer than he cares to count.

It has been long enough for him to forget the faces of those who made him – and his memory is sturdier than most – and their voices may be gone, but never their words. Never the purpose for which he was created. For in his chest there lies a crystal, a condensed heart of magic, and in that crystal is his purpose carved. He can no more disobey his purpose than he can tear out his crystalline heart and live.

He's never wanted to.

Until now.

"You can still walk away," he says. "There's time."

"If I do, you'll merely find someone else to take my place," she replies. "Won't you?"

He wishes he could deny it. Not because the truth makes him sound fickle – although it does that also – but because Haru's humanity has crawled under his skin and the idea unsettles him. How could he offer his aid to a human, knowing he was just leading them to their death?

And yet he would, because that is the way he was built.

He doesn't answer, and apparently that is answer enough for Haru.

"Maybe the next person will succeed," Haru says, ignorant that success will kill as surely as failure, "maybe they won't. Maybe," she continues, not looking to Baron, "you'll one day offer the same deal to my cousin's daughter. Assuming, of course, the binding wards last that long."

"It's what I was made for," he says, voice hoarse with apology, but unable to deny it. "All Creations have a purpose. This is mine."

"That's what I thought," she says, and there's no anger in her words. He wishes there were. He wishes she would rage, wishes she would hate him as she should, but there's only sorrow.

"Tell me truly, Baron: do you think I could do it?"

"You are nearly strong enough to defeat it," he answers, "and, when the time comes, I will grant you enough magic to succeed."

Ask me if you'll live, he wants to beg. Ask me so you can see me lie, so you can see the truth.

But, of course, she doesn't. She trusts him too much by now to doubt, to search for hidden truths. She cares too much to ask after her own wellbeing.

He wishes she could be just a little bit more selfish.

Haru looks to her rations. She has, as always, been careful with her magic and supplies, and despite the long journey down, there's still fire in her veins. "Then I guess there's no time like the present, huh?" She grins, and Baron's heart wishes to break. "Let's go slay a monster."

x

Baron has been to this final floor only a handful of times. More than once, the hero's eagerness has overtaken sense, and Baron has watched them be scorched into oblivion. The first time Baron got a hero this far, it was his own underestimation of the monster's power that killed them.

But, more often than not, it is the hero's own magic that kills them in the end.

Baron's never spent this long with a single mortal, and Haru's magic reflects that. It's no longer the messy instinct that reacts without thought, but is instead more akin to muscle memory, honed through practice. It moves with her, responding to her needs the way a hound follows the subtlest of its master's orders.

He has created many monsterhunters over the years, but Haru is the first he actually believes will succeed in the task.

It doesn't matter. It'll still kill her in the end.

Even after all this time, she still carries that damn rusted sword at her side, despite the fact that it's even more useless now than it was in the beginning. Her hand flies to its hilt in some remnant self-defence when she sees the creature she plans to slay.

"It's a dragon?" she whispers to Baron.

"Yes."

"You couldn't have told me that?"

"Would it have made a difference?" he asks.

"...No. But it would have been nice to know." She drops her hand away from the sword and flexes her fingers. Magic – that iridescent blue – sparks between her fingers. She inhales slowly and the magic retracts, drawing close under her skin, carefully reined in. "Right. I'm guessing this is a fire-breathing dragon–"

"Magic, but it comes to the same sort of fate," Baron amends.

"Either way, you're staying back."

He bridles at that. "I can–"

"You said it yourself – your role isn't to fight," Haru reminds him, "so you're staying out of the way. Or has your purpose changed since we last talked?"

Baron scowls, but there's little he can do against the truth. He's not sure his purpose will even allow him to intervene – but he wishes he could at least try. "There's still time," he tries once more. "You can walk away."

"I can," she admits, "but we both know I won't."

"I know."

She leans in quickly and kisses him – brief enough to be little more than a breeze brushing him – and she grins that that daring grin that he knows so well. "I'll see you on the other side," she whispers, and then she is gone.

She moves quickly with a speed honed from the delving, and is nearly upon the dragon before it even notices her. She flings her arms out and vines spring up from the ground. They wrap around the beast, thick rope-like shoots binding it down, and already she's moving onto her next stage of attack. Fire simmers in her palms, hot enough to burn blue and she slices through the air with razor-thin flames. They slice through the dragon and it–

It doesn't even notice.

Haru rolls to the side as the tail sweeps towards her, lined with spikes that will kill with a single blow. She tries again, this time with balls of ice, thick enough to be fatal for most monsters.

Again, it shakes it off, this time with a wing that smacks into Haru. She catches herself with her magic – air swirling beneath her to form a cushion – but that damn sword spins out of its sheath and skitters to a halt close to Baron.

Baron can't stand this any more. He steps out into the cavern. "Forget elemental attacks!" he cries. "The only thing that will cut through a dragon's skin is pure magic!"

The dragon swings its tail again, and this time it strikes the columns nearest Baron. He leaps out of the way – but not wholly. Chunks of stone slam into him and he feels the fracture that runs through him. And as he gathers his senses back together, he hears Haru scream.

She screams, but it's not one of pain or terror. It's a scream of rage and grief, and magic erupts from her palms. Jet streams of pure, unaltered power slams into the dragon's chest, and Haru stands before it, hair crackling and eyes glowing, and in that moment she looks as monstrous as the creature she was tasked to slay.

And then the magic runs out and she slumps to her knees, terrifyingly mortal.

When the light has dimmed, both can see the beast is down, a death rattle wheezing through its charred body.

"It's nearly dead," Haru rasps. She tries to rise to her feet, but the strength has gone from her limbs and she doesn't understand why. She looks to Baron, and he braces for the betrayal, but there's only reckless determination. "Magic. Baron, give me more magic like you promised."

The dragon is inches from death, but already it's beginning to stir. The blistering skin is bubbling, healing. This is the way Baron's creators made his own spell to work – the dragon can only be killed by using up everything a mortal had to offer. Even as Haru's magic is regenerating, so is the dragon's, perfectly matched to end them both.

"Baron!"

He knows what his purpose is. He knows he was made to create a hero capable of slaying a dragon, and now success is so close, he can almost see it.

But, more importantly, he can see Haru.

His purpose demands he gives her the means to slay the dragon.

And he refuses.

Baron's magic is carefully crafted to his role. It's designed for exactly two things: to keep him alive, and to transform life force into magic. He isn't designed for combat, and that's a feature, not a flaw. He was never meant to do anything more than watch.

But the dragon is so close to death, perhaps that doesn't matter.

He kneels down to the rusted sword by his feet, and its weight is alien to him, balanced in a way his cane is not. Dulled but still, possibly, deadly.

He starts into a run, aiming for the chest where the scales are still soft from healing, and where the muscle is still so thin he can see the heartbeat pulse within. He hears Haru shouting, but he can't make out the words. All he can do is duck as the dragon swings claws and wings at him, running for his life – for both their lives – and stab the rusted blade into the bubbling flesh.

The sword sinks into the marred skin, past warped ribs and melted muscle, and he feels the give as it pierces the heart. The dragon writhes. Baron clings on, suit tearing and gloves bloodied, and when he is finally thrown free, he feels something crack when he hits the wall.

He watches through fractured vision as the dragon contorts, screaming and curling in upon itself and then, finally falling still.

A silence settles. It settles so deep that he can feel it rooting through him, even as footsteps echo across the room. Haru drops down beside him, her face pale and her limbs shaking, but alive.

He waits for his purpose to remind him that shouldn't be – that he has one more duty to perform – but the silence prevails. He follows Haru's horrified gaze and sees the reason why.

A crack runs down his chest, split open from throat to stomach as cleanly and bloodlessly as a log struck by an axe. He presses a ruined glove to the opening and cradles the fissured crystal as it falls from his shattered chest.

"Ah," he says, and he can already feel his magic drying up, the ebbing tide tugging at his lips. "That would explain it."

"You idiot," Haru rasps. "What did you do that for? I had everything under control; you had just given me that little bit more magic like you'd promised, instead of leaping into the fray yourself–"

"Haru–"

"Hold still, I can help."

"Haru–"

She presses her hands over his, over the shattered crystal, pushing it back into his chest, and he can feel the magic begin to pour out of her, trying desperately to do the one thing it was never designed for – to heal.

"Haru, don't–"

"I can do this, if you'll just unlock that last bit of magic–"

"I can't–"

"You can! Why won't you–"

"Because it'll kill you."

Haru's frantic movements falter, and at last there is that doubt he has deserved all this time. "What?"

"I lied." He curls his hand around hers and gently peels her hold free of his chest. She lets him, too numb to press back. "I don't unlock your potential for magic. I convert it from life force. From your life force."

"What?"

The sight flickers in his left eye. He blinks, and Haru's face falls back into focus. Despite everything, for some reason she's still here, still by his side. "My creators never intended for the hero to live," Baron says, and every word is a truth he was never meant to reveal. But now his crystal lies shattered, and the purpose written within it lost. "From the moment you took this deal, it was designed to be the death of you. No one powerful enough to defeat the monster could be allowed to live; you'd be a threat greater than the dragon you slew." He draws a shuddering breath, but Haru should hear this. She deserves to. "And so the spell I was given was to transmute life force into magic, so that anyone powerful enough to defeat the dragon would have to drain their own life in order to succeed."

He waits for the anger, for the betrayal.

"How much more do you need?" she asks instead. "How much more do you need me to give to heal you?"

"All of it," he replies softly, softly enough he is sure he can hear his nonexistant heart breaking. "More than you could ever give."

"Well," she says, with a twist of her lips that is part smile, part stubbornness that he both loves and hates, "that's not quite true. More than I could give and live, sure... but not more than I could give."

"Don't–"

She untangles her hands from his and presses them back to his chest. "I can't," she agrees, "at least, not without your help. You're the only one who can give me the power to heal you, to create me into someone who can – so let me."

He shakes his head. "Why would I do that?"

"Because I can save you."

"At the cost of your own life," he rasps.

Haru's gaze lingers on her own hands, grazed and bruised after the fight, blood caught beneath the nails, and brushes her fingers over the crevice nearly cleaving Baron. Even now, she's emitting a steady stream of magic, just enought to keep him from collapsing altogether. It's only a temporary remedy; once she stops, it'll only be a matter of time before the inevitable.

"Do you love me with all of your heart, Baron?"

"Yes." And in that moment, he realises it to be utterly, indeliably true. "Yes, of course."

She grins, bittersweet. "Don't forget that. Now, please, just trust me. Let me help you."

When she asks of him such, how can he refuse?

"Don't let me regret this," he says, and transmutes the last of her life force to magic.

Haru heaves a shuddering breath and collapses forward. Baron catches her as she falls into him, but her hands are still pressed against his chest. The magic flowing into him sputters. Flickers once, twice, and for a heartbeat its extinguished entirely.

Then it's like a dam has burst, and the power that sinks into him is like the sun compared to the candlelight of before. The surface of his wound springs to life, greening until branches grow across the fissure and knit it closed, while the crystal within reforges, setting into a new shape, untouched by the purpose once carved into it.

And still Haru is folded against him, her skin glowing with the sheer power held within.

"Haru, that's enough–"

He goes to grab her shoulders, but his hands jolt away, burnt.

No, not burnt. He runs his hands over one another, but there's no sign of scorching. He cautiously reaches for her again, and this time recognises it as intense cold instead, like that of ice, or snow, or...

Or metal.

His hands realise the cause before his head does, and by the time he's fully registered just what Haru's plan had been, he's already reaching to her with his own magic. It's crazy. It's reckless. It's trusting him with far too much heart, and yet – and yet it has to work.

With his own magic, he shapes the raw magic that runs rampart through Haru, and begins to herd it together. He condenses it down, smaller and denser, until he can sense that where Haru's heart used to be is now a crystal made of pure, solidified magic, just like his.

When the light dies down, he's holding in his arms a knight in shining armour. Where once there was skin, there's now only silver, soft flesh traded for metal, and a heart traded for magic. But when she stires – and she does – it is still Haru who stares out of those glittering gemstone eyes.

"Well," she says, and the metal face resembles her own, the metal shifting in impossible ways to facilitate speech. She pauses. Twitches her mouth experimentally. "Well," she tries again, "this is different."

Baron pulls her into an embrace, and the body fits all wrong, too many angular shapes and ice-cold surfaces – but it's her. It's Haru, alive in the closest thing they could be granted a happy ending. "Reckless, crazy, foolish," he mutters into her shoulder. He draws back to see the face again – and those eyes, still hers. "How could you possibly have been sure that would work?"

"I didn't," Haru says. "But you said it yourself – when someone creates something with all of their heart, then it is given a soul." She passes a gauntlet along the line of her jaw. "You were told to create a hero and it seems you succeeded."

"It was incredibly risky."

"I know. But some things are worth the risk." She sighs and glances to the dragon's corpse. "So now what happens to this place?"

Baron follow's her gaze. "Now, the dungeon will begin to degrade. It was made to bring about the monster's death, and now it's succeeded, it has no use."

"Moonlighter will close without a dungeon to maintain it," Haru says.

"Does that sadden you?"

"No." Haru rises to her feet, steadied with Baron's aid. "No," she repeats, "Moonlighter claimed enough lives. It's time us Yoshiokas got to choose our own futures."

She smiles his way, and even amid the metal and magic, Baron still knows that smile.

"And I think I know what my future holds."

#the cat returns #cat writes #tcr fanfic #moonlighter au #also heads up I wrote this in a couple of days #somehow #so there will almost certainly be typos and errors #esp since this is the first thing i've managed to write in months #wording is difficult and up to a certain point you gotta abandon your fic into the big bad world #this was meant to be. uh. 5K AT MOST #this uh. got away from me

[itsbuckytm]

Envy and Passion / Coriolanus Snow

summary : being the daughter of Casca Highbottom had its advantages and challenges. As long as one maintained a private and noble demeanor associated with the family name, there were benefits to enjoy. However, the downside came in the form of her father's deep-seated animosity towards the Snow family. despite this, the Coriolanus Snow devised a plan to reunite her, foreseeing a journey towards greatness, enduring purity, lust and a lasting legacy.

ps ; read part two!!

english isn't my first language, so i excuse for small typo or error mistakes. ps : please don't copy my work or use it without proper credit! thank you

You experienced contentment as a student at the Capitol's Academy, all thanks to your father's insistence that you become involved in his work until graduation. It was during your final year that the announcement for the 10th Hunger Games came unexpectedly early. While you had expected to work alongside Dr. Gaul as a Gamemaker, you found yourself assisting during the reaping ceremony. It was there that you first encountered Snow. 

"No distractions." Your father emphasized, implying a prohibition on interactions with your classmates. Despite the difficulty in ignoring the palpable tension between him and Snow, a part of you harbored a wish that, without the animosity, a friendship could have blossomed. That's what you longed for—a connection you could deem as friendship. To everyone’s surprise, Highbottom's daughter being chosen among the mentors became the talk of the Academy, thrusting you into the limelight against your wishes. Being the center of attention was something you despised the most.

"Miss Highbottom." Dr. Gaul greeted you as you entered the room designated for the impending reaping ceremony. The enthusiasm in her voice hinted at some special arrangements for your role and, perhaps, your involvement in a specific aspect of the Games. However, such expectations shifted when you observed Snow's silhouette standing beside her. A brief exchange between the two suggested an ongoing conversation, making you contemplate to excuse yourself of interrupting further. Despite this, Dr. Gaul, with her customary smile, welcomed your presence and inquired. "Have you met Mr. Snow?"

Did you meet him? Undoubtedly, you had. Given your father's openly declared animosity towards him, it was clear that some past conflict existed between your father and Snow's. Yet, the perplexing part was why such strong feelings were directed at the son, who was merely alive and fulfilling the responsibilities of a dutiful citizen. That remained a mystery to you. "Certainly, I have. My father never stops talking about him. How he 'adores' him." you replied with a touch of irony. In the peculiar logic of your father, adoration seemed to coexist with complete disdain. 

Snow's demeanor appeared uneasy in your presence, yet he quickly regained confidence when he noted your affirmation. Whether you were suggesting this to please Dr. Gaul or for some other reason, he intended to assert his dominance once alone, especially with a member of the Highbottom family. However, instead of confrontation, he simply smiled and acknowledged the subtle comment. "I can't say I'd be eager to hear what Y/N's father thinks of me, let alone my family's name." He remarked. 

"Don't take it personal." You suggested, a smile playing on your features as you attempted to lighten the moment while conversing with Snow. It was intriguing to encounter the Snow your father so vehemently despised, and yet, here he was, appearing composed and not entirely matching the description your father painted. "My father has always had a soft spot for pretty faces." You added with a hint of irony.

In the realm of subjective beauty, Snow found it almost amusing to consider that you held your own private entertainment. Embracing your father's comments, you became a figure easily envied, yet the tension shared between them made it difficult not to be stirred. Fairly speaking, you stood out as one of the most attractive girls in the class, alongside Clemensia; the two of you complemented each other seamlessly. Described as cold as the winter’s snow due to the striking contrast between your fair skin and dark locks inherited from your mothers, you and Clemensia exhibited a captivating allure. Snow entertained the notion that if he delved even further into the profound depths of your eyes, he might lose himself completely—in love, that is. And he hated every bits of it. 

"If I were you, I'd be on my best behavior, sweetheart." He advised, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Dr. Gaul was observing. You could almost swear you saw her smile transform into a devious smirk, a subtle admission that she relished the spectacle before her—a spectacle of envy and hatred entangled in a mutual trap. "And what will happen if I don't?" You countered, striving to maintain control just as your father made his entrance, signaling the commencement of the reaping ceremony. His eyes fell upon you and Snow in close proximity, prompting him to be the first to assert authority. "Snow, to your seat now." He commanded. It was evident that Snow's disdain for your father resurfaced as he shot you a final glance before begrudgingly taking his seat.

Fortuitously, you found yourself seated next to him. In all honesty, you had orchestrated this arrangement, intending to be by his side even before your father's disapproving gaze hinted at a switch. However, it was too late by then; the ceremony had commenced, and your father's attention was fully absorbed in the mentors and assigned tributes. This provided you with the perfect opportunity to approach Snow once again. Leaning in, both eyes fixed on the screen to maintain an appearance of focus, you remarked. "You know, if it weren't for my father's animosity towards you, I'd be eager to get to know you."

Snow's piercing blue eyes shifted from the screen to yours. He blinked twice, as if questioning whether he had heard correctly. Highbottom's own daughter appeared to be permitting their adversary to draw a little closer. Or perhaps, in her eyes, he wasn't an enemy at all. He chuckled ever so slightly at the ironic situation. “And if it wasn’t for your father’s constant reminder that my own father was an asshole, I’d say that his own daughter is the most prettiest and fuckable girl I have ever laid my eyes upon.” 

A blush crept beneath your features, a delicate balance of beauty that Snow took pleasure in accentuating. You shared the same acknowledgment as he did, though you maintained a touch more class, unlike him. He tended to be straightforward and always in control, a demeanor he effortlessly displayed as he rendered his fellow classmate completely vulnerable with his words. Leaning in further, his fingers traced along your thigh, causing a tingling sensation at its touch and making your blush more evident. "To be fair, I've always had my eyes on you, you know?" He confessed. "Dr. Gaul wanted to make a proposition earlier and suggested that we work together for the whole semester, even having the lab all to ourselves…" 

“Meaning?” Of course you knew. Having the Lab to yourselves meant that Snow was going to make sure that he had every bits of fantasies piled through him just to have you all too himself. “Meaning, I’ll be able to fuck you endlessly. Maybe a distraction is what I do need after all. Can’t say that especially having the luck to be with Highbottom’s most gorgeous daughter.” 

That wasn't until Snow himself became entranced by your beauty, especially when it was his turn to learn about the tribute he was about to meet. "Coriolanus Snow." Your father's voice echoed with the same undertones of hatred and boredom, his disdain evident at the mention of a name from a generation he feared would worsen Panem. "District 12. Girl." Snow's gaze shifted from the screen to the captivating performance you were putting on. Yet, his current fixation remained on you. Leaning in further, he let his breath linger in the crook of your neck, his lips gently brushing your skin, and you could've sworn you felt a few pecks too. Fortunately, your father remained oblivious, continuing to list the remaining mentors. Suppressing a silent giggle, you pretended that Snow had said something amusing. "And how about..." He continued, placing a few more pecks on your neck. Delicately, you tried not to make your blush too obvious. "After the ceremony, I have to get some paperwork done at the lab. It would be a shame if I didn't have something to keep me focused." 

“Why of course, Mister Snow.” You admitted it so effortlessly, causing Snow's smile to transform into a cunning smirk. It was a smirk filled with desire, and longing. Snow yearned to experience the taste of you and hear you utter his name, just so your father could discover that his own daughter had unknowingly fallen into Snow's snare. From this moment forward, you belonged completely to him.

“Then, I’ll make sure to know who you belong to. Princess.”

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games x y/n #president snow x reader #hunger games x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus imagines #coriolanus snow imagines #hunger games imagine

[ironstrange1991]

Just As Good As I knew It Would Be

Pairing: Defender!Strange x SexWorker!Reader

Synopsis: It was supposed to be just another night with a new client, but Defender Strange was unlike any other and he definitely had other plans.

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: Descriptions of sex work, one or two use of the word 'whore', hickeys and lovebites, oral sex with male and female receiving, protected p n v sex.

A/N: This was planned to be a one shot, but I can easily see this story continuing, so it's up to you guys. Also, I was literary falling asleep over my laptop when I posted this so any typos or grammar errors I will fix tomorrow.

When the weight of his body left you and rolled to the side on the bed, you sighed in relief and also turned to the side, taking a cigarette from the package on the bedside table, lighting it and taking a long drag. It was still one o'clock in the morning and you had a client scheduled for 2:30 and before that you needed a long shower to get rid of all the sweat stuck to your skin.

He was a nice guy, plenty of money to spend since he paid for an hour with you almost every week. He was lonely and with the sweat problem you could understand why. You just couldn't remember his name. Andrew? No, Andrew was the one from last night. Nice guy, a little clingy but nice. Would it then be William? Fuck, it didn't matter anyway, you never called them by their names for that very reason.

Madam Elise always said that there was no other way to permanently lose a client than to call them by the wrong name. It's easier to call them all by the same pet name, she always says, and that's what you do. They were all Baby, for you. And they liked it very much.

"I would like you to stay the night with me." He murmured stroking your arm. "I like to think I'm more than just a client to you."

And didn't all of them like to think that way? You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes and took another drag from your cigarette.

"You're too good for this job. I can give you the stability you need..."

"Okay, baby, let's get one thing straight once and for all." You interrupted him, putting out your cigarette in the ashtray and getting up. "I'm not interested in a relationship. Certainly not with one of my clients. And I don't need a man to save me from the life I live because, surprise! I like this life.”

He remained silent, watching as you got dressed and when you finished putting on your shoes he stood up, took out his wallet and took out a few hundred bills.

"Baby, I don't deal with money. I thought you had paid at the club."

He nodded "I did. This is extra."

You smirked, taking the money and putting it inside your bag. "You spoil me."

He smiled. "You deserve it, Y/n. When will we see each other again?"

"Madam Elise takes care of my schedule. But from what I know, it's full until next weekend."

He seemed extremely disappointed.

"But I'm sure she can fit you in some night for an extra fee."

"Money is not a problem." He stated cupping your cheek and threatening to kiss you, but you were quick to pull away from him.

"Then I'll see you next week. Take care."

"My driver will take you back to the club." He informed.

"Thanks, baby. Have a good night."

...

Madam Elise was busy taking care of the Absinthe's accounting after the doors closed. It was already past 3am and the girls were leaving. The night had been very profitable, everything had gone normally, without any mishaps and the girls seemed happy.

Throughout her life, Madam Elise worked at night and with her own effort founded the Absinthe Nightclub, which today has the status of the largest and most renowned nightclub in New York City. No less than 25 girls, 12 dancers, 3 singers, and an entire band worked for her, not counting the waiters, bartenders, security guards, secretaries, suppliers and everything else. It was a big business that she commanded with mastery and love.

However, that night, she was tired and could hardly wait to finally leave the place and go home. She was closing the register when Aline, her personal secretary who helps her take care of the girls' schedules, came to her excitedly.

"You won't believe who called asking for Y/n."

"Whoever it is, her schedule is full until the end of next week." Madam Elise answered nonchalantly, but Aline didn't seem any less excited and handed over a sheet of paper with a name and telephone number written on it.

"That's what I told him, but he didn't seem to mind waiting. He asked us to come back with an all-night date."

"A whole night?" Madam Elise asked surprised. "Does he know her price?"

"He mentioned that money is not a problem." Aline responded, smiling as if just talking to the man had already turned her his biggest fan.

"Why Y/n? Did he ask for her specifically or did you recommend her?"

Aline shook her head "He asked for her and only her. It must have been someone else’s recommendation."

"I highly doubt it." That was all Madam Elise responded to Aline's speculation. "Call him tomorrow, schedule him for the night."

Aline looked at her as if she had said the most absurd thing. "Should I reschedule everyone else? They won't be happy."

"No, but they will accept it. Y/n has already captivated them for life. Now a new client like this one..." She stared at the name scribbled on the sheet of paper. "This is a customer we still need to captivate."

Aline nodded, but continued standing there as if she wanted to ask or say something.

"What is it?" Madam Elise asked impatiently.

"Does madam think he will come here?"

"Don't be silly, of course not. A man like him has an image to maintain. She will go to him."

...

When you woke up the next day, the sun was coming in from behind the gaps in the heavy curtains in your room and it was already past 2PM. The routine of sleeping when it was almost dawn and waking up in the middle of the afternoon was the least rewarding part of the job, but it was something you had to get used to.

You had a very chaotic routine, but you couldn't think of another way to live. Your work has provided you with a beautiful apartment and all the luxury you could have dreamed of, and most importantly, freedom.

You didn't depend on anyone but yourself and contrary to what many might think, you didn't feel used. In fact most of the time you felt like a pop star, with men lining up to have a special appointment with you.

After taking a shower and spending a long time on skin care, you went down to have breakfast - which was actually always afternoon coffee - and took the opportunity to take a look at your schedule. There were two new customers you were excited to meet. One of them was a jazz singer, the other was a politician. A deputy, if you weren't mistaken.

"More coffee, ma'am?" Karen, your maid asked gently.

"Yes please."

Karen had been working for you for a little over a year. It was actually Madam Elise's idea for you to have someone to take care of the house and you, but you suspected that Karen also did a second job: spying on you for her. You would be eternally grateful for everything Madam Elise did for you, but sometimes the woman was too controlling and a little scary. Not that you cared, it wasn't like you had anything to hide.

"Karen, remind me again how you met Madame Elise." You asked, still looking through the names on your cell phone’s notepad and taking a bite of your toast.

"It's been so long, dear, I don't even remember exactly, but I think it was a few years a go when I worked at the nightclub" The old woman responded evasively.

"Hmm" You were sure the last time you asked she said they met each other at a job interview and not once she mentioned she worked at the Absinthe.

"Oh, I almost forgot it! Madam Elise called and asked you to call back as soon as you woke up. She said there were changes in your schedule for the night."

"No, come on! I was looking forward to meeting the deputy." You murmured, finishing your coffee and already calling her.

When you arrived at the Absinthe to get ready, it was already past 6PM and you still didn't know who the special client was that made Madam Elise cancel and reschedule everyone else. She refused to speak on the phone and emphasized that you should spend some extra time taking care of yourself because this client deserved the best.

So you took a bubble bath with some special bath salts, were extra careful with your skin care, using your best oils and creams. Your hair, which you had decided to leave loose and straight, you ended up wrapping in curlers and clips so that you could finish it when you arrived at the nightclub, as well as your makeup, which Madam Elise made a point of saying on the phone that she would do herself.

"I don't know why so much suspense." You said as she finished preparing your skin with foundation.

"You'll understand when you get there." She answered.

"How about this one?" Sofia, one of the new girls who worked with you asked, holding a hanger with a very short strapless red dress.

"No. Too much." Madam Elise replied.

"How about this other one?" Sofia asked showing off a long black dress with an extravagant slit.

"Too much, Sofia. What part of elegant and discreet don't you understand?" Madam Elise responded sharply.

"It would help if you say who the client is." Sofia complained.

"That's what I'm trying to find out." You said taking advantage of Sofia's complaint. "Oh, I got it, He is a rockstar, isn’t he? Don't tell me it's Bono!"

Sofia stared at Madam Elise, waiting for an answer.

“It's not Bono. And he's not a rockstar. He's better than that."

"How about this one?" Sofia showed off a rose midi dress that looked like something Kate Middleton would wear to one of her official events.

