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honeymoonjin · 4 years

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 9.3k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: filmed sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, unprotected sex, fingering, praise, creampie, cursing, body worship

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DAY SIXTEEN

The realisation of the decision you have to make hits you like a truck the moment you wake up.

You hadn’t lied to Yoongi last night. Chatting with him about it was helpful, and you’re insanely grateful for his attentiveness and the fact that you can be honest with him about things like that. But it doesn’t mean you’re any closer to knowing who you want to be eliminated.

You’ve barely been awake and coherent for a minute before your phone buzzes noisily on your nightstand. Blinking blearily at the screen, a message from Taehyung lights it up. Bunkroom, please.

He’d sent it two minutes ago, your phone giving you that 2min reminder. It must have been what woke you. Your sleepy fingers manage to type out a quick coming now before you force yourself out from the cosiness of the covers and heading down.

Jimin is already there when you arrive, arms crossed to preserve the warmth of his body and perched on the foot of Taehyung’s bed. The masseuse had picked the two-set of bunks, directly across from the door, and he sits wrapped up in blankets, cross-legged and leaning against the far wall. He pats the mattress with a covered hand and you sit between the two, Jimin naturally scooting up to sandwich you between the two.

“Is this an intervention?” you joke weakly, voice still croaky from sleep.

“Not really.” You feel the pressure of Taehyung’s head on your shoulder. “Do you know who you’re voting out yet?”

You let out a self-deprecating scoff. “I do not.”

Taehyung goes silent for a moment. “Well… I have an idea.”

Jimin turns to face him, clearly just as in the dark as you are. “About who to vote out?”

“Kinda,” Taehyung murmurs. The only light in the room is what sneaks in through the crack of the doorway. You let your eyes slip shut as Taehyung winds his fingers into yours. “I want you to vote out me.”

Both you and Jimin go stiff, protesting at the same time. “Tae…”

“No,” the older man to your left says harshly. “Why would you want that?”

Taehyung seems to similarly shrink away and lean in closer, making himself small. “It would be easier on Y/n,” he states in an equally small voice.

Your eyes snap open even though you can only see grey-scale versions of the boys. “Tae, that’s not how this is meant to be. I’m a big girl; I’ll live.”

“You don’t get it,” Taehyung insists, sitting up and untangling himself from you so he can face you full-on. “I know the decision is hard on you. But it’s really hard on us too, and I realised last night that it’s not because I’m worried about getting voted out, it’s because I hate seeing you so upset. We’ve already made a promise to each other. I’ve seen more of you and shared more with you than most of the other guys, and I just think… You know, fuck the competition. You and Jimin both mean more to me than the game, and so I think I’d be happy to take that hit to make things easier on all of us.” His gaze drops, fingers picking at the thread of the blanket. “And, you know, maybe we’d be able to keep us a secret longer if the others saw you vote me out.”

While you sit stunned into silence, Jimin burst into action, gripping your thigh gently but emphatically. “It should be me, then. You’ve been nothing less than a sweetheart this entire time, Tae, you don’t deserve last place. Let Y/n vote me.”

Taehyung chuckles, no sadness or resentment in his voice. “Nobody would believe that Y/n would vote you out, Minnie,” he quips, his teeth gleaming in the dim room. “You’re too good at what you do.”

“I’ve been an asshole. I got in a fight the other day. I don’t think it’s hard to believe at all.” Taehyung makes a noise of protest in his throat, so Jimin cuts back in before he can voice it. “At least let’s flip a coin for it. Leave it up to chance.”

Your body goes lax against the wall with a silent sob of miserable irony. Just yesterday Taehyung had jauntily suggested you could choose who to vote off with a coin toss, and now he was rifling through his bag for one, to see if he or Jimin would be the one to leave. “I haven’t even said yes,” you point out lowly, “I haven’t said I want this. That I’m happy for one of you to leave.”

Jimin lets out a quiet sigh, his face cast in the warm hallway light as Taehyung opens the door wider to see more. “But would you be happier if you made one of them seventh place? Had them think they’re the worst in the house?”

“At least this way we won’t be offended or mad at you,” Taehyung assures as he returns, running his thumb over the engravings on a 50 won coin. “Doesn’t that count for something?”

They’re waiting for you. You bite down on your tongue and force yourself to think. To picture the faces of the others, of how they might react. Hoseok if he was on the chopping block for the second time in a row. Namjoon if he felt like his inexperience was his downfall. Jungkook thinking the fight yesterday was the nail in his coffin, or Jin seeing your elimination as a rejection of him and his feelings. Yoongi after letting you confide in him only to send him figuratively packing.

You’d have to eliminate them eventually. All but one of the guys on this show would face that goodbye at some point. Was it selfish of you to push it off for one more week?

“You can flip it,” you decide after a moment, your stomach sinking immediately. “Fuck, this sucks. I’m so sorry.”

Jimin’s grip on your thigh squeezes once comfortingly, and Taehyung rubs your shoulder, before he turns to his elder. “Min, heads or tails?”

“Heads,” Jimin picks without hesitation.

Taehyung, however, does hesitate. “Doesn’t heads come up more often?” he questions warily.

Jimin grits his teeth and nods. “It should be me.”

The masseuse frowns, his black curls like a dark halo as he steadies the coin on his thumb. “Whoever’s comes up gets eliminated?”

Jimin nods again. “Flip it, Tae.”

The second he flicks his thumb and the coin rises, you squeeze your eyes shut, not even breathing. Hoping that the moment where both of them are going to stay in could last a little longer.

The two boys go silent. You feel their eyes on you, then their hands, both slipping into yours just seconds apart from each other. Feeling your eyes prickle, you clear your throat. “Who is it?”

Without a word, your right side becomes heavy as Taehyung buries his face into your shoulder, free arm wrapping tightly around your waist.

You begin to cry before you can even think to stop it, leaning back into him as much as you can with both your hands occupied. Opening your eyes, they remain too blurry to really see out of, but you feel the two of them shift, fingers wiping under your cheeks and cupping your jaw.

“Hey, shh, don’t cry, petal,” Taehyung voice croons, smooth like velvet. “It’s okay, we’re okay.”

You sniff shudderingly, detaching your hands from theirs so you can press over your eyes, composing yourself. “Sorry,” you mumble in a thick voice, “I’ll just miss you.”

You blink away the last of your tears so that his face comes into focus, lips curving slightly, eyes swimming with emotion and with tears of his own. “Hey,” he soothes again, “I’m not going anywhere. All this means is that I can’t have sex with you. It’s not like sex is the only valuable thing about you, the only thing I like about you, you know? I can still hold your hand, I can still be beside you, I can still make you smile. I wanna see that pretty smile again, petal.”

Even though you probably look like a mess, and your heart is fizzy with mangled emotion, you can’t fight the smile that stretches across your lips. Taehyung brightens at the sight, praising you softly as you reach out and shove him playfully. “You sap,” you whine petulantly, heart settling nonetheless.

Having let the two of you share that moment together, Jimin finally pitches in, his voice bright and soothing like yuja tea. “Worst case scenario,” he jibes lightly, “you’ll just have to fuck pup with his hands tied and take the punishment.”

Your laugh is watery but it’s genuine. “Ah, Tae, are you gonna put me in some crazy lingerie or something?”

“I don’t have to when you look gorgeous in everything you wear already,” he admits with a fond smile, before it stretches wider, a cheeky glint in his eyes. “Lingerie sounds nice though. Good thinking.”

Jimin clears his throat lightly and stands up off the bed, slipping his phone out of his pocket to consult the time. “It’s just gone eight, so you have about an hour. I’ll give you two some privacy, yeah?”

Jimin shuts the door behind him, inadvertently pitching the room back into darkness. Taehyung lets out a breathy giggle, getting up to stumble around for the curtains.

You wince and shield your eyes when the white walls gleam with the brightness of the morning sun.

Taehyung looks more gorgeous in the well-lit room than he did in a dim one, so you will your eyes to quickly adjust, drinking him in. Deep chocolate curls resting on his brow, he shakes them back as he gestures up with a single hand. “We should probably go on the top bunk.”

You blink. “Huh?”

“I don’t wanna get my hair caught on the metal springs on the bottom there,” he explains, leaning forward to wrap his fingers around the network of wire that holds up the mattress of the top bunk just above your head. “I swear I’ve done that so many times in just this one night. It hurts.”

Slipping out dutifully, you climb the few rungs of the ladder to sit atop the bunk, reminded of the last time you stayed here with Namjoon and Hoseok. The mood is so different now, only emphasised by the way Taehyung gently tips you back against the pillow the second he joins you.

“Tae, what are you- Tae,” you gasp, feeling the slight tickle of his hair on your neck as he leans in and pulls the neckline of your sleep shirt over your shoulder, baring the flesh. His lips leave light butterfly kisses over the sensitive skin, making you sigh out at the feeling. “What are you doing, Tae?”

He sits up, braced by his forearms on either side of your head. Like this, his hair casts a shadow over his face, but you can see the insistent fire in his eyes. “I want to touch you, petal,” he confesses, “one last time.”

Your heart is seized with emotion, a lump thickening in your throat. “It won’t be the last last time, Tae.”

“True,” he acquiesces, “but for the rest of our time here I’ll have to see the others with you, our Minnie will be able to still be with you, but you and I won’t be able to do any more than hold hands. Won’t you let me treat you like your deserve before then?”

You nod quickly, breath hitching. “Touch me, Tae.”

This time he doesn’t waste time shifting the fabric to the side. Instead, his large palms slip under the small of your back, guiding you to arch it so he can slip your shirt off entirely, tossing it down all the way to the floor.

You sit up and peer over the edge with a wince, glancing back up at Taehyung. “Please don’t fall over,” you plead in a small voice.

The masseuse grins fondly, taking a peek before moving the other way, towards the wall. “It’s not that high,” he protests softly, even as he props himself up on one elbow, his leg thrown low over your thighs, keeping you locked in close too. His hand lowers to run lightly down your side, making you shiver. “Better?”

You bite your lip and nod. “Better.”

With a slightly bemused hum, Taehyung dips his head and his lips find your skin again, making use of the lack of shirt to trail kisses lower, unhurried even with the very real threat of the deadline hanging over you.

You let out an airy sigh at the intimate way he moves down your shoulder, over your collarbones, to the swell of your chest. Instead of a straight line, every kiss is plotted out in mindless curls and loops, like he wants to cover as much ground as possible.

As his hair tickles your skin, it sends tingles running down your nerves, your nipples peaking as they anticipate his attention. “Tae…” you breathe, giggling when his chaste touches make you shiver.

His voice vibrates slightly against your skin. “You’re so beautiful,” he praises, his free arm slipping over to gently grasp your arm, thumb running over the crook of your inner elbow. “So gorgeous, petal.”

His palms are like hot coals against your skin as it breaks out in goosebumps, hair standing on end. It feels like a quiet eternity before his mouth reaches one of your nipples, closing around it with the sudden wet heat of his tongue. You cry out at the unexpected stimulation and jerk, but the weight of his head, leg and arm carefully pinning you against the sheets keep you steady.

Taehyung takes his time worshipping your breasts, sucking your nipple with a wet pop as his hand shifts once more to play with the other. Pausing to lick the pads of his thumb and forefinger, he returns to roll the bud between them, making heat pool in your core.

Part of you feels like pushing his head between your legs, or wrapping your legs around his waist and demanding he fills you, but you don’t want this moment to be over any sooner than it has to be. Instead, your fingers wind into his hair, cradling his head to you as you arch your chest up into that delicious stimulation.