"Perfect!" Madame Elise exclaimed, finishing applying the third layer of mascara to your eyelashes.

"Please don't say it's the president. He's too old." You whimpered.

"Don't be silly, Y/n." That's all she replied.

"Older men make the best clients." Sofia reflected as she hung the dress on the chair next to you. "They are kind and don't usually last long. Not to mention they pay extras."

"Girl, You're learning fast!" You praised.

"Learning from the best." Sofia said giving you a wink and you two giggled.

"Perfect. Now let's let this hair down." Madam Elise said as she took the clips out of your hair and used a comb to straighten your curls. She finished with a setting spray and only then let you look in the mirror. The whole thing seemed too much to you, but you didnt say anything.

"Now finish getting dressed. A car is waiting for you outside. The driver knows where to drop you off."

"Yes ma'am."

Surprising you, Madam Elise leaned over and gave you a small kiss on the cheek in a rare display of affection.

"Good luck, my darling."

...

When the driver stopped in front of the old building, you couldn't help but think he had gotten the address wrong.

"Are you sure we're in the right place?"

"177A Bleecker Street. That's the exact address Madam Elise gave me. Do you want me to call her to check?"

You shook your head "No. It's okay. Thank you." You said, opening the door and getting out of the car.

"Should I pick you up in an hour?" He asked.

"No. He paid for the night." You informed, closing the door.

You walked up the steps slowly, somewhat intimidated by the oppressiveness of the place and trying to convince yourself that this was really happening, but when you approached the door, it opened on its own and you were overcome with the realization that you were about to spend the night with none other than Defender Strange himself.

As soon as you entered, the door closed behind you and you stood in the empty entrance hall somewhat disconcerted and not knowing what to do next. It took what seemed like an eternity until you were greeted by a baritone voice.

"Hello. I'm sorry, I was sure the woman I talked to this morning told me you would arrive at 9pm" He said going down the stairs and coming towards you. He was dressed exactly as you had seen him on TV or in the newspapers. Black and red robes, boots and hair tied in a ponytail, but gosh, the TV and newspapers didn't do justice to his beauty. Defined jaw, sharp cheekbones, plump lips and beautiful blue eyes. The man was gorgeous.

"I'm sure Madam Elise wouldn't get confused with my schedule. You must have spoken to Aline, her personal secretary." You said, feeling your cheeks turning red from the strange situation and also from the way he glared at you.

"Well, I have no reason to complain if her mistake gave me more time with you." He smirked, extending his hand for you to hold and bringing it to his lips. You knew that if it was any other man doing that you would roll your eyes at how cliché and ridiculous the gesture was, but with him all you could think about was how elegant and gentle he was. He just seemed so calm and kind.

"I'm sure you already know me, but let me formally introduce myself. Doctor Stephen Strange, or how my friends call me, Defender Strange, but you can call me Stephen."

You smiled "It's a pleasure to meet you, Stephen. I'm Y/n, but of course you already know that."

His smile widened "It's a pleasure to meet you in person, Y/n." He kept your hand in his. "Come, this is my house." He said gesturing ahead and taking you to the lounge and you found yourself analyzing every detail. The place was beautiful. It definitely wasn't to your taste, but it had a certain charm. Everything looked ancient, from the extravagant chandeliers to the reddish wooden furniture, everything seemed to have been there for many, many years.

"It's very nice." You said, still dazzled by every detail that was visible to you. The place was huge. "Do you live alone here?"

"Yes. I am the master of this Sanctum and therefore I live here. It is old and makes strange noises at night, but you learn to like it over time." He seemed to analyze your expressions carefully.

"But it must be lonely living alone in such a big place." You insisted, still amazed by the size of the place and you had only seen the foyer and the lounge.

Stephen smirked "It's rarely empty and work takes up most of my days, so I don't have time to feel lonely."

"Hmm."

"Please, sit. May I offer you something to drink?"

"Sure." You said, sitting on the beautiful victorian sofa.

"Wine? Maybe something stronger?"

"Wine is great."

He nodded. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be back in a moment."

You did as he asked and as soon as he left, he returned with two glasses and a bottle of red wine which he opened and poured.

"I'm curious" You said, taking the glass he handed to you. "How do you know me? I mean, Madam Elise told me you asked for me specifically."

He smiled and took a long sip of wine.

"It's a long story. The short version is that a friend of mine told me about you."

"Is he a client?"

He chuckled, "I don't really know. I'm just glad he lead me to meet you."

You sipped the wine slowly, savoring the sweet on your tongue as much as you were savoring the enigmatic company of the man in front of you. However he downed the last of his wine and stood up.

"If you allow me, I need to finish a few things before I can dedicate myself entirely to you. Please, make yourself at home. Choose something for us to listen to, if you like music. I have a large collection. I'm sure something will please you."

With that he walked away, disappearing from sight and leaving you alone in the huge lounge.

You did what he suggested. You refilled your glass and ventured into the huge shelf of music in front of you, which to your surprise were not CDs but LPs. You got distracted reading the titles. He had a little bit of everything, from classical to pop music, including R&B and Hip Hop, classic rock and industrial metal and other things you didn't even know.

You opted for Bon Jovi and left it playing at a pleasant ambient volume and distracted yourself by scrolling through your Instagram feed for what seemed like a long time.

When he returned, he was no longer dressed in his sorcerer robes, but rather in dark jeans and a gray shirt. His hair, however, was still tied up in a ponytail and you found yourself thinking that any man in the world would look ridiculous with that hair, but not him.

"Bon Jovi. Good choice."

"A little cheesy, but I like it." You confessed. "I don't think I've ever met anyone who had so much physical music in the days of streaming services."

He chuckled. "Let's just say I'm old-fashioned. I'm not given to technology."

"No, just magic, I presume." You teased, getting up and approaching him, deciding to take the initiative. Men usually liked you to take the initiative, but with him you weren't too sure, but you had already waited too long and to be quite honest, you were eager to finally start the night.

"Are you going to show me some tonight?" You asked in your most seductive voice, and he let you snuggle into his arms and leaned his face against your hand when you touched him and finally, finally, he kissed you. A soft kiss, as if he was tasting a forbidden fruit, but you were eager to deepen the kiss, eager to finally claim him as one of your most valuable conquests.

His lips were thick and soft, his tongue tasted like wine and something else you couldn't identify and the touch of his beard on your face was delicious.

You couldn’t remember the last time you were this turned on by a kiss, but you could feel the slick between your legs. However, he pulled away gently when your hands threatened to unbutton his shirt.

"I can show you one or two things, but I'd like us to have dinner first." He said. "We don't need to rush, we have the whole night ahead of us."

But you had no intention of stopping now, not when your lips were finally on his mouth, down his chin and then his neck, nibbling his ear lobe. "I'm not hungry. Not for food at least." You whispered in his ear and watched him swallow thickly, but he grabbed your hand and pulled you away gently.

"I must insist."

You nodded a little confused, but let yourself be pulled into what soon turned out to be the dining room. The table was set and the food smelled wonderful. You hadn't really noticed that you were hungry until now, but it shouldn't have been a surprise since you had barely eaten all day.

He pulled out the chair for you to sit down and confessed. "I bought the food from my favorite Italian restaurant. I hope you don't mind. I would have cooked, but I didn't have time."

But he knew how to cook. Noted.

You smiled reassuringly, "It's great. It's more than I expected to be honest. Men don't usually serve me dinner. It's usually the other way around, you know?" You chuckled.

He poured your glass and his and then sat down too. "Men rarely know how to value what they have."

You felt your cheeks blushing and disguised it by taking a sip of wine.

"Well, they pay two thousand dollars for the hour." You said finally trying the food. "Wow, this is delicious."

He smiled satisfied and only them allowed himself to start eating too. "I'm not talking about money. For me, having the company of a woman, whether I paid for her or not, is always a privilege.

You stared at him and then gave in to your curiosity. "I wonder why a man like you needs to pay for a woman."

He didn't seem surprised or bothered by the question. He chewed slowly and swallowed, wiped his lips on his napkin and took a sip of his wine and then said simply. "I don't have to pay for women. But I had to pay to have the woman I wanted."

You felt your stomach fluttering at those words and something about the way he glanced at you and said it made you blush, and you smiled shyly. "I hope I'm worth it."

...

After dinner you convinced him to take you on a small tour of the house and your admiration for the place only increased with each new room that was presented to you.

"This is the library." He said, opening the two wooden doors and indicating for you to enter. He entered right behind you and waited in silence while you swept the place with your eyes.

 It was ancient and beautiful, like you expected the library of an old castle or something to be like. So many shelves of books that went from floor to ceiling and small ladders supported on the shelves so that people could get books from higher places. There were also small desks scattered around the place and a larger one in the left corner with a large wooden and leather chair. Some books, paper and pen and a pair of reading glasses on top of it.

"It's my second favorite place in the house." He reported proudly, "It's also where I spend most of my time when I'm not on a mission."

You nodded, walking slowly down one of the corridors and trying to read the titles of the books. Most of them were written in other languages. "Which is the first?"

He smiled getting closer and when he spoke again his voice sounded dangerously close to your ear "I'll show you."

You felt your skin prickle and that didn't go unnoticed by him. He held your shoulders and got close enough for you to feel his body pressed against yours. His fingers slowly pulled the strap of your dress and only then did you notice a tremor in his hands, but before you could ask yourself what had happened to them, he started to place little kisses on your shoulder and little by little he raised them to your neck and you completely forgot what you were thinking.

The little kisses went up to your ear and he nibbled your earlobe and exhaled heavily as if he had been holding his breath for a long time and your body trembled with the sensation of his warm breath.

Without holding back, you turned to face him and pulled him into a kiss and your lips collided with a passion that surprised you. His tongue invaded your mouth and dominated yours easily and your fingers were quick to unbutton the buttons of his shirt, while his fingers unzipped your dress and the two of you desperately undressed without your mouths separating for even a second. Suddenly the idea of ​​being apart from him seemed absurd and you were surprised by the overwhelming passion that took over you. It was as if the two of you were live wires that had finally touched and were now joined by an electric current of passion and lust.

When your dress was lying on the floor and your hands managed to free him from his pants and finally free his cock from his boxers, you pumped him a few times reveling in the realization that he was as big as you needed him to be. He rested his forehead on yours, closing his eyes and indulging in the touch of your hand and you cupped his face and pulled him back to your lips.

"I've waited for this for so long." He rasped in your lips, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you off the floor. You locked your legs around his waist, and he carried you to the largest desk and quickly finished undressing you, but made a point of keeping your high heels on.

He kicked his shoes away and did the same with his pants and boxers, leaving him gloriously naked for you and you watched in fascination as he moved his fingers and a condom materialized in thin air. He opened it quickly with his teeth and put it in with a certain desperation and finally entered you.

You both moaned at the sensation and you held yourself on to the edge of the desk as he thrusted against you with a certain desperation that was surprising and at the same time delicious. The sound of your bodies slamming against each other mixed with your moans and echoed through the empty library.

Your head fell back and he took the opportunity to bury his face between your breasts and took one nipple in his mouth and then another.

"Fuck..." You cursed out and then bit your lips to contain your moans, but they kept escaping as he fucked you so good and with so much passion and you suddenly noticed that you weren't forcing a positive reaction to please him. If anything, you were surprised with yourself, at how he was making you feel.

Your hand grabbed his hair and pulled him back to your lips and he kissed you passionately, thrusting his tongue into your mouth with the same desperation with which he thrusted his cock inside you. Fast, intense and delicious.

He broke the kiss only to run his lips down your neck and pushed you gently so that you lay down on the desk and pulled your hips closer to the edge and with a hand flat on your lower belly he returned to thrust into you and the variation of the position made him hit your g spot with calculous precision and your mouth went agape.

Men didn't usually find your g spot and didn't even bother trying, always desperate to achieve their own pleasure, but he was different, somehow he was different from everyone else.

"Stephen... You're going to make me cum."

You confessed surprise at how the knot seemed to tighten in your stomach. "Do you want me to cum, baby?"

He didn't respond, too involved in his own pleasure, but he put a hand between you touching your clit and rubbing his fingers there in slow circles and that was enough of an answer for you and your body responded to the stimulation quickly pulling you to the edge.

You came hard and he came soon after.

When he finished, he pulled you to meet his lips and something about the sweetness of that kiss made your heart flutter in your chest in a way you hadn't felt in a long time, but you were too caught up in all the sensations to pay attention to what they meant.

It was you who broke the kiss to breathe and he gently pulled out and quickly got rid of the dirty condom with a flick of his fingers and ran his hand through his hair, tucking the strands that came loose from the ponytail behind his ear and then smiled seeming a little embarrassed.

"This wasn't how I imagined." He said and upon noticing how that sentence could be interpreted in a wrong way he ran to explain "I thought I could get to the room. Give you a little comfort at least."

You stood up and approached him, cupping his cheek gently. "Believe me, you gave me something much better." You said letting out a small chuckle and pulling him back to your lips and something between his little moan and how his hand hold you closer to him made you feel like he was melting for you.

"Now will you show me your favorite place in the house?" You asked giving him your cutest smile and he nodded smiling.

"Anything you want."

The two of you got dressed in silence, but the silence wasn't awkward, in fact it was full of smiles and glances, and you found yourself thinking that you didn't remember the last time you felt like that, like you were on a real date rather than being with a client.

Either way, you pushed those thoughts to the back of your mind, remembering very well Madam Elise's words: No matter how incredible a client is, never forget they are just that: a client. Because they will never forget that you are a whore.

You sighed, letting the silly smile on your lips slowly die.

Stephen led you up the stairs and you walked behind him down a long hallway until you stopped in front of a large door, but before he opened it he turned to you and gently informed, "Many of the artifacts you will see in this room are magical and their value is immeasurable. I must ask you not to touch anything."

"Geez, I'm not that clumsy, Stephen." You defended yourself giving him your best smile.

"Please" He insisted.

"Okay, no touching." You promised, showing your hands to him and holding them behind your back dramatically. He smirked and then nodded opening the door and the two of you slowly entered. He snapped his fingers and the lights came on so you could actually look at the place.

It was a large and spacious room full of pedestals with vases and other objects on top, some were protected by glass, others were not. Everything seemed so old, from the heavy amber curtains and the gold and burgundy carpets to the cabinets and book shelves, the paintings on the walls and the ostentatious chandelier in the center of the ceiling. There was a fireplace surrounded by two loveseats and a fluffy dark brown rug. On the floor, next to the rug, there were some books and a forgotten tea cup.

But all of this was nothing compared to the beautiful round window that gave a beautiful view of Greenwich Village. "Wow, this is beautiful."

You approached the window to take a look outside where cars were rushing past. You had already seen that window from the outside, not to mention they sold postcards of the city with the front of the Sanctum Sanctorum printed on them, but being inside, observing the outside through that window was something else entirely.

"I usually come here when I need to think or just disconnect from my sorcerer problems." He explained, approaching you from behind and wrapping his arms around your waist. "This window is special, it allows me to see more of what is in front of me."

You raised an eyebrow "Is this some wizard code for something?"

He chuckled in your ear making your body tingle and then pointed to the window "This pattern is the seal of Vishanti, I don't expect you to know what it means, but it is very important and protects the Sanctum from various types of threats."

You nodded, looking at the intricate symbol in the window, but more precisely looking at him, so serious when he was talking about his work and so beautiful with that long hair, the gray strands just made him even more attractive and the beard, those cheekbones and the eyes...

"The window of worlds allows me to see other realities and dimensions. Some are pleasant to look at, benevolent so to speak, so you can easily get lost while watching them, others are dark and frightening, but it is my job to observe them and assure that everything remains in its natural state, without interference in our real world."

You smiled shyly admitting, "It's hard to combine the things you're explaining with the term real world. I live in the real world, this is… something else."

He let out a small laugh and then buried his nose in your hair and inhaled deeply, "You weren't real to me until tonight."

You turned to look at him "You talk about me like you know me."

He sighed, closing his eyes when your hand cupped his cheek, but before you could ask anything he pulled you to his lips and you felt your entire body shaking with that kiss, your heart pounding in your head as you gave in to the certainty that there was more than just sex involved tonight, even though you knew it was crazy, you couldn't help but feel that way. He was different, special and it wasn't because of who he was or the things he could do - magically speaking - but rather because of the way he could turn you into a puddle of goo with a look, a smile, a touch of his trembling hands and that kiss.

He was the one who broke the kiss first and before he could pull away, you pulled him to your lips again kissing him one more time. He smiled satisfied pulling away, but made sure to keep holding your hand and gently directed you to the rug next to the fireplace.

You watched him get rid of his shoes and did the same, letting your sore feet be caressed by the softness of the rug.

"I usually meditate here." He said, picking up the cup from the floor and disposing of it with a movement of his hand. "And I read. It helps keep me grounded. It's where I can have privacy, besides my room, of course."

You nodded, sitting on the carpet and reaching out to pick up one of the books, but he quickly took them out of your reach and returned them to the bookshelf.

"I'm surprised I can touch you, since everything here is sacred." You teased watching as he sat next to you, his hands automatically pulled you close and his fingers played with the strap of your dress pulling it down and placing little kisses on your shoulder. With his other hand he started to unzip your dress on your back and you felt your skin prickling.

"I am not sacred." He explained, searching for your lips and kissing you hungrily "Actually, I'm very human..." He continued kissing you, but his hands helped you get rid of the straps of your dress, letting it fall to your waist and undressing your breasts to him as he held one of them in his hand, pinching a nipple "...with human needs that I want you to satisfy."

You intertwined your fingers in his hair when his lips went down to your neck and he began to suck on your throat. He stopped and admired his work and then continued making sure the mark stayed.

"Y-you... can't..." You tried to warn him in vain when you finally noticed what he was doing, but he covered your lips with his index finger and continued until he was satisfied.

"What can't I do?" He asked with a cute smirk on his lips once he was satisfied with his work.

You swallow thickly feeling drunk, even though all you had drank that night was three glasses of wine.

"Mark me." You finally managed to say and his smirk turned into a grin.

"Too late for that, baby. Skin is very nice and soft, can't help it." And as if to prove what he was saying, he lightly bit the spot just below your ear and then sucked on the skin, eliciting a moan from your lips.

You couldn't tell what he had, but he managed to mess with you in a way that you couldn't understand, you could either think straight or formulate a coherent sentence while he had his lips on you. He made you melt, all your self-confidence and control seemed to melt before him.

"What's going on inside this pretty head of yours?" He asked, biting your chin and sticking his tongue in your mouth in another breathtaking kiss.

You hummed into his lips and tried to formulate a response when he finally broke the kiss.

"You. Right now, there is only you."

He smiled proudly, "Yeah? But there's another place I'd rather be at the moment."

You bit your bottom lip and waited for him to tell you.

"With my face between your legs." He rasped in your ear "Would you like that?"

God yes, please. But you just nodded letting yourself be manhandled as he laid you down on the fluffy rug and finished taking off your dress and panties. Your legs hung to the sides and he didn't wait to dive between them, lapping his tongue into your folds to make you even wetter than you already were.

He used his fingers to open your folds and licked your clit lightly with the tip of his tongue making your entire body tremble, your hands searched for something to grab and stopped in his hair, grabbing his ponytail, but you policed ​​yourself to don't pull.

"Oh fuck... oh yes, yes..."

He hummed approvingly at your reaction and the vibration made your body shake. Without waiting any longer, he took your clit between his lips and began to suck slowly and then increasing the pressure and you saw stars.

You loved oral sex, but the men you had sex with never cared enough to waste time pleasuring you like this, after all they were paying a lot of money, it was understandable they preferred to receive rather than give, but Defender Strange was different from all of your other clients, he was actually taking pleasure in giving pleasure to you and he was wonderful. You couldn't remember the last time you had your clit sucked with such dexterity, if anyone had ever managed to reach that level of excellence, that is, and your clit suckers could only do so much and were nothing compared to the real thing and Stephen, oh god, Stephen was even better than the real thing. He was perfect.

You could feel the knot inside you threatening to break, your legs shaking under the grip of his hands and the next thing you knew you were tugging at his hair, the hair tie came loose in your hand and you finished getting rid of it letting his soft locks fall like a curtain of dark brown and gray.

Of course he could feel you were close, your body was shaking, your breathing was faster, your wet, neglected hole was clenching around nothing and your moans were getting louder and louder, but then he stopped, brought his hand down to his hair moving them away from his face and stared at you with those blue eyes and a satisfied smile on his lips that somehow took your breath away.

"Please... don't..." You could barely speak.

"I don't want you to cum yet." He confessed and then crawled on top of you "You're so delicious, you know that, right?"

You pulled him to your lips instead of responding. The taste of your cunt in his mouth was so obscene and so delicious that you couldn't control a moan. He chuckled between your lips letting you control the kiss for the first time that night. Your fingers tangled in his hair and you couldn't resist, you pulled just a little to see his reaction and to your surprise and delight he moaned, a loud and unmistakable moan.

When your lips parted, he glanced at you and you took the opportunity to caress his face, tracing the outline of his beard with your finger.

"You're so beautiful." You confessed "You're even more beautiful in person than on TV."

He let out a little giggle and you could see a light shade of pink fill his cheeks and you thought it was adorable.

He kissed your lips softly and held your chin between his thumb and forefinger "You're beautiful. You have the most beautiful pair of eyes I've ever seen and your smile... it does things to me."

You smiled shyly with the way he was glancing at you and then watched as he seemed to go somewhere else in his mind for a second but soon after he smiled back. "Where have you been all this time?" He asked.

You weren't sure what to say, so you just pulled him to your lips again and kissed him, feeling a strange sensation in your stomach. His lips moved down your chin and he touched your lips with his thumb, gently forcing them apart. You took his digit in your mouth and sucked on it, teasing him to which he smirked.

"I want your mouth now." He asked, taking his finger out of your mouth and replacing it with his tongue and kissed you hard.

You cupped his cheek and asked, "Tell me how you like it."

There were many things you could do with a man's cock in your mouth and you mastered that art masterfully, but with him you were insecure, you couldn't read him and while that was frustrating, it was also what made it all the most exciting.

"Do you ask this of all your clients?" He asked, looking genuinely curious.

You shook your head "No. Usually I know what they like right away, but you... you're different."

He seemed to like your answer. He rolled onto his side and lay on his back on the carpet. "You can start by undressing me and then you can take good care of me."

You sat down next to him and let your fingers run down his chest, playing with the buttons on his shirt.

"Do you like being taken care of?" You checked.

"Very much."

You unbuttoned his shirt, pulling the fabric aside and placing kisses on his chest, lowered your hand to his belt and bit your lip, noticing his hard on contained inside his pants. It twitched with the lightest of touches from your fingers and you couldn't help the proud smile on your lips. You moved to straddle his legs and unbuckled his belt and pants and with both hands you pulled down his pants and boxers, moving to take them off completely and throwing them in a pile on the floor.

You went back to straddling his legs and finally laid your eyes on his cock. You had felt him in your hands and felt him impaling you, but it was the first time you were looking directly at him and god, it was beautiful. The curvature that let it lean towards his stomach and the veins bulging around it combined with the fat, pink head made your mouth water. He was pulsing and leaking from the head and without holding back you bent down and licked the slit to collect the precum and it tasted so good. Salt and sweet at the same time.

"I can take care of you." You purred. "Just tell me exactly how you like it."

He bit his bottom lip to hold back a moan when you finally took him in your hand, holding him tight.

"Slowly. There's no need to gag on it, just take as much as you can. And I will love if you suck my balls, lightly, I'm very sensitive there."

You listened carefully. All you wanted was to please him.

"Can I make you cum in my mouth?"

"Fuck, yes" He replied and his cock twitched in your hand.

"But there will be another round for me, right?" You confirmed, smiling mischievously.

"As many as you want." He promised.

Your mouth was salivating to have him, but you started slowly, just giving little cat licks on the head and running your tongue down his entire length while your eyes remained fixed on his. If there was one thing that was certain about all men, it's that they love it when you suck their dicks while looking at them with big dull eyes. Defender Strange was no exception. He bit his lip to try to suppress a groan and his hands grabbed the fur on the rug.

You contained a giggle watching his reaction and continued with your work, lowering your tongue to the base and then taking one of his heavy balls in your mouth. You sucked slowly and then took the other one and repeated the same process while your hand moved up and down, slowly pumping him.

"Oh fuck, it's so good." He praised you and you felt that strange feeling in your stomach again, quickly realizing that you liked hearing him praising you and trying your best to have more of that.

You moved your lips up, placing small wet kisses along his entire length and stopped at his frenulum, licking it lightly with the tip of your tongue. For most men, the frenulum was the most sensitive part of their cocks and gave them the most pleasure when stimulated, however it used to be neglected most of the time by women, but you weren't like all women, you knew how to pleasure a man and there was nothing you wanted more than to pleasure Stephen. Not only that, you wanted to be the best he ever had.

You alternated the licks with light sucks on the delicate area and he began to writhe beneath you, moans began to escape his lips and you noticed how his baritone was even sexier in that context.

"Oh, right there, f-feels so good. J-just keep doing what you're doing with your tongue." He asked and you hummed satisfied, flicking your tongue in his frenulum and with one of your hands you began to massage his balls, giving them a light squeeze. With the other hand you continued pumping him at the base and he started to pulse in your hand and you knew that if you didn't reduce the stimulation he would cum before you even put him in your mouth, but you didn't care, you wanted to see him cumming like that, you wanted to prove to him that you were that good, so you increased the stimulation on his frenulum, changing the light licks for a more efficient suction while still using your tongue, but now not quickly, but like a kiss, slowly and with more passion.

"You're going to make me cum if you keep this up." He rasped bringing his hands to your head, but he didn't push or pull, he just grabbed your hair in a ponytail to move it away from your face and allow him to have a good view of what you were doing. Men were visual creatures.

"Do you want me to stop?" You asked, stopping to make sure, but he shook his head vehemently.

"Please, don't stop. Just keep working your tongue like that."

You did as he asked, but stopped pumping him and let his cock fall heavily onto his stomach, using only your mouth to stimulate him and your hand on his balls.

You licked, sucked, kissed his frenulum and started all over again until his grip on your hair got stronger, pulling at the roots and with a loud moan he came on his stomach.

"F-fuck yes. Oh shit... oh baby..."

You couldn't contain the smile on your lips when you saw him in that state, you were so proud of yourself, and you hadn’t even put him in your mouth. The man was so sensitive to touch, you wanted to ravish him so much.

You crawled on top of him and he cupped your cheek, still panting, but there was a wide smile on his lips.

"How did you do that?"

"I barely did anything. You are very sensitive."

He smirked, "Or maybe you're just too good with that tongue. No woman has ever made me cum like this." He confessed.

You felt your cheeks blushing and that was also an effect of him over you. You weren't shy, but when he looked at you like that and talked to you like that you felt yourself melting. Instead of saying anything, you kissed him softly, but then went down your lips to his neck, licking, biting, sucking on his pulse point and continued moving your lips down to his chest, taking one of his nipples in your mouth and sucking and pinching the other. He moaned softly and you felt him twitching in your stomach, his cum running down his sides, making your skin and his stick together and making a mess, but you couldn't care less.

He was soft now, but not completely and as soon as the stimulation on his nipples intensified he began to harden again for you. The man had a lot of stamina and you could only be grateful for that because you couldn’t wait to have him inside you again.

"R-ride me." His voice sounded shaky above your head. You brushed your hair away from your face to look at him and he cupped your face with both hands "Ride me, baby. Use me. Wanna see you getting off on my cock." He asked and you felt your heart pounding on your chest. You nodded and kissed him.

"Condom?" You asked, trying hard to reason. He moved his fingers and a condom materialized between his index finger and his middle finger and he handed it to you. With another movement of his fingers his shirt disappeared, and he was completely bare for you.

Opening the package, you took his lips in a hungry kiss and your hands went down to meet his cock, pumping him slowly, but with a firm grip on your hands, making him moan on your lips.

You dedicated yourself to putting the condom on him, but first you bent down to put him whole in your mouth. His hands automatically grabbed your hair as he hardened until it was rock hard in your mouth as you bobbed your head on his length, finally giving him the oral he deserved.

"S-such a delicious mouth. So f-fucking perfect... I knew you'd be so fucking good to me..."

You couldn't shake the thought that he spoke to you as if he knew you and that it wasn't just because a friend had recommended you to him, it seemed to be something more, but at the same time you also knew that something in him was awakening a different type of attraction and that you were probably only seeing things where nothing existed because you were too involved, so you tried hard to push away those thoughts and dedicated yourself to giving him the best blowjob, using your tongue the entire time, swirling it along his entire length while taking turns going up and down and using a little suction on his head. You knew it was going well because he continued praising you between moans that grew louder and louder, however he held your chin and gently took his cock out of your mouth.

"As incredible as this is, I really want to cum with my cock inside you this time." He explained. "And not before you."

You smiled nodding and finally – reluctantly - put on the condom. Part of you wanted to fuck him raw, but in your profession, that was never an option.

Moving to straddle him, you directed his cock at your entrance which was dripping wet and let yourself sink into him feeling him stretch you deliciously.

You had seen dicks of all sizes and learned to get the best out of each one, but you couldn't be a hypocrite or lie and say that size doesn't matter. Yes, it matters a lot, and you were so grateful that Defender Strange was this big, providing you with the perfect amount of stretch and with that perfect curvature that found your g spot with surprising ease. All you had to do was lean forward a little, resting both hands on his chest and that was it.

"Oh y-yes baby... right there."

Stephen groaned in satisfaction, both of his hands grabbed and squeezed the fat of your waist, his eyes fixed on yours the entire time.

"Hit that sweet special spot uh? I can feel it. Feels so good, so fucking warm and wet... shit... squeezing me so tight."

You bit your lip, moving your hips up and down, turning it sensually every time you went down, letting his pelvic bone and hair massage your clit, providing shocks of pleasure that felt like electric currents running through your entire body.

"I love seeing you riding me like this, so fucking gorgeous" He purred "Come on, baby, need more, fuck me harder."

You increased the pace until you were both panting, the sensuality giving way to the tireless search for your release that you knew wasn't too far away. You couldn't help it, he was so perfect, everything about him exuded sex, the looks, the moans, the dirty words of submission taking you to the limit and at the same time making you hold on to the edge because you didn't want it to end, you wanted to let that continue forever.

However, he seemed to understand that you were stalling because he wrapped his arm around your waist and sat down leaving the two of you in a lotus position and began to move you faster on top of him, thrusting his hips against you to increase the intensity of the thrusts.

Getting carried away by all the sensations and feeling the knot threatening to break, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and grabbed a handful of his hair tugging at it with more force than you should have while the movements of your hips on top of him became faster and more desperate.

"Do it again." He urged in your ear, his baritone little more than a whisper.

You pulled his hair again, even harder this time and his head fell back and you felt his cock throb inside you. A part of you loved that and without him asking you did it again and again and took advantage of the fact that his neck was on display for you and started sucking it hard, biting it and sucking again until it left a purple mark. Satisfied, you grabbed his chin and pulled him to your lips, sticking your tongue in his mouth and being surprised by the way he let himself be dominated and when he let out a sweet moan in your mouth and his dick throbbed again Inside you, you knew he had reached his limit.

You sunk your teeth into his shoulder, feeling the wave of pleasure and euphoria wash over you as the knot broke and you came hard on his cock and with a loud, animalistic groan he came soon after, his cock pulsing and spilling into the condom. God, how you wish it were your walls that he was painting white.

That thought alone should have been enough for you to question your sudden involvement with that man, but at that moment you didn't want to reason, you just wanted to feel.

...

You were still lying on the rug, staring at the ceiling in silence and immersed in your own thoughts. Although your head was still spinning, your breathing had finally returned to normal, and the reason seemed to be coming back to you because you were suddenly too self-aware of everything that had happened that night.

Stephen had left you for a few minutes and you could hear him cleaning himself in the bathroom. You should also get up and get dressed, but your legs felt like jelly and you couldn't find the will within you to do so.

When he came back and laid back down next to you he was dressed in gray sweatpants and his hair had been pulled back into a ponytail.

"Don't you think sex is a weird thing?" You said, verbalizing the confused thoughts in your head. "I mean, you say things you would never say if you weren't aroused, you do things you can't imagine doing under any other circumstances."

He smiled thinking for a second. "I think it's called intimacy."

"Yes and no. Personally, I think intimacy is different. It's when you feel free to continue talking after sex is over and how you feel about it."

"Like now?" He asked.

You didn't respond, instead you sat down and faced the fireplace.

"I have a list of things I don't do or don't let people do to me." You admitted it.

"What for example?"

"Hickeys" You replied holding back a smile "As you can imagine it's not smart of me to arrive at the appointment with my client marked by the previous client."

"And why do I think you weren't reluctant enough when you realized what I was doing?"

"Because I wasn't." You sighed. "I also don't usually kiss my clients. I mean, it's not a rule, but I avoid it if possible. It makes me uncomfortable."

He sat down, seeming to watch you closely, but didn't say anything.

"Talking about personal things, like I'm doing now, is also on my list." You hugged your legs and rested your chin on your knee giving him an apologetic smile. "You left me disconcerted."

He smiled touching your knee and with his other hand he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear and then caressed your cheek.

"I'm not usually like this with other women. Although I enjoy it, I rarely let myself be in a position where I'm not in control. I think it's safe to say that we both did things tonight that we don't usually do, and I don't know about you, but I really liked it and I really hope you liked it."

You sighed, feeling that strange feeling in your stomach again. "That's the problem, Stephen. You shouldn't care what I like or don't like."

"But I care." He replied chuckling dryly. "Is it really that bad that I care?"

You shook your head trying to think straight. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have started this conversation."

"You can tell me whatever you want." He said moving to kiss you, but then stopped and decided to confirm, "Is it okay to keep kissing you?"

"I don't know." You admitted with a sigh, but surrendered and threw yourself into his arms anyway.

He let out a small giggle when your lips collided, but then he took control of the kiss, kissing you like that was the only thing that mattered to him and god, he was such a good kisser. One of the reasons you hated kissing your clients was because they were terrible kissers and also because you thought it was too intimate. But with Defender Strange neither of those things applied.

When he finally got tired of your lips, he stood up and held out his hand for you to do the same. "Come on, let's go to bed."

Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing!

DEFENDER STRANGE MASTERLIST

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[witchersmistress]

Tails you win

Hello my darlings!! wanted to do something or someone new for you in this case. Captian Syverson.

Warning: Blood, violence, death and gun shot wounds.

Word count: 7.5k

my usual warning, you do not have my permission to copy or use my work in anyway, if you do ill haunt you for the rest of your days!!

Propbably gramatical errors and typos but i type to fast for my own good lol

Name pronounciatuion for the FMC : her given name is Saorise, Sheer-sha, in Irish-Gaelic means freedom

Her nickname, gifted to her at a young age by Syverson: Louhi, Lo-hee, Finnish origin, she is the goddess of Death and Disease.

Saoirse's POV

I’m wearing the dress Svyerson picked out for me. It hugs my body in all the right places and makes me feel beautiful and deadly. I feel like one of those knockout nineteen fifties actresses like Ava Gardner or Grace Kelly, ready to take on the world. Who knew that an item of clothing could make you feel so powerful? I smile at the memory of Svyerson sliding up the zipper of my dress, recalling the hunger in his eyes and the way his fingers lingered on my skin as he stared at my reflection in the mirror just like I’m doing now. Thinking about him makes me wonder if it’s possible to miss someone who is still a part of your life?

Because I do. I miss the man who could relax enough to kiss me. Who could cup my cheeks in his huge palms, fuck my mouth with his tongue and make me wonder what having sex with him would be like. Since we kissed, he’s gone back to being less handsy and more gruff. Over the past couple days that we’ve been in each other’s orbit, it’s been tense, to say the least. I’m not sure if it’s all that pent-up sexual tension or the fact that Carter has asked Svyerson to fight again tonight, this time with a man called Derby, brought in by the King no less.

 I’ve never heard of him before, not on the fight scene and not as a name to be familiar with in the criminal underworld. Still, that doesn’t mean anything. Just because I’ve never heard of him doesn’t mean he isn’t a threat. It’s more likely that he is one tonight because Svyerson will be going in cold to the cage with nothing to go on. Not that I’m afraid for him. On the contrary, Svyerson is the best fighter out there. Hands down. He’ll win. He always does. He won me, didn't he? I grin at that, my bright cherry-red lips complimenting my smoky grey eyes. I’ve purposefully gone for the glam but sexy look. Instead of wearing my hair down like I usually do, with the help of Nadia, I’ve got it pinned up in a low bun that sits at the nape of my neck with tendrils of my dark hair hanging  loose at my temples,

adding a softness to my features. In all honesty, I feel like a knockout, and I’m more than ready to floor Svyerson. Satisfied with my reflection, I slid my feet into my favorite Louboutin heels, the same ones I wore that night I met the King. Who, despite my reservations, is attending tonight. Just like all of Carter’s business associates and acquaintances are. It stings a little that this night isn’t about me, or my eighteenth birthday, but about my dad and his business… Our business? I’m still not certain whether he wants me as his partner anymore. He’s barely spoken to me these past few weeks, and has certainly avoided even being in a room with me. Which is why I have to prove myself tonight. I will be the perfect Davidson. Strong, beautiful, and not to be fucked with. Whatever goes down tonight I will take it all in my stride, because like I said to Hudson, it’s not a Davidson party without a little—a lot—of bloodshed.

“Who the fuck is that?” Hudson, my best friend, asks as a man not dissimilar in size to Svyerson steps into the cage. Around us the chatter quietens as everyone focuses on the new guy who is as bulky as Svyerson but maybe a couple inches shorter. He’s so pale, he’s almost translucent, except for his face where he has a skull tattooed into his skin. If he’s going for the intimidation look, it looks good on him. Svyerson isn’t easily scared. I’ve never seen him look even remotely concerned in the cage, but there’s an edge of apprehension in the way he carries himself, and that in and of itself is cause for concern. “Is that who I think it is?” Tony, a small-time gangster who I’ve been talking to for the past ten minutes, mutters under his breath. He’s actually one of the few men I recognise here tonight. There are a lot of new faces, most of them brought in by the King according to my father, including Svyerson’s opponent. “His name’s Derby, right?” I ask, repeating the only thing I know about the new fighter and hoping Tony can fill in more details. “Yeah, it is. He’s to the King what Svyerson is to Carter,” Tony explains, the excitement in his eyes sparking concern in mine. “He’s an enforcer?” “Yeah, he worked for the King once upon a time. Rumor has it Derby banged his ex-missus and that’s why they’re getting a divorce.”

“And he’s still alive?” I ask. The King doesn’t strike me as a man who’d let anyone get away with sleeping with his wife. “Looks that way. All I know is that this fella is fucking hardcore. I heard he once ripped a man’s throat out with his bare hands.” “Fucking hell,” Hudson mutters. 

A nervous laugh bubbles out of my throat and I make a kind of choking noise trying to cover it up. “He ripped out someone’s throat, with his hands?” I repeat, hoping my voice doesn’t give away the panic expanding in my chest. “Put it this way, Svyerson might be undefeated in this cage, but Derby…” Tony smirks, “He’s the Grim fucking Reaper. Know what I’m saying?” Hudson shifts on his feet. “Fuuuuuck!” “I’m not worried. Svyerson’s got this,” I say firmly.

 “You might want to tell that to him,” Tony adds, pointing to the cage as Svyerson steps into the spotlight. “He does look worried,” Hudson comments, earning him an elbow-dig to his rib. “It’s his game face, he’s not worried,” I retorted, even though the look on his face tells me that he very much is. 

Shit.

 Circling each other, Svyerson and Derby face off. Where Svyerson is tense, Derby is relaxed in a way that doesn’t speak of arrogance, but confidence. He thinks he’s going to win. Svyerson might have the edge in height and build, but there’s no denying the fact that he doesn’t seem to intimidate this guy in the slightest. “Do they know each other?” Hudson whispers. “There’s a lot of eyeballing going on.” “Appears that way,” I reply, and when Derby drops his chin and gives Svyerson the briefest of smiles, revealing a set of gold teeth, a thread of anxiety bubbles up in my stomach. Everything feels off.

 “Ladies and gentlemen,” Carter says, interrupting my thoughts and drawing my attention to him as he steps into the cage. “Or should I say Louhi and gentleman…” He laughs at his own joke as a spotlight appears over my head, highlighting me to the room and the fact I’m the only female within it. “Oh shit, he’s not going to sing you happy birthday, is he?” Hudson mutters, raising a laugh from Tony and some of the other arseholes nearby. “Fuck,” I mutter, keeping my lips in a tight smile. “Come on up, Louhi,” Carter says, motioning me over. I want to say no, but this is Carter and no really isn’t a word he takes kindly to. Instead, with the smile plastered on my face, I head towards the cage.

 All eyes are on me, and as I stride across the room, I can see King and Rodriguez step out of Carter’s office. Rodriguez is smirking and King is watching me closely. My gut flips over. The moment I step inside the cage Carter jerks his chin, fishing in his pocket for something. A moment later he pulls out a coin and gives me a beaming smile that’s so fake, I almost wish I’d worn shades. “Carter?” I question softly, turning my gaze to Svyerson who briefly meets my eyes with an empty gaze. 

There’s not even a flicker of acknowledgement. My gut twists. I know he has to keep up pretences but fuck, that hurt. “Tonight you’re all here to help celebrate my daughter’s birthday,” Carter continues, addressing the crowd and doing nothing to temper my growing unease. “Tomorrow, Louhi will be turning eighteen, and as such I’ve arranged for Svyerson and Derby to go head-to-head, all for your viewing pleasure.” The room erupts into cheers and whistles, only quieting when Carter raises his hands. “But for tonight only we’re going to change the rules of the cage.” I glance at Svyerson with a question on my face, because we all know the only rules that apply in the cage are that there are no rules. The last man standing is the winner, that’s it.

“What?” I ask, but my question is lost amongst more cheers and whistles from the crowd. Why do I get the feeling they already know what Carter is talking about? Pinching the coin between his finger and thumb, Carter says. “In a moment I’m going to ask Louhi to toss this coin.” “Carter?” I repeat, quieter this time. He throws the coin to me and I catch it, frowning at the weight and the warmth. It’s one of those old sovereign coins that are no longer in circulation but are often mounted in jewelry as a nod to the old days. I wonder where he got it from. “Tonight Svyerson is up against Derby, a worthy opponent,” Carter continues, dragging my attention back to him as he strides around the edge of the cage.

 He looks pumped. No, he looks wired, there’s a jittery kind of energy pouring off him. It’s not fear, but excitement, and I’m not a hundred percent sure it’s the natural kind. His pupils are blown wide and he’s sweating. “As usual anything goes. The only difference is that tonight we allow weapons.” “What?” I exclaim, my Irish accent slipping through,  my eyes widening. Again I find myself looking at Svyerson and this time he shakes his head minutely, warning me not to protest. Swallowing hard, I bite back my concern and say nothing. Carter raises his brows, looking between us both as he notices the silent exchange.

“Louhi will throw the coin. If it lands on tails, Svyerson will get to choose his weapon of choice first. If it falls on heads, Derby will.” He motions over his shoulder to someone in the crowd. “Bring me the weapons.” Rodriguez steps into the cage, wearing his usual shit-eating grin. I grit my teeth, hating the way he smirks at me like he’s in on the joke and I’m the fucking punchline. Maybe I am. Standing between Svyerson and Derby, Rodriguez waits for further instruction. 

On the large silver tray are several weapons. Notably, a twelve inch butcher’s knife with a slightly curved blade, a pair of knuckle dusters with clawed tips, nunchucks, a crowbar and finally, a baseball bat. Jesus Christ. This is madness. I stride over to my dad, pressing my hand against his arm. “Carter, what are you doing?” I hissed. “Why? What’s it matter to you?” he replies, eyebrows arched. “Toss the coin, Louhi,” Svyerson orders, his heavy Texan accent  cutting in. The sheer fact he calls me Louhi and not Darlin or Saoirse has me feeling all kinds of ways, and the look he gives me makes my stomach flip and my spine tingle with fear.

 Rodriguez, the prick, laughs, adding to the already building tension. What the fuck does he find so damn funny? “Yes, toss the coin, Louhi,” Carter adds smoothly, turning his back on us all and moving to stand at the edge of the cage as he addresses the crowd. “Tonight the winner is the last man standing. This is a fight to the death.” “No!” I shout, unable to stop the word spilling from my lips, but it’s just background noise, lost as the crowd goes wild. Like a pack of baying wolves they’re out for blood. This is a fight to the death. To. The. Death.

 “NO!” I repeat, striding over to Carter, anger firing in my blood and my heart beating out of control. I grab his arm, unconcerned now at how this looks to the crowd, to him. “What the hell are you doing?!” Whilst the crowd goes fucking crazy, Carter grips my elbow and forcibly pulls me towards the centre of the ring where Rodriguez stands with the weapons and Svyerson and Derby eyeing each other up. “I’m doing this for you!” he hisses. “What do you mean, for me?” I reply, glancing at the Svyerson who shakes his head subtly.

Carter ignores me and Svyerson looks away, leaving me in total confusion as Carter once again raises his hands to quieten the crowd. “Louhi is about to toss the coin. Let’s see who gets to choose first.” “Do it,” Svyerson insists, softer this time as he meets my gaze. A thousand words and a whole host of emotions pass across his features. “It’s okay. I’ve got this.” This time Derby laughs. He steps close to me and I freeze, not because I’m afraid that he might touch me, but because if he does Svyerson will lose his shit and show everyone how he truly feels and he’ll wind up dead anyway. “Toss the coin, sweetheart, let the fun begin.” Derby purrs, making my  skin crawl,  I toss the coin. The crowd falls silent as the gold sovereign flips in the air. I watch it in slow motion as gravity pulls it down, my stomach dropping out at the same pace until eventually I catch it, covering the coin up with my hand.

 “Call it,” Carter demands as my racing pulse fills my ears with white noise. Slowly I lift my hand, my eyes dropping to the coin nestled in my palm. “Tails!” I announce loudly, a rush of relief that’s quickly overridden by a powerful dose of fear, because it doesn’t really matter if Svyerson gets to choose his weapon first, he could die anyway.

“Tales you win, heads you lose,” Svyerson shouts as he steps towards the tray of weapons, picking up the butcher’s knife and gripping the handle tightly. He taps the tray twice with the blade, pointing it at Derby. “And the fighters of this club never lose!” Then he turns to me and places his left hand over his chest, right where my handprint is tattooed into his skin. My stomach flips with apprehension and dread, but also love. I love him so much it hurts. “Svyerson—” I begin but around us the crowd go apeshit, and my words are drowned out by their hollering. “I know,” he mouths. “I know.” And whilst the crowd might not be aware of the unspoken words between us, my father certainly notices. The look he gives is deadly. He knows. When the crowd settles, Carter steps forward and withdraws his gun from the holster at his hip, placing it on the tray. “Let’s up the motherfucking anti, shall we?” he rasps out in a laugh that has all the blood draining from my face. “Dad?” I question, shaking my head in disbelief. “That’s not fair.” “My club, my rules!” he snaps, jerking his chin at Derby. “Choose.”

Derby smirks, or at least I think he does because I can’t really tell beneath his skull tattoo. He glances at the gun and I wait for him to grab it. Only he doesn’t. He picks up the crowbar instead. Rodriguez looks as shocked as Carter, but the crowd doesn’t care, they want a fight not an execution, and that’s what they’re going to get. With a tight jaw and even tighter voice, Carter addresses the crowd one last time. “May the best man win!” he yells, then grabs my arm and pulls me from the cage and marches me towards his office, shoving me inside before I can even blink, let alone watch the fight unfold.

 The moment the door slams shut behind us and Rodriguez—who has followed us both into the office like a bad fucking smell—the crowd goes insane. “What the fuck, Carter?!” I round on him, trying and failing to disguise my fear as my gaze flicks to the window in his office and the fight unfolds in the cage. Derby wastes no time and lunges for Svyerson, who ducks, the crowbar missing the top of his head by mere inches. Fuck! “What’s the problem, Louhi, afraid of a little bloodshed?”

“What’s my problem? Are you insane?! Svyerson could die!”

 I shout, snapping my head back around.

“You don’t think he’ll win?” My father questions, canting a look at Rodriguez who places the tray on the desk and smirks in that infuriating way of his.

 “What the fuck do you find so amusing?” I snarl ready to punch his fucking lights out. He holds his hands up.

 “Absolutely nothing. No disrespect meant,” he replies, completely insincere, the smarmy bastard.

 “Get the fuck out!” I snap, reaching for my father’s gun and pointing it at him. The feel of the cool metal in my hand is comforting. “Don’t be hasty,” he stutters, his fucking smile dropping as he looks to Carter. “You heard Louhi. Get the fuck out.” Rodriguez spins on his heels, not needing to be told twice. When he opens the door, I catch a glimpse of Svyerson receiving a blow to his upper arm, the tip of the crowbar scraping across his bicep. Blood bursts from the wound and I swear I can hear Svyerson’s grunt of pain over the roar of the crowd. “Svyerson!” I yell, my desperate call lost behind the door slamming shut. “It’s true then?” Carter questions. 

“What’s true?” I questioned

 “That you and Svyerson have been fucking.”

“What? No!” I exclaim, my fingers curling around the handle of the gun even as my arm hangs loosely at my side. “He’s a friend.” “Like Hudson is?” Carter asks, looking over my shoulder. I turn to figure out what he’s looking at and see that Hudson’s on the other side of the window, being prevented entrance by Rodriguez who’s apparently guarding the fucking door now. I whip my head around and glare at Carter. “What is this?” I have a question. “Hudson is a friend. Svyerson is a friend. That’s it, that’s all.”

 Carter shakes his head, stepping towards me. “You’re a liar!” “We haven’t been fucking, Carter!” I counter, my voice rising in distress. It’s not a lie, we haven’t, but not from lack of trying on my part. He laughs, and it comes out cold and distant. “Hudson is your friend. I believe that. It’s one of the reasons why he’s not fucking dead already.” “What?” I whisper, dread creeping over my skin as his gaze darkens with malice. “You’re my daughter, Louhi. You forget that I know you.” “Carter… Dad,” I pleaded. “You’ve got to believe me, we’re not together. Put an end to this madness. Now!”

Gripping my arm, he twists me on my feet and pushes me towards the window, pulling up the blind so that I can see the fight more clearly. Hudson sees the movement and shouts at me through the glass. “You alright?” I nod, warning him with my eyes to back off before he gets himself hurt, but it’s Rodriguez who forcibly manhandles him out of the way. Hudson puts up a fight, throwing a punch that hits Rodriguez on the chin and forces him back against the door with a loud crash. “Maybe Hudson has more than just smarts,” Carter says, a note of respect in his voice as Rodriguez retaliates and the pair get into a brawl. “Wonder whether he’d be up to fight in the cage?” “Absolutely not!” I exclaim, moving towards the door so I can break up the fight then put a stop to the one in the cage. 

Carter laughs, snatching my arm and yanking me back against his chest. “Yeah you’re right, I can’t have that pretty head of his losing any brain cells. I think he’ll come in handy down the line.” “Useful how? What are you—?” My question is cut short when Mark appears from the crowd and strides over to the pair, forcibly pulling Hudson off Rodriguez. Hudson’s face is pitted with rage and he spits out a glob of blood before casting his gaze to me. I shake my head, warning him not to continue, but it’s only when Mark drops his mouth to Hudson’s ear that he finally backs off.

 That and the fact Mark has a gun pressed against his side. With one last look at me, Hudson grits his jaw and follows Mark to the other side of the room, disappearing from view. “Carter! What the hell is Mark doing?” I ask, panic crawling beneath my skin. “Don’t worry, Mark won’t shoot him. Like I said, he’s going to come in useful in the future. Mark will escort him home. Make sure he gets back safe and sound,” Carter says, but that doesn’t reassure me in the slightest. It only concerns me more. Hudson’s a good guy. He’s working hard to get himself and his brothers out from beneath the stigma of being a child in care.

 Crime is the road he never wants to walk down. Another roar from the crowd has my gaze snatching back to the cage. Svyerson has just slashed his knife right across Derby’s chest, spilling blood that sprays across the canvas as they continue to fight. “Dad, you’ve got to believe me. End this.” 

“See, here’s the thing, Louhi. I don’t fucking believe you. I know Svyerson touched what’s mine!” he replies sharply, grabbing the back of my neck and forcing me to watch the fight. “Dad…” I plead, hating the way my voice gives me away. This is all my fault. Every part of it. “There’s nothing going on!” But even to my own ears it sounds false. “DON’T BULLSHIT ME!” he roars, squeezing my neck tighter, his fingers digging painfully into my skin. “Now watch the fight!” “Don’t do this,” I argue. Beg, actually.

 “This is for your own good, but if you fight me on this then I will go out there right the fuck now and shoot him in the motherfucking head,” he hisses into my ear. “Do you understand me?” “Yes,” I whisper, giving Svyerson the only chance I can because Carter is many things, but a liar isn’t one of them. Svyerson has to win this fight so that together we can convince Carter he’s wrong. It’s the only chance he has. The only chance we have. As my gaze lands on Svyerson, I silently mouth the words he’d uttered just minutes ago inside the cage, sending a silent prayer to the man I love. “Tales you win, heads you lose, and the fighters of Tales never lose.” He has to win. He has to.

Syverson’s pov

Death is pretty fucking painless when all is said and done. I don’t feel a goddamn thing, not the broken ribs, not the gashes to my arms, chest, back and thighs from the crowbar Derby is wielding so expertly. I don’t feel my broken nose or cracked eye-socket. I don’t feel the bruises  or the deep gash to my head that sent me free-falling into the arms of darkness. I don’t feel anything. But I do hear something. A scream.

A fucking cry of pain so loud, so deafening, that even in the throes of death it drives a hook into my soul and drags me back from the motherfucking light at the end of the tunnel. A light that shouldn’t welcome the likes of me, but does. It comes again, and again and again. Her screams punctuated with my name. 

Sy

 Sy

 Sy

 Svyerson!

 It’s familiar, her voice, and the pain within it is like a fist wrapping around my heart and forcing it to pump faster, harder, until death crawls away and the light fades, leaving me with nothing but excruciating pain and a banging fucking headache. 

Right now, I can do nothing other than feel.

 Feel the pain.

 Feel the bloody canvas beneath my cheek.

 Feel fingers pinch my skin as someone tries to roll me over.

 Feel a heart breaking open with every second I don’t respond.

 “Svyerson, please wake up!”

 Darlin.

 Saoirse.

 But try as I might, I can’t fucking move.

I can barely fucking breathe. I’m incapable of anything other than holding on to her voice, using it to ground me, to lure me back to consciousness, one painful breath at a time. More noise filters into my brain that’s rapidly trying to make sense of the situation. Memories piece together as the sound of a man yelling at everyone to get the fuck out rings in the air.  It’s Dom. Deeper voices merge with the cacophony of sound, Saoirse’s sobs a burden as she lies across my back, pawing at me now. Yet I remain still, weighted down by her grief.

 Fuck knows I want to reassure her, I want to tell her that I’m alive, that I’ve survived the single hardest fight of my life, but that would be a lie. The biggest fight is yet to come. So I lay here instead, on the blood-splattered canvas, and wait for my other senses to return one by one, drawing on every last drop of strength left in my body and gathering it together so I can do what  I must and protect the woman I love. After sound and touch, scent returns. 

The smell of blood, metallic and meaty. I’m surrounded by the stench of it. Fucking choking on it. Next it’s sight. Spots of color invade my vision as I slowly crack open my eyes a sliver. The world reappears in shades of red first. There’s blood everywhere, a huge fucking pool of it that I’m lying in. But as I focus, trying to ignore the metallic stench of butchered flesh, my gaze falls to a wide-eyed Derby, his sightless eyes unseeing, the knife I impaled him with sticking out of his gut, the serrated edge making mincemeat of his bowels. Didn’t stop him from bringing down the crowbar on my head though. The last thing I remember is blood spurting from his lips before the world went black. He’s dead. I’m the victor. Except I’m not. Not yet. Because our fight was just a show, a fucking good one at that, given death had me in its grasp only moments ago and Derby has stepped into the afterlife. The King wanted Derby dead for fucking his wife and Carter wanted me dead for loving his daughter. They both needed revenge. Looks like I fucking delivered, at least partly. “Remove the bodies. Get this shit cleaned up,” I hear Carter order, his voice a cold, unyielding hammer to my painful head. “Yes, boss,” Dom replies, the heaviness of his voice as painful to hear as Saoirse’s distress is. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was gutted by my apparent death.