Even as you feel his cock plump up between the layers of clothing that separate you, he doesn’t so much as grind his hips, focussing fully on your pleasure. After what could be mere moments or entire minutes, he swaps over, leaning to the opposite breast to lave his tongue over it, baring the slightest nip of teeth to make you gasp.

It feels like a lazy eternity before his hand moves again, this time running a flat palm between your breasts, down your stomach and slipping under the worn elastic waistband. Wanting to give yourself a little room to breathe under the baggy pants you’d worn to bed, you’d foregone panties, and Taehyung hisses in sharply when his fingers run over your mound and immediately dip into your folds.

Recovering quickly, he begins to massage your hooded clit, using your own wetness to lubricate it for a smoother slide. You let out a throaty moan, legs parting to make more room for his sizeable hand. “Tae,” you pant out again, whimpering when he begins pressing kisses to your stomach.

“Yes, petal?” Taehyung questions sweetly, his movement on your clit so slow that you find yourself rocking your hips against him just for more stimulation.

“Want you to kiss me.”

“I am kissing you,” he counters, lips dragging over your hipbone as he speaks.

You whine. “On the lips, Tae.”

His fingers delve lower, parting your folds. “Which ones?”

Though the thought makes you clench around nothing, you push weakly at his shoulder in protest. “Up here, Tae, wanna kiss you properly.”

He gives in, shifting up to join his swollen lips to yours for the first time since you’d gotten up here. Just as you hook your hand on the nape of his neck and kiss him, he breaches your walls with two slick fingers, making you cry out into his mouth.

Taehyung chuckles, massaging you from the inside, fingers scissoring and curling rather than thrusting. “That feel good, petal?”

You nod shakily, eyes fluttering shut as you put your mind into kissing him properly, tongue running down the seam of his lips so that he parts them for you. He continues to work you open with languid grace, his fingers so long and deft that even the most minimal movements take your breath away.

He may be focused on your pleasure, but he doesn’t seem to be pushing you to orgasm, instead letting you bask in the warmth of your arousal and his steady stimulation. Even as he slips a third finger inside you and uses the base of his palm to rub against your clit, you’re reminded of a massage. The way he draws out the moment so that you can enjoy the experience of it, not just the final result. Your muscles go lax and one of your legs hitch up to spread yourself wider for him, but still his ministrations are so slow that you can’t even hear how obscenely wet you must be.

Still fully clothed, you can feel Taehyung’s hardness against your hip, his leg splayed over one of your thighs to keep you still for him. As your pleasure steadily rises, but that familiar curl in your stomach never tightens, you begin to grow needy. First attempting to rut against his fingers, then nipping at his lip in the hopes of riling him up, you eventually resort to pulling away from him and giving him your best puppy eyes. “Please, Tae, I want you to fuck me.”

His eyes are still blissfully shut from the kiss, and his brows furrow just slightly, hand stilling inside you. “I wanna make this last.”

You bite your lip, pressing a hand to his cheek fondly. “I don’t want to run out of time. We’ll end up being late to the meeting.”

Taehyung sighs, tilting his head to press a kiss to your palm. “Who cares if we’re late?”

Your lip twitches. “Sejin, probably. Do you want him coming up here at one minute past nine, interrupting us?”

The masseuse winces, his fingers slipping out of your wet heat. “You think he’d do that?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t wanna risk it either,” you offer up.

“Fuck.” Taehyung sits up and quickly tugs down your waistband, making you squeal and giggle at his sudden change of pace. “You’re right, shit.”

He strips himself even quicker than he did you, jimmying out of his boxer shorts and tugging his shirt over his head like it’s scalding him. Immediately you feel his erection against your thigh, heavy and wet with precum. Instead of getting back up on top of you, you feel Taehyung’s hand - still sticky from your arousal - pulling your hip up to guide you to lie on your side.

With legs intertwined, he hitches your outer leg over his waist and lines himself up at your entrance. Almost shaking with excitement, you cling to him and hold your breath as he pushes forward, his head entering you slowly but surely.

It’s quiet in the bunkroom, the only sound being your shared breathing, but there’s something so vulnerable and tender in that silence, and you tremble as he bottoms out inside you. The angle you’re both at, lying side by side, makes it feel like he’s deeper than you’ve ever felt before, filling you completely. You picture his cock so far inside you that it presses against your stomach, and the thought makes you tremble.

“Okay?” Taehyung checks in, giving you a moment to adjust.

You nod and lean forward to capture his lips, savouring that familiar embrace. “Ready, Tae,” you confirm, clenching around his girth. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

Taehyung lets out an unbidden groan, and just like that his patience is dissolved, rutting up into you with short, staccato thrusts that punch the air right out of you. Your fingers curl, clutching onto him for dear life as your nerves are set alight.

Every rock of his hips grinds his cock into the base of your clit, and you find yourself grinding against him, helplessly seeking out the best angle. “T-Tae, fuck, so good,” you manage to force out, voice wobbling even more than your legs.

His hands are all over you; running over your thighs, stroking your back, gripping your ass to meet every thrust. As you look over to him blearily, that same desperate hunger is evident in his face. You take a few moments to appreciate him. This will be the last time in a while that he’s writhing in carnal bliss because of you, and you fight to memorise every last inch of his face.

His hair is messy from sleep and the roughness of your current predicament, some curling at his temples even as the rest sticks up at odd angles, but on him it looks like some kind of wild halo that just makes him all the more gorgeous. His eyes are clenched shut even as his mouth goes slack. The tiniest gloss of drool gathers in the corner of his lips, which are a swollen pink, contrasting so beautifully with his olive skin. Light moans and exertions fall past those lips like a steady river, rushing louder every time you clench around him.

Unable to hold yourself back any more, you lurch forward, teeth pinching your lip with how eagerly you rejoin yourself to his. His responding whimper is muffled, but the way his thrusts stutter as his hands fly up to cup your face close to him speaks volumes.

The movement of his cock deep inside you isn’t measured, or ruthless, or graceful. It’s seeking pleasure and giving pleasure mindlessly, wishing to be as close as you possibly can for as long as you can, barely even speaking to each other.

His lips are equally uncoordinated as they slant against you, his tongue dipping out thoughtlessly, teeth nipping needily. You lose your mind to this primal moment between the two of you, sense of time fading away as minute details like a drop of sweat rolling down your back take centre stage. All you can focus on are his fingernails lightly pressing into your cheek; the roughness of his leg hair against your calf; the squeaking of the springs beneath you.

You can’t even tell if you’re making any noise yourself, so lost in those divine notes that slip off his tongue. At one point your mouths slide apart and he tucks his face into the crook of your neck, focuses on thrusting harder. You dig your fingers into his shoulders, trying to meet those thrusts but every moment your pleasure mounts it just gets harder to make your body obey.

When Taehyung speaks, it’s impossible to tell how much time has passed, if Sejin is waiting outside or if you still have most of the hour. Once he buried himself inside you, you slowly stopped caring about the outside world. Those doors felt like an impenetrable wall that would keep you and him secure for as long as you needed it. His voice comes to you muffled, a tickle on your collarbone. “Wanna feel you cum, petal,” he confesses, voice hoarse. “Are you close?”

You gasp, writhing against him. “Need more, Tae.” You barely manage to finish your sentence before fingers are grinding against your clit, pressing it between the pad of his thumb and his cock. Immediately, heat rushes through you, making your eyes roll back. “Fu-fuck, right there,” you cry, core pulsing with every thrust.

With an added source of pleasure, your orgasm begins to quickly approach, your entire body alight with it. At some point your eyes have fallen shut, and you’ve failed to meet his thrusts, almost entirely unable to think, your mind just overwhelmed with the feeling of his cock moving so deeply inside you.

Taehyung, although similarly delirious with pleasure, seems slightly more put together than you. His hips begin to snap faster, fucking into you without abandon even as the angle prevents him from getting too much momentum. His thumb speeds up, rolling your most sensitive bud over his shaft as it drives into you, and his free hand is trapped between you and the sheets, fingers tangled in your hair.

“Close, so close, gon’cum soon, Tae,” you warn him in a garbled stream when the stimulation begins to surmount what your body can handle. Toes curling, you pant and wait before your orgasm to hit any second, whining every time his length pulls out.

When Taehyung speaks, it’s breathy like a prayer. “Kiss me.”

You have just enough time to seek out his lips before the dam breaks and you’re cumming around him. Still seeking his own end, Taehyung ruts into you and makes out with you messily, groaning into your mouth when you tighten, nerves singing with raw pleasure, an orgasm that never seems to end.

You continue to kiss him as he finally begins to spill inside you, going tense and grinding his hips rather than thrusting. It feels so right, being joined like this with limbs entangled and every breath shared.

It takes you a few moments of coming down from your high to notice the wetness on your cheeks. At first you think you’re crying, overwhelmed from a powerful orgasm, but as you crack your eyes open you see Taehyung pull back, shoulders jerking and a hand clapped over his mouth and nose.

He cries silently, tears soaking the pillow and dripping off his nose, but there’s nothing you can say. It’s just a game, you still have me, we only have to wait a little while, these things wouldn’t bring him any comfort, not when he already knew them. His wasn’t a sadness you had to explain away or solve, it was one he just needed to feel in its entirety.

So, just as quietly as sobs wrack his body, you wrap your arms around him, burying your face in the crook of his neck, and hold him close.

He calms down eventually, pressing his cheek against the crown of your head, but the two of you stay like that for every last minute that you have left.

When your phone vibrates, followed quickly by his, you know that your time is up, and you dress in silence.

The meeting starts at 9:12 a.m. You know this, because by the time Taehyung descends the stairs - joining you several minutes later to prevent suspicion - Sejin is wearing a hole in the carpet, informing the group there is a schedule for a reason.

“Can we get started now?” Sejin asks in a snappish tone, before taking in a measured breath, calming himself. “Sorry. Long day.”

“But it’s only nine… thirteen a.m.,” Taehyung supplies helpfully. Sejin doesn’t seem to find it very helpful. “Sorry. Yes, we can start.”

As the masseuse settles himself on a couch beside Jimin, you do your best not to look their way. Sat beside Sejin on the edge of the coffee table, you’re facing the whole group, but there is a strange sense of calm that comes over you when you look at the others. Knowing they’re safe for at least another week.

“Once again,” Sejin announces, knee bumping yours, “the gentlemen have a chance to defend themselves before Y/n makes her decision. Clockwise around the room; Namjoon, we’ll start with you.”

It’s been a pretty rainy morning, a cold front frosting up the windows and making the heatpump slow to act. The academic has himself bundled up in a thick brown sweater and chunky pants, hands slipped between his own thighs for an extra bit of warmth. Somehow, the stocky clothes just make him look smaller. “Y/n,” he begins, “I know I’m never going to be as experienced as the others beside me, but I do really want to keep learning with you, and exploring different things. You make me feel really comfortable and at ease, which is unusual since usually I panic even thinking about kissing someone, and so I’d be really sad if I lost that learning curve that I’m going up with you. I hope you enjoy our time together enough that you’ll let me stay a little longer.”