“Get the fuck away from him!” Saoirse yells, her weight pushing off of me as she stands. I watch through slitted lids as she strides towards Carter, gun in hand, oblivious to the fact I’m not actually dead. Not fucking yet, anyway. She’s holding a gun, and that makes me feel so much better because fuck knows I’ve been worrying about her from the moment she stepped out of the cage with Carter. I’d lost sight of her almost immediately, too busy trying not to fucking die and knowing that I had to win this fight in order to keep her safe from him. Except she isn’t safe. She never will be whilst he remains alive. “Lower the gun, Louhi!” Carter demands. “There’s no need for dramatics. Everyone’s fucking gone.” “Fuck you, Carter!” she replies, refusing to do as he demands. Good girl. Rodriguez, the King and Dom are standing just outside of the cage, right in my line of vision. Both the King and Rodriguez are watching this all unfold, neither paying me any attention. Clearly they think I’m dead, just like Saoirse and Carter do. Dom’s gaze however falls to me, his eyes widening a fraction as I blink at him a couple of times, willing him not to rat me out. I’m praying I’ve read him right and he’s going to keep his mouth shut.

 I’ve got one chance at this, and one chance only. He gives me the tiniest nod, then looks away. I make a mental note to buy him a fucking drink when this shit is over. “You’re a fucking monster!” Saoirse yells. I’ve never seen her so enraged, so fucking broken, so radiantly beautiful in her anger.

 I want nothing more than to stand by her side, to back her whilst she takes on her father and any other motherfucker who dares try to control her. Instead, I use these few precious moments to gather my wits and concentrate on mentally checking my body. I hurt, there’s no denying that, but that’s a good thing. Hurting means I’m alive, and that’s all I need to be to end this. “Louhi, lower the gun and behave.”

  “Behave?! Screw you!” Louhi continues, screaming at her father now, her rage undeniable. “You killed him!” Carter shakes his head. “No, he did that all by himself by fucking you and fucking me over. He knew the rules. He broke them. There was only ever going to be one motherfucking outcome. Betray me and die. End of.” “We’ve never fucked!” she screams, lifting the gun and aiming it at Carter’s chest. “Svyerson is loyal, so fucking loyal that he refused to sleep with me even when I offered myself up to him!”

For a moment Carter appears taken aback, then a smile glides across his face. “You think I’m fucking stupid? No man would ever deny themselves a hot piece of ass, so your lies are worthless to me. Svyerson made me a promise, Louhi, and he broke it when he went after you. He betrayed me.” “He didn’t!” Louhi exclaims, her broken voice taking on a hard edge as they circle one another. I watch transfixed, enraptured by the woman who’s snared my heart so thoroughly. She’s a lioness, prowling, baring her teeth at her dad, a man who was willing to sell her to pay off his debts. 

Yeah, he’s that man. Looks like The Crib Club has been a home away from home for Carter over the last six months, and all of Tales’ profits have been sunk into card games and pussy. Turns out the bastard was willing to sell his daughter to the King to clear the debts racked up by his gambling habits and addiction to pleasure. A debt that I will clear the moment I kill the cunt. Carter might be acting holier than thou right now, but he’s the fucking villain, not me, and because of that he won’t live to see another day. The moment he has his back to me, I launch myself upright. Adrenaline and the need to protect the woman I love propelling my feet forward the few paces to rip the knife from Derby’s body and then drive it into Carter’s back, straight through his heart.

He dies instantly. He didn’t see it coming and neither did Saoirse. Her face is a mixture of astonishment and relief as she stares at me, oblivious in the moment that her dad is dead in my arms. Her eyes brim with tears, tears that never fall as relief is quickly replaced with shock, then bewilderment as blood gurgles up Carter’s throat, spilling from his lips. I watch in slow motion, breathing heavily from the exertion and pain as she tries to make sense of what’s happened. Her eyes widen and her body stiffens as realization dawns. Drawing the knife free with one hard yank, I let Carter’s body fall to the canvas with a loud thud. He falls onto his back, blood pumping from the wound and mingling with the viscous pool beneath my feet. “Saoirse,” I murmur, my arms falling to my side as I drop to my knees with exhaustion right beside Carter. His sightless eyes stare up at me, and even though I know he’s dead, I need to make sure. Ripping at his shirt, I pull it open, revealing his bare flesh. Blood oozes from the wound on his chest, streaking down his skin in rivulets. Despite the leaking blood, his chest is still. “Carter?” she whispers, her voice trembling with emotion as her gaze drops to him. “It’s over,” I reply, looking up at her.

She’s pale, ghostly, her mouth hanging open as she blinks with confusion. “Svyerson?” “It’s over,” I repeat. Only that dark part of me, the part that is more Svyerson than man, still needs to prove to her that I’m willing to cut the heart out of any man who dares hurt her, that I’m willing to do whatever the fuck it takes to protect her. So, with a bloodcurdling roar, I stab the knife through Carter’s sternum, using the serrated edge to saw through his bone. She deserves nothing less than his bloody heart, and I’m going to deliver it to her right the fuck now. “Stop!” she shouts, her demand stilling my hand. My head lifts, the rage I feel at the man who so easily wanted to sell his daughter making way for another emotion, empathy. She looks broken. 

Defeated in a way that guts me. I drop my hands from the knife handle, falling back on my arse as I watch the woman I love drop to her knees. “Saoirse, listen,” I reach for her, but she shakes my hand away, flinching from my touch. “Don’t!” “Saoirse…” But the look she gives me quietens me faster than any weapon ever could. “Dad?” she questions, resting the gun on the floor beside her then cupping Carter’s face. “Dad?” Her voice is no more than a whisper as she twists his head to the side, ducking closer to him and ignoring the twelve inch knife sticking out of his brutalized chest. “He’s dead.” My head snaps up as I watch the King step into the cage, followed by Rodriguez and Dom. I’d almost forgotten about them. Rodriguez is uncharacteristically quiet, and Dom gives me a small nod. He’s a smart man, he knows that I would never do something like this if I didn’t have a good fucking reason for it. There will be time for an explanation, but that time isn’t now. “You!” she hisses, grabbing the gun and getting to her feet, aiming it at the King. “This was you!” “No, Saoirse,” I interrupt as I force myself to my feet, readying myself to act if the King decides to go back on his word. Fuck only knows it gets my goat backing the cunt, but this is all part of the deal I made to keep Saoirse safe. “Shut the hell up, Svyerson!” I want to tell Saoirse everything, and I will when I can ensure her safety, but right now I just need to get her through this night without starting a fucking war.

 Keeping Saoirse in the dark for a short time will protect her in the long run. It has to. “You’d be wise to listen to your boyfriend, Louhi,” the King says, unperturbed by the fact she is pointing her gun at his head. “Trust me, Saoirse,” I urged, willing her to see past the carnage. To think and not act this time. At The Crib Club I made my own deal with the King after he revealed Carter’s plans. The King had said that he’d never intended on taking Saoirse for his own, and whilst I didn’t believe a word of it, I was willing to suspend disbelief to get what I wanted for Saoirse. Her security, her safety, and her father’s debt paid in full. All I had to do was kill Derby and Carter. The King would remain a silent business partner, and continue to provide fighters, taking a cut of the profits. In turn he would keep her in business under his protection, and whilst the whole part about him giving her his protection is a bitter pill to swallow, I’m man enough to know that I’m only one man, and one man does not an army make. At least not until Saoirse and I can build one ourselves. And we will.

The caveat to this agreement was that I take full responsibility for killing her dad, hiding the fact that a contract was drawn up between the two men. To be honest, after the King showed me their contract, killing Carter was the easiest fucking decision to make. Not killing the King for agreeing to it, the motherfucking hardest. I don’t like the man. Don’t fucking trust him, and I certainly don’t believe he will keep to his side of the deal, but for the time being I’m willing to let him live so that Saoirse and I can make a plan, and build a fucking army. There will come a day when we’ll both have our revenge, but in the meantime we use him, then take him out when the time is right. “This is on you,” she snarls, her rage fucking beautiful to behold.

 She may be at her most vulnerable right now, but she is fierce, and one day soon she’ll be unstoppable. “This has nothing to do with me,” the King says without even flinching. I’ll give him that, the guy has balls of fucking steel and the best poker face I’ve ever seen. “You’re a liar,” she accuses, her finger tightening over the trigger. “Saoirse, this is on me,” I say, stepping over Carter’s body and standing between her and the King, stumbling a little as my head pounds like a motherfucker.

I fucking hate that I’m in this position, protecting the King, but it’s only temporary. His time will come. “Bullshit. What do you have on Svyerson?” Saoirse presses, stepping to the side, trying to get a clear shot at the King. I move in front of her again and she bares her teeth at me. “Not a thing,” the King replies. “I’m as shocked as you are about how this all panned out.” “Bullshit!” she shouts, fury leaking from her now. “Saoirse, listen,” I say, holding my hands up and trying my fucking best not to pass the fuck out. “This is on me. I’m responsible.” “What?” she asks, snapping her gaze back to me. “I went to Carter this morning about us. I explained everything to him. I tried to make him listen. He wouldn’t.” “And he didn’t kill you the second you told him?” I shake my head. “No. He said if I won the fight tonight then he’d allow us to be together. I took him for his word, Saoirse,” I lied, because I didn’t say a damn thing about us. As far as I was concerned he knew nothing. I only realized that wasn’t the case when he asked Rodriguez to bring the weapons into the cage. Right now I’m not a hundred percent certain which fuck told him, but given the look on Rodriguez’s face, I’m guessing it’s him. “He wanted me dead. That’s why he allowed weapons into the ring. He also wanted a bloodbath, and he fucking got one.” “Yet you survived,” she whispers, sadness brimming in her eyes as she aims the gun at me now.

“Saoirse, what are you doing?” “You killed my dad, Svyerson.” “I had to do it. He would never have allowed us to be together, Saoirse,” I say, covering up the fact that I did it to protect her. That he was the fucking monster ready to sell her off to the King to save his own arse. “And I have to do this,” she replies, her sadness replaced now with a hardness that is so much like her dad it makes my blood run cold. “We can work this out,” I say, watching as she shuts down her emotions one by one. “I will never be respected in this business if I let you walk after what you did.” “Saoirse, I was protecting you!” “Don’t you see, it doesn’t fucking matter. We could’ve found a way around this together, but you chose to murder Carter instead. How can I let that go? Tell me how?” she pleads.

“Darlin, think about this…” Dom says, his voice trailing off when she snatches her head around to look at him. “It’s Louhi to you,” she snarls. “Louhi, listen, you’re in shock,” he says quickly, and the room around me fucking spins as darkness claws at my brain. “Understandably so, but even I can see that Svyerson did what he had to do.” 

“And where does that leave me?” she shouts, her voice cracking. “Carter is dead and the club is mine.” Her gaze flicks back to me now and the anguish in her eyes almost floors me. “It’s too late for me to choose. They’ll walk all over me if I don’t do this. You know that.”

 “No one would dare fuck with you, not with my backing, Louhi,” the King interjects. “I have a reputation enough for the both of us.” “And what makes you think I want your backing, huh? This is my club now,” she snaps. “Well, see, that’s where things get a little complicated,” the King says, and my fucking stomach bottoms out because I know why that is. Carter well and truly fucked the gravy train on this one. “What do you mean?” she asks, the gun moving from my chest back to the King’s.

“In order to get my backing, your father signed over a percentage of the club to me. I now own a forty-eight percent share in the club, and that will remain in place for as long as it is profitable for the both of us or you’re able to raise two million dollars to buy me out.” “Two million dollars? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” “Those were the terms of our deal, Louhi,” the King says, conveniently leaving out the most important part, that Carter was going to sell her to him to clear his debts and secure the deal. I glance at the King, not liking the way he’s fucking smirking like he assumes she’ll never be able to raise that kind of money. He’s a fool to underestimate her. 

“Or I could just shoot you dead and rip up the contract now,” she replies, bringing a smile to my lips. “I’m feeling particularly trigger happy.” “You could, but we both know that wouldn’t be wise. I have men who know where I am and what time I’m expected back. If I don’t turn up they’ll rain hellfire down on you. You stand alone, Louhi, with one man barely alive.” “She has me too,” Dom says. “Three against two hundred loyal men. You do the math,” the King retorts. I can see the defeat written across her face as she tries hard to figure out what to do. We both know that acting out of passion and anger now will be a mistake.

 She’s smart enough to know that what she needs is time to figure everything out, to make a plan. That’s what I’ve given her, us. Time. “You’re right, it wouldn’t be wise to kill you.” “That’s a good girl,” he replies, the fucking patronising prick. “But don’t for one second think you can walk all over me. I’m not a bleeding heart. I’m a Davidson… No, I’m Louhi and no one fucks with me. Let this be your warning.” “Understood,” the King retorts evenly. She shifts her attention back to me. “I warned you not to break my heart.” 

“I was protecting you!” I protest. “No, killing Carter wasn’t about you protecting me, it was about you protecting yourself and believing that I’m incapable of finding a solution to a problem that affects the both of us.” “That wasn’t what—” I begin, but she cuts me off. “Once again you failed to consider that I had a say in all of this. Me. I don’t need a man to make decisions for me, I need a man who’s willing to stand beside me whilst we find a solution together. You’re just like all the rest.” “Saoirse, you don’t understand…” “Don’t. Not another word, Svyerson.”

“I did this for us, for you. I fucking love you,” I say, willing her to believe me. Needing her to know, if nothing else, that’s the truth. “Love?” she laughs bitterly. “People like you and me don’t get to love.” Then she points her gun at me and pulls the motherfucking trigger.

#henry cavill #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill characters #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson #grumpy/sunshine #henry cavill thirst

[yan-lorkai]

Tips for someone who wants to start their writing blog? 👉👈

Helllllllllllo darling! (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ~

-- First of all:

Sometimes you're going to write a lot and sometimes you won't even want to open your drafts because you'll be tired from it. And that's ok, always know your pace or else you're going overwhelm yourself wanting to write everything. Also don't ever delete your drafts, yes, even the ones you don't want to write anymore. Ideas and concepts can be reused later!

-- Grammar!

I'm not yet fluent in english so sometimes I write with the dictionary open in another tab lol, thing is this is very important. To better your grammar you can practice writing drabble and prompts, you don't even have to post it if you don't like it. I also recommend to read a lot as reading works to inspire you and to analyse how different every writer writes. Like, I love writing dialogues so sometimes I have a hard time writing descriptions bcs I can't focus on them. When this happens I just skip it and put a () for when I'm proofreading to edit it.

Though commiting little errors are common and totally fine, darling! You're allowed to commit them. Don't ever "omg, there's so many typos on my fics people must hate them and me" or smth, is normal to make typos actually :)

-- Rules

It's your blog, darling. You have the final say on every matter. Don't ever feel pressured to write something just because people ask you to. Though be prepared because sometimes people won't read it so you have to be patient. Put the rules on somewhere visible, change their color, PUT THEM ON ALL CAPS!

Be very specific. Like, what fandoms do you write for? How many characters can people send in? What are you comfortable writing and what are you willing to try? Is there something that you won't tolerate being sent in your inbox? Things like that!

-- Ramble, share, talk

Let us hear what you have to say. Your ideas, even if they seem silly to you, are very interesting to the audience. Also let your followers to connect and interact with you <- I say this as if I wasn't so shy and awkard that eveytime I want to share sometimes I'm hit with ah well nobody will care anyway. This is the devil speaking, do not the same I do, darling!

-- Aesthetic and tags

I like this part hehe. As I said, this is your blog darling. It's almost like your second home. And people like their home being pretty and comfy. So try making your blog look like that! Choose an aesthetic, a character or something that speaks to you. And don't be afraid to change.

Also about tags. Everyone has its own. Tag everything: fics, characters, fandoms! They're so important, darling, you can search for them on your blog later and a tagged fic has a higher chance of showing up in the main feed. Besides it'll be easier for people to navigate through your blog (also make a masterlist, yes, even if it's a hassle to maintain it).

-- Don't be afraid

Writing is hard, is true. Motivation can come and go, sometimes time won't allign it with your want to write, y'know just mundane things. If you have writer block then don't force yourself to write, you won't like it what you read when you're done and if you feel afraid to write something new then do it afraid. Do it afraid even if it's bad, do it afraid because otherwise you won't do it. Though if is something you don't know about then please search about it and talk with other people.

-- Have fun

The whole purpose of writing is to have fun. Do not anyone spoil your fun, babe. Have fun, laugh and cry writing, make friends along the way. If a story is loved by its writer then certainly everyone will feel it and love it just as much as love! :)

Hope this all helps. If you still have any questions then ask away and I'II try my best answering it!

#lorkai answer #*･゜ﾟ anon ask

[not-poignant]

Hi Pia

Just to be clear, will the old version of Fae Tales remain available on ao3 or will it be replaced with the newer edited versions?

I'd appreciate knowing so I'll know whether to download the older versions before their replaced.

Thanks x

Hi anon,

I've talked about this a lot over the years. But basically I have actually edited and tweaked all of my stories many times over the years firstly, so that's a thing that does happen and it's worth backing up versions (if you want to keep the typos and some of the continuity errors x.x)

Secondly, I will save the 'references to SAL' version of Game Theory, so that this version is always available. I'm still on the fence about whether I'll make the AO3 version fully original, I always said that I would, but that was before I made the decision to actually try publishing, and now I think I could probably keep both.

However, even if I do that, I get a lot of people saying they find Game Theory confusing - why was Augus defeated? What did he do wrong? What's the difference between Seelie and Unseelie fae? Etc. etc. Questions that got answered in SAL for some, and certainly get addressed in COFT and TIP, never get addressed in GT, and that's kind of an issue for a free serial that is meant to help people get interested in my writing.

Some people overcome that (or have no issue with it), but it really is the biggest barrier to folks picking up the series.

In that sense, I have considered adding extra scenes, and also removing the scenes that have been completely OOC for over 8+ years, like Gwyn masturbating early on in GT, or the spanking scene later on. Neither one fits Gwyn's character, and it's very quickly established after that - and then maintained for almost a decade afterwards - that they really don't fit his character.

Those inconsistencies might be charming for some, but they're actually really frustrating for me! I haven't been able to reread Game Theory for enjoyment for like 4+ years because of it.

So, will I fix those things to make GT have decent continuity of character and add new scenes to GT on AO3? Maybe. Will I keep the references to SAL? Maybe! This one's more likely, especially for the folks - the many of us - who love fanfiction and love AO3 and came to GT (including me) from fanfiction. There's always a transitional story for people who need it.

My biggest stumbling blocks are the character continuity issues.

Also for those who probably don't know, I've made some actually pretty big edits to SAL for character continuity re: Gwyn and Augus. Augus, in particular, has had some major reworking in that story (like 4-5 years ago).

Every single one of my stories gets edited over time, especially if I do rereads. Most don't get new scenes, but like... oof I'd say there's about 2000 extra words on Gwyn and Augus in SAL, and I remember I did an edit about 6 years ago which easily removed about 12,000 words.

No one's ever brought it up, so ideally the edits felt smooth and just made the reading process more enjoyable.

But yeah if you want old versions of anything I write, anon, save/download them.

But if I make big structural changes (removing scenes / removing chapters), I will make a back-up copy myself and host it on Dropbox or something for folks to download going forwards. But hopefully they try the edited version too :)

#asks and answers #game theory #game theory edits #fae tales verse #fae tales #the fact is that game theory is the most inconsistent thing i've ever written #because it started out as hate fucking #became 'i can't let them die' #became 'oh shit is this a story' #and because i was trying to depart from fanfiction references #and couldn't do it entirely #and that frustrates me because now i *can* change that #and i *want to* #SAL ends just fine without game theory and it doesn't *need it* to be a complete story #Game Theory *does not start just fine without SAL* #which is not great #asklfasdjfas #that worked out fine a decade ago when everyone came over from SAL #but the *majority* of readers don't find GT that way anymore #and it's been like that for like 6+ years #and nostalgia is not a good enough reason to make things really hard #for new readers #when that series is already pretty challenging to newcomers y'know?

[starlling-writes]

Grimm x Pearl Fanfic WIP

Okay so... because I don't know how long it's going to take me to actually write this full fic, I've decided to post my progress so anyone who wants to can read it as I work, instead of waiting for it to be fully done. (This also will help me to be able to work on writing this while I'm away from home/my computer.)

Because I DO plan on posting this fic properly once it's all done, I'm not going to allow reblogs of this post. I'll keep a running list above the cut of when I make updates to this post, that way it's easy to tell when there is new content. Lastly, I don't think I'll do much, if any, proof-reading/editing of this fic until it's fully done, so there will likely be typos and some changes when the final fic is released. Until then—enjoy!

Updates:

June 10 : part of ch2 added

June 12 : all of ch2 added, first paragraph of ch3

June 15 : more of ch3

June 22 : second half of ch3

June 30 : corrected Grimm's rules at the end of ch3, bit of ch4, & some outline stuff (b/c writing has been tough lately but I wanna share something)

July 26 : bit of ch4, removed outline from last update

July 29 : almost all of ch4 (Word has been acting up lately for me so, to make sure I don't lose anything, I'm updating again now instead of when I fully finish ch4 like I first wanted)

Aug 7 : some missing bits from ch4 & start of ch5. Also, I realized the first chunk of ch4 was a bit wonky from a copy/paste error, so that all should be fixed now.

Sept 8 : missing scene from ch4, and the second half of ch5

~ I do have an idea for the Title, but I don't want to share that yet :P

Synopsis

The Universe has a funny way of working sometimes. Pearl couldn’t see how the Universe kept insisting that, despite being jobless and weeks away from being homeless, things were perfectly fine and she was on the right track. And it didn’t feel helpful when her oracle cards clarified to let Death help guide her. Specifically, a Death-Head. And, in a way that only the Universe would find amusing, it was specifically the Death-Head most known for murder and torture in the North. A small quick prayer led to an accidental run-in, led to a deal that would change everything for Pearl. And for the Death-Head, Grimm, that accepted her request.

— CH 1 —

Pearl felt lost in a freefall.

The Death-Head deal was made, and she knew there was a near-guarantee it would be fulfilled in time for her to keep her apartment. But the unease of what she’ll have to eventually pay Grimm haunted like a shadow. In the day following their first meeting, she thought about canceling it. The only thing stopping her was the bright red number of her bank account. She needed money. She didn’t want to have to admit defeat, to move back home so soon.

She yelled out, jumping up off her bed and striking a determined pose. “This will work out!” she affirmed to herself. She had to push aside all the little things making her worry, and trust.

Trust in a Death-Head.

Alarming on cue, her phone rang. It was him.

“You have an interview tomorrow morning at ten,” he told her with no preamble. “I’ll send you the address. Do you have a suitable wardrobe for office work?”

“I have a couple outfits, maybe,” Pearl admitted. “I’ve had to sell a fair bit of stuff to try to stay above my debts, but I should still have at least one outfit.”

He was silent for a moment. “Hmm, alright. If your interview goes well tomorrow, we’ll need to go shopping for some more.”

We? First lunch with a Death-Head and now shopping together? Pearl’s life certainly took an absurd turn. She withheld a sigh. Then a thought occurred to her. “So what is the job for? Where would I be working?”

“Deah-Head Headquarters.”

Pearl nearly dropped her phone. “Death-Head… Headquarters?” The squeak in her voice betrayed her surprise and unease.

“Is that a problem?”

Now it was Pearl’s turn to be silent for a while. She had no idea what kind of office work Death-Heads required. Would she need to paint her face, too, if she got the job? Pearl touched her cheek. Working so close to Death-Heads… could she stomach it? Should she try to fail the interview on purpose? Sure, she was desperate for a job. But this desperate?

Pearl put her back against the wall and slid down to sit on the floor. She covered her mouth to mute her quickening breaths. Panic was taking over. It wasn’t too late to back out of the deal, but could she really afford it?

“Take a slow, deep breath,” Grimm said gently over the phone. His omniscient recognition of her panic attack sent a jolt through her, disrupting it. She did as he said. “Again.”

When he was just a voice, it was easy to forget what he was. And he had a really nice voice. It took a few minutes, but Pearl calmed down again. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” His voice was still so gentle. “You have a lot of questions.”

“Yeah,” she said meekly.

“Hmm. Would you prefer to discuss them over the phone, or in person?”

“You wouldn’t happen to be available for a deal?”

The words escaped Pearl’s lips before she had a chance to second-guess herself. If the cards were urging her towards this path, it was worth the risk. Right?

Grimm looked at her for a hard moment. She didn’t appear to be the type he’d normally take requests from. He’d either be surprised by her, or he’d hand her off to someone else—she sure looked serious enough to make a request. “Hmm, alright. Let’s go have a chat.”

He led the way through the small, shopping strip to a café. He claimed one of the outdoor tables and motioned for Pearl to join him. She sat rigidly, contrasting his casual demeanor. “What do you want?” he asked.

“Oh. Getting right to it.” Now to put her request into words. How specific did she need to be with this? Pearl barely knew anything about Death-Head deals; did they often try to find loopholes in wording, and mess with wordplay for their benefit? She should’ve thought about this more before approaching a Death-Head. “I’m in need of a job. I moved to Lywood not long ago and I haven’t—”

He raised his hand, palm out, gesturing for her to stop. “I meant from the menu. It’s my treat for bumping into you. We can talk work after.”

“Oh.” This… this wasn’t what she was expecting from a Death-Head. If it wasn’t for his makeup, he’d be just another polite man. It muddled her opinions of him.

She took a menu from the centerpiece and gave it a look. A waiter came over shortly after. They set a drink in front of Grimm—he must be a regular here—then asked if Pearl was ready. Deciding quickly, she ordered a macchiato and a chocolate croissant. There had been other tantalizing options, but she kept it small and simple, not wanting to overstep his hospitality.

Once her food was delivered, he started talking. “So, your request is to find you a job, hmm?”

“Basically,” she said solemnly. “I moved here hoping Lywood would be better for me; but so far it’s just been slowly whittling me to nothing. I’ve tried so much, but everything seems against me. Even the guidance from my oracle cards is starting to feel mocking. Hell—it’s because of them that I’m even here talking with you.”

“Hmm?” That got him curious.

She bristled. Did she really just admit that to him? Too late now. She sighed to herself as she fished her cards out of her pocket—it was a little comfort to carry them with her sometimes. She flipped over the top card, revealing Death. “Usually it represents change—a figurative death. Rarely it means a literal one. But right now, it seems to mean you.”

“You trust in your oracle skills that much?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly at him. “Yes,” she said with a bite.

He held up his hands up defensively. “Apologies. I didn’t mean to offend or diminish.”  He took a slow drink, stealing the moment to ponder. He glanced between the cards and Pearl. There was something about her, and her situation, that piqued his curiosity. “Do you give readings to others?”

“Not usually? I divine well enough for myself. Most others tend to want more insight than I can usually see. Were you suggesting I become a professional oracle?”

“Hm, no.” He pulled out some money and slid it towards her. “Give me a reading.”

“Huh?” Wasn’t she supposed to be hiring, and paying, him? He… this was not how she thought a Death-Head would be. Was he trying to not scare her out of a deal? Was he trying to make her feel more comfortable so she’d ask for more—so he could ask for more? This felt too odd. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Depending on the cards, I’ll either take your case or recommend someone else.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Setting aside how bizarre this all was, Pearl picked up her cards and started shuffling. “What do you want to ask the cards? You don’t have to say it aloud; just concentrate on it. And don’t half-ass this! The cards will know if you’re insincere in your request.”

He scoffs. “I don’t half-ass anything.”

It was unnerving, the coldness that crept through his words. She closed her eyes and focused on the cards, imploring them to give him the guidance he sought. Pearl did her best to not channel any of her own desires into the shuffle. But this needed to go well. Whether the outcome resulted in her working with this Death-Head or another, she needed this to work out.

The cards called her to stop. She splayed them out in a row on the table. “Pick.”

“How many?”

“However many you feel you need to.”

Grimm looked over the cards carefully. He could count on one hand the times he sought out an oracle’s guidance. Not because he distrusted or disbelieved their abilities. Just the opposite. The foresight of oracles was a powerful force—one he dared not abuse or take for granted. He pulled a sing card. The Sun.

“Well that’s a good sign,” Pearl reflexively said. She reached over and traced her fingers along the card’s imagery, taking a moment to decipher the correlation between its meanings and Grimm’s question. “The Sun is a very favorable card. Even when inverted, it still often signifies success and happiness and such—though it’s direct for you, so there’s no muted energies, delays, or back steps.”

“Back steps?”

She paused. How to explain in simple terms? “Anyone in divination will tell you that most of it is intuition based and not a firm standard of meanings. Well, one way that inverted interpretations were taught to me is that sometimes it means you have to step back to the previous card in deck and learn something from it before progressing—for The Sun, that would mean The Moon.”

“I see.”

“But again, The Sun is direct for you, so you don’t need to worry about any of that,” she brushed off. She cleared her throat and refocused on the reading. “As it stands, the situation regarding your question looks prosperous and beneficial. It’s a good sign to continue forward. Though don’t take that as a free-ride; you still need to keep up your end in order to reap the benefits.” He hummed to himself as he mulled over her words. As the silence lengthened, making her grow more uneasy by his lack of reaction, she added, “You can pull some more cards for clarity, if you’d like.”