As he is most days, Hoseok sits beside Namjoon, half-leaning on the taller man. He’s wearing sleek black today; skinny jeans, fitted turtleneck and a cinched waist. Reminiscent of the first two scenes you’d done together, you wonder if he’s wearing those clothes strategically. “My turn? Y/n, if you’re thinking of voting Namjoon out, vote me instead, and if you’re thinking of voting out any of the other guys, good luck to them.” His cheeks lift in a warm smile as you laugh, the humour skimming off some of the tension that weighs the room down. “But on a serious note, I think you and I are extremely sexually compatible, and I take great pleasure in watching you fall apart for me. I want for you to see me as somebody that you can trust to take care of you, but also push you and challenge you. For that, I do hope you choose not to eliminate me.”

You suck in a slow breath. It’s strange hearing them out with no intention of voting them out anyway. Rather than making you feel more indecisive, it reaffirms all the good that you have in this house, that you’re lucky to still retain after the meeting today. You owed Taehyung a massive thank you.

Wedged on the other side of Hoseok is the youngest gentleman. Jungkook has his legs tucked under him, fluffy grey bedsocks peeking out. When Sejin looks at hiim expectantly, he clears his throat. “I actually, um, have a presentation.”

As the rest of the room watches in bewilderment, he hops off the couch and flicks on the television. On the screen, two mirrored selfies of him pouting and winking bracket a message, VOTE FOR JUNGKOOK.

He sucks in a breath suddenly, whirling around to face you. “That should say don’t,” he explains in a rush, “don’t vote for Jungkook.”

Turning back, he crouches beside the cabinet to where a laptop is hooked up to the back of the TV. Changing slides, he straightens up again. A crossfade gives way to a slide which begins with the title, Who Is Jungkook?

“Fucking hell,” Yoongi grumbles, shifting to get himself comfortable on the middle couch he shares with Jin. “Wake me up when it’s my turn.”

Clearing his throat, Jungkook begins to read off the screen. “Who is Jungkook? Successful camboy, avid gamer, budding chef - that’s a picture of me helping hyung cook - and most importantly… Objectively the most attractive guy in the house.”

Even as he hurries to change slides, the other men - namely Jin and Taehyung - protest with cries of outrage and disbelief. Jungkook ignores them, just raising his voice enough to carry over their complaints, waiting for the new slide to bounce in above the previous one. “Why should you save Jungkook?” This time, Jungkook stays crouched, each bullet point having its own slide with a related picture of him. “I will stream with you. I will help cook for you. I will let you play as Widowmaker. I will work out every day so that I stay capable of lifting you easily. I will show you the unflattering pictures I take of the hyungs.” Somehow, Jungkook’s managed to capture a shot of Hoseok mid-yawn, nose scrunched and jaw wide open at the dining table. The man himself lets out an indignant huff, only relaxing once Jungkook switches slides again, a dissolve transition leaving you with a final selfie with Jungkook biting his lip and flicking the camera a peace sign. Jungkook straightens up. “I will give you all these things and more if I’m still in the competition, so please, don’t vote Jungkook.”

Taehyung’s hesitant smattering of applause fills the room as Jungkook switches off the television, sitting himself back down beside Hoseok. Even as he smiles and acts casual about it, you can see his nerves in the way he wrings his hands in his lap. Even if you hadn’t already decided to vote out Tae, there was no way you could’ve voted Jungkook out this week.

Jin is next up, on the couch directly in front of you. His ment is simple. “Vote me out if you think I deserve it. If you genuinely think I’m the worst in the house. I don’t think you do.” The rest of the room falls silent, waiting for him to continue, but he sits back and shuffles Yoongi’s shoulder to indicate his turn.

Sitting up, honey blonde hair disheveled from the back of the couch, Yoongi clears his throat and looks over at you. “You and I spoke last night about the others, about reasons for them to stay in, reasons for them to be voted out. But you didn’t cover me, so here’s mine. Pros: I know my way around the female body in general and, I believe, your body specifically. I’m very willing to give most things a go, I learn fast, and you know that I can keep my head above the water in moments of crisis. I’m a safe person to have in the game.”

You grin. “And your cons?”

Yoongi harrumphs, pouting petulantly. “Well, I’m not going to say them now, am I? I’m trying to promote myself.”

Your bemusement is quick to evaporate when you realise it’s Jimin and Taehyung that are last to defend themselves. Running clockwise, Taehyung is the one who has to speak up now. His eyes dance around the room rather than settling, fingers fiddling with the zipper on his jacket pocket. “Y/n,” he announces, voice so soft and tentative, “I think you and I have a lot of, um, potential together in the bedroom, and, you know, if you keep me in the game, you’ll be able to enjoy the best hands in the business. And I really enjoyed my time with you so much, especially this week. It’s like we have an understanding when we...” Taehyung’s mouth opens, closes. “Uh, so… Don’t vote me out, because you’ll miss out on those things.”

You try not to let the blue cloud in your chest show on your face, staying neutral. You and him both knew you would miss out on those things. That you would miss those things too. Giving a little nod, hyperaware of your reactions, you turn to Jimin.

He’s looking you dead-on, barely moving. “You should vote me out,” he says plainly. “Not...any of the others.” Not Taehyung. “I was a dick the other day, I’ve been an asshole mostly this whole time, and I’m sure the other guys would love it if you did, because they all know I’m the biggest competition. If you ever miss me, I have countless videos online you could watch, or you could watch me fuck one of the guys here. And I’m sure you already have a name in mind, but change it to mine. It should be me.”

Your mouth goes dry, heart racing sickly in your chest. Taehyung’s staring at Jimin with puppy eyes, a silent protest. On the other side of the room, Jungkook lets out a surprised chuckle. “Reverse psychology!” he chirps. “Nice, hyung.”

“So, Y/n,” Sejin asks, voice warm with sympathy, “who’ll it be?”

With eyes stinging, you duck your head, the name on your tongue bitter like battery acid. What you wouldn’t give to throw yourself away instead. “Taehyung.”

The room goes dead quiet. No sighs of relief, expressions of condolence. No announcement from Sejin.

In the two weeks you’d been here, you’d been in this position once before. But that time, exactly one week ago, you’d been subject to a sudden change in events that saved everyone. Now, with Taehyung’s name still hanging in the air like a melancholy ghost, the weight of this decision and its finality sit heavy around the room.

The first cut is the deepest, and as Sejin begins to instruct Taehyung on how to proceed as an eliminated member, you feel like your heart has been sliced in two. The half of you that wants to rush up to him and kiss him silly and take back what you said, and the half that’s filled with an overwhelming relief that you’ve kept the others safe for now.

Taehyung doesn’t look at you much as he leaves. There’s a moment, a single glance, where he gives you a teary smile of approval and comfort. A million words that you can’t say in front of everyone. But then he turns, and he walks out the front door.

Jungkook, who was too shocked into silence to even be listening, straightens up with the wooden thunk of the door closing. “He’s not leaving for good, is he?”

Sejin shakes his head stiffly, before clearing his throat and slipping back into his producer mode. Even as he does so, you can see the elimination upsets him too, his eyes sad. “Taehyung is going around back to the confessional booth for his exit interview. He doesn’t need to be around for prompt distribution, so he’s going to just do it now. Which brings me to this week’s theme.” Sejin pauses for dramatic effect, but it only serves to highlight the sullen mood in the room. “Work hard, play hard.”

You frown in confusion. The first two weeks were easy. Locations, roleplay. You knew what type of thing would be occurring even if you didn’t have the specifics for each member. But this time, you felt totally lost.

Sejin continues. “This week, prompt distribution is also different. Usually, we have you randomly pick a prompt from the bunch. But this time, we have a Bangasm Bomb coming into play. Week 3’s Bangasm Bomb is that whoever won fan favourite in Week 2 will distribute the prompts for Week 3. Yoongi, that’s you.”

Though all of you are a bit reserved, you can’t help but perk up, the interest around the room growing. Yoongi, sat beside Jin but taking up most of the couch, sits up suddenly. “So I give them out randomly, or…?”

“You read all of the prompts and assign them however you choose. Without revealing the prompt to the rest of the group, I ask that you give a reason for each choice.”

Yoongi grins, jumping up in an usual show of liveliness to get the slips of folded paper off Sejin. “I guess I picked the right week to absolutely kill it in the audience vote.” He makes you wait an eternity as he painstakingly opens them all and considers them, eyes dark as they search the room, making little noises of consideration and indecision. Finally, he stands up straight and immediately pockets one.

“A reason, Yoongi,” Sejin reminds.

The doctor blinks. “Because I want it?” Moving to the next one in his pile, he approaches Hoseok first. “Okay, this one is because I think it’s best done by a professional.”

Hoseok takes the slip and holds it close to his chest as he reads, brows lifting. “That’s probably a good idea,” he affirms. “Thanks, hyung.”

Yoongi, clearly gleeful with his position of temporary power, glances at the next slip. “Ooh! Okay, this one is for Jin-hyung because it fits perfectly.”

Jin accepts the slip warily, letting out an exasperated laugh when he reads it. “You little shit.”

Yoongi’s grin is wide enough that you can see his gums. “I love this,” he informs Sejin, “whoever came up with this needs a raise. Anyways; next one.” Opening a fourth piece of paper, he immediately seeks out Namjoon. “I’m giving this to you because I think you’ll get a kick out of it, and I heard through the pipeline that you like to be called daddy.”

Namjoon goes red faster than a changing traffic light, spluttering violently on a lungful of air when he reads the prompt.

Before he has the chance to put it away, Hoseok puts a strong hand on his shoulder and holds him in place so he can quickly sneak a peek of it, collapsing into a peal of laughter when he sees it. “You’re probably right,” he quips to Yoongi, who preens in satisfaction.

“Okay, moving on,” Yoongi continues, “Jungkook, this one’s for you. I figure you’re such a switch that you could play this either way, and I’m curious.”

You furrow your brows, as does Jungkook, but the moment the youngest man reads his prompt, the lines in his face smooth out in realisation. “Thanks, hyung,” he offers up sweetly. “I like this one.”

“I’m sure you do, kid,” the doctor says with a pat of his shoulder, before handing Jimin the final prompt. “And I’m giving you this one because it’s the last one left.”

Jimin scoffs at the weak reasoning, but his eyes dart up to you immediately once he looks at what it says. With a lip curling in bemusement and interest, Jimin thanks Yoongi. “This suits me just fine.”

Done assigning prompts, Yoongi turns to Sejin. “If this show gets greenlit for a second season and you don’t offer me a job, I’ll be personally offended.”

Sejin rolls his eyes with a begrudging smile. “Good job, Yoongi. And meeting adjourned, ev- Wait, no! There’s more; almost forgot.”

You lift your brows, waiting for some other groundbreaking twist or dramatic flair that seemed to keep cropping up during these meetings.

The producer stands himself up, patting his back pocket where his phone rests. “I just had a meeting with the showrunners, and they’re not happy with the punishment for breaking elimination rules. I’ll go tell Taehyung this after, since it mostly concerns him and Y/n, but as an FYI, the protocol around eliminated members has changed a bit.” He takes a breath, hands up and ready to gesture his explanation. “Basically, our old system was that if an eliminated member touched Y/n sexually, he’d be out of the house for good, and if Y/n touched the eliminated member sexually, she had to wear an outfit of that person’s choice. Uh, it seems that second system isn’t really that drastic, and could easily be manipulated, so we’re changing it up upon the showrunners’ request. Now, if the eliminated member touches Y/n sexually, he’ll have to leave as usual, but if Y/n touches him sexually, her punishment has changed to being taken out of the house for 24 hours.”

You tip your head to the side. “That doesn’t sound like a punishment.”

Sejin gives a strained smile. “You’ll be taken out of the house for 24 hours, handcuffed to me.”