He waved his hand dismissively, his rings catching the light. “No need. I’ll take your request, so let’s talk in more detail.”

Two emotions clashed within Pearl. On one hand, she was glad to be moving forward with her situation, relieved to know that she will soon have an income. But on the other hand… was the good tidings she just foretold to him in regards to this deal? Did The Sun, facing inverted from her perspective, actually mean the setting of her good fortune rising onto him?

She wouldn’t realize it unless she looked back on this moment months from now, but the cards were indeed giving guidance to them both; if only Pearl hadn’t clung to the negative—and highly absurd—interpretation, and instead reflected on her own words.

— CH 2 —

Pearl felt lost in a freefall.

The Death-Head deal was made, and she knew there was a near-guarantee it would be fulfilled in time for her to keep her apartment. But the unease of what she’ll have to eventually pay Grimm haunted like a shadow. In the day following their first meeting, she thought about canceling it. The only thing stopping her was the bright red number of her bank account. She needed money. She didn’t want to have to admit defeat, to move back home so soon.

She yelled out, jumping up off her bed and striking a determined pose. “This will work out!” she affirmed to herself. She had to push aside all the little things making her worry, and trust.

Trust in a Death-Head.

Alarming on cue, her phone rang. It was him.

“You have an interview tomorrow morning at ten,” he told her with no preamble. “I’ll send you the address. Do you have a suitable wardrobe for office work?”

“I have a couple outfits, maybe,” Pearl admitted. “I’ve had to sell a fair bit of stuff to try to stay above my debts, but I should still have at least one outfit.”

He was silent for a moment. “Hmm, alright. If your interview goes well tomorrow, we’ll need to go shopping for some more.”

We? First lunch with a Death-Head and now shopping together? Pearl’s life certainly took an absurd turn. She withheld a sigh. Then a thought occurred to her. “So what is the job for? Where would I be working?”

“Deah-Head Headquarters.”

Pearl nearly dropped her phone. “Death-Head… Headquarters?” The squeak in her voice betrayed her surprise and unease.

“Is that a problem?”

Now it was Pearl’s turn to be silent for a while. She had no idea what kind of office work Death-Heads required. Would she need to paint her face, too, if she got the job? Pearl touched her cheek. Working so close to Death-Heads… could she stomach it? Should she try to fail the interview on purpose? Sure, she was desperate for a job. But this desperate?

Pearl put her back against the wall and slid down to sit on the floor. She covered her mouth to mute her quickening breaths. Panic was taking over. It wasn’t too late to back out of the deal, but could she really afford it?

“Take a slow, deep breath,” Grimm said gently over the phone. His omniscient recognition of her panic attack sent a jolt through her, disrupting it. She did as he said. “Again.”

When he was just a voice, it was easy to forget what he was. And he had a really nice voice. It took a few minutes, but Pearl calmed down again. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” His voice was still so gentle. “You have a lot of questions.”

“Yeah,” she said meekly.

“Would you prefer to discuss them over the phone, or in person?”

Pearl felt lost in a freefall.

The Death-Head deal was made, and she knew there was a near-guarantee it would be fulfilled in time for her to keep her apartment. But the unease of what she’ll have to eventually pay Grimm haunted like a shadow. In the day following their first meeting, she thought about canceling it. The only thing stopping her was the bright red number of her bank account. She needed money. She didn’t want to have to admit defeat, to move back home so soon.

She yelled out, jumping up off her bed and striking a determined pose. “This will work out!” she affirmed to herself. She had to push aside all the little things making her worry, and trust.

Trust in a Death-Head.

Alarming on cue, her phone rang. It was him.

“You have an interview tomorrow morning at ten,” he told her with no preamble. “I’ll send you the address. Do you have a suitable wardrobe for office work?”

“I have a couple outfits, maybe,” Pearl admitted. “I’ve had to sell a fair bit of stuff to try to stay above my debts, but I should still have at least one outfit.”

He was silent for a moment. “Hmm, alright. If your interview goes well tomorrow, we’ll need to go shopping for some more.”

We? First lunch with a Death-Head and now shopping together? Pearl’s life certainly took an absurd turn. She withheld a sigh. Then a thought occurred to her. “So what is the job for? Where would I be working?”

“Deah-Head Headquarters.”

Pearl nearly dropped her phone. “Death-Head… Headquarters?” The squeak in her voice betrayed her surprise and unease.

“Is that a problem?”

“Hmm. Would you prefer to discuss them over the phone, or in person?”

“Phone…”

Pearl asked her questions. Grimm patiently answered every one, elaborating when necessary. But soon they weren’t even talking about work. Without realizing it, they slipped into casual conversation, random comments strung into the next

Now it was Pearl’s turn to be silent for a while. She had no idea what kind of office work Death-Heads required. Would she need to paint her face, too, if she got the job? Pearl touched her cheek. Working so close to Death-Heads… could she stomach it? Should she try to fail the interview on purpose? Sure, she was desperate for a job. But this desperate?

Pearl put her back against the wall and slid down to sit on the floor. She covered her mouth to mute her quickening breaths. Panic was taking over. It wasn’t too late to back out of the deal, but could she really afford it?

“Take a slow, deep breath,” Grimm said gently over the phone. His omniscient recognition of her panic attack sent a jolt through her, disrupting it. She did as he said. “Again.”

When he was just a voice, it was easy to forget what he was. And he had a really nice voice. It took a few minutes, but Pearl calmed down again. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” His voice was still so gentle. “You have a lot of questions.”

“Yeah,” she said meekly.

“Hmm. Would you prefer to discuss them over the phone, or in person?”

“…Phone.”

One by one, Pearl asked her questions. Grimm patiently answered each of them, elaborating as needed, without judgment. Soon the conversation led away from work. One random comment naturally strung into another. The silences ebbed and flowed just as comfortably as the chatter. He even got a laugh out of her.

By the end, Pearl felt comfortable proceeding with the interview.

That’s not to say she didn’t get nervous about it still. She arrived ten minutes early. There were a few others waiting around when she got there. Like Grimm had said, no one here wore the Death-Head mask.  It was like any other office building.

There were two parts to the interview: the typical questionnaire portion—though not-so-typical, since the later questions geared towards Death-Head related things—and then a practical test. While Pearl didn’t have direct experience working in an office before, her natural computer and typing skills, and her ability to pick up their specific programs, were of great benefit. Overall, she felt it went well. Though one of the interviewer’s questions lingered like a bad taste in her mouth.

“I’m sorry, I just have to ask. This interview was set up as part of a deal. Why bother with still going through the interview when you could simply get the position?”

“I don’t want to get a job that way,” Pearl said shaking her head. Grimm had questioned that stipulation too, though he didn’t come off as judgmental about it. “I made the deal to ensure I could interview for a job. I still want to rightfully earn it.” She didn’t add that if she didn’t earn a job within her deadline, then she would, begrudgingly, accept one fully handed to her.

As this was a Death-Head deal, Pearl had the perk of having her interview results be expedited. Not that this was a one-and-done kind of thing. Death-Heads were particular about all their employees. And passing the first step didn’t guarantee Pearl a job yet. Still, she made it through the interview. And her background check was nearly done. Next was the temporary work position.

If she made it through that, then the deal would be complete.

— 3 —

Pearl was excited for her first day of work. It felt good to be doing something, to be making money again. For now, she would be training and working in the North branch’s offices. On one hand, the commute was nicer. On the other, Pearl had a lot more interaction with Death-Heads than she expected. She was marginally more comfortable around them thanks to her time with Grimm. Her deal was working out.

But rumors of a deal made with the leader of the North faction soon became a thorn.

Pearl didn’t tell anyone about her deal. So, it was quite surprising to hear office gossip about her and Grimm. Granted, no one knew it was her. There was just talk about how strange it was that Grimm accepted a non-violent deal. She wanted to ask. Wanted to know the extent of what they meant. She knew that Death-Heads often did dirty work, and someone who was a faction leader definitely didn’t have clean hands, but with how everyone was talking about it, their deal was completely out of character for him.

She couldn’t stop thinking about it…

As the days went on and the gossip developed, Pearl kept to herself. She even started taking her lunch breaks across the street in the park. A number of her coworkers noticed the shift in her personality from when she started, though said nothing to her about it.

Grimm also noticed her acting differently.

Since his office overlooked the park, he couldn’t help but notice her visits there. That alone couldn’t be called odd. But he, too, started to hear the gossip. Add the reclusive comments from her performance report, and the pieces started coming together.

Pearl learned of Grimm’s reputation. He knew it was only a matter of time until she did. Still, it left him with a feeling he didn’t enjoy. He decided to check in with her.

Grabbing his own lunch, he made his way over to the park. When he found Pearl, she was sitting alone on a bench, zoned out and pushing her food around its container absently. “Mind if I join you?”

Pearl jumped and looked up at him, eyes wide and cat-ears pointed back. He didn’t mean to startle her. She recovered quickly, shook her head, then scooted over. “Go right ahead.”

He sat down and took his time to open up his bento. Pearl eyed the three-layered box, each layer packed with delicious looking food. Her lunch was measly in comparison. “How are you doing?”

Her shoulders slumped as she looked back down at her sad, barely-touched lunch. “I’m fine,” she said, clearly avoiding giving him the real answer.

His brows knitted the tiniest fraction. He wanted to ask, but ultimately stopped himself from pressing the matter. They weren’t that close. She seemed adamant to not look at him, so he started eating. Minutes passed in silence. Aside from his concern, the moment was quite nice. Grimm ate lunch alone more often than not; and it was a nice change to eat outside.

“Why did you accept my deal?” Pearl suddenly asked with a hallow note in her voice.

The feeling from earlier crept up again, leaving a bad taste in his mouth. Maybe this was a bad fit for her after all. He did something he had never done before and reminded her, “You can still back out of the deal, if you want.”

“What?” she snapped. She turned and glared at him.  “Okay first off—that is not what I said at all. Second—why would you think I’d do that to you? I basically have this job already; just because you said you wouldn’t consider the deal done until I’m no longer a temp, doesn’t mean I’d jump at the chance to get out of upholding my end of it.” She sighed heavily, looked down at her lunch again, stabbed at it quite aggressively.

Grimm stared at her. Her snap of fury surprised him—he also now had a feint understanding of the cliché of how cute someone could be when angered.

“Why did you accept my deal?” How to answer her question… Was it because of the novelty of being asked for a simple, non-violent deal? Did her being a fellow half-faced cat sway him to give her a break? Or perhaps it was all the little things—her expressiveness; her determination; how nice her voice was to listen to; the possibility she stirred with her oracle reading; the ease he felt with her—that made him want to help her.

“Hmm, I accepted your deal because… I just wanted to. Don’t know how to explain it.”

Pearl looked at him, examining him as much as his words. His explanation eased her anger. But not her worries. She sighed again, leaning her head back to stare at the sky. “Guess I should start get ready for a hefty price, huh?”

He hadn’t given any thought yet to what he’d ask of her. This wasn’t his usual deal. None of his usual type of demands seemed right. “Payment must be proportional to the deal. Don’t worry yourself so hard over it.”

Pearl stopped herself from thinking of ways a hefty payment could still be proportionately demanded. She wanted to believe that this deal with him wasn’t a mistake to make. She took a deep breath in through her nose, then slowly let it out her barely parted lips. “Okay… Okay. I trust you.”

Days passed and Pearl’s temp position was at its end. Having worked well, she was offered to stay on full-time. “Would you like to do the honors? Since you also have to ask for your payment,” Pearl’s supervisor asked Grimm.

“Hm, yeah I’ll tell her.”

“Do you know what you’re gonna ask for as payment yet?” Grimm gave her a lethal glare, making her flinch and quickly ramble, “Sorry for overstepping. I was just curious. Considering the situa… Sorry.”

Grimm knew what payment he’d ask for. But he didn’t want it to be gossiped around—especially before he could officially declare it to Pearl. He folded Pearl’s acceptance letter and tucked it inside his haori. It’d be another hour before she arrived for work. He’d give her the letter then; if she wanted to hear his payment then too, he’d tell her. Otherwise, he was fine waiting until they had lunch, or when her shift ended—yet another unheard-of thing for him to do; yet again for her.

It's a shame he wouldn’t connect these facts and their meaning until much later. For now, he only recognized the oddness of his actions, not giving them much thought.

Ten minutes after Pearl arrived, he went down to see her. Grimm’s visit was keenly noted by the entire department. And the moment he asked Pearl to talk in private, whispers chomped at the bit for them to leave. Despite everyone knowing Pearl was at the end of her temporary position and it was most likely that Grimm wanted to talk to her about staying on, the gossip of his newest, usual deal was rekindled by the fact that it was uncommon for him to handle such a task.

“It’s time, huh?” Pearl said. “The end of the deal.”

“Yes.” He gave her the letter, then gave her a moment to process it, to ready herself for what he was about to ask of her. “For payment, you owe me nineteen kisses.”

“What?” she immediately interjected. She would have never guessed he’d ask for something like that.

He raised his brow impatiently at her before continuing. “There are rules to this payment. First, only one kiss per day will count towards the payment. Second, kisses must be on the lips.. Third, someone else must be around for the kiss to count. Fourth, you have nineteen weeks to fulfill your payment; if you fail, you’re to quit this job immediately without severance. Lastly, until your payment is complete, you will be my avec to any and all occasions I request.”

She needed another moment to process this. Why was the death and decapitation guy asking this for his payment? Was it some sort of humiliation tactic because there was nothing worse he could reasonably ask for? Ultimately… Pearl decided that it was okay. It was just a handful of kisses. And she was comfortable being around him. Though, maybe less so now that she’d be constantly thinking about having to kiss him. Nineteen kisses. What an odd number to ask for. “Why nineteen?”

“For The Sun card.”

Pearl’s eye twitched. Really? That was his reason? She screamed internally at the way her oracle reading was unfolding.

But it was okay.

She had a job now. And the payment to the Death-Head was generous, all things considered. Things were working out, just like her cards had told her.

“Okay,” she agreed and stepped towards him confidently. “Nineteen kisses. And all those rules. Though tell me.” She glanced to the upper corner of the room. “Does the security guard watching on the camera count for the third rule?”

He wasn’t expecting that. He laughed, smirking cockily at her. “Hmm, know what. Sure. Just this time, it’ll count.”

She quickly raised up on her toes and kissed him. She just as quickly turned away to hide the blush spreading across her face. She cleared her throat. “Is there anything else you need from me?”

“No. You’re free to go.”

Pearl left the break room. Instead of returning to her desk, she snuck into the bathroom. She splashed water on her face a couple times, focusing on relaxing her racing emotions and heartbeat.

Nineteen kisses. Eighteen more to go.

— 4 —

Things continued on for Pearl as they had been the past few weeks. Except now she had an income. She was slowing paying off her debts. And she was also having a lot more, awkward encounters with Grimm at work. It could’ve just been her biased perspective, but he seemed to linger around her more. Did he think she’d kiss him at work in front of everyone? She’d rather avoid that, if possible. Stealing a few kisses while they had lunch across the street at the park was enough of a risk for her.

Sixteen.

It was on another one of these days where she contemplated kissing him, that Grimm called in the last rule of their deal. “Next Friday there’s a small event I have to go to. Semi-formal. I’ll pick you up at 6:00pm.”

Pearl’s thoughts slammed to a halt. She wasn’t expecting this part of the deal to come up so soon. The most formal event she had ever been to was a school dance ages ago. Her thoughts darted in countless directions. “Is… is this a Death Head event?”

“Yes.”

So, she’d have to deal with other Death Heads too… At least it was just semi-formal. Though she still didn’t have anything suitable. She wondered if she could get Grimm to buy her a new dress for the event, just like how he bought her some new outfits for work. Did she dare ask?

“If you have any more questions, just message me,” he said, getting up to leave. Any words Pearl had caught in her throat as she watched him go.

With this event now on her plate, the coming days grew stressful. But Pearl was determined to not let it get to her. She focused on what she could control. Namely, her outfit. She spent her free time thinking about the kind of dress she wanted to wear. The color, the cut and material. She had it all figured out so that when her next day off rolled around, she was ready for a day of shopping. She then planned her makeup and hairstyle for the evening—ultimately keeping everything simple.

She was as prepared as she could be. Grimm was punctual Friday evening. He pressed the buzzer, ringing her apartment. “Be right down,” she said over the intercom. When she came out the front door, they both just… stared at each other, taken aback by the little changes each made.

Pearl’s thoughts slammed to a halt. She wasn’t expecting this part of the deal to come up so soon. The most formal event she had ever been to was a school dance ages ago. Her thoughts darted in countless directions. “Is… is this a Death Head event?”

“Yes.”

So, she’d have to deal with other Death Heads too… At least it was just semi-formal. Though she still didn’t have anything suitable. She wondered if she could get Grimm to buy her a new dress for the event, just like how he bought her some new outfits for work. Did she dare ask?

“If you have any more questions, just message me,” he said, getting up to leave. Any words Pearl had caught in her throat as she watched him go.

With this event now on her plate, the coming days grew stressful. But Pearl was determined to not let it get to her. She focused on what she could control. Namely, her outfit. She spent her free time thinking about the kind of dress she wanted to wear. The color, the cut and material. She had it all figured out so that when her next day off rolled around, she was ready for a day of shopping. She then planned her makeup and hairstyle for the evening—ultimately keeping everything simple.

She was as prepared as she could be.

Grimm was punctual Friday evening. He pressed the buzzer, ringing her apartment. “Be right down,” she said over the intercom. When she came out the front door, they both just… stared at each other, taken aback by the little changes each made.

Overall, Grimm’s outfit was the same as it always was: a black haori over a white dress shirt, and plain black slacks. However, the subtle difference of the black-on-black jacquard haori he wore tonight gave him a refined touch. It also helped that he buttoned up his shirt more. But the haori was part of his signature.

And Pearl—she was a breath of spring. Her dress was a comfortable, rayon wrap dress with a ruffle along the hem, and short, flowy butterfly sleeves. The color matched her eyes perfectly. And her golden eyeshadow and rose gold lipstick were the perfect accents.

The soft rumble of distant thunder broke the moment.

Pearl looked to the sky. No clouds were gathering immediately, and she hoped it stayed that way. She’d hate to have to bring a coat—she only had one heavy winter coat, some work blazers, and a few casual jackets and sweaters of varying weight, making none of them ideal for the evening. “I hope the storm misses us,” she said, more so to herself than trying to make conversation. Brushing off her concerns, she turned back towards Grimm. “Shall we go?”

The event was hosted at a fancy hotel, not far from Death Head HQ. Grimm pulled to the front, handed his keys to the valet, then went to help Pearl out of the car. Not that she needed it. She was already walking around the front of the car. Grimm gave her a look. She shrugged. “What?”

“Can I at least escort you inside?” he sassed, raising his arm up in offering.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “You’re seriously upset over not opening my door?”

“I’m not upset.”

“Oh yeah? Your furrowed brow says otherwise.” She smiled coltishly. “Maybe I should escort you inside.” She held up her arm, mirroring him.

His kneejerk reaction was to refuse. She was his avec; he was her senior, both within the company and in age. No one dared joke with him so casually—except for Algoth, though his jokes were more often gibes. Grimm decided to lean into it. “Alright then,” he agreed, and hooked his hand up under her arm. “Lead the way.”

Pearl was not prepared for this. “What? No. I don’t know where to go. I don’t want this responsibility anymore!”

He leaned in close with a dangerous smirk. “Perhaps if you make a little payment, I’ll change my mind.”

Pearl’s face quickly turned red. Did she dare kiss him here in plain view of so many of their coworkers? His face was already so close. It would be quick. Maybe no one was looking at them, so she wouldn’t need to deal with prying questions and gossip later.

“Good evening, Sir,” someone interrupted.

Grimm righted himself and turned towards the other Death Head. “You’re here early.”

“You’re just late.” His gaze slid over to Pearl. “Since you brought an avec this time.”

“Pearl, this is my assistant, Algoth,” Grimm introduced. “But ignore what he said; we’re not late.”

“Tell that to Kahamet.”

“Hmm. I wonder what’s got him so impatient tonight.” He sighed. “Guess I better deal with him sooner rather than later.”

They all went inside together. There were far more guests than Pearl expected. She knew not everyone there worked within the Death-Head Organization. But most did. She took a steadying breath and reminded herself that, as wild as it was, she was one of them now too.

Grimm noticed her nerves. “You okay?” he quietly asked.

“Yeah. Yeah I’m good.”

And for a moment she was.

The stares started to linger as the three of them went through the ballroom. She stopped looking for familiar faces. After grabbing glasses of wine, Grimm told Algoth to keep Pearl company while he went to talk with Kahamet.

“So, you’re Pearl Helmi,” Algoth said slowly.

A little part inside Pearl started screaming. He knew her full name? Well—he was Grimm’s assistant. It wouldn’t be too surprising if he knew about their deal. But his gaze was unforgiving, almost threatening. She didn’t like it. He was even more intimidating than Grimm was when she first met him.

After a drawn-out moment, he made a soft hmph sound. Algoth reached into his jacket, then offered her his business card. “If Grimm acts out of line, let me know.”

Pearl stared at him, absolutely dumbfounded. Was he indirectly threatening Grimm? Did he know something Grimm had planned that she didn’t? She accepted the card. “Thanks?” she said meekly.

“I’m curious though… You’re not his usual type.”

She definitely misinterpreted his words. “W-what?”

“Have you really not heard about his usual deals yet?”

“Oh, our deal,” she said, realizing a little too late how revealing those words were.

A sly grin grew across his face. He wasn’t quite sure yet what was going on with them, but this little slip got him closer. “Yes. Usually, he only makes deals involving torture or murder; requesting payment equally painful, like all one’s teeth.” Pearl shivered. She had heard of this, to a degree, but no specifications about the payments he asked for. “When the paperwork for your deal first came across my desk, I thought it might be some sort of test—to see how attentive I am filing all out papers—or perhaps a joke he was playing.

“But here you are,” he punctuated by tipping his drink towards her. Then he took a sip.

His gaze had yet to waver from Pearl, and oh boy, did she feel it boring into her. Algoth was definitely worse than Grimm. She could enjoy a meal and laugh with Grimm. Algoth, on the other hand… at first he seemed to want to maybe help her—albeit in an intimidating manner. But then how the conversation changed… what was his goal with all that?

Whatever it was, she did not have the energy to parse it tonight.

“Heh, yeah. Maybe he made a bet with someone and had to take next job request he got and ended up with me?” she joked lightly, her heart not in it. She took a sip of her drink and scanned the perimeter of the room. “Do you know where the bathroom is? An eyelash is starting to attack my eye.” It was a lie. Pearl just wanted to escape the intense interaction. If Algoth realized this, he didn’t call her on it.

“Where’s Pearl?” Grimm immediately asked upon returning to the gala nearly twenty minutes later.

Algoth shrugged. “Probably hiding out in the bathroom.”

Grimm’s face twitched into a brief snarl. “And why would that be?” he slowly growled.

“Just made sure she knew the full you,” Algoth answered nonchalantly, staring dully at him. “What is you aim with her? I know what you’re making her pay you.” Grimm’s hand went up, but stopped short from grabbing him by the lapels of his coat. Algoth looked down at Grimm’s hand as it gradually balled into a fist and lowered back to his side. He snickered. "Go comfort your princess," he said. His gaze slid away from Grimm and then took a drink.

Grimm clapped him on the shoulder, took a step closer, and whispered a threat into his ear. "Give me all the shit you want. But not her."

Algoth's smirk grew smugger as his boss walked off. "Wonder how long it'll take him to realize," he said to himself.

It was easy finding Pearl out in the hallway. She was sitting on a bench, casually chatting with another HQ officer worker.

"So this is where you've been hiding," Grimm butted in.

"Oh, hey Grimm. Not exactly hiding. But yeah, taking a break from… all that," she said and gestured in the direction of the ballroom.

"What did Algoth say to you?"

The coworker Pearl was talking to—who had been stiffly silent since Grimm approached—quickly excused themself and gave the two their privacy. Grimm took the vacated seat beside Pearl.

She sighed and dug the business card out of her purse and held it out towards him. "He told me to contact him if you misbehaved. Then he proceeded to remind me of how unusual our deal is. Also—why did you ask for all of someone's teeth?"

"They're good for my bonsai."

Pearl's eye twitched. He… he actually used the teeth for something? "Ah yes, how could I not realize something so simple. Bonsai dentures."

He laughed. All the tension he was holding instantly vanished as her sarcastic joke caught him completely off guard. It was a nice change from the very… professional, meeting he just had with the CEO. And from Algoth being cheeky tonight. He gave her a thoughtful look—staring long enough to make Pearl start feeling antsy.

“Should we get back to the event?” she asked.

“Hmm, as you wish.”

They didn’t make it back inside the ballroom.

They were steps away from the door when someone loudly called out, “Oh look. There’s the cheater who bought her way into the Death Heads.”

Pearl froze. There was no doubt that they meant her. She looked at the floor, afraid to meet anyone’s gaze as attention shifted to them. If it had only been that one comment, perhaps her anxiety wouldn’t have gotten the better of her. Unfortunately, they continued ranting.

“Do you know how many times I had to apply before I got an interview for an office job? And you just waltz right past all that!”

Grimm moved himself between Pearl and the other office worker as they walked over. Judging by the stumbling stagger in their walk and the prominent smell of alcohol, they were drunk. Regardless of intoxication, this was unbecoming of a Death Head.

Others began butting in to deescalate the situation. Pearl would appreciate their help later. For now, she focused on not having an anxiety attack. One little thing after another. Cynically, she started to wonder if the Universe was determined to not let her enjoy this night. “I need air,” she said. She didn’t wait for anyone’s acknowledgement before heading outside.

Grimm watched her leave, then sharply turned back to the instigator. He grabbed them by the collar and pulled them in close. “I suggest you go sober up and never be in my presence again."

That comment earned Grimm some looks as he left, following after Pearl. She was pacing with her arms hugged tightly to her chest, her eyes closed, deliberately breathing in through her nose and out her mouth. She heard him approached and stopped.

“How are you?” he asked.

She flashed a shaky smile. “Just fending off some imposter syndrome. No big deal,” she brushed off.

“It is. Things have changed rapidly for you. Even without some drunk asshole making jealous snarks, it’s understandable to second guess yourself.” He walked closer to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “But you did earn this job on your own. You made that part of the deal, remember? All I did was ensure your resume was seriously considered for job you’re completely qualified for.”

She laughed a little and lowered her head, hiding her smile. How many people got pep talks from such a notorious Death Head? She let his words sink in. Affirmed that he was right. She took one deep breath to clear out all the negativity, then look at Grimm with a genuine smile. “Thanks.”

He nodded, returning his hands to his sides. He glanced over his shoulder at the hotel. “Wanna leave the event?”

“Can we really just leave? I don’t think we’ve even been here for an hour yet.”

Grimm shrugged. “If they get mad at me, then they get mad.”

“Ooo, such a rebel,” she teased.

“I’m not a Faction Leader for nothing, you know.”

A pause lingered between them. “So… Do you just want to call it a night and go home? Or do you want to like, wander around the city?” Pearl asked.

“I’m fine with whatever you wish.”

Well he certainly said that in a way that stirred a little flutter in Pearl. However, she wrote it off as the champagne they had—because why would he be flirty with her?

They decided to go for a walk. Neither knew the area, so they pick random corners to turn at, no true destination in mind. They found a little coffee house having an open mic night. A lush, community garden. But most importantly, a food truck where you could make-your-own fried cheese sticks.

Grimm immediately pulled Pearl over to it the moment he saw it. He had found this food truck a small handful of times before throughout Lywood. They had a fair selection of cheeses that they’d bread and freshly fry. Grimm ordered three dozen of various different cheeses. At first, Pearl was a bit skeptical they’d eat so many. But all it took was one bite and she immediately claimed half of the cheese sticks for herself. Whatever spices were mixed in the breading was perfect; and the breading was the perfect crunchy match for the gooey cheese. She hoped the next time she went out drinking she’d have the fortune of finding this food truck again.

They found a playground nearby and sat on the swings as they ate in peaceful silence. The night had had its ups and down, but in the end, it was turning out well.

And then it started to rain.

At first, it was just a light sprinkle. They sought shelter under a nearby tree. But the rain did not let up. Only increased. They couldn’t stay there much longer. Unfortunately, they had walked pretty far from the hotel; and unless Grimm accepted the future roasting he’d get from calling Algoth by asking him to bring his car to them, they’d have to make a run for it and get soaked.

It was just rain. No big deal.