“Huh?” Jin asks incredulously. “Bit wish fulfilment isn’t it, big guy?”

The producer has the good grace to blush. “It’s not like that, and it wasn’t my decision. Apparently, the viewers these days are taking more interest in the workings of staff. Additionally, as with the clothing rule, handcuffing Y/n to another member of the house is once again too easy to work around. Anyways, that’s the new rule. Got it?”

You blink. “So… let’s say I run outside right now and touch Tae’s dick. I’d then have to be handcuffed to you for a whole day and like, do producer shit? Meetings and editing and stuff?”

“That is correct.”

“What happens when one of us needs to pee?”

Sejin lets out a weak laugh. “You’d be allowed out of the cuffs to use the bathroom.”

“What happens when it’s nighttime?” you question, heart sinking as you realise your loophole to Tae is quickly closing up.

“Well, I usually go home around 11 each night, and my girlfriend is happy to take the couch should that happen.”

“What- What if-” Your mind whirls as the other guys chuckle at your predicament. “What if I wake up in the middle of the night to get a drink but you’re still sleeping? What if the guys in your meetings ask why you have a young girl handcuffed to you and I have to explain it’s technically a sex thing? What if-”

“All the things that make this a punishment, Y/n. I suggest you practice restraint and avoid breaking the rule.”

Your glare is softened by a petulant pout. “You’re a sadist.”

“This wasn’t my idea, Y/n. It’ll be a punishment for me too.” Sejin clears his throat. “Anyways; meeting adjourned. I’m off to catch Taehyung up.”

The stunned silence lasts no more than ten seconds once Sejin leaves. Jungkook, a toothy grin and cheeky eyes, starts bouncing in his seat. “Y/n and Sejin sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-”

“Shut up,” you shout with a whine. “This sucks.”

“Such a relief you have six other dicks still to choose from,” Yoongi drawls. “I’m sure you’ll live without one.”

Without thinking, you stick your tongue out at him, making him laugh at your antics, before pushing on Jin’s thigh to stand up. “Well,” the doctor announces, “I, for one, could do with a celebratory brunch.”

Jimin frowns. “What are we celebrating?”

Yoongi beams. “Me making you all my little bitch,” he declares, letting out a startled hoot when Jin jumps up to tackle him, manhandling him towards the kitchen.

As the two chefs of the house begin to lug out ingredients from the pantry, Jungkook turns to the rest of the group with a worried frown. “D’you think Tae is gonna be really sad?” he asks in a small voice.

Finally getting up off the hard surface of the coffee table, you make your way over to him, perching yourself on the arm of the couch. “Maybe,” you admit honestly, “but I think if he needs space, he’ll go upstairs, and if he wants comfort, he’ll come back to us. We should let him choose.”

As it turns out, Taehyung chooses both. The kitchen is steaming with a delightfully savoury aroma by the time he comes back in through the front door. He hovers in the entrance to the kitchen and dining area for a moment or two, waiting for the chatter to die down once everyone catches sight of him.

Announcing that he was taking a long shower but that he’d be back down and not to wait up, he’d rushed to his bedroom and left you all to confusedly finish preparing the food. He doesn’t return until you’ve all almost finished eating.

When he does, though, he appears like an entirely different person.

Wearing a raggedy shirt and pants, face red from a hot shower but hair dry, he dumps a white plastic bag on an empty space on the table with a dramatic flair.

Jimin watches him warily. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Taehyung chirps easily, “we’re dying our hair today.”

The words out of his mouth are totally unexpected, and everyone freezes into a bewildered silence.

Hoseok, with a spoonful of soup and green onion halfway to his face, falters. “Sorry, what?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Taehyung explains, like this is the most important thing he’s ever said. “I don’t want to be excluded and I want to have some fun with you guys instead of moping, so we’re going to dye our hair together.” Pushing aside empty bowls and half-eaten side dishes, the masseuse begins emptying the plastic bag onto the table. Bleach, developer, blood red dye, an emerald green and a deep royal blue.

“Where did you even get those from?” Jin asks, abandoning his plate to eye the products with interest.

“Ordered them online,” Taehyung answers with a shrug. “Well - technically I ordered them ages ago, Jungkookie wanted the e-girl TikTok hair, but I reckon we should just go for it. Some of us are in urgent need of a dye job. Namjoon; that’s you.”

The academic recoils, tugging at his grown-out faded purple ends. “Okay, that’s fair.”

Hoseok winces. “We don’t all have to dye our hair, do we?”

“‘Course not, hyung, you can supervise.”

It takes Yoongi insisting that everyone help clean up the table first that springs everyone into action, and in no time at all Taehyung has scoffed up whatever leftovers remained, and Jin has gathered additional supplies like bowls, towels and tin foil, hustling your ragtag group of eight down to the first-floor bathroom.

It doesnt take long before a temporary salon has been set up in there. With chairs taken from the kitchen, product being mixed in little black bowls on the sink benchtop, and three willing victims clutching towels over their shoulders.

In the first chair, Namjoon is watching in mild alarm as Jimin mixes bleach and developer in a bowl, eyeballing the measurements. With gleaming blue hair of his own, Jimin seems more experienced than some of you, but his job is more difficult than the other stylists of the day, since he had to get rid of Namjoon’s purple before bleaching and dying the lot.

You’d chosen the easiest of the three, Jungkook, and painstakingly consult with some of his favourite TikToks for the right amount of hair to section out as Taehyung takes charge of mixing his own concoction of bleach.

Finally, it’s Jin who has also volunteered to dye hair, although it’s not his own that he wishes to dye. Yoongi sits with a bitter scowl on his face as Jin pours in different coloured dyes into one bowl like a mad scientist. With already blonde hair, Yoongi at least has the luxury of skipping out the extra step, but it just gives Jin more time to conceive a crazy colour.

Hoseok, happy to take on the supervisor role, flutters around and hypes everyone up; massaging Namjoon’s shoulders, letting Jungkook show him countless videos and grimacing at what Jin has in his bowl.

“Hey, Tae,” Yoongi calls out in a forced casual tone, “why is it that when you were the one who bought the dye, you aren’t the one getting chemicals all over his hair?”

The masseuse shrugs easily, a tea towel thrown over his shoulder as he stirs away. “What can I say? I’m an artist, not a canvas.”

Jungkook blinks up at him past your shoulder. “I’d like to see you dye your hair, Tae. You’d look pretty with any colour.”

Taehyung reaches out to pinch the maknae’s cheek fondly, but accidentally leaves a smear of white behind. Jumping into action, you hold Jungkook’s chin steady as you wipe it off with your thumb, feeling his eyes on you and his breath hitch.

“Oh, you’re not- Y- You’re going straight in there,” Namjoon stutters shakily. Letting go of Jungkook’s face and stepping away, you glance over to Namjoon and Jimin.

The younger man has Namjoon’s hair sectioned with clips, painting thick globs of bleach onto the purple in his lower layers. “Don’t worry,” Jimin assures, “you’ll look fantastic after this.”

“Worst case scenario, you can lop it all off,” Jin points out cheerily.

Yoongi’s arm reaches out between folds of the towel on his shoulders, keeping Jin at bay. “You better not lay a fucking hand on me with that mindset.”

“Don’t be silly, Yoonie,” Jin teases, adding in some more green. “You’re my Mona Lisa.”

Yoongi humphs and collapses back against his chair, pink smattering his cheekbones.

Taehyung’s hand wraps lightly around your wrist, handing you the bleach he’d mixed up. “We’re good to go,” he declares to you and Jungkook, “I wanna go see what colour Yoongi-hyung’s getting. You guys start.”

Left in charge of the bleach, you turn back to Jungkook. Standing over him, it’s impossible to ignore the way his doe-eyes observe your every move. “Are you still good with these two chunks?” you check.

He nods quickly, lips pressing into an eager but shy smile. “Do you think it’ll look good?” he asks hopefully.

“You’ll look gorgeous.” Getting him to hold the bowl of bleach up for you, you dip the brush included in the box and begin to brush the white, thick liquid over the strands of black hair. He doesn’t flinch as the brush moves higher, sitting so still and patient. “What colour are you going to get it?”

His cheeks puff as he blows air into them. “Hm, I don’t know. Tae said maybe pink? I could mix in only a little bit of red so it’s not so strong. But then pink fades fast.”

You hum, switching to the other side. “You could dye it red and then when it fades it would fade to pink.”

He lets out a little gasp. “That’s smart! I like it.”

From down the room, Taehyung’s voice echoes. “Hyung, you’re fucked!”

“Hey!” Jin cries. “It’s going to look good, just trust me on this!”

Taehyung leans his back against the sink and clasps his palms together like he’s praying. “Yoongi-hyung, picture this. You’re Bob Ross. You’re painting a beautiful lake on a sunny day. Blue sky, clear water, lush riverbanks. Can you see it?”

Yoongi frowns. “Sure.”

“The little cup of dirty water you used to clean your brushes with? That’ll be your hair.”

“Oh, god,” Yoongi moans miserably, slumping so low he almost falls off the seat.

“Disrespectful little brat,” Jin enunciates as Taehyung moves back across the room. “This was your idea!”

It takes the entire rest of the day, but by the time you all sit down on the couches for dinner - courtesy of a food delivery app, Yoongi and Jin both too tired to cook - three of the eight of you have shiny new looks.

Jungkook looks undeniably striking with his stripes of firetruck red framing his face. Contrasting sharply with the black of the rest of his hair, you could easily mistake him for a Twitch streamer or something, pulling off the look with a natural coolness.

Done with purple, Namjoon had taken advantage of Jimin’s decent level of expertise and let the blue-haired man work his magic, bleaching his hair a couple of times and dying it to the unusual choice of silvery grey, the roots slightly darker so that - in Jimin’s words - he could get away with regrowth for longer.

But perhaps the biggest surprise of all is Yoongi, who smugly peacocks around the room with a unique shade somewhere between mint and teal in his hair. Jin had quietly confessed to you and Jungkook when he was cleaning his bowl that it wasn’t in fact, the colour he intended it to be, but that what Yoongi didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

The blue-green tones are somewhat reminiscent of the clear lake Taehyung was describing, and it brings out the soft pink of Yoongi’s lips and his dark lashes so beautifully. How Jin’s luck never seemed to run out, you didn’t know, but part of you wished you had volunteered yourself for a dye job too. Now you, Jin, Hoseok and Taehyung were the leftovers with natural hair.

Like some sort of unspoken agreement, the seven of you keep a close eye on Taehyung throughout the evening. You let him pick a movie for all of you to watch, pile extra food into his bowl, Jungkook even brings a secret stash of chocolate down from his room to share with him. All of you sensitive of how he must be feeling, it’s only natural that you take extra good care of the masseuse.

And, when it finally comes to head up to bed, Taehyung is flooded by offers to keep him company in the bunkroom. It’s Jungkook he picks, the two thick as thieves, and shortly after midnight your phone goes off from a text that Jungkook has sent to everyone except Taehyung. Just two words that are enough to allow your mind and body to rest. He’s okay.

#bts smut #taehyung smut #bts x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #jimin x reader #namjoon x reader #hoseok x reader #yoongi x reader #jin x reader #ot7 x reader #ot7 smut #bts series

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astralalmighty · 3 years

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So I got inspired by this, so here you go.

Geralt and the other Witchers aren’t “made” until much later in history, maybe the 1800s or 1900s. So, in a contemporary setting, they’re the same relative ages in canon.

However, Kaer Morhen and the other keeps for Witchers were shut down by the government at some point. There had been a huge outcry from people when the statistics revealed how many children died. The trials were deemed “cruel and unusual punishments” and made illegal.

The living Witchers were evicted, the children who had not yet faced trials were adopted out, and it was up to the Witchers to find new homes and raise the children who had already gone through the trials.

So skip a few decades, and violence towards Witchers is an all-time high. The Witchers have been accepted as citizens and are provided with some (not much) governmental assistance for their work killing monsters. Many, many Witchers have been killed or attacked by the public, though. The police do practically nothing, and if a Witcher does as much as look at someone, they can be put on trial.

Geralt got Ciri through the Law of Surprise after saving Duny (like in canon), but he took her in at a younger age. I’ve decided that Calanthe and Eist were royalty, but held no governmental control and were assassinated shortly after Pavetta and Duny died.

The only reason Geralt took Ciri in was because if he didn’t, she would’ve gone into foster care in the middle of a proposed declaration of war (It didn’t go through, thank the gods).

However, Witchering is hard and the violence is high. Geralt and Ciri go homeless once or twice, and they end up living with Vesemir or Eskel. Geralt has never, not once, picked Ciri up from school because he doesn’t want her to be bullied for having him as a guardian. Ciri cannot count the numbers of times someone has pulled her aside and asked her if she needs help when she and Geralt are out together.

When Ciri’s 12 or 13, she starts the YouTube channel in hopes of decreasing the stigma and making their lives easier. Geralt’s supportive, but he doesn’t expect it go very far. However, it goes viral pretty quickly, and she gets Eskel and Lambert to start their own channels. Eskel does a lot of domestic stuff--trying to show that Witchers are still people--and talks about monster facts and their benefits. Lambert goes boom boom (not Ciri’s idea).

Jaskier is a pretty well-known musician, and he finds Ciri’s channel. He starts adding music (like in the original post), and ends up writing the Toss a Coin song after meeting Geralt in the back of some bar.

Somehow, through a combination of Toss a Coin and YouTube, stigma slowly starts to decrease. Geralt manages to walk to the grocery store without any fearful looks, and Lambert will never forget how after his sunglasses got knocked off (to hide his eyes), a child stared in wonder rather than horror.

A push for better school curriculum grows, and slowly but surely, people start to talk about Witchers and the ways they help society. Eventually, someday in the future, scientists will start analyzing the trials to see if there’s a better, safer alternative to making Witchers.

One day, Geralt will get to pick Ciri up from school. Yeah, it might be high school, but he still got to do it. (cue the happy tears)

With some of Vesemir’s urging, Geralt thanks Jaskier for writing the song and they become close friends (Jaskier’s doing, of course). Jaskier ends up watching Ciri a few times while Geralt’s witchering instead of her tagging along on hunts. This greatly helps Geralt’s stress levels.

Before I forget, mages and magic also exists, but it’s controversial and restricted. Very, very few people becomes full blown mages or even learn any magic. It is taught in some schools, but little education is provided. You have to apply to Aretuza or Ban Ard to get a reliable education.

Yennefer and Triss are mages, but Yennefer felt used after spending decades as a glorified arse sweeper for the government. She left, and although the government tried to stop her from running wild, they eventually agreed to leave her alone as long as she followed the law (she doesn’t, but what do they know?). She--like in Netflix canon--is searching for a cure for her fertility.

Triss became a doctor, and is called in for serious or emergency procedures. She and Yennefer are very good friends (and maybe horrible crushes on each other).

The djinn happens similarly, but Geralt rushes Jaskier to the nearest hospital, which happens to have Yennefer hanging out with Triss. Triss heals Jaskier, but Yennefer attempts to use the djinn to heal her womb. Triss manages to stop her but both women are arrested. Geralt bails them out. (I have yet to decide how gay this gets, but I’m leaning towards Trissefer and Geraskier)

Geralt’s other two wishes were him saying “I want you to explode” to a man harassing him (the cameras prove Geralt didn’t physically attack the man and cannot see magic or the djinn, so Geralt’s okay). I’ll figure out the other wish when I’m bored.

So yeah, hope you enjoyed!

#the witcher #modern day au #i might add mroe #we'll find out #trissefer #geraskier

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diamondcamefromhell · 4 years

Text

Timeless love

Jaskier x Female Reader series part 1

[again a reupload because the first time, tags decided to not work, fun times ~] [ reuplaod x2 POOPDIE DOOBTIE tags just dont want to work these days, do they]

Summary: This is an AU, where Y/N is a young woman, trying to make ends meet with her freelancing writing job. She lives in her small Nottingham studio apartment along with her cat Apollo. Things change when one evening as she is waiting for her taxi, she meets what she thinks is Joey Batey, but the man in front of her is convinced he’s Jaskier, a character from her current favorite show. Y/N now has to figure out what to do.

Warnings: Swearing

Word count: 1,413

Note:

This is just an intro kind of thing, setting the setting (wow, great wording me) and Y/N first meets Jaskier. I had this idea at work, and I really want to write it, I know it may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but if you find it interesting, you can ask to be added to a tag list! Other parts will be longer, posted every two days. I will continue doing other random imagines as requests are still open, but this will be a multi-part thing going on.

ALL feedback is appreciated. You can leave it anonymously on my ask page.

ENJOY! xxx

I click off Netflix, with a warmth filling my heart. I just finished rewatching The Witcher for a second time already. I get up to clean my room, gently humming Toss a Coin to Your Witcher to myself. I live a small studio apartment, a struggling artist is what I should call myself.

I specialize is writing, and as a freelance worker, I get to do works on anything, from how to grow your peas to why foot fetish is good for your health. A weird bunch of people come to me, influencers preaching nonsense. What I truly enjoy, however, is poetry. Writing art, not whatever people bark at me.

But I have to make a living. I made a promise to the stars I would make it on my own.

I glance back at my laptop. I enjoy my days off, treating myself to fine shows like The Witcher. I go play the song I was humming, and it fills my apartment, as I clean the kitchen counters and do the dishes. I decide that I might go out tonight, I need a break from this small room. I need to breathe.

I have this sense of adventure, wanting to do something - anything. Watching people go on adventures for eight hours straight makes my life seem so boring and bland. Much like Jaskier, I wanted to be heard. I wanted someone I could write about, and the world would be forced to listen. The world couldn’t help but fall in love, too.

Hours pass by, as I begin to get ready, applying gentle makeup on my face. I throw on a flowy skater style dress, that’s pale blue. I smirk remembering Jaskier wore pale blue, and then cuss myself out for getting so enticed in fictional character. I can fall for someone who isn’t real, not again. I’ve been the girl with a helpless crush on many characters.

Won’t happen again. I am content with being single. Plus, I have my cat. I glance around my apartment, looking for Apollo, my ginger boy I named after my favourite Greek God. I see him on a windowsill, staring out into the world. My beautiful boy. Roach to my Geralt.

“Be good tonight, Apollo.” I say, but the cat pays little to no attention to me. “Mommy will head out.”

I let out a sigh when Apollo doesn’t even look at me. Being a cat mom, you get used to it, but I prefer it when he’s in his happy mood. Then, I can’t get him off me. I whistle, making him look at me. His green eyes scan me, as if asking why I dared to disturb him.

“Keep our home safe, okay?” To my surprise, he meows in response, before looking out the window again.

This cat never ceases to amaze me.

I make sure to leave enough food and water for him, before I leave the apartment. The smell in the corridor makes my nose physically hurt, and I wonder if Dave, my neighbour, is passed out drunk somewhere again. I sigh, rushing from my third floor, to get relief of fresh air.

The streets are dim, but not too dark. I clutch my purse tighter, knowing there still are some sketchy people, even if it’s still light outside. I call a taxi, glancing around the empty streets. Until I hear someone grunt behind me. I turn on my feet, reaching for pepper spray in my purse, but get struck by a surprise.

Before me stands a man I just spend hours watching. Or the guy who plays him. Joey Batey. Dressed in full Jaskier attire, though. The red matching set he wore in episode six. He has his lute in his hands. Our eyes meet, and he looks scared out of his mind.

“Joey?” I ask, trying not to attack the actor with fangirling, who looks around, to see if there is someone else behind him. When he realizes it’s just us, he raises his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry?” He asks, looking around some more. Confusion paints his face as he looks at me once more. “Where am I?”

“Nottingham.” I say, but it doesn’t seem to clarify anything for him, as he raises his eyebrows even more.

“What is this Nottingham?” He takes a step back. “Who are you, exactly?”

“My name’s Y/N.” I raise my arms in the air, showing I mean no harm. “Joey, are you okay?”

“Who’s Joey?” His voice shakes. “I’m Jaskier.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Now I’m the one, raising my eyebrows. My phone beeps, informing me the taxi will be here in 5 minutes. Joeys, Jaskiers, eyes drop to the gadget, as he looks mortified.

“What is that?” He scoffs, taking a step back again. “You’re a sorceress. This is an illusion. Bloody witches keep ruining my days.”

“I am not a witch, Jo… Jaskier.” I correct myself but I can tell he’s not convinced. He grips on his lute tighter, eyeing me down.

“Where’s Geralt?” His voice is quiet. I feel dizzy, wondering if someone was smoking something funny up in my apartment building.

“Not here, as far as I know.” I squint, looking around, trying to see if I see Henry, dressed as Geralt just wondering the streets of Nottingham. My phone beeps again. Taxi is three minutes away. I see Jaskier stare at it again, so I slide it in my purse. “We can go to my place, you could rest, see if you feel better tomorrow?”

“I am not going anywhere with you, witch!” He puts on a brave face. I watch him turn left, as his face drops. He has no idea where he is. What exactly did he smoke?

“Jaskier. Please.” I plead, not sure what to do. I can’t pull out my phone and google ‘how to help people who are high off their mind’. That would probably give him a heart attack. “Trust me.”

“How can I trust someone who put me in this mirage?” Shit. I guess I will have to play along.

“I don’t know where I am either. I woke up in here, and I tried to find a way out. Until I just settled.” I say whatever comes to my mind as I see Jaskier slowly relax. How naïve of him, “If you are here too, maybe we both can figure something out. Maybe Geralt and Yennefer can help.”

“You know Yennefer.” His voice grows cold and I realize I messed up. I stare at him, not sure how to get him on my side again. The taxi is probably a minute away, and I cant leave Joey alone, not when he is this much out of his mind. But I cant take him clubbing either.

“I know the Continent. I heard your songs, Jaskier.” I plead, looking around. I don’t hear a car just yet. “Toss a coin to your Witcher, o valley of plenty.”

“You know my songs?” He seems to relax again, and I become anxious to get him off the street.

“Please come with me.” I plead, rushing to him.

Before he can respond, I grab his hand, dragging him inside. I hear him grunt, at what I can only assume, is the smell. My phone begins ringing, alerting that the taxi is here. I don’t stop, dragging him to the third floor. I struggle at the door, as my hands shake. When I eventually get the key in, I practically push him inside, locking the door behind us.

I take my phone out, answering.

“I am so sorry, sir. I changed my mind, my um, cat, started throwing up.” I blabber as Jaskier is fearfully looking around. “I might need to take him to the vet, I can’t go out. Please charge my card for your time to come here and have a nice evening.”

I hang up, my heart beating slower. If any sane person saw us, especially saw Jaskier, they might have called ambulance or police. Imagine the news.