But Pearl was in a light-weight dress, and was already growing chilled as the rain cooled the once pleasant night. Grimm shrugged off his haori and gave it to her. She was immediately grateful for its warmth. Pulling it closely around herself, they started heading back.

Unfortunately, they hadn’t been keeping the best track of their path. But they laughed about it. Grimm cranked the heat once they finally got to his car. He needed it more than her—Pearl was doing her best not to stare at his completely soaked white, dress shirt. When they arrived at Pearl’s apartment, she lingered in the car, reluctant for the evening to end. Even if they just continued sitting in the car, listening to the rain—that’d be nice. And so she leaned over and kissed him.

Fifteen.

“That doesn’t count, you know?” he said.

Fifteen. Sixteen?

“What? How does that not count?” she defended.

“It’s not daytime.”

“You never specified that rule.”

“The first rule was once per day.”

Were they really going to get into an argument over semantics? Yes. Yes, they were. “Yeah, but you didn’t make it clear that you meant during the daytime. Most people would assume that meant once per calendar day.”

He raised a brow, in both a challenge and in amusement. “Very well,” he smirked. “I’ll count it. This time. But don’t think you can get away with such mischief next time. I’m clarifying now to mean daytime—between sunrise to sunset.”

She blew a raspberry and rolled her eyes. “Oh sure. Change the rules partway through.”

His eyes narrowed at her. “Clarifying, not changing.”

“Hm, yeah no, sure,” she teasingly brushed off. Two months ago, she would not have dreamt of being this playful with a Death-Head, especially not one like Grimm. But she knew him now. Somewhat. She could see the softer sides of him that barely a handful of people got to see.

“Fine then. Day, night—kiss me whenever you’d like.” The small smirk that played on Grimm’s lips made her anxious—but not the negative type of anxious; the eager kind. The kind that made her want to lean forward and kiss him again for no other reason than wanting to.

Fifteen.

Before such emotions could betray her, Pearl hopped out of the car with a quick goodnight called over her shoulder. She suddenly had a lot to think through. Once in her apartment, she leaned again the door, pressing her eyes closed. Her heart was racing. And not just from running up to her apartment. Was she… was she falling for Grimm? No—surely this was just the illusion of infatuation caused by them becoming closer, as friends, mixed with the necessity of having to kiss him.

Right?

She slowly slid down until she was sitting on the floor. Looks like there was still quite a bit to sort out in her life. Not to mention, she just realized she was still wearing his haori.

— 5 —

GRIMM: I can’t come in today. I’m sick

ALGOTH: How did you get sick?

GRIMM: Rain

ALGOTH: You were out in the rain long enough to get so soaked that it made you sick?

Algoth gave his phone an accusatory glare as the minutes added up since Grimm read his last message. He doubted Grimm was sick enough to be unable to respond so soon after initially texting him. Grimm was hiding something. Or, more accurately, not disclosing something so that he wouldn’t be roasted over it.

That meant it likely had something to do with Pearl.

This new relationship his boss had formed with his latest client was… odd. He was curious to see where it would lead. At a glance, they were an unlikely duo. He knew Grimm. He knew him better than almost anyone else. Hopefully, Pearl would keep her wits about her as the two toed the blurry line they established between them.

His peaceful morning’s work was interrupted by a knock at the door. He was surprised to see Pearl. But not surprised by her question.

“Good morning, Algoth.” Her eyes quickly scanned the office. “Is Grimm around?”

“No. He’s not in today. Was there something you needed from him?”

“Oh, no. Not really, I just…” She bit her lip and adjusted her arms behind her back. Her overt nerves got him curious. That was when he noticed the bit of black cloth she was now hiding behind her back. He also caught the sheen of a familiar pattern on the silky fabric.

The puzzle instantly came together.

“He’s home sick today,” he said, cutting off her floundering for an explanation. He returned to his desk and started writing something on a scrap piece of paper. “Since I have to cover both my and his work for the day—you can go deliver his medicine for me.”

“Wha–?”

“The medicine is already paid for; you just need to pick it up from the pharmacy. Here are the addresses—the order is under my name—and codes to get into Grimm’s place.” He handed her the paper. His mischievous expression made Pearl’s ears flatten back a bit. This felt like a damned if she did, damned if she didn’t sort of situations.

“O-okay,” she accepted.

After watching her leave, he shook his head, sat back down at his desk, and shot a text to Grimm.

ALGOTH: Your wife will be stopping by later.

He never got a response—Grimm wouldn’t get around to reading it until late that night—but it amused him all the same.

Pearl stood outside Grimm’s house, staring up at it in awe. She wasn’t surprised that he had such a nice place. Still, the large, finely maintained house loomed as intimidating as the man who lived in it.

Well, best to get this done with—mainly because her shopping bags felt heavier the longer she stood there. Besides the medicine, she bought ingredients for soup. She felt responsible; he had to have gotten sick from being in the rain for so long without a coat. She wouldn’t be surprised if Algoth made the same connection and that’s why he sent her on this task.

“Hello?” she called after unlocking the front door. “Grimm? It’s Pearl. Algoth sent me.” No response came. Tentatively, she went in search of the kitchen. The interior design was impressive. Immaculate. To be able to afford all this… She stopped herself from contemplating the deals he’d done for all of this. “Kitchen,” she quietly reminded herself, getting back on task.

It was immediately to the left of where she stopped to gawk.

After unpacking all the groceries onto the counter, Pearl paused. Did she start cooking first, or find Grimm first? Probably find Grimm. She’d feel more comfortable being there once he knew she was there. He could also help tell her where everything was in the kitchen. She went back into the main room and through the only other doorway. There were a lot of closed doors—which was to be expected, given how large the hose was. “Grimm?” she called again, hoping for a hint about which door he was behind.

But apparently, he was behind her. “What are you doing here?” he groggily asked.

Pearl jumped, letting out a little scream. “Where the hell did you come from?” He lazily motioned over to the kotatsu in the room. On the side opposite the foyer, a was a pillow. He’d been there the entire time; she just hadn’t seen him. “Oh… Well, Algoth sent me to bring you medicine.”

He yawned and scratched the back of his head. “Ugh. Please tell me he didn’t get something grape flavored. He always picks out the worst flavored medicine.”

“I think it’s cherry.”

Grimm gave her a curious look. “So. Where is it?”

“Oh, still in the kitchen. You should take it with food, so I was going to make you some soup.”

If Grimm hadn’t been so sleepy still, perhaps Pearl would’ve been able to notice the intrigue that sparked in his expression. “You’re making me soup?”

“Well yeah,” she said and shrugged. “You caught a cold because of me; it’s the least I can do to make up for it.”

“You didn’t give me a cold.”

“Maybe not directly. But since I wore your haori yesterday, you got soaked in the rain and caught a cold.”

“Yes. My decision caused this outcome.”

She pouted a bit at him, narrowing her eyes slightly. “You must really be sick, you’re starting to sound delirious,” she sassed, turned away, and walked back into the kitchen before he could respond.

He chuckled to himself then followed her.

When she told him she was making soup, he didn’t process that to mean ‘from scratch’. So seeing all the groceries she had set out surprised him. He stared dumbfounded at her.

She stared awkwardly back. “Sooo… Where is all your cookware? I’d like to start cooking, and while I could just open every cabinet and drawer until I find the things I need, it’d be easier for you to just tell me.”

“Hm? Ah, right.” He shook himself from his stupor, and started helping her.

But then he started to help her too much. “Go curl up under the kotatsu again,” Pearl gently ordered as she started to guide him over to the door. “I’ll bring you some soup when it’s done.”

“You sure you don’t want help?”

“I just watched you nearly cut off your own finger. Twice. So go rest and stop trying to add your blood to my soup.”

He obeyed.

Pearl turned on music on her phone and continued cooking. She was enjoying working in Grimm’s large kitchen with all its high-end appliances. Much better than her apartment’s kitchenette. About half an hour later, the soup was ready. She portioned out a serving, buttered a few slices of bread.

Pearl gently shook Grimm awake. “Food is ready.”

He stretched, then slowly sat up. As the smell of the soup hit him, he snapped fully awake. “This smells absolutely delicious.”

She blushed a little in pride. “Thank you. I hope you enjoy. Do you want me to put all the leftovers away now? Or I can leave out a second serving if you’d like.”

“You’re not eating?”

“Oh. Well… no,” she said awkwardly. “Algoth didn’t really say I had the whole day off, so I was gonna go back to work now.”

“Stay.”

Pearl froze. The soft way he said it plucked the heartstrings that had shaken her the night before. Granted, it came out that way absolutely because he was low energy from illness. Still…

Then he added, “You’ve come all this way, and did all this work—relax and eat with me.” When she bit her lip, still hesitating, he continued. “As the Head of the North Faction I can and will order you to take the day off work.”

Something about him pulling rank while he was such a miserable, sickly slump made her want to laugh. And so she conceded. She got herself a bowl of soup and joined him under the kotatsu—damn it was cozy; no wonder he kept passing out.

When they’re done eating, Pearl cleaned up. Grimm made some protest, saying he should be doing all the chores since she was his guest; but she argued back that he’s sick and threatened him to rest.

As she got ready to leave, she noticed his haori she left in the entryway. She traced along the fabric. Picking it up, she returned to the other room and set it beside the once again sleeping Grimm.

She lingered.

There was such a softness to him. And she was probably one of the few who saw this side of him. Unconsciously, her hand moved to brush his hair. But she stopped short, noticing just in time what she was doing.

“Fuck,” she whispered under her breath. She immediately stood up and left the house.

There was no way to deny it anymore.

She had feelings for Grimm.

#fanfic wip #DHD #grimm x pearl

[redbone135]

So, Mr. English Teacher…😏 Did you realize you made a typo using the wrong there (you used their instead of there) in one of your tags? I should let you be on that but you know I can’t resist the urge to tease you about grammatical errors😂🤪

Also: I found out tonight at Youth Group/Bible Club - I help the Bible Club (kids from K to 6th) leaders with crowd control - that another lady at church has noticed I have an attraction to You-Know-Who😰 She said no one told her but she figured it out. Then I asked her if he knows and she said: “Oh he probably does. But the fact that he’s not running away from you is a good sign.” I think you told me that too?? Agh!

But… that also makes a little uneasy, ya know? Cause like, what if someone else notices? Someone who might happen to have kind of a big mouth…?

Hey missy, I did notice, actually :P That was not the only typo in those tags by a longshot, either. I make a lot of typos in my tags because, besides being an English teacher, I am also a lazy... individual. Now that I’m not being paid for my spelling and grammar, I’ve let it relax a lot. That doesn’t mean I don’t notice them, it just means I don’t have to care as much anymore. You knew what I meant anyway :P

And it’s time to be blunt, lol, Abby, he knows. He knows. If other people are figuring it out, provided he has a couple brain cells to rub together, he almost certainly has, too.  Again, I don’t know the guy, but he probably thinks it’s cute. If he found it annoying or off-putting in any way he wouldn’t still be texting you and offering to spend time around you.  Don’t worry so much about it - after all, he is going to have to know eventually, right? You don’t want this to just stay a perpetual crush, so eventually you two are going to have to talk about it. Let it happen naturally and don’t worry so much about it. Trust that whatever God has planned will happen with or without your guidance. 

[roleplayerconfessions]

🌴 I recently took over a partner search forum for advanced literate roleplayers, because the old mods were inactive for a very long time and literally nothing was being moderated. Naturally, before I arrived, there were a lot of people who were taking advantage of the lack of moderation, and posting ads that were FULL of typos and terrible grammar conventions, and posts that didn't even qualify as semi-literate.

Once everything was set up, I started removing ads that were illiterate, because naturally, this was a forum for advanced literate roleplayers. Lots of advanced literate roleplayers were happy about this, because they previously had trouble finding partners among all the illiterate posts (and they couldn't go anywhere else, because no other forums curated their posts for advanced literate roleplayers).

And of course, the semi-literate roleplayers screamed bloody murder about this. One notable message was: "what the hell mind telling me why youre suddenly deleting my ads ? My ad wa always allowed before, why are you being dicks suddenly".

And another message: "The post was removed 2 minutes after it's post? What's worng with it? I can't spot any mistake in the first lines sorry". Their entire post was filled with spaces before punctuation, misspelled words, uncapitalized "i"s and uncapitalized words at the beginning of sentences (not a stylistic choice, it was inconsistent), and sentences that sounded like broken English. (Even if they were ESL, the end result still wasn't advanced literate by a long, long stretch.) When I told them the post was not in line with how the forum defined "advanced literate", and when I even spent five minutes circling all the errors to help them out, they came back all pissy and saying the errors were not worth removing the post for (I circled over twenty things), and they started arguing with me and saying I was ruining the forum.

Come on. First off, what's the name of this forum? And second, do you not see the big, "hi, I'm the new moderator, I am taking over for the inactive mods" announcement at the very top, which is impossible to miss? Or the new rules page at the very top, which is also impossible to miss? And, each of your posts have gotten an automatic reply mentioning how you should read the new rules, and how the forum is being run true to its name now. You were given more than enough information, and more than enough indication your posts wouldn't be allowed. If someone had been around to moderate last year, they would have taken them down too. Don't take out your butthurt entitlement on me, you clearly aren't even close to how the forum defines AL. You were just taking advantage of the forum's lack of moderation before when there was literally nobody around to sift through posts. You have OODLES of other forums to find partners, and I can see you're a user on them already. All you do is copy and paste your ads on every waking forum you can find, whether you actually fit the roleplaying type or not, and sorry, but that is not gonna work here.

...Sheeeeesh.

I do my best to be sensitive and polite about this crap. I understand that writing is a deeply personal thing, and a lot of people feel offended when their writing is declined on a forum, and I know how to be tactful there. If I didn't care, I would just ban them right away, and not give them any way to contact the moderators, certainly not proofread their ads like I'm a teacher when they ask me for specifics. So what the frick? Maybe this is why the old moderators left. I almost don't blame them. Some people are spoiled, entitled brats.

#Submission #Muns #Writing Styles #Rules Pages #Communication #Bullying #Manipulation #Coarse Language

[azureaqua]

❥︎ The Queen’s Deceit • Ikemen Prince fanfiction

DISCLAIMER;

1. I don't own any of the ikepri characters and surroundings here, just my OC whom I created just for this purpose!

2. This is my first writing here and on top of that my first English writing! It's not my first language so there could be typos, and grammatical errors (as I'm still kind of learning the language) — in case this happens please tell me, I'm quick to fix them and make better quality!

3. Last, but not least is the story itself and some characters' personalities. Since the plot doesn't follow after our MC in the game, things can be different! Also, some elements were completely invented by me, so please keep an eye out for that too! (Plus, there could be spoilers for some routes.)

• Chapter III. 

"...And last but not least, this is the throne room. Usually, we celebrate memorials and national holidays here, also the coronation of every new king. I hope you were able to follow me on this tour, and sooner you'll get a better view of the palace and don't get lost or wander off." Sariel relaxed and smiled at me at last, but it was not pleasant. It reflected some kind of devilish charm that struck me the first time I locked eyes with him. It's dangerous, no doubt. He has a special kind of position here. 

But even I can't deny the fact that he's been helping me, for whatever reason. I constantly questioned his motives; almost every second. He seems two-faced, and I can't shake the feeling that one moment he will do something that will soon prove fatal for me. 

Although that may be just because I literally know nothing about him... He's shrouded in mysteries, even more than I feel like I should be. And I'm the one who's not supposed to be here because it's enemy territory. Or is it not just me?

"Certainly, I'm thankful you spared me some time to show me around. Even if it meant keeping the princes waiting." In my last sentence, I stifled a laugh, imagining the eight royalties sitting in a minister's office, swinging their legs because they have nothing better to do than wait. 

Sariel does hold some inexplicable power and presence over them, to leave them hanging like this because of some matters... I may have gotten myself into something that will prove even more beneficial than what I only thought in my dreams would. 

"Of course, Lady Artina. Anytime." 

The minister and I were approaching his office through the corridors of the castle, and I - but surely Sariel too - could hear the clearly audible exchange between the eight princes. They were beyond loud. 

The older man was walking in front of me with confident steps, and the fine soles of his shoes made a soft sound after each movement. When we finally reached the door, he stopped in front of it for a short while, and we heard the princes growing quieter. He turned the doorknob with a definite movement, and we stepped in.

His office was spacious, but I wasn't surprised much - considering he requested all the eight royals here earlier. It had simple but dark colors and pieces of furniture. 

But I had to address the elephant(s) in the room, the eight royalties. Other than the two, whom I met previously at the corner of my assigned room, the others looked genuinely shocked to see me; who was supposed to be a Rhodolitian commoner right now. 

"Is she a second Belle now, or what?" I heard a disdainful voice and spotted a younger, pompous prince. 

True, his suspicion and statement made sense, and I wish I could have a comeback for that, but even I have no idea what kind of cover story I'm getting on Sariel's behalf as to why I'm here. 

But probably not another Belle though, since I'm far from having a pure heart.

"Now, please settle down, young men." He proposed, completely ignoring the blatant question. And to his advice, some of them sat down on a broad sofa which took place near the door, but some of them remained standing. 

All the while, he walked to his desk and beckoned me to stand beside him, facing the princes. They either had cold, ruthless gazes or mischievous, intrigued ones. Honestly, neither is good. 

"I've told you about this a couple of times, but just now, I got the perfect opportunity to make this matter happen. From today, I will assign an exclusive maid for all of you in her person. Please welcome her." At the end of his sentence, I couldn't help and swallow a sudden outburst. 

Okay, this is a curious background story that I got, indeed, I wasn't expecting that.

"No, you did not mention this..." Whispered, perhaps the youngest of the bunch. If I'm not wrong, he hasn't been in the palace for long, so I don't know much about him yet. 

"I definitely did, Prince Luke. Perhaps your aloofness got the better of you this time too." Answered the minister with a bit of a scolding tone. 

"But even then, we all have our own small circle of servants, which we have chosen for ourselves. Why do we need a common maid now?" Asked a black-haired prince. If I'm correct, his name is Leon. I've heard about him the most, he's far from the oldest, but he's a strong candidate for becoming king. He’s also the leader of the country’s domestic politics faction.

Also, that guy has to be here too, who's my brother's arch-enemy and leader of the foreign affairs... Chevalier is his name, right? I remember Gilbert always talking about a worthy rival in his person. 

"We're in no need of another simpleton around us who will stick their nose into higher-up business." Speak of the devil. Suddenly, I don't know if he or Sariel fits this nickname more. 

...Perfect blond locks were flowing in the non-existent wind, cold icy-blue eyes piercing through hearts and skulls, and that gaze that could turn me into an ice sculpture, if possible. Just like I'm back in Obsidian, freezing at night while heading back from the training grounds.

"This is strictly for the sake of your brotherly bond, I inform you, Prince Chevalier. But I ensure that she won't hear a thing about any private information on the kingdom and its policies or duties. But in fact, it depends on all of you since it's a common cause." He nodded and adjusted his glasses again. 

I'm becoming wary of Sariel's use of the term 'common'. I'm not some document to pass around and argue about...

After that, it fell quiet for a while, all of them carefully pondering Sariel's words. I also had more time to examine each of them and even identify if my studies did fit their personalities.

"Well then, before we depart ways, let us introduce ourselves to each other." Then the minister looked at me expectantly. 

Right, here goes nothing-

"Well, guess I'm going first." A tall, broad-shouldered male stood up abruptly with a confident smile.

-Guess I'm not going first, then. 

"I'm the first prince of Rhodolite; the name's Jin Grandet, but you can just call me Jin. I don't like formalities, I feel like it'd put a wall between us. And I wouldn't like that." He winked at the end. 

Then he came closer and crouched so that our faces would be on the same level and we could lock eyes. 

"Woah, the closer I get, the prettier you look." He addressed me as he picked up a lock of my curly, ebony hair. 

I've never learned about the princes having superpowers, but I'm starting to doubt that because right now, it looks like he and Nokto use telepathy or mind-reading..!

Meanwhile, some scoffs and grunts could be heard, while I tried to maintain myself from blushing at his sudden closeness. 

If I didn't know better than all of them having different mothers, then I would believe that this Jin guy and Nokto are twins, judging only by their personalities.

"...You're the worst." A stone-cold voice broke or so-called idyll. "Why would I bother giving a simpleton my name, since you should already know it by now. I'm the second prince, and you should consider my introduction an honor, commoner." I looked past Jin to see his annoyed demeanor getting the better of him, with folded arms and an arrogant facial expression.

You don't have to worry - although I doubt you've ever been in that state - I know much more about you than just your name and title, Prince Chevalier. 

"Oh, would you look at that it's my turn!" Clavis clapped his hands enthusiastically. Can't we leave him out? I already know him very well!

"Clavis Lelouch, third prince of Rhodolite at your service, dear new maid! Or, wait, you should be at my service!" He laughed at the end of his phenomenal joke and smiled, the same mischievous smile which never meant good things. 

"Pleased to meet you, I'm Leon Dompteur, the fourth prince of Rhodolite. I'm glad you will be at our service." He stepped forward, then smiled too - but this time, it was a charismatic and graceful smile. One I appreciated, and for the first time in a long while, I had found it someway comforting. 

"Yves Kloss, fifth prince of Rhodolite. You should call me Your Highness. That's the only proper way to address me!" He said in a haughty tone, with a sharp look in his eyes. 

Okay, noted. And now who's next? I don't hear anybody.

"...Licht Klein, sixth prince of Rhodolite." I successfully caught the quiet royal's words. But it seemed like such a delicate whisper, and for a second, I questioned if perhaps I had imagined it. 

Curious. He looks reserved, introverted, and almost uninterested compared to the others. It's almost a relief. 

"Nokto Klein, Licht's younger twin, seventh prince. But you already know me, No-fun lady." He, too, wore a mischievous grin in the end, just like Clavis. 

I think I see who are the two troublemakers here. 

I was waiting for the last prince to introduce themselves, but I noticed he needed a nudge in the shoulder to realize he was next. 

"Yeah, so... I'm Luke Randolph, seventh- no, the eighth prince of Rhodolite. Nice to meet you." He smiled broadly in the end, and had a child-like and carefree sense to his personality at first sight. He seemed so casual that it was hard to believe he's been trained as royalty.

I’m guessing being the youngest means it wasn't long ago since they brought him to the palace or something? 

I'm sure it hasn't been a year, or even half a year because I would've heard of him. I'm curious about him too, nonetheless. 

"Pleased to meet you all, my name's Artina. I'll be your exclusive common maid from now on. I hope to prove useful for all of your services." I forced a tiny smile to maintain a kind outlook and bowed. 

They should be bowing to me, though. Soon enough, anyways.

"Well then, now that this is out of the picture, Artina-" Sariel turned to me with a relaxed expression, calling my name calmly. 

Uh-oh, now he'll tell me to submit myself for the devil, and it's eight princes? This facial expression is a little bit bone-chilling right now...

"-While I discuss other matters with the princes, please make your way to the other side of the palace, where the attendants' quarters are. A butler will be at your service who'll explain more details about your job. He's already expecting you." He finished explaining, and without another word, I bowed a little once again and finally left his office. 

Time to find out how to get to the other attendants' quarters. And I don't even have any directions to remember or start with this time.

What have I gotten myself into...?

"...I'm curious though, why did you think that she's the one fit for the job, assisting us?" Asked Nokto shortly after Artina had left the office. 

"Should I be afraid of the way she slaps?" Jin laughed lively, with a confident smile. 

"Depends. I haven't experienced that for myself, Prince Jin. You've yet to gather information on that from someone else. Or perhaps the best information collecting comes by one experiencing it itself." He addressed with a small smile and elegantly ignored the seventh prince's question. 

But that just left even more curiosity in Nokto. 

__________________________________________________________________________________________

(Yet again a boring chapter. Oof. And posting at an impossible time.)

Part 4 is here!

#cybird ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #leon dompteur #chevalier michel #clavis lelouch #nokto klein #licht klein #yves kloss #jin grandet #luke randolph #rio oritz #sariel noir #gilbert von obsidian

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

Penance + (knock-off) Ambrosia

still alive, slowpokes :P

When -- during the meal at the Greene's Farm as seen in S02 Chupacabra. After Shame on a plate.

What -- Carol wanted to cook a communal dinner for the Greenes in thanks for all they've done to help your group. Under the weight of Otis' death as well as possibly having to vacate to God-knows-where, the shared meal is tense. Meanwhile, Daryl's busy beating himself up alone in his room and won't eat.

Perspective -- You 2nd, Daryl 3rd

TWs -- some language, and a non-descriptive allusion to Shane's actions in Stuck in a damn bed.

Masterlist -- Official one here and Chronological one here

I'll go back and fix spacing errors in the morning, then delete this message on the og post lol.

Jimmy’s note to you reads: “What’s a pirate’s faverite letter?”

Easy, you know this one!

After double-taking at the typo, you scribble back “aRRRR!” and pass it to where he sits beside you, a smug grin tucked in your face. Only rule is: don’t laugh.

Yo, this table is fun, you’re not even embarrassed about being in your mid-twenties and sitting at the kiddie table. It’s too bad Carl tired himself out earlier, he’d be in stitches!

Oh, come to think of it, that wouldn’t be good, his actual stitches are still healing. So are yours, for that matter…

Anyway, it started off as a silly thing: Not 5 minutes into the meal, Beth had tiptoed to get her drawing pad from the den and wrote “please pass white gravy + pepper?” instead of whispering it, because supper had/has been that darn quiet.

This immediately (and somehow wordlessly) turned into the no-laugh competition you’ve all got going.

Granted, laughing out loud might would make the dinner a little less stiff, but you aren’t certain.

The big table seems rough. They’re barely making eye contact, not really talking, eesh.

Before dinner began, Patricia, Lori, and Carol were chatting as they finished up the cooking, and at the same time there was light discussion as you were helping wash the dishes and set the table with your friends. Even Lori exiting Carl’s room after plainly having been crying didn’t alter the good jibing any, things were chill.

But when everyone came in, sat down together? It got uneasy. When Mr. Greene said the blessing it almost felt too loud.

Now the room is limited to clinking, scraping noises, murmured niceties, and hushed requests to pass things.

You did almost lose the no-laugh game first when Glenn quietly mimicked the way Gollum said “what’s taters, precious?” because you whispered at him to “pass the mashed taters, please?” instead of ‘potatoes.’ Don’t fret, you’d obviously murmured back the only correct response of “po-tay-toes?”as well as the cooking instructions

You almost lost it again when Glenn next decided to break the silence by asking the entire room if anybody knew how to play the guitar. The crickets that followed, hilarious!

Except, Patricia spoke up that her husband had known, and Mr. Greene agreed about how skilled Otis had been.

Boy, did the tension spike.

You’d peeked around to see if Shane was okay. He wasn’t. His expression had taken on that 1000 yard stare sort of deal he’s been slipping into. Scared, lost. Then hard and almost mean.

Something got broke in him real bad that night Otis got killed. It’s scary, especially considering how he snapped at you yesterday and even…never mind, you don’t want to get into it.

At any rate, he made a very serious apology to you earlier today, very serious.

So, yeah, the room turned way more tense after that innocent guitar question, certainly sobered you up right quick. And the strange sensation you’d had after Amy got killed, the one where it felt as if her blood was back on it, it started to come back pretty strong. Granted, it had come back after what happened with Shane the other day, but the sensation revved up. The Otis reminder didn’t help, and at least to you, it made the unspoken understanding of Sophia twist harder, too.

When poor Jimmy got teary when his dad was brought up, you traced a blessing on his forehead and set to scribbling the next dumb joke you could think of on another scrap of paper for him and reminded yourself your hand was clean and that Otis and Sophia’s fates weren’t on you.

As for poor Glenn, once the exchange was over, he looked like he wanted to transform into a chair.

Silver lining was that Maggie helped him feel better; she slipped him a note that must’ve been a really good joke because Glenn seemed giddy as a schoolboy as he wrote down the punchline or whatever.

‘Schoolboy’ is definitely the best term — Mr. Greene and Dale happened to see Glenn sneaking back his response and were staring at the folded paper in his hand.

It’s kinda silly, right? Not only were you, Margaret, and Glenn sat at the kid table, but you were also acting like kids, what with the note-passing. Caught by the principal lol.

In the moment, you’d figured might as well, and so scribbled in big letters on the back of the notepad itself: “Too quiet, so we pass notes!”

When you held it up to the two of them, Dale read the words, swallowed a smile, then mouthed ‘troublemaker’to you.

As for Mr. Greene, his expression was, per usual, unreadable.

That was, what, all of 10 minutes ago? And it’s still a quiet, tense meal.