“The hit show’s “The Witcher” star was found high out of his mind in the streets of Nottingham. Joey Batey, reportedly, kept saying he is Jaskier, calling everyone sorceresses.”

Wonderful. I look at him now, not sure how to refer to him. My phone dings again, and I look at it, swearing. But it’s a notification. From Instagram.

Joey Batey just updated his story. I open it, to see it’s a picture of him and Henry, with a caption ‘catching up before season 2’. I lift my head, swallowing hard. Jaskier turns around to face me, and my heart drops.

What is going on?

[PART TWO]

#who cares tags dont work anyway #jaskier #jaskier x reader #witcher #fluff #angst #you know the drill #like literally why am i even tagging this if it literally doesnt matter #oh well #guess ill die #witcher au #i really want for people to read this but i guess it wont happen #thanks tumblr #i hate it

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randomguywithwords · 4 years

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Thanks For The Assist: Chapter 2 (Itsuka X Neito Story)

AO3 Link: Here

Chapters: 1

Chapter 2: Acceptance

––––––––

“How was the test?” Father asked as the three of them sat at the dinner table eating.

“Ok, I think I did fine,” Monoma said as he picked up a slice of meat.

“How were you graded?” Mother said.

“Fought some robots. You get points the more you destroy. The harder the robot, the more points you get. The field was massive, pretty much a life-size city, and I think they had at least 3.” Monoma explained with patience, though he suspected this expositioning was boring the other audience with information they already knew.

Mother hummed her assent. “I’m not surprised. U.A has a ton of money. More money than they need, really…” She ended her statement in a mutter. It sounded like constrained resentment to Neito. It probably was, but understandable.

“Isn’t the ministry diverting more money towards your school, dear?” Father said.

“Yes, I suppose. After years of appeals by the school committee. Hopefully I can obtain better equipment to teach those kids.” Mrs Monoma sighed, looking back towards Neito. “But I hope you get in, Neito. I have to admit, it’s really once-in-a-lifetime, and U.A will make you a fine hero.”

“Thanks, mother.” Neito smiled. A fine hero. The phrase did not apply to him, not in the societal nor linguistic sense of the word. A hero relied on himself to get the job done, at the end of the day. With what he had, that was an impossibility.

“None of the other kids gave you trouble, did they?” Father asked, and Monoma winced on the inside, thinking about the events transpiring just after the test.

“No, they were nice people,” He said. It was no lie, by technicalities. There was that girl, after all. Kendo, was it? She was nice.

Father seemed to perk up at his answer, gladdened. “That’s good,” He gave an approving nod. “I’m glad they weren’t like your schoolmates.”

Neito waved his hand like an aristocrat at a banquet. “Nah, I think maybe those guys were just ––” He struggled for the proper word. “Lame.” He ended, and grinned internally at the apt description of his dialogue. But that smile died in the next instant when he thought about what he had wanted to say.

Flat characters. A character with one dimension, owning a singular character trait to serve a purpose in a story. That’s what he called them, but not Mother.

“About time kids your age learned some maturity,” She said, her ‘teacher’ side emerging. “Not you, Neito – of course. You’re a sensible boy. Apart from your silly theatrics, but you’ll grow out of it.”

There it is, He sighed, on the inside – or, aside. That was how the plays would state inner actions on the script. But Mother doesn’t like plays, does she now?

“Neito, tell us about the fighting,” Father interjected with a smile that was a bit too wide, “What quirks did you use?”

Neito gave a response, but his heart was no longer in the conversation, having been chilled by Mother’s own lovely warmth that she had no idea she was radiating.

–––––

The letter came a week later when his parents were at work. Neito opened it up in his room. After all, where else would he? Only in his room could he find solace. And on his bed, comfort, so he plopped himself down and opened the envelope.

The contents contained a disc. A holographic. Taking it out and laying it on his bed, he pressed the blue button in the centre, producing a video on the wall.

It was the scene of an office, with a mouse sitting on a chair and a cup of tea on the glass table. He recognised the principal of U.A himself.

“Neito Monoma! Very good afternoon, or morning, or night, to you – depending when you see this, of course. On the off chance you are unaware of me, I am Nezu, principal of U.A High. This video is approximately 5 minutes long, but I will save you the suspense. You got in. Congratulations.”

His heart soared, and he pumped a fist in the air, breathing a sigh in much-desired catharsis. Had he been holding that in since the beginning?

“You are, both celebrating – I would hope, and also wondering what the remaining 4 and a half minutes are about. Please do not ignore the rest of this video, because I want to review two things: your performance at the entrance exam, and your quirk. Take a look at this.”

The video showed clips of Monoma from a birds’ eye view, running around and using his borrowed quirks, as well as him tapping random strangers. He noted how a lot of them turned their heads in evident surprise and puzzlement at him patting them on the shoulder or arm. And then the clip played of him taking a couple of points away from those guys.

Nezu clucked his tongue. “Many in society would deem that as ‘un-hero-like’ behaviour, as it can be interpreted as stealing, or taking what does not belong to you. Criminal acts indeed, if the deed is severe and the stolen thing valuable. But, your quirk acts on that very principle of taking what does not belong to you.”

The (overwhelmingly intelligent, Monoma realised) mouse continued, “I’ve taken the liberty of reviewing your application and academics. You boast admirable grades in your middle school, and your form teacher commented that you were a highly observant, smart and mature student. I could go on, but you know what you’ve submitted. I will continue with that presumed knowledge.”

“You must have realised by now, or very early on in your career as a hero aspirant, that your quirk is unorthodox, having no use on its own. You require allies, or foes who you can lay a finger on, to fight. And even then, you must hastily adapt to whatever quirk you have under your control, for a period of time. Lots of limitations, Mr Monoma. A lot of challenges you have faced, are facing, and will face. And when you are initiated into my school, expect more.” Nezu took a sip of his tea.

“That’s not to say you will face difficulties many would describe as ‘hell’ at U.A. And neither does my previous statement imply U.A is not ‘hell’.” He paused. “Do excuse my roundabout mannerisms of speech. It is a bad habit of mine.” Nezu chuckled.

“Simply put, I have taken a personal interest in you, Mr Monoma, for your cunning, your intellect, and your quirk. Report to me after your first day of school. We will talk more then. Congratulations once more. Another letter will arrive tomorrow to inform you of the minutiae regarding your inception into U.A. Good day, Neito Monoma.”

The holographic faded out, and Neito was staring at a blank wall for a few seconds trying to process whatever Nezu had said.

A buzz from his phone pulled him out of his hazy thoughts. He is...really smart.

It was from Kendo. “Hi, Monoma, It’s Kendo! The girl with big hands. Wanted to ask you whether you received the letter from U.A.”

He typed a response. “Yeah, I got a letter. What’s your verdict?”

Fingers crossed.

She responded, “I got in. >< You?”

A smile spread across his face. “Same, that’s awesome. Congratulations.”

“YAY! :D We both did it! Congrats too! And I was so shocked that All Might was in the video! I nearly cried. Or maybe I did, idk. Sorry, I’m babbling at this point, but I don’t have anyone else to tell this to until my parents get home and I’m so hypeddd”

Huh? All Might? So Nezu specifically…

He typed, “It’s ok, I’m excited too. Though I don’t express it over text that much.”

“Haha it’s ok. Can’t wait for the letter tomorrow. There’s so much to do! Hero costume, uniforms, books, all that. And term starts a month from now. Can’t wait!”

“Wow, how’d you know all this?”

“Mainly from the internet. I was that hyped, y’know?”

He cracked another smile from her enthusiasm. It was oddly contagious, and he found himself more zealous to go to school. That was a statement he’d never think he could formulate in his mind. “I see. That’s cool.”

“Btw, if you wanna go celebrate with your family or friends, go ahead! I don’t wanna hold you back.”

“Nah, my parents are at work and I’m basically alone at home. Same boat as you. So, fire away.”

“Ah, ok!”

The conversation continued with Kendo gushing about their new life, and Monoma passively followed along, inserting a few comments here and there. But he didn’t feel like he was stuck at a family reunion forced to endure his grandfather’s stories with a placating smile and affirming nods peppered in occasionally. She was actually interesting, and amusing, in a good way.

The topic was centered around school and academics, with little butting into personal lives, and Monoma didn’t pry. She was still a stranger, somewhat, albeit she would be his new schoolmate – and perhaps classmate. He crossed his fingers again, hoping that Fate would tap him lightly on the head once more with her providence.

He smiled when Kendo typed, “Hope we become classmates :D. Apparently there are always 2 first-year classes. So it’s basically a coin flip.”

“Heads.”

“Rly? Do you always choose heads?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m more of a switcher.”

“How do you decide when to choose heads or tails then?”

“Coin flip.”

“That made me laugh, thank you.”

“Why do you need to thank people for making you laugh? It’s a spontaneous thing.”

“That’s...oddly profound.”

“Or just a dumb statement made to sound fancy. Ah, sorry, I have to go now. But thank you for your time. It was great chatting :)”

“Why do you need to thank people for chatting with you? It’s a spontaneous thing. Joking aside, thank you too.”

“Nice haha” Was her last message. Neito turned his phone off and lied down on his bed. A moment passed, and Neito took a coin from his study desk. It was a silly thing to do, but his room was his stage. He was performing for himself.

He gave it a toss and caught it.

Seeing the result, he grinned.

–––––––

Yeek, this took longer than it should have, sorry. Had a bit of writer’s block when it came to planning this thing and I wasn’t sure how to move on. Also the tone of this is especially terrifying for me because it’s definitely going to be (ironically) more light-hearted, with Monoma’s dramatic language and (side thoughts) occasionally inserted, but that brings the challenge of need. When to do that, when not to. This story is a personal challenge to change my narrative style just slightly.

Anyway, I hoped you MonoKendo ppl liked it. A lot of people have told me it’s unfortunate the ship lacks content and I couldn’t agree more. But then again, that’s about 75% of the ships out there. (Fk it, 90%). So, here’s my contribution, alongside some other one-shots.

Feedback’s appreciated :D

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sirsparklepants · 4 years

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So @loquaciousky informed me that garlic is legit medicine in the Witcher books (as it should be) and the part of me that grew up with echinacea tea with lemon and honey as first line cold medicine jumped the fuck out. (Also the part of me that was in choir for a decade but that part is always barely under wraps.) Thanks to @ivoryandwines for introducing me to thyme and sage tea for congestion a couple of years ago.

"Milk, Geralt, really? Do you think I'm a child?" Jaskier asked, staring at the wooden cup sitting next to his otherwise inoffensive breakfast. Normally he appreciated the small gestures his traveling companion made for him, but this was just beyond the pale.

"It's fortifying. You have a long day," Geralt said, not bothering to look up from his own bread and beer.

"For children, maybe, or people who are recovering! I'm not recovering from anything more than your frankly absurdly long days on the road! I have a performance tonight!" Jaskier exclaimed, throwing himself back on the tavern bench with what he felt was exactly the appropriate amount of dramatics for the situation.

At that, Geralt finally looked up. "I know," he said, and gestured towards the milk. Like that would make anything better.

Jaskier sighed. "Geralt," he said. "When I know I'm going to be performing in a place like this, what do I drink?" he asked, as patiently as he could manage.

Geralt frowned. No doubt he wished Jaskier hadn't noticed him paying enough attention to know. "Small beer, watered wine. Mulled wine if it's cold."

"Exactly," Jaskier said, throwing his hands up in the air. "Milk was not on that list! I cannot drink milk the day of a performance, Geralt, I simply can't."

"Why not?" Geralt asked. He'd turned so his body was angled towards Jaskier, though his face was still forbidding. Interested but not wanting to show it, Jaskier judged.

He sighed again, more deeply, and grabbed one of Geralt's hands in his own. He waited out the reflexive flinch and placed it half on his throat, half on his chest while Geralt blinked at him, obviously confused.

"Do you feel this?" he said, projecting his voice a little - not enough to pain Geralt's sensitive hearing, just enough so the vibrations could be felt in his throat and chest. Geralt nodded.

He took in a deep breath and sang, round and open and resonant so his voice carried, "what about now?" To the tune one of the phrases from Toss A Coin, of course.

"Yes, I feel it, get to the point," Geralt grumbled, taking his hand back.

"A vocal musician's power and clarity comes from those vibrations," Jaskier said, falling into the familiar cadence of a lecture. "Milk - and things that come from milk - produce phlegm, which is bad for the balance of the humors as well as blocking the vibrations. I must be at my very best when performing, and milk is the singer's enemy!"

"Hmm," Geralt grunted, and took the cup of milk for himself. "What will you drink, then?"

"Well, as I have both time and opportunity to prepare, I shall drink the same thing I drank before my exams at Oxenfurt, of course," Jaskier said, catching the eye of a barmaid. "My good woman, could I trouble you for a pot of hot water? I have everything else I could need."

When said pot arrived, Jaskier opened a small pouch he kept tied to the waistband of his pants and pinched about half the contents into the pot. As soon as the pouch was opened, Geralt's eyes narrowed.

"What is that?" he asked, staring at the steeping tincture.

"Sage and thyme, as I know you well know. Clears phlegm from the lungs and throat, good for colds but invaluable for singers," Jaskier said cheerily.

"You used the last of our sage and thyme on a goddamn rabbit two nights ago and you knew it was medicinal," Geralt said, voice dropping into a growl.

"First of all, that rabbit was delicious, and don't think I didn't see you sucking the bones clean," Jaskier said, applying himself to his breakfast. "Secondly, it wasn't the last of our sage and thyme, as you can well see here, Geralt, and if for some reason you found yourself struck with deadly cold, of course I would have given mine over, but yours was losing freshness and potency, really. Thirdly, we're here now, at a town where we can resupply, so it's hardly the great tragedy you're making it out to be. I'll buy you some more once I'm paid for tonight, fresh that you can dry yourself, how about that?"

Geralt snarled at him and stuffed the last of his breakfast in his mouth. "You're on your own tonight," he said, and shoved back from the table with a rather unnecessary amount of stomping.

Jaskier just laughed. His patron tonight was an old school friend, hardly one to allow Jaskier's peccadilloes to move anyone to violence. He'd let Geralt have some space to cool down from his snit. "See you tomorrow, my friend," he called after Geralt's retreating back.

He wouldn't let Geralt being a grump who insisted on suffering ruin his morning. His tea was just about ready, so he poured a cup and smiled at the barmaid, who looked a little alarmed at large men stomping about her tavern. "He'll be back once he's brushed his horse and calmed down," he said. "In the meantime, do you have any more of this excellent bread?"

#My fic #the Witcher

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ittybittydragonfox · 4 years

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The Art of Creating Your Own Divination Method

Divination is not a cookie-cutter technique. It’s not one-size-fits-all. It’s not just tarot cards, rune stones, and pendulums. Divination has had thousands of methods across the world, and just because there are traditions doesn’t mean we have to follow them.

I often hear from new diviners that they’re struggling to read for themselves, or that they just don’t feel they’re connecting with the methods they have access to. So why not create your own? When I give this suggestion, I get a look of shock, awe, and sometimes even confusion. Real life shocked pikachu face. How would you go about it? What do I do?

Well, let’s talk about it. This here is a guide to help you get started.

What does “custom” mean? The first thing you need to realize about a customized divination method is that it belongs to you. No one else. It’s power is yours, it should serve you. Try things out until they feel right. And what feels right to you, is right for this system. What works for you is not for others to decide.

You know everything about yourself. More than even tarot will ever know. So use that knowledge to create a method of divination that plays on your strengths, mitigates your weaknesses, and turns your natural abilities and inclinations into an asset.

Deciding a Method Divination comes in many forms. Are you a physical person? Maybe you need to be shuffling cards or throwing stones or flipping coins. Are you an intellectual? Maybe you need to be interpreting the meanings in puzzles or creating patterns out of numbers. Whatever it is you’re good at, make it a key aspect of your practice.

I, myself, am naturally a physical person. I can’t sit still. I need my hands to be doing something. So I chose a technique that involves movement. I have to shake my dice, and toss them around. But I’m also very good at seeing connections. So the proximity of the dice to each other on their given spaces on my mat changes the meaning of how I read.

Deciding on Tools Do you collect things? Do you assign special meaning to numbers or pictures or objects? Does your practice consider something to be sacred? Use those things in your new divination method.

As a child, I used to collect rocks. All rocks. I gave them names and meanings and would throw them around my room. Where they landed and what “face” they were showing (that rough patch on the side? that indent on the top? what about the smooth, shiny spot in the center?) told me what they were trying to say to me. In my new method of divining, I refined this with dice, and each number on the die is treated like the face of a stone. But it’s still just a glorified version of my stone throwing. And the spaces in my room are replaced with a hand-made mat, that has zones for certain aspects of a situation. I think in broad, sweeping strokes and refine my ideas later. The mat represents those broad strokes, and the dice are the intricate details.

Deciding on Mechanics What are your strengths? Lean into that and make your divination into something that turns them into an asset. Even mechanically. Are you naturally good at categorizing things? Create a mat with zones. Are you good at interpretation? Then leave a lot of room for it in your method. Good at finding pictures in the clouds? What do those pictures mean to you?

What are your weaknesses? Do you struggle with applying things to yourself? Create a method you consider objective. Do you love something so much it’s distracting? Find a way to either avoid using it, or to mitigate the distraction it causes.

I personally work in medicine, and I have a deep love of mythology. Both play an important role in my divination. And, I’m a Shinto-Pagan. Eastern philosophy (sourced from Japan, not western interpretation of it), is a key part of how interpretation works, on a fundamental level, for me. But, because I’m using a set of D&D dice, two dice have the number 12. Which is my favorite number. Whenever I see it, I play much more attention to it. Even though the associations with 12 have no more weight than any other number in my method. So to mitigate that hyperfocus, I’ve taken one dice and given it “positive” connotations, and the other “negative” for the number 12. So if 12 does pop up, it’s not always a good thing, and my urge to hone in on it will result in a more balanced reading, rather than an always-good one.

Give It Purpose Divination tools always have their strengths and weaknesses. Tarot is great for a detailed look at broad topics, but practitioners debate about whether “yes and no” questions are really best for it. So in what parts of your life do you need answers? What’s not covered in what you’re already doing? Do you want it to specialize in something or do you want a general tool?

My personal set is good for overlooking situations, and understanding the people around me, but it is not a “yes or no” type of set. It’s great at making lists of factors and seeing things as they are with clarity, but it doesn’t hand out solutions to problems. I use it to see where I’m at, rather than where I’m going.

Make It Yours This is the part where a lot of people just kinda give up. They hunt for the lore to back up their style, or for the traditional correspondences to line up. And I’m here to tell you that none of that matters. None of it.

What do you feel about the things you’ve chosen? If you want a method that will speak to you, you need to put yourself into it. What memories are invoked when you think of the symbols you’ve chosen? What do you associate with those animals you painted on those rocks? There’s your meaning. Use it. This is literally all about you!

If you want those traditional aspects to your divination, that’s okay. Just make sure they resonate with you, and that you’re not just adding them to feel legitimate. You can’t be an imposter when you’ve created something new and yours.

Give Yourself Room to Grow and to Fail Sometimes we don’t get things right on the first try. And that’s okay. Give yourself that space. And be willing to go back and make changes as you grow and learn how you work with this method best. Sometimes it takes a few shots. Sometimes, it just takes time. I spent six months making mine, even with all this understanding of who I am and what I’m good at. It’s okay to take time, to put your creativity to it’s limits, and to backtrack once in a while. Few things in magic work out in their first iteration; divination is no exception.

And there you go. It’s really as easy or as complicated as you want to make it. And in the end, you’ll have a full divination set, all your own, that speaks to you in ways it will never speak to others. I hope you have fun learning about how you divine, and how you can create something personal and meaningful through magic and your own power.

Happy creating!

Jake

#divination #divination set #witch #witchcraft #witchblr #jake talks #original content

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eirian-houpe · 4 years

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Two Could

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Additional Tags: AU, Pirates, Smut

Series: Part 10 of Lover's Leap

Summary: Belle and Rumple jump into the bodies of two pirates. When the King's Navy blockade the harbor, the decision must be made to run the gauntlet, or wait out the siege, but two captains seek another way, and seal their alliance in a way that only pirates could.

Read on AO3

Two Could

The captain of the Dark Heart sat in the shadowed corner by the fireplace, eyes turned to the center of the room. There all the other captains were gathered, only the Dark Heart’s skipper sat apart, watching. Waiting. The first mate sat at the ‘captains table.’ That too was the way it had always been done. It also had the double sided coin of finding out what kind of captain the mate would make and providing a loophole should something be decided upon with which the captain didn’t agree.

Tonight the argument was about the blockade. A full gathering of the Captains’ Council of Nine, and still they couldn’t decide whether they were going to run said blockade, or wait them out.

On the one hand, they had the advantage. They were on land, in dock, and had food a-plenty, at least until the local merchants and peasants alike conveniently forgot which ships kept them safe from marauding vessels - other than their own - for ten months of a year, and for most of the years in a decade.

The authority’s fleet of ships was anchored off the coast, blocking the harbor entrance so that the pirates couldn’t take to open waters. The king’s ships would only have on board what provisions they had been able to acquire at their last port to sustain their crews… and there was likely scant little of that, and in the Captain’s opinion, and ill fed crew was an ill mannered crew, far more likely to mutiny.

The Dark Heart’s captain picked up the tumbler of what passed for rum in these parts, rough and acrid, but good enough for what it was intended, and took a sip, watching the only other Captain at the table who had yet to speak.

The Captain of the Black Rose sat back, listening to the arguments going back and forth, going over the same old ground time and time again. It was simple really. They either ran the blockade, or they sat out the siege. None of them really wanted to do that at this time of the year, when most of the traders were crossing the seas from exotic lands with valuable cargo, which of course was precisely why the kings forces had set up the blockade when and where they had.

Missing a season’s plunder would mean hardship for some, and living off the profits of previous years for others. Never a good idea. But then neither was running the blockade. They were out manned, and certainly outgunned. They’d have to have a good wind and a whole chest of good luck on their side. Either that or some kind of miracle.

Having heard enough bickering, and useless chatter, he stood, tipped a nod to those that noticed, and moved toward the door, leaning heavily on the cane he used to balance himself on land. He had decided to take himself back to his ship where he could maybe work out what was the best thing for the Black Rose to do.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the small figure in the shadows until she was upon him; until she’d pulled him into the darkness, threw him against the stone wall so hard the breath was knocked out of him, and then kicked away his cane, pinning him in place with a small, but obviously sharp knife at his throat, and fingers squeezing, vice-like, around his balls.

“Well this is quite the inconvenience,” he hissed, arrogant in spite of his position, trying to slide a hand, unnoticed behind his back to where he kept his dagger.