Maggie didn’t taken the note from Glenn out her pocket to share it. A part of you hopes it’s something sweet, therefore private.

Right now, you’re staring at your plate and thinking on how you’ve already got helping #2 on your plate. It makes you wonder if the quiet in the room, tense as it feels, might could be related to the food?

’Cause yo, it’s been so long since a hot meal this good!

Even the heartbreak about Sophia isn’t enough to stop the cravings from going into overdrive (not true, actually, but the meal is great, is what you mean)—and Carol orchestrated the dinner, anyway. She’s in a place where even she can eat, so…

Wiping your hand on your napkin again (and again), you take another sip of water, and fidget with your fork and knife.

God save you, you want to go hog wild on the food and shove it all into your mouth in one fell swoop, so, maybe everyone else is also extra quiet to focus on eating politely and not stuffing it all in their face like half-starved hamsters, too.

That’s a nice thing to imagine, rather than it being gonna-get-kicked-off-the-property-and-we’re-very-sorry-Otis-is-dead-and-are-we-allowed-to-enjoy-things-when-Sophia-is-probably-dead? tenseness.

Because the food really is so yummy! And there are potatoes! Carol was so thrilled to find out they have potatoes! And there’s dairy! Therefore butter and cream and milk — hallelujah!— oh, you did a happy dance the second a forkful of the mashed taters touched your lips!

Back to the present, as you set to crafting an unnaturally large bite featuring a taste of everything from your plate, Jimmy is reading your response to his pirate joke while — grinning wide and shaking his head?

Then, he next scratches with the pen again on the note in his lap, and hands it back to you.

Is not a pirate’s favorite letter R? What other letter could it…

You keep chewing your enormous mouthful while you open the folded note. It reads, “aRRRR? Nay, ‘tis the C!”

…

…

OH MY GOSH—

___________________________

Him

___________________________

A familiar laugh belted out from down the hallway where they was all doing dinner. This was followed by couple seconds of silence even more dead than the dinner already sounded.

But after that? It was as if a dam had burst and carried in pack of hyenas who quickly overtook the dining room. He next thought he heard the word “pirate,” but that made no sense. A few minutes later, the hyenas seem to have left, judging by how shit got all quiet again.

That is until another noise, this time suspiciously moan-like, called out from the dining room. Within a second or two, he heard the food’s praises sung, T-Dog leading the charge, and, well, the din stayed put after that.

One, big, happy family.

Minus one missing little girl.

Daryl hadn’t touched his plate yet, hadn’t moved from his spot on the bed. Didn’t feel like eating.

How those dickbags was having a dinner was beyond him at that point.

The search today was a bust, yet again. The neighborhood T-Dog’s group went to check was mostly burned down, and the highway spot set up for Sophia was still untouched.

Carol’s words to him wouldn’t shut up, neither — and why in the hell she gave him a kiss on his head?!

“You did more for my little girl that day than her own daddy ever did in his whole life,” she’d told him.

Can you believe that shit? “You did more for my little girl that day than her own daddy ever did in his whole life.” If failing and getting benched for a week was the best that little girl ever got, she had a piss poor life, and that fact whipped Daryl on the back harder than his own old man ever had.

Speaking of, when Carol brought him his tray, she hadn’t knocked. Meaning, Daryl hadn’t had time to pull the sheet over his shoulder before she walked in. His shirt had been off.

Daryl’s hope was that it’d been dark enough in the room that she wouldn’t see the scarring, just the tattoos. He felt like a goddamn lazy idiot — he hadn’t felt like putting his shirt back on after Patricia checked his stitches, and house got warm from the cooking, besides. And because he didn’t care to slump out of bed and wrench open the window more, he stayed shirtless and decided to simply kick off his blankets.

Joke’s on him.

He could just about hear Merle tell him, “quit wallowin’ like you’re on your period, Darylina.”

Well, Merle wasn’t really there, so Daryl would wallow all he wanted, and think on Carol telling him that he was also “every bit as good as them.”

As Rick, as Shane, as T-Dog, as Glenn, as — who cares, it didn’t matter. Because Daryl was not.

Carol wasn’t the best judge of character, just look at the turd she’d married.

“You did more for my little girl that day than her own daddy ever did in his whole li—”

—A steady knocking sounded at the door, breaking up the echoes of Carol’s words and setting Daryl on edge.

Yup, it was Y/N’s knocking, no mistaking it.

“Just open it!” was the loudest he’d spoken all day. He just didn’t want to be around people, was that such a big ask?

There was a pause before he heard the door open a crack.

“Would you prefer to be left alone awhile longer?” his friend asked softly.

The annoyance Daryl had felt eased and drained off.His whisper was hopefully loud enough for Y/N to hear. “What is it?”

After another pause, whatever they said in response was real quiet and blocked by the door. All Daryl heard was “Red furseh?”

“Y/N, y’can just come in,” he relented. He even bothered to turn toward the door for them, except, his friend hadn’t opened it up yet.

“A-Are you decent?”

Am I…what, did they think he had his hand down his pants? “Yes.”

He watched as the door opened and Y/N (nervously?) looked at him, eyes flitting down along the bedsheet.

Goddamn, his friend really did just worry he had his hand down his pants, didn’t they?

“Are you ready for seconds?” Y/N repeated, relaxing.

Got it, that’s what they’d been asking from the doorway.

Daryl responded by way of a gruff, soft, “Nah.”

Another pause.“Do you feel sick? Or are you,” they tilted their head and frowned again, “‘wallowing’ ain’t the right word — are you beatin’ yourself up, Daryl?”

Yes, somebody has to. “What do you want?” If Y/N could not hit the nail on the head right now, that would be great. He had a bandage on it, after all…

“I’m-I’m asking ’cause the symptoms are usually the same, I mean,” his friend started walking toward the bed as if they was hesitant to do it, “you ain’t even touched your plate, your voice is — for real, sugar, d’you feel sick, depressed, or both?” Saying this, they laid their wrist against his forehead.

“Careful, I got a bandage!” was stupid of Daryl to grunt, because it was coming off tomorrow morning and because Y/N was careful, but he grunted it anyway. Why’d they need to use that pet name??

“There were a whole lot of ways you could have contracted yourself an infection, and, well, y-your shirt is off. Ain’t never seen you do that, um…” They inhaled, then exhaled slowly, and pulled their wrist away. “You are kinda warm, but it is warm in here. Really warm, actually, um, d’you want the window open more?”

Yes, please. “M’fine.” He shifted back onto his side and resumed staring into space.

“Let me do somethin’ for you before I go,” Y/N gently insisted. “Please.” They put a soothing-type tone on. Normally, a tone like that would cause him to feel belittled or pitied, but…he didn’t know, maybe after this week he was used to it. And, he didn’t know, maybe pity wasn’t such a bad thing.

“First, would you like a shirt, or are you good?” his friend asked.

‘Would he like a shirt,’ hell yes, he would like a shirt!

The tugging sensation in his chest came back for a second. Y/N had a knack for hitting the nail on the head with him. And while the offer was both innocent and loaded, he started to feel as if his soul had been stripped bare-naked in front of them again.

The fact that he’d even let them see his back had been a lapse, a huge lapse. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking.

But, if right now he didn’t act like it was the worst thing, he hated hated hated people seeing, nobody was supposed to see, weren’t nobody’s damn business! a big deal, it wouldn’t be, right?

Which is why Daryl decided to make no effort to cover up more at that moment, so that nothing would seem off. It made his skin crawl to not, it made him feel cornered, but he left the sheet where it was and decided to kick them out.

Yet, strangely, instead of hoarsely grunting at them to leave him be like he thought he was about to, he softly admitted “Yeah.”

Y/N grabbed the clean, folded shirt and pants that Lori had brought and placed it beside him.“Here’s your pants, too, make it easier in the morning when you get discharged. Miss Patricia will come in and you’ll be all ready!” A nod at his untouched meal. “Want the plate to stay, or go?”

“Take it.”

“Positive? Carol, Lori, and Patricia went ham cookin’ the food. Literally, they cooked some salt ham, but there’s also a little of the fish left that Andy caught for me, if you’d prefer?” They tried to entice him more. “The green beans are fresh, the veggie casserole is creamy, and the mashed taters got fresh butter in ’em? There’s whiteand brown gravy…”

The thought of eating was tempting as hell, he’d give it that. He was hungry and it smelled amazing. Still, he shook his head. The thought of putting a bite in his mouth made him feel sick.

Y/N looked a little disappointed, but accepted his decision with a tiny, forced smile. After a beat, their smile turned real. “You’ll get awarded MVP for not touchin’ your plate tonight,” they teased. “It’ll get shared well. I don’t reckon there’ll be crumbs left at the rate we’re hoovering it all down, I-I accidentally already had thirds. But, um,” they added, biting their lip. “Dare, in a little while, please might can I bring you a bowl of dessert, in the least? You must be terrible hungry by now and you need to eat if you’re gonna heal, hon.”

He just sorta stared back, didn’t know what to answer yet. Them using a pet-name again wasn’t helping none.

This was no problem for Y/N, who seemed to have begun nervous-jabbering. “When I told Jimmy there was dessert, his eyes got all big. I’m not gonna lie, it was so darn cute. But I didn’t ruin the surprise and tell him what it is, I just winked and let him imagine. Do you wanna know what it is?”

His cheeks warmed. “What is it,” Daryl dutifully responded.

“It’s a surprise!” was the completely expected answer. Y/N looked very pleased. “But it involves hand-whipped cream,” they sing-songed.

___________________________

You

___________________________

You haven’t seen anyone’s mood here drop as low as Daryl’s has in the past few days, not since Andrea’s did after Amy died. Not even Shane after what happened to Otis, he’s handling the pain differently.

But just now when you enticed Daryl with the notion of whipped cream, he almost smiled, you saw it!

Victory!

And, before you went to Daryl’s room to see if he wanted more, you’d walked over to the big table and whispered in Shane’s ear that when dessert was served, he should wake Carl to give him a bowl and get “cool uncle points,” and he smiled, too!

Victory!

Why do you feel like you are personally responsible for holding everyone’s shit together?

Like, even at the dinner, after you’d burst out laughing, it felt so good to have eased the tension in the room, even if by accident. Then, when you heard the laughter dying down and the room going quiet again, you felt as if you’d just failed. So, you had to fix it.

Cue you to shove a big bite into your mouth and loudly moan about how good it was in the hopes that saying so would keep the momentum going. And prompt Hershel to accept your people, change his mind, keep your family safe, and keep everyone together because what if you aren’t trying hard enough or doing it the right way and things fall apart? Who’s fault will it be? Why does your stupid hand feel like Amy’s blood is on it again? Dale already explained how it’s ‘self-reproach because of survivor’s guilt,’ so why can’t you shake it off?

Okay, chill out, it’s not all on you. You’re not responsible, you cannot control and fix it all, it’s not all on you.

Surrender it up, and trust.

Offer it up and trust…

Thankfully, Theodore had joined in with your noise of appreciation, declaring, “I second that, mmm-mm!”

Good Moses, you could’ve legit knelt down and pledged him your fealty (or whatever it is squires did for knights in shining armor).

Heck, you were tempted to ignore the age difference and propose marriage to him instead, you were that relieved that he’d gone with it, because it prompted those at the big table to join.

Shane was right there for you, too. “This meal is hittin’ all the marks,” he quietly praised, “ain’t had grub this good in a while.”

Then there was a toast (thank you, Ricky and T-Dog), and things stayed fairly light after that. Light and comfortable.

And only during your last bite, when you noticed everyone else had seconds (…or thirds…), was it that you scrambled off, mid-chew, to Daryl’s room to see what he wanted for seconds and maybe convince him to join everyone.

Instead, you were met with an untouched plate and a man who’s voice could barely raise above a gruff whisper. So, you had to try and fix it, obviously, even if the only thing that would actually fix it is finding the little girl who everyone’s hearts have already mourned.

“Wha’ was so funny earlier?” Daryl just surprised you by asking.

You snort. “We were tryin’ to see who’d break first and laugh — this is at the kiddie table, by the way.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“Psht,” you play-grumble. “But yeah, I lost the game big time.I’d just taken a very impolite sized-bite of food, too. Ain’t never swallowed a bite that big in my entire life, but I didn’t want to snarf in front of everyone!” Way to overshare, weirdo. “Oh, right, you’ll probably want to know the joke,” you remember. You can get scatterbrained when you’re carrying on. “What’s a pirate’s favorite letter?”

“A pirate’s what?”

“Favorite letter.”

“A pirate’s favorite…” Daryl makes a low, soft hum as he exhales. “Didn’t, uh, wasn’t most pirates illiterate?”

“Bro.”

“I dunno, um, the…P,” is the gem he comes up with.

Bless his heart, has Daryl never heard the ‘arrr’ joke before?

“Why a P?” you’ve simply gotta know.

“P…P for pirate, and peg-leg and um, eye-patch, and, the uh, they got parrots. That’s a lotta Ps.”

The immediate gut reaction you have is the strong desire to gasp with delight and smooch him square on the lips WHAT THE, why did his answer turn you on? Oopsy lol, yeah, gross, no way. You meant to say, um, ah,…?!?

Anyway, you unfortunately end up squealing, “Oh Lord, that was hot.”

It’s fine, you slip in a ‘dude’ right after. “C’mon, dude, what do pirates say? Like the, the sound they make in movies and books?”

“I don’t, uh…Yo-ho…ho?”

That’s now you, belly-laughing, even as it makes your stitches pinch more. “No, the noise they make, like, when they’re mad or tryin’ act all scary.”

Hold the darn phone, is he — good Moses in heaven with the angels and saints, Daryl Dixon is blushing.

He’s gone from plain to red splotches on his cheeks, it’s visible even in the low lighting. The inconvenient butterflies start fluttering around in your stomach again, but this is such an unexpected treat, who cares? Ha!

“No way you’re turnin’ red, nerd,” you whisper.

“Stop,” he grunts in his way, and his eyes are crinkled and his mouth is threatening to grin.

A pleasing shiver travels down when you scrunch your pointer finger into a hook. “Arrr,” you enunciate with spot-on cartoonish flair, if you say so yourself.

His eyes shut when the punchline hits him. “Sonofa—it’s R, then?”

Hot damn, is this joke satisfying. “R? Nay nay, boy, ’tis the C!”

___________________________

Him

___________________________

That he’d gone from wishing he were left for dead in a ditch to laughing out loud in the few minutes his friend was in the room with him…Y/N was something else.

A weirdo, too.

The dessert was ambrosia, by the way, Y/N eventually came back into the room with two bowls of it. “Ambrosia” was a loose term; it didn’t have none of the usual stuff but for the pecans and cream dressing.

“It’s peach, raspberry, wild blueberry and pecan ambrosia with hand-whipped cream — Glenn won’t even know to miss the marshmallows!” Y/N had chirped.

Him telling them it was “knockoff ambrosia” (as a joke) only lead to them pursing their lips, snorting, then immediately going back to happily twittering on how: “Lori hand-whipped it to make it extra special, and Carol added a mite bit of buttermilk to get the tang it needs. Can’t wait to tastehow it came out…”

Their little food dance as they took the first bite was cute.

And shiiit, the little moan they made as they shut their eyes and tilted their head back shouldn’t have been enough to turn his thoughts sexual, but yeahhh did it. The cabin fever was apparently messing with his dick, too, great. But why did they say something he did was “hot?” Was it slang for something else, other than what he knew it meant?

“Dare, what do you think?” Another moaned hum. When Y/N opened their eyes, they saw that he hadn’t tasted any. “Oh, Daryl, c’mon and try some? It’s heavenly. I think I’m dyin’, it’s so yummy.”

Nah. As good as Y/N was making it seem, he couldn’t, and so, shook his head.

But then his friend said something that, weird as it was, for some reason hit the nail on the head for him once more. It was as if there Y/N was, seeing his soul barenaked again.

“If I were your confessor,” they began so casual-like, “other than explaining how accidental injury ain’t sinful, I’d tell you your penance was to eat what’s in front of you.” Y/N almost took another bite as if in example, but hesitated before the spoon reached their lips. The light expression they wore dimmed and turned serious. “All you’ve gone through this week isn’t divine justice, that ain’t how God operates. It was an accident. Just like Sophia. It, it wasn’t no test or punishment what happened to her.It was just a… a bad thing,” they hushed, eyes fixed on their bowl, spoon. They made an empty half-laugh. “Suddenly can’t stand the thought of food, now, neither.”

With that, Y/N put the bowl to the side and didn’t seem to know what to do next other than maybe cry, by the look of them.

Daryl would’ve missed it if he’d gone back to spacing out and wallowing, but from the corner of his eye he noticed them wipe their palm on their knee a few times as if to dry it off.

He recognized what was going on, or was pretty sure, anyway.

After Amy got killed, Y/N had this messed up thing go on with the hand, the one they’d used to try and stop her from bleeding out with. For a few days, it felt to them as if Amy’s blood was still on it and wouldn’t clean off.

Back when Sophia first went missing, he noticed their hand thing came back a little that first afternoon.

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s clean.”

“What is?”

“Yer hand.”

They took an extra beat to respond. “I-I know. It’s dumb.”

“It’s clean,” he repeated, which resulted in Y/N bowing their head. “Ain’t nothing there, Y/N. Lemme see?”

His friend lifted their head back up, raised their hand for him, and shrugged. “Dale says it’s a guilt thing.”

Yeah, he could see that.

“S’not on you to fix everyone’s everything,” he needed to say. Y/N seemed like they didn’t remember that sometimes.

“Ayy, way to come at me with a hammer,” his friend answered with a dry smile. “I know I can’t fix everyone’s stuff,” they spoke carefully, their throat sounded tight. “But we’re called to help, right? After how far things have fallen, we’re called even more now to, to bring, you know, that, that light, to do what we can. And, and,” they stuttered, then took a deep breath. “I dunno. Before all this—did you ever feel like your life was stagnant? Like you was just existing?”

Did Y/N know how well they could hit the nail on the head?

Yes, Daryl felt like his was stagnant, it fucking was, he was a nobody! Didn’t do shit with his life, he’d just…rotted, and fixed up bikes in whatever direction his brother drifted. “Yeah.”

“That’s how I was was for years, too. Kinda floated one day after another, just tryin’ to make it to the next.”

Daryl stayed quiet. Yet again, they’d hit the nail on the goddamned head and he wanted Y/N to keep on talking.

And Y/N did, they kept chatting very matter-of-fact. “It got better, ev-eventually, I um, I got help, and then started forcin’ myself to do stuff, get out in the community, all that. Healed a bit.” They swirled their spoon around the bowl. “It didn’t fix everything boom, like: I still felt stagnant a lot, or like a failure, or that things were all my fault, still sometimes wanted to die,” they shared with a shrug, very chill. “But that’s why we can’t rely on feelings, right?”

The invisible string was tugging Daryl’s whole damn torso toward them at this point and he just wanted to hold them and — shit, sorry, um, he wanted to pat ’em on the back, at least.

“Really, it was when the, um,” his friend bit their lip. “This is gonna sound weird.”

“Prolly, if it’s you we’re talkin’ about,” he ribbed, completely dead-pan.

His friend liked it, and even taunted back all goofy, “sure is, betch,” before their smile fell away. After a beat, Y/N quietly, quietly told him the rest. “It was when the…outbreaks happened, that I-I didn’t have to force it anymore. There was suddenly such a, a, a clear duty, clear sense of purpose, I dunno. Just—so much to do, so much to live for, and,” a big exhale, “so much work to be done.”

That explained a lot. Y/N tended to go hard, burn the candle at both ends, if that’s the right phrase.

In fact, he flat-out said so. “Is that why you push too damn hard to be ‘useful?’”

“Again with the hammer, dude. And, no, it’s—” Y/N found their words. “When you think how w-we, we might could get killed, at any second, any one of us. And how we’ll look back on it all, all our choices, and then answer what we did ‘for the least here on earth’…”

Ah, that checked out, too.

It was something, to see someone still believe in all that stuff after the world fucking ended, he’d give it that.

He used to, too, not that he’d been any good at it.

Didn’t matter, he didn’t anymore. Not after the dead started walking.

“Now, before Teddy materializes in here to scold me, I get that ‘It’s not through our own efforts.’ And the problem I have with feelin’ worthless is a separate issue my faith helps tackle. Now, I know it ain’t about racking up works of mercy or nothin’, but, dude—there’s so much work to do! And I want to do as much as —” Y/N shook their head a few times as if shaking out of it. “Sorry, I-I’ma just quit while I’m ahead, here. Oversharing Olympics.”

“Mm.” Hey, it was. “But that’s part of the deal with friends, right?” he murmured while trying to think of a good way to razz on them. “Means you trust ’em.” Y/N tended to make light about everything, so a tease would do ’em good, right? “It, like, Sunday or somethin’, preacher?”

The tease might’ve missed the mark that time, if he was seeing it correctly.

“Friday,” was all his friend mumbled back, and looked embarrassed as shit. The forced smile they offered in return — it made Daryl’s side ache more, somehow. And the way Y/N then sat there, curling their feet in and looking as if they felt…just about as small as Daryl did?

It was as if the invisible knee to the nards was connected to the invisible tugging string on his chest, because while that knee to the nards got him good, he felt that strange string tug toward Y/N big-time.

It was next, when Y/N stood up and moved to take the dishes out, that something very forceful moved in Daryl that had him sitting himself upright (sort of upright) and reaching for his bowl and spoon (oww) before his friend could get to it.

“It’s still good without the cherries and the marshmallows?”

His friend blinked. “Th-there are some, uh, it’s technically got those mini freeze-dried ones, as an extra-surprise.” They tilted their head, squinting at him in a way not unlike how Rick squinted at shit. “The Greene’s had some hot chocolate packets in the back of the pantry, we separated the marshmallows out.”

“That’s a lot of work,” Daryl commented, scooping a spoonful. Looked real pinkish because of the raspberries.

Y/N next twisted their mouth and almost seemed shy, when they realized what he was about to do. “Eh, it was worth it.”

It made Daryl feel good, seeing them spark up like that. And their shy smile was damn cute, as always.

“Oh, here, try mine if you’re only havin’ a bite,” Y/N asked, holding out their own bowl to him.

“Nah, m’gonna do the whole thing. It being penance and all,” he grunted, then waved his spoon at them. “You, too, go on. Do your penance.”

“My penance?”

“Yeah.” Oh goddamn, the stuff was delicious. “Have a seat, eat up.”

His friend settled on the side of the bed, still looking as if he’d caught them off-guard. They watched him eat for a few moments, and, Daryl had a random, unusual worry that he was eating too sloppy. But holy shit, fresh fruit and whipped cream!

He glanced over mid-scarfing to see Y/N nibbling on (no lie) half a pecan.

“Quit playing with yer food.”

This earned him a small huff and a “I’m savorin’ it.”

“White lies cost a quarter, remember.”

The amount of attitude Y/N next put into their next (and normal-sized) bite was funny. “I’b also ki-da sduffed a’ready, banjy hick,” they added with their mouth full.

Don’t smile too big, Daryl. “Penance is penance.”

“But pedaces ca be co-booted.”

Don’t smile too big! “They can be what?”

Y/N apologized, swallowed their food and their giggle, and repeated: “Penances can be commuted.”

“They can travel to work?” was his idea of a dumb joke, and this time it did the trick and he made them burst out laughing a second time.

Y/N broke into a laugh so hard they hinged forward and caused some of the cream dressing to get onto their shirt right before their spoon clattered to the floor.

“Laughing like that still hurts, you butt,” his friend wheezed, pressing their arm to their stitched-up side. They coughed a few times, still giggling, and when they thudded their chest a few times they winced. “Ow, bruise. And Lore just washed this top, too.” Another snort. “My fault for bein’ a sucker for dumb jokes, I guess. ”

“Ain’t nobody’s fault, just an accident,” he got the immediate urge to tell them.

In response, Y/N looked at him with an expression he wasn’t sure how to read, but it wasn’t a bad expression. Then, because that expression made his stomach do more flippy-floppies, Daryl gestured to their bowl again, and Y/N dutifully took another spoonful.

“Dis is so gub,” they hummed softly after taking the bite.

“Damned tasty for knockoff ambrosia,” he had to admit, joining along with another scoop of that damned tasty knockoff ambrosia.

“Do’d even deed dehbigger barshballows.”

Y/N was so fucking cute sometimes. “Or cherries.” He loved the cherries the best, after the marshmallows.

Y/N swallowed their bite.“Or the mandarins.”

“Or the pineapple.” His third favorite part.

“Oh, or the coconut,” Y/N realized, then thought out loud, “Shucks, this is a ‘knockoff.’”

“Tasty knockoff, I’d eat it again in a heartbeat,” Daryl murmured. He couldn’t believe his bowl was already empty. “Y/N, you just say ‘shucks?’”

“Shut up.” His friend play-grumbled. “Y’know, Daryl, this is prolly one of the top five penances I’veever gotten.”

“Top five?”

“One time I got ‘buy yourself somethingnice that you’ll get good use from. It’s okay if it’s a little expensive, it’s okay if it’s a little frivolous.’ Almost a direct quote, that. I’d been bein’ too, um,” they cleared their throat, “the priest thought I was a bit too hard on myself.”

Daryl knew whatever came next had to be something good, based on his friend’s playful little grin.

“That’s how I bought me the PS3. Pre-owned, so it was a solid deal, and it got real good use.” And with a wistful sounding exhale, they finished, “I miss that thing.” Y/N wiggled their bowl at him. “Please help me with this?”

Daryl’s mouth watered. The stuff tasted so good. Fresh, creamy, sweet, tangy.

Y/N raised their eyebrows at him and smiled.

“If I gotta,” he grunted back.

“Thanks for the assist. Plus, it’s penance.”

“Mm, guess I have to." Oh yeah, big scoop. "If it’s penance.”

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

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

-> Masterlist link here <-

and our teeny tiny taglist :D

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(inbox is open if you would like on or off the taglist, slowpokes. Please don’t feel bad or nervous if you don’t want to be tagged anymore, just let me know in the inbox! We’re all friends here and your comfort level matters)  

#twd #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction #reader insert #reader-insert #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagines #twd daryl #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #carol peletier #hershel greene #Dale horvath #shane walsh #daryl dixon x you #twd x reader #glenn rhee #maggie greene #maggie rhee #jimmy twd #beth greene #theodore douglas #t-dog #rick grimes #Lori grimes #the slowpoke series

[lizseyi]

Have You Made Any Of These Classic Mistakes With Your Wedding Stationery - Sweet Gibraltar Weddings

For many couples organising their Gibraltar weddings, there can often be a tendency to think of the most dramatic and visible things that could conceivably go wrong with their nuptials. You know the things we’re talking about… hitches with the wedding car at the last minute, the wedding dress not fitting, your makeup running in your wedding photos… that kind of thing.

But if there’s an aspect of your wedding planning where you might not be as alert to the risk of mistakes as you ought to be, it may well be your wedding stationery. After all, the occasional typo on a wedding invite might seem far from the worst thing that could go wrong, right? 

Well, perhaps, but there is definitely still scope for mistakes to be made with your wedding stationery that could have a more serious impact on your special day. So, let’s take you through some of them, so that you can be better placed to avoid them. 

Spelling and grammar errors 

We touched on the issue above, so we might as well start our ‘rundown’ of typical wedding-stationery mistakes by addressing spelling and grammatical howlers. 

Let’s imagine, for example, that you make a spelling mistake on your wedding invites. Simply getting the name of the venue slightly misspelt might not be a catastrophe if everyone immediately understands which venue you’re referring to anyway. But if you make a mistake with the date or timing that you state for your wedding, this could cause much greater problems. 

We’re all human, and spelling mistakes can sometimes slip through. But by getting as many people as possible to look over your wedding stationery – the invites, ‘save the date’ cards, and so on – you will be able to minimise the likelihood of such errors going undetected. 

Not being informative or clear enough

If you’re putting together wedding invites to send out, the fundamental purpose of these is to impart crucial information to the recipient. So, it really is important to make sure all the necessary details about the event are included on the invitation – including the location, date, timings, what the situation is for accommodation, and so on. 

Of course, your prospective attendees will probably have questions to ask even if you do have extremely informative invites. It’s not a “failure” of yours if would-be guests want to ask more about or clarify some things. Nonetheless, a detailed invite will help you avoid having to answer the most basic and obvious questions repeatedly. 

Failing to order enough stationery 

There are few mistakes related to wedding stationery that are more frustrating than realising that you’re only just short of the amount of invites or ‘save the date’ cards that you need. Fortunately, it’s also a very easy mistake to avoid making, as long as you’re alert to it. 

Order just slightly more than you think you will need, and you will almost certainly have enough. And even if you don’t end up needing those extras, they could always serve as a keepsake from this very special day in your life. 

The design of your wedding invites being too ‘busy’ 

There’s definitely an art to great wedding stationery design. Yes, a lot of information will need to be included on your invites, but it is precisely for this reason that you should practise a ‘less is more’ approach to the design of those invites. 

It’s all about making your invites pleasanter to look at, so that the reader can focus more on the crucial details you are communicating to them. That’s likely to mean you steering away from too many bright and garish colours and patterns, ensuring instead that there are plentiful areas of white space. 

The above are far from the only errors that anyone can make with their wedding stationery; nonetheless, they are important ones to bear in mind. 

For further help with every aspect of your upcoming nuptials, please don’t hesitate to contact our own experts in Gibraltar weddingshere at Sweet Gibraltar Weddings; we’re all about making the dream real for couples like you! 

#Gibraltar weddings

[day-poems]

1/12

The first printed copy

of the 7 Fold Path

to Better Birding came,

unexpectedly, on Monday.

Spiral bound, full color,

8.5x11 with a soft cover.

And suddenly it is real.

Then too, a unusually

conscientious early

reader sent me an

annotated PDF with

all the typos she found

highlighted with corrections

in the notes. And this

after I had proofread it

about a hundred times…

but then I already know

what it should say, and

it is therefore hard to

catch the random error

here or there. I just read,

too often, what I meant

to say, and not necessarily

what it does or, more

often, does not say.

With Print on Demand

and PDF and EPUB

self distribution, it is way

easier to get corrected

versions posted, so already

all future downloads

and book orders will

have the corrected text.

Not that grammar and

spelling sensitive readers

will not find more mistakes.

They will, almost certainly.

Still, there is a sense

of accomplishment when

you open the first bound

copy, even when you know

there are typos. Getting real.

[voiceless-terror]

Of Deadlines and Drama

For @jontim-week Day Three: Late

Rating: T

Words: 2.5k

Summary: Jon’s has trouble with his expenses. Tim helps out. 

“Late again? Really, Jon?”

“I know, I know!” Jon types as fast as his shaking hands will allow, but it’s no use. It’s Wednesday and its half past twelve, meaning Rosie will not be accepting his expense report under any circumstances. She’s a stickler for deadlines- at least, when it comes to Jon. They’ve never been on the best of terms, but ever since what Jon has deemed ‘The Incident,’ she’s been downright unpleasant. 

“I thought you set an alarm this time!” Tim says, coming over to lean against his desk. Tim has an alarm for everything - waking up, eating, exercising, going to bed. Jon doesn't know how he stands it. “I didn’t hear anything go off.”

“I might have told you I set one,” he winces, avoiding Tim’s eyes. “And then forgot to.”

“Jon, Jon, Jon…”

“Don’t triple Jon me!” he snaps, attempting to focus on the meaningless numbers in front of him. “I’m stressed enough as is. God, Elias is going to kill me…”

“Why are you trying to impress him?” Tim plops down in the chair beside him and props his feet up on Jon’s desk, raising an eyebrow. He looks infuriatingly handsome in his button up and sweater, a look that Jon has tried to emulate, only to achieve ‘overworked librarian.’ “The only person you should be trying to impress is me. Your boyfriend. The light of your life, the reason you get up in the morning-”

“The reason these are going to be even later than usual,” Jon snaps and knocks Tim’s feet off of the desk with a sharp elbow. Tim yelps and throws Jon a hurt look that he tries and fails to ignore. “I’m sorry. You did tell me to set an alarm. It’s just...these things get away from me.”

“I know.” Tim’s face softens as he scooches his chair over and leans forward, resting his arms on his thighs. “How can I help?”

“You can convince Rosie to accept these. You’re very persuasive.” He turns and gives Tim his best doe-eyed look, though he already knows the answer.

“I am persuasive, aren’t I?” Jon ignores his preening. “But that’s not going to work. You know as soon as she sees your name…”

Jon sighs, resting his chin in his hand. “Yes, I know.”

“What did you do to her, Jon? Run over her dog? I know they scare you, but still...”

“They don’t scare me,” Jon lies, pointedly looking away. “I just...would rather not have them near my person. And you know I can’t drive.”

“What then?” Jon says nothing, focusing instead on chipping away at a small scratch in the wood of his desk. The whole thing’s rather embarrassing, and he’s gone this long without telling anyone. Tim moves his chair even closer, nudging it against Jon’s and squishing him into his desk. He’s effectively trapped.

“C’mon. Pleeease?”

Jon sighs at the wheedling tone. “I...may have snapped at her.” 

“You do that with everyone, though. Unless you said something especially heinous...” Another nudge to his chair. 

“And then... stumbled.”

“...okay?”

Jon closes his eyes. “And spilled my tea all over Elias’s mail.”

Tim guffaws, as expected, and Jon can feel his face warm. It certainly wasn’t his proudest moment, he can still hear Rosie’s screeching and his own stammered apologies. “That’ll do it! God, I wish I’d seen that.”

“It was incredibly embarrassing, and I’m glad you didn’t. Elias wasn’t in, thank god.”

“You could’ve gotten it all over one of those posh suits he wears.” Jon shudders at the thought. Elias is fastidious about his appearance, he would’ve been fired on the spot. Starting to feel claustrophobic, Jon pushes back against Tim’s chair to give himself breathing room and tries to refocus. He’s dawdled long enough.

Tim hums. “Hmm, maybe…”

“Maybe what?” He tucks his head over Jon’s shoulder, probably eying the obvious errors in his report. Jon’s never been good with numbers. 

“Rosie doesn’t accept expenses after twelve, that’s true. But…” Tim trails off, definitely relishing in the small twitch in Jon’s eye when he does it. He enjoys riling him up, and he’s very good at it. Jon contains the urge to elbow him in the stomach.

“But what?” He’s starting to sound like a broken record. 

“But she doesn’t actually give them to Elias until three or four.” Tim smirks at his affronted gasp. Jon’s never been that late, but Rosie’s always going on about ‘deadlines being very important to Mr. Bouchard’ and ‘I’m sorry I just can’t accept these so late, I’ve already given him the pile.’ Jon’s wallet has paid the price for this on more than one occasion- he counts on those reimbursements, and it often leaves him short on cash for the rest of the week. Tim will pick up the check on those days, waving off Jon’s protests and trying to assuage his guilt. Before he can start raging about the newly-discovered arbitrary deadline, Tim cuts in.

“But if I distract her, you can slip them in her little pile and she’ll be none the wiser!” Tim gives him a cheeky grin. It’s...not a bad plan, but Jon’s hesitant at the thought of pulling one over on his boss’s secretary.

“Or I could just wait until she goes to the bathroom and do it then.” Tim’s face falls at the suggestion.

“Or I could distract her.” 

Ah. So that’s what this is about. They haven’t been on an investigation in weeks, and he always gets restless when they’re cooped up in the institute. And a bored Tim is a dangerous Tim.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun! This way we can control the scenario, make sure you have enough time to get in and out.”

Jon raises an eyebrow. “And what if she sees through your antics?”

Tim gives a dramatic gasp, rearing back in his seat and just barely missing a passing librarian. “Are you doubting my acting skills? I’ll have you know you aren’t the only theater kid in this place. And I didn’t want to bring it up, but...you owe me.”

Jon’s heart drops. Of course. Jon can’t coast along on his boyfriend’s paychecks, that’s asking too much. It’s his fault he’s in this predicament, and honestly, he should be thanking Tim for even offering.

“For bailing on that stakeout.” 

Jon pauses, and promptly dismisses his guilt. “I was sick! From a cold you gave me, might I add-”

“Technicalities.” Tim waves a dismissive hand. “C’mon. Do me a favor. Let your boyfriend save the day. Please?” He does his best impression of a kicked puppy, and Jon’s almost afraid he’ll go down on his knees to complete the look.

“Fine,” he sighs, ignoring the answering cheer. “If you must. But how are you going to-”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it,” Tim winks, jumping up from his seat and throwing his bag over his shoulder. “Leave it to me. Finish those up, and I’ll be back before you know it.” He’s already halfway through the door before Jon can say thank you, and only pauses to call back “Have Sasha check for typos! Love you!”

Jon scowls at the snickers that follow this statement, and turns back to his screen. The numbers blurred together, and he’s pretty sure he’s subtracted when he should’ve added. It’s a wonder he ever gets these done at all. 

“Sasha? Can you look at this for me?”

_________

Tim promptly comes back with coffee (which Jon knows he hates) and cronuts, dropping one off at Jon’s desk. “She won’t be able to resist,” he promises with a peck to Jon’s cheek. “When you see us in the hallway, that’s your cue!”

In spite of himself, he starts to feel a little excited. Tim’s exuberance is contagious, and while not as thrilling as an investigation, Jon’s not above a bit of petty revenge. Not even revenge, really, more justice for the pain and suffering of his bank account. And not ten minutes later, Tim and Rosie are chatting amicably as they walk past the library, cronuts in hand. He feels the slightest bit of envy at how easily Tim can make friends, but tamps it down as he tiptoes up the stairs and over to Rosie’s desk. Elias’s door is thankfully closed.

And her desk is...empty. Immaculate. Nothing but a tiny notepad and her usual knickknacks, not a paper in sight. Fuck. Had she already given them to Elias? Is Jon too late? Did Tim waste money on coffee and cronuts for nothing? Calm down, he tells himself, willing his heart to slow. Just...have a look around. 

He tries not to feel too guilty as he rummages through her mail trays and under her place mat. There’s nothing too personal, though he averts his eyes at a list entitled New Year, New Intentions.  It’s when he finally turns to the drawers that he sees it- the corner of a file folder, sticking out of the bottom drawer. Please be it, please be it. He tugs it out, wincing at the small tear it causes and aha! He’s found it. A pile of neatly clipped expense reports is nestled inside, and all he needs to do is stick his in the middle where she can’t see and he’ll be fine-

“Jon?”

The voice startles him so badly he lets out a little yelp, the folder flying from his hands and papers littering the floor around him. He puts a hand on his chest to calm his racing heart and turns around to find Elias, who’s just caught him snooping through his secretary’s desk like a little thief. Jon didn’t even hear the door open. Oh god. I’m fucked. I’m fired.

“I-um, h-hello! Elias.” He gives an awkward little wave and immediately curses himself for doing it. It’s like he’s suddenly forgotten what normal people do with their hands. “I was just...looking for a pen. T-To write Rosie. A note.” 

“A note.” Elias raises one eyebrow, and it’s clear he doesn’t believe a word coming out of Jon’s mouth. To be fair, Jon wouldn’t either. When put on the spot, Jon can’t lie to save his life. “And this file…?” He bends down to pick up the folder clearly marked ‘Expenses’ in bold, black print. Jon winces.

“It...fell out?”

“Oh, Jon.” Elias tuts, and Jon refrains from full body flinching. He has a particular hatred of being scolded, and especially by Elias, of all people. The man he’s desperate to impress, who holds his job in his hands. “There’s no need for the ruse. Deadlines aren’t exactly your strong suit, are they?”

“No,” he mumbles, the words barely audible as he struggles to meet Elias’s eyes. He loves having his flaws pointed out to him. Loves it. “I’m sorry.”

“However, you do fine work.” Jon blinks and there it is- a rare, indulgent smile. It’s incongruous with those strange, cold eyes, but it makes Jon feel better all the same. “You’re one of our best researchers. But if you want to move up in the world, timeliness is of the utmost importance, yes?”

“Y-Yes,” Jon stammers, nodding his head up and down like a puppet. Move up in the world? Jon’s never considered himself ‘promotion material,’ but the thought that Elias thinks it possible fills him with excitement. You do fine work, he said. Fine work! “I’ll do my best.”

“Of course.” Elias offers the folder to Jon’s trembling hands, and gives him a conspiratorial smile. “This, however, can be our little secret, hm? I believe I saw Rosie and Mr. Stoker in the break room, but I think they’ll be back any minute. Best to tidy up before she notices.”

Jon can’t help the beam that spreads across his face. “T-Thank you, Elias. Really. It won’t happen again-”

“I know it won’t.” Elias gives him a brisk nod, suddenly all business, and turns back to his office, shutting the door briskly behind him without another word. Jon takes that as his cue to scurry across the floor, grabbing up the papers as frantically as possible while taking care not to crumple them further. It takes him a few moments, but he manages to get them in order and tucks his own into the pile. He places it carefully in the drawer he found it in, corner sticking out just as before. No Rosie in sight. Thank god.

With that, he bolted. Best not to be spotted anywhere near the scene of the crime. 

______

“Did it work?” Tim rushes into the library, talking entirely too loudly and plopping down on Jon’s desk, sending pens flying. Jon chooses to ignore this. “I brought Rosie her favorites, gave up my choicest gossip to get her out of that seat. Told her if Elias overheard he’d go mental.” Tim pauses to consider this. “Actually, that might’ve been true. It involves a copier and a certain someone-”

“It worked,” Jon quickly cuts him off. He doesn’t need any more info on whatever...that was. “Thank you. But Elias caught me.” Tim looks at him incredulously, as if surprised he survived the encounter. “And he was...okay with it? I mean, he told me it couldn't happen again, but he said ’it’s our little secret.”

Tim blanches at the words. “What?”

“He also said I did fine work,” Jon admits shyly. “I didn’t know he paid attention to me, but-”

“Hang on, ‘our little secret’? Fine work!?” Tim shrieks and Jon hurriedly shushes him, looking anxiously around the library. No one pays attention, used to their antics by now. “What’s that supposed to be, a euphemism?”

“A euphemism? What on earth could that be a euphemism for?”

“I don’t know!” Tim waves a hand around dramatically, and he actually looks a bit put out. Is he...jealous? Jon can’t help the small smirk and Tim notices it right away. “Don’t give me that! I don’t like the way he looks at you. Sasha’s noticed too. It’s downright creepy.”

“The grey is a bit disconcerting, I’ll give you that.”

“It doesn’t match his face! Weird, right?”

“Anyway,” Jon says, eager to cut off yet another tangent. “Your plan worked.”

“Not really.” Tim pouts, kicking his feet out like a toddler and turning away with his arms crossed. Only Tim can manage to make the petulant look work on a twenty-eight year old man.

“Yes, really!” Tim doesn’t turn around and Jon internally rolls his eyes, albeit fondly. “Look, I’ll get my check next Friday with everyone else. And then I’ll take you out to dinner. How does that sound?”

That did it. Tim tilts his head towards him, gives him a playful smile. “Gonna romance me, Sims? Pull out all the stops?”

Jon returns it. “All the second-rate sushi you want.”

“You’re a prince among men.” Tim hops off his desk and gives his forehead a kiss. Jon’s partial to those kisses and he can feel himself melting at the touch, even as his smile turns wicked.

“I could ask Elias if he’s free as well-” 

He doesn’t manage to dodge the pen that flies his way, but he doesn’t mind. Jealousy’s not a bad look on Tim.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30103509

#my writing #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #tim stoker #jontim #jontimweek #precanon #established relationship #is this ridiculous and dumb? sure #do i care? no! #we need some low stakes alright #this podcast stresses me out enough #no warnings here i believe

[phoenix-knight-if]

Phoenix Knight Release: Chapter 1 Available

A few things to note first:

I am setting the rating for this game at 18+. I’m an adult writing with other adults in mind. I’ll ask that you respect that.

My lack of interest in answering NSFW asks doesn’t automatically make my story child-friendly.

Current Warnings for Content: Character Death (including MC), genre-typical violence, non-consensual body modification, & swearing. There will probably be MORE added as the story goes on. I am seriously considering adding a horror tag to the game. (Is there such a thing as “horror lite”?)

NOW, the bit you’re actually here for:

Play Phoenix Knight HERE.

I am still treating this as a draft. This is still a pretty rough version of the story. Not everything you read is going to be set in stone. Especially since I’m still getting to know the companions myself. There are definitely typos that I haven’t found, and almost certainly errors. Feel free to let me know about them by popping a message here.

I plan on adding a more detailed character customization set up which will address skin color, height before I get to chapter 2. I may add more selectable features later on or if enough people ask for them.

The Codex, Character Profile, and “News Feed” features are all currently disabled or just have “under construction” written in them. I hope to get them added in Chapter 2 since they start to become more relevant.

I also need to pretty up my itch.io page for the project. I know it’s not pretty but it’s (mostly) functional right now. I currently have the project so you can’t find it via the search function on Itch. At least until I have the wrapping looking a little nicer.

Okay folks! I hope you enjoy The Phoenix Knight!

#The Phoenix Knight IF #demo release #Chapter 1 release #interactive fiction #twine game #fair warning - I've had a DAY (TM) so I'm going to bed. I'll try and get anything that neeeds fixing fixed tomorrow soon as I'm off work #well...try to go to bed

[liv-laugh-die]

||Admiring|| 💖Miya Osamu x Gn!reader

trope: strangers meeting in the park (ik its random bear with me😭)

warnings: its not proofread all the way through (im sorry im tired), so theres probably grammatical errors or typos but other than that none

genre: fluff pretty much just sappy stuff

pairing/s: osamu x gn!reader

wc: about 2.5k

a/n: oh my god idk where i came up with this but i think its cute so :p i hope you enjoy!!

You stared at your blank computer screen, hope of finishing your assignment before its due date at midnight slowly vanishing. 

     The clock on your desk read 11:27pm, the green lines wavering in your vision as your eyes slowly drooped, trying to drag you into the depths of slumber. You wanted to sleep, you really did, but you knew there was no way you could give up writing your essay, even now, knowing you weren’t going to submit it on time, because you would stress too much about it if you didn’t at least try to complete it before the due date. 

     Pushing yourself away from your desk, your chair squeaking against the floor ever so slightly in your dead silent dorm room, you tried to think of some excuse that your professor might believe. You doubted there was anything you could think of, but hey, your professor was better than what your roommates’ had mentioned theirs being, and you were grateful for that. Maybe you could tell him that you were exhausted from working extra hours at your job since you had had to cover your coworker’s shift and that’s why you couldn’t complete your essay on time? Or, maybe you could get away with a simple “I was lacking interest in the material, and couldn’t understand anything, and I didn’t ask for help because I knew that you are such a busy man trying to do so many things at once. Another hopeless near college drop-out wasn’t something I thought you needed on your hands.”

     ....Maybe not the latter.

    You sighed, running a hand through your tangled hair, practically feeling it screaming at you to wash it. You barely had time in the mornings to take showers anymore, and when you took them at night, you never had the strength to wash your hair, always knowing that putting a hat on overtop or throwing on your hoodie would make it seem fine on the outside, and that was good enough for you. As long as you looked at least decent and somewhat presentable.

    Your dorm room was fairly small, like every other one, but the lack of furniture made it seem larger than the rest. Nothing more than you and your roommate’s joint desk, the mini fridge in the corner, and the beds filled the space. You almost tripped over your backpack lying next to the bunk bed pushed up against the wall, falling to what would’ve been inches away from your roommate’s sleeping body.

    In an attempt not to disturb them, you tiptoed through the room, stepping over the occasional heap of clothes or homework, until you reached the bathroom. You fumbled over the door knob before almost tumbling into the small space. Glancing in the mirror, you didn’t fail to notice your messy hair, the dark circles tracing beneath your eyes, or the way you looked like you were seconds away from passing out. The sound of running water rang in your ears as you turned on the sink faucet, cupping your hands together and bringing your face down to meet them, rubbing the cold water all over you in an attempt to keep you awake for just a few moments longer.

     Your eyes returned back to the mirror as you sighed at your dripping wet face. There was no way possible you were going to finish your assignment on time. You knew it, your roommate knew it before they passed out, and you had noticed your professor’s wary glance this morning in class as a sign that he knew it too.

     An idea sprang into your head, part of you dreading the optimism that seemed to seep through your brain slowly. You didn’t feel like being energetic right now.

---an hour later---

You weren’t exactly sure how, when, or why you decided it would be a good idea to take a shower (you did end up washing your hair, thank god), get your things together in your bag, and head to the off-campus coffee shop (since the one on-campus had already closed), but you found yourself with a warm cup of coffee in hand as you exited the shop, the cold midnight air enveloping you in an unwelcome embrace.

     You shivered. The only thing your spontaneous brain had forgotten had to have been your jacket, the one thing your normal brain would’ve remembered if it weren’t already past midnight and if you weren’t majorly sleep-deprived.

     You most certainly weren’t done with your essay yet, nor was there any possible way for you to finish it on time since it was now approximately thirteen minutes past the due time, but you let yourself breathe for now.

     There weren’t many people out at this hour, and it made the usual busy city streets seemed like a ghost town. There were a few restaurants still open as you strolled along the sidewalk, their lights responsible for illuminating more than half the area in front of you. You passed by an onigiri shop your friend had recommended to you, but you just weren’t that hungry. Most nights, you’d kill for a midnight snack, but your single shot of espresso coffee was satisfying your needs for now.

     You decided to head to the park after seeing a rabbit hop its way across the vacant street and into the bushes in that direction. The fresh air was nice and cool against your dry and croaky lungs, and your ears needed a different sound than that of you miserably attempting to touch type quickly, your fingers rapping against the keyboard with vigor.

     A stream nearby flowed softly, the dripping of the water against the rocks complimenting the noise of the crickets chirping in sync just downstream. Your footsteps cut through the grass slowly, not bothering to follow the stone path. The park was a nice change of scenery. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been here by yourself in peace, it was always you and your rambunctious friends who ran through every now and then just to see the dogs running through the sprinklers, or the occasional poor cat whose owner dragged them out into the daylight for exercise. This was peaceful, though, and you appreciated that.

     A few more rabbits crossed your path, giving you that wide-eyed, side glance before darting off into the darkness, outside the reach of the lampposts emitting light. The sound of the stream soon faded out as you continued to walk through the park, sipping your coffee every so often. The warmth from your cup was soon dying out, and you figured you’d have to start walking back to your university sooner or later. Maybe you could crash at your friend’s house who lived just off campus, though you had forgotten your phone back at your dorm and had no alarm, no laptop to complete your work, and no contact with anyone else who might worry where you’d be. You had really no choice but to trek back to your dorm in the darkness, cutting your peaceful visit to the park short.

     You let yourself have a few more minutes of stress free relaxing as you sat down on a bench just before the ground let out into a downhill slope overlooking the rest of the city below. The trees around you swayed in the breeze, and for a moment, you thought it was the wind talking, and not an actual human being who had somehow made his way beside you without gathering your attention.

     “Didn’t think anyone else would be up at this hour,” the stranger mumbled. You glanced up, almost startled that, indeed, someone else was actually awake and strolling through the park.

     The boy couldn’t have been much older than you were, maybe the same age. He had his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, the wind tousled his dark hair ever so slightly, and the moonlight played along, illuminating his face just so you could actually see how gorgeous he was.

     You cleared your throat, averting your eyes back to the ground as you shifted over, creating more space on the bench in case he wanted to sit down beside you. “I decided to actually take care of myself for once and give myself some time to breathe before facing the wrath of my professor tomorrow when he finds out I didn’t turn in my essay on time.” You let out a low, breathy chuckle, not exactly sure of what would happen next.

     The guy sat down on the bench next to you, though he made sure to give you some personal space, which you were grateful for. He laughed along with you a bit, and you could tell just from his tone just how tired he really was.

     You gave him a side glance, raising an eyebrow. “So, what the stressful thing that brought you here in the middle of the night?”

     He smiled half-heartedly, eyes trained on the moon. “Work stuff. Jus’ been busy, I guess.” He shrugged. 

     You waited for him to continue on, but he stayed silent. You didn’t complain, though. Wasn’t your whole reason for coming out here in the dead of the night for some quiet? Plus, it wasn’t awkward either. You were comfortable sitting next to this stranger.

     “What do you do for work?” You waited a little longer than necessary to ask, but he didn’t seem to mind the long pause.

     “I own a restaurant a few blocks away. I love the job, it’s just tiring havin’ to deal with rude customers like my brother who won’t get the hint and get out sometimes. I got into an argument with him earlier today and he just wouldn’t shut it.” He rolled his eyes and took his hands out of his pockets, making eye contact with you as he went on about his day, and you couldn’t help but smile at his passion. “The guy thinks he can just walk in when I’m working with a new employee and just act like he runs the place! Quite stupid if you ask me. Such a jerk, he is. Thinkin’ about just banning him from the place, really.” 

     You snorted. “He really bugs you that much, huh?”

     The guy smirked at your laugh, admiring it, though you would never had guess that was what flashed across his face in a million years. He nodded. “Yeah, ‘course I love ‘im ‘cause he’s my twin and my best friend, but he really knows how to annoy the hell outta me.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’ll just get a sign in the window that says “no shirt, no shoes, no service” and cross it out and write my brother’s name instead,” he reasoned, and the pondering look in his eyes made you wonder if he was actually considering the idea.

     You smiled. “You’re funny.”

     “You say that like ya weren’t expectin’ it.”

     A laugh made its way out your lips. “Well, when you’re approached by a stranger in the middle of the night you sort of expect the worst.”

     The guy glanced off in the distance, away from you, furrowing his eyebrows. “Sorry, didn’t think of that comin’ off that way.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Guess it’s a good thing I’m funny then, and not some creep, eh?”

     You nodded, the smile on your face not fading as he changed topics.

     “So, what’s your essay on? Any way I can help ya finish it?”

     You shook your head dismissively. “Oh, no. It was due thirty minutes ago.” You quickly explained the topic you were writing about in class before getting side tracked. “My professor had said he would allow it to be turned in the next morning, but I doubt he actually meant it.”

     He smiled a wide grin, making butterflies flutter in your stomach. “You go to the university nearby, right?” 

     You nodded in confirmation, raising an eyebrow. “If I’ve got any luck, there’s a chance you go there too?”

     He laughed a little, shaking his head. “Nah, I don’t, sorry. I’ve visited campus a few times because some of my friends go there, but I just usually focus on work.”

     His gaze was tilted upwards towards the sky, and you couldn’t help but admire how the exhaustion still shone in his eyes, but somehow that same passion gleamed there too just mentioning what he did for a living. You wished you were that passionate about something that would actually support you financially in the future and make you happy.

     When he glanced back at you, you were still taking his essence in, and he made a look of confusion. “What?”

    You shook your head, chuckling. “Nothing. I just admire that you can dedicate yourself to something and make it seem so easy.” He looked at you, interested to hear what you had to say, even though you were sure you couldn’t be the first person to tell him this. “I haven’t even known you for more than ten minutes and I can already tell you’re passionate about what you do and if you’re stressed about it, it must mean you’re dedicated to seeing your work through, and that’s more than enough to admire and appreciate, especially when that can be so difficult sometimes.” You finished your short tangent, looking back up at him to see him staring intently at you, seemingly in awe of what you’d just said. You felt a blush creep onto your face as you quickly blurted out, “Sorry- I didn’t mean to be so straightforward and weird like that- I sound like some crazy secret admirer or something...”

     The crickets chirped in the silence between the two of you, and it felt like it would never end.

     “Y’know, I wouldn’t mind havin’ a secret admirer. I mean, wouldn’t be so secret, but...” You saw the smile creep up onto his face. “It’s nice being appreciated. Nobody really tells me that kind o’ stuff, so... thanks, I guess.” 

     The heat on your cheeks didn’t go away by any means, but you grew more comfortable with it as you mumbled, “Maybe I wouldn’t mind admiring you.”

     Now, it was the boy’s turn to blush, and you smiled at how his cheeks grew redder with every passing second, and how his subtle grin spoke a thousand words he didn’t need to say.

     “Miya Osamu.” The boy’s hand came into your view as he extended it for you to shake. “I own Onigiri Miya across from the grocery outlet.”

     You smirked, grasping his hand in yours as you said, “L/N Y/N. I own an official license for being a horrible driver and an ID that proves I’m a sleep-deprived college student and that’s about it.”

     He laughed, shaking your hand and standing up, letting go too soon for your liking.

     Because for some weird reason, his hand felt right in yours.

     Osamu said a quick goodbye, mentioning something about how he should get going and how you should get some sleep before he disappeared down the stone path back into the darkness.

     You stood up not too long after he’d left, your coffee now entirely cold as you plopped the half full cup into the trash can on your walk back to your dorm, not needing the pathetic warmth anymore. Your heart was beating fast and the feeling of Osamu’s hand resting in yours lingered on your palm, and that kept you warm enough.

     Maybe you’d be visiting that onigiri place your friend recommended to you a little sooner than you’d originally planned, and maybe more often than you would’ve expected.

#osamu miya x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #hq fluff #hq #miya osamu #osamu #osamu x reader #oml i actually like this #ahhhh its cute #since when have i been motivated #i hope this doesnt flop *sob*