Her lower hand tightened, and the knife twitched against his throat.

“Now, now, Captain,” she murmured, “Best you be keeping both hands where I can see ‘em… or I won’t be held responsible for my own.”

“What is it you want, dearie,” he asked, his teeth all but grinding together as he spoke.

“For you to pay a visit… a private parlay with the captain of the Dark Heart,” she answered, and he saw her cock an eyebrow at him.

“Well now,” he purred, “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble to ask me to dinner. All you had to do was… ask.”

With the last word he moved faster than he hoped she would anticipate, one hand grasping the wrist of her hand holding his family jewels and pressing against it until she let go, the other pushed the knife away from his throat. He wasn’t quite unscathed, receiving a small nick to both his neck and the side of his hand, but neither was of much importance as he gained his freedom. Twisting her wrists, he managed to turn her until he was pressed at her back, holding her in an almost-embrace against himself. He squeezed her knife hand until she relinquished the blade to him, and held her close as she struggled angrily against him.

Under other circumstances, he would have relished the struggle and let it continue, but he had to admit, other interests were piqued more than a little rough and tumble in a darkened alleyway - though it would have been a pleasant diversion from the evening’s frustrations - so after only a moment he released her, pushing her away enough that he could raise his hands between them in a gesture of peacemaking as she whirled to face him. Then he tossed her knife up into the air and caught it again by the blade. Then he offered the hilt to her, with a flourishing bow.

“Shall we?” he invited her to lead the way.

She should have been furious, to allow herself to be so easily bested. Truth be told though, she had enjoyed the little tousle. It had been far too long since anyone had held her that way… far too long since she’d felt the kind of hardness that had pressed against the small of her back as he’d held her.

She gave him an answering curtsy as she took back her blade, but answered, “After you. Y’ know the way to the docks.”

She glared at him as he chuckled, but began to move none the less, and as he moved to pass her, she fell into step with him - as much of a show of faith as she would allow. For now.

Once they reached the docks, she nodded toward the ship at the farthest end, though she doubted he needed to be told which ship was which. Not if he were half the captain she thought him to be.

The Dark Heart was small and sleek. Only double masted, with sails that even when furled, as they were now, shone with the deepest sheen of a red that was so dark that it was almost black. The wood of the ship itself was like pitch, and adorned with gold and blood red along the gunwale and the planking just below, and all along the bowsprit what appeared to be carven hearts dripped twinkling gemstone droplets - facsimiles of blood.

“She’s a beauty, and no mistake,” he said, and she heard the admiration in his voice.

“Tougher than she looks,” she answered. “Make no mistake about that either, Captain.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mistress…?” She raised an eyebrow at him instead of answer his unspoken question. Then she cocked her head toward the gangplank, the back of her neck prickling as she led him aboard.

The crew still aboard and on deck all jumped too as she set her finely booted foot aboard the seasoned wood, and she called out to one of them, “Captain aboard, Daniel?”

He looked at her askance for just a moment and then behind her at the visitor she brought in tow.

“Be around, Miss. Be around,” he answered.

“Best look lively then,” she shot back. “Wouldn’t want to get caught lallygaggin’ now would ye.”

He started, then bent to his previous task of tending the lines, and she turned once more to the captain of the Black Rose.

“We’ll go somewhere more comfortable to wait,” she informed him, and began walking, confident that he would follow. He hadn’t come with her for his health after all. Parlays between two captains often ended in… a far less peaceful way.

Once they crossed the deck and got to the door of the captain’s cabin, she reached for the small pocket sewn into the front of her bodice, nestled against the curves of her breasts which were contained and her cleavage enhanced by the corset she wore beneath her dress. From within she drew out a small, silver key, which she fit into the lock and turned before she pushed open the door.

She stood against it, with the sturdy wood of it at her back, all but swinging a little back and forth, her lower lip between her teeth as she looked the captain of the rival ship up and down. Seeing him, for the first time, in better light than the alley outside of the inn.

He was short, for a man, only a little taller than she, his jaw was chiseled and his nose a little sharp, but his eyes were the rich caramel of rye, and were bright and hard as the glint of ice within a perfectly mixed drink. Speaking of which…

She sashayed across to where bottles of liquor graced the top shelf of a cabinet that was always just a fingertip too high for her reach, and turned a quizzical look the captain’s way and asked, “Drink?”

“I thought we were here to wait for your captain,” he answered, flicking the tails of his unbuttoned jacket behind him as he sat on the inlaid couch opposite the cabinet. She’d noticed his manner of dress before. He dressed like a gentleman, not like a sailor, a suit of unrelieved black beneath an equally dark overcoat. When he stretched out his hand she caught the glint of gold and black at his wrist, from the cuff links he wore - black roses to match the buttonhole at his breast. Something in her belly twisted with want.

“And so we are,” she told him, leaning both of her hands on the cabinet behind her as she added, “but there’s nothing wrong with enjoying a little hospitality while we wait, now, is there?”

She felt him watching her for a long moment. Felt his eyes undressing her as much as she had peeled the mask of the gentleman from around him.

“Very well,” he said at last, “Whiskey.”

“Whiskey?” she raised a surprised eyebrow, “Not rum, Captain?”

“Rum is for peasants,” he all but snarled.

She chuckled as she turned her back to him to reach for the bottle. Her fingers barely grazed the smooth glass when she felt his heat at her back, pressing close as he reached along the same path. His arm lay atop hers, his fingers brushed hers aside.

“Allow me,” he said quietly, and his breath blew softly against the side of her temple, and tailed like a touch down her neck. She shivered.

“Gallant,” she murmured, “A true gentleman’s gentleman.”,

She turned, still trapped between him and the cabinet, and with a coquettish smile reached to pluck the bottle from his hand as he took his turn to chuckle.

“Hardly a gentleman,” he said as he leaned forward, pressing close against her to whisper the words into her ear.

She ran her free hand up over his chest to his shoulder, almost purring as he stayed close for longer than was entirely necessary.

“Well, well, Captain,” she murmured. “I feel we may have something between us… after all.”

She moved her hips slightly side to side, letting the movement caress the hardness she felt pressing against her, teasing deliberately even as she used the hand at his shoulder to push him back; give her enough space to turn again and pour a measure of whiskey into each of two glasses.

“Who would think you had such… literary knowledge, Miss…?” he rumbled back at her, even as he moved away. When she turned with the drinks in hand, she saw that he had returned to his seat on the ship’s only, and infamous, comfortable, couch. She glided closer, to take a place on a large chair she’d had upholstered with the best blue and yellow silk cushions, toeing off her calfskin boots, and drawing her feet up beside her.

“Oh, I think you’ll find me full of surprises,” she answered, chuckling slightly and watching as he watched her dart out her tongue to catch a stray drop of liquor that was slowly making its way down the glass. She did so hate to waste good whiskey.

“I should warn you,” he said, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue, almost a mirror of her action. “I’m not an easy man to surprise.”

“Perfect,” she whispered.

She watched as he brought the glass to his lips, took in a sip of what she knew to be a fiery liquid, and wondered, out of nowhere, if he would be equally as volatile.

A heavy silence fell then, as each occupant of the captain’s cabin appeared to become lost in their own thoughts. After a while she tired of playing the waiting game and sought to move it on.

“You’re not for trying the blockade then?” she asked off hand with a casual sip of her whiskey. “Waiting it out and hoping for better odds, or did you have… another way?”

“I think,” he said with a hint of irritation in his voice, That’s something I should discuss with your captain, don’t you think?”

Deliberately, she set down her glass, and after unfolding from her chair, crossed the room just as slowly as she had before, and once close enough, plucked the drink from his fingers. In the next instant, she tossed back the contents of the tumbler, then threw the vessel to one side before raising her skirts to allow her to climb into his lap, and push him against the back of the couch.

“And I thought you were a smart man,” she said, running her fingers through his hair.

He moaned softly, and she smiled inwardly, she had him; had him right where she wanted him to be.

“Ah, but who’s to say I’m not?” he asked, and instead of pulling away, drew her closer still, and ran his fingers into her hair, drawing her head down, his lips barely apart from hers as he said, “Captain.”

He’d known for certain that she was more than just a captain’s wench the moment they set foot on the docks, though he’d suspected the moment he’d met her in the alley. It explained a lot; explained why the Dark Heart always seemed to be one step ahead of every other ship in the area. Why they always seemed to get the better end of any deal, or the lions share of any treasure; the most successful of any joint venture.

A perfect ally.

A deadly enemy.

No one in these parts would ever suspect such a beautiful woman could command such a ship… such a crew; falling for the ruse that the grizzled old runt of a man who sat at the Captain’s Table was the skipper of the Heart.

“Well then,” she chuckled and brushed her lips against his as she spoke. “What are we to do… Captain?”

She didn’t give him a chance to answer, not with words at least, before she crushed her mouth against his, her tongue like a hot knife along his lips until he allowed her entry, to plunder his mouth, the taste of whiskey on the breath they shared as she took him in a kiss of unparalleled passion.

His already straining cock hardened still further and pushed against the heat of her, drawing a moan from her that left his lips tingling as she threw back her head. Her long hair cascaded over his hands that lay flat against her muscled back.

He wasted no time, knowing a pirate’s whims were as fickle as the wind, and wanting to take full advantage of these moments; discover what she proposed… seal the deal. He trailed hot, open mouthed kisses down over her neck, over her chest and the swell of her breast, pushed up by her bodice; let his tongue trail along her cleavage, tasting her - salt and roses.

“Another way,” he murmured against her skin, between kisses.

“…always Leviathan’s Lair,” she suggested, her fingers tugging and pulling at buttons, trailing lower between them.

“Never make it,” he growled, and impatient with the laces of her corset, flicked the bodkin from the sheath at his wrist, and sliced them through, then cupped a breast to lift it free; took the hard peak her nipple had become into his mouth; suckled fervently.

She shook her head, he assumed in disagreement, for the moan she let out, and the way her fingers tightened in the fabric of his, now unfastened, shirt did not at all suggest that she was not in accord with his actions.

“Two could… each guiding the other,” she gasped, and squirmed in his lap, making him twitch; ache for her.

“…Trust you?” he growled against the curve of her breasts as he abandoned one for the needful nub of the other, trusting she would understand the words that were not spoken.

“…way… must trust you.”

He felt the confining tightness of his pants go slack, and then gasped against her skin as her firm grasp curled around his scalding length.

“Either that,” she released him in the next moment, only to cup his face in her hands, and bring his mouth to hers again, and when she was done with the heated hollow of his mouth, she finished, “or we rot in this hell hole with the other fools!”

He was hot, hard and needful in her hand, and the thought sent a thrill of intense desire to the core of her. She dripped with need. Her thighs, where they pressed against him still, were sticky with her juices.

“Never one for rot,” he growled against the shell of her ear, nipping at her lobe, even as he wrapped his arms securely around her and pushed to his feet.

She wrapped her thighs around him, pushing against the liquor cabinet as they lurched sideways, his leg unsteady without his cane.

Seeming impatient, either with the delay in claiming what he wanted, what they both wanted, he swept the shelf of the cabinet clear of its contents, glass tumblers breaking against the floor where they fell, and set her on the edge of it, tugging her closer, pushing at her thigh.

She parted them, wanton, eager; took his hand and drew it higher, guided his fingers to her soaked quim and let out a soft cry as he understood and pushed his fingers inside of her, the pad of his thumb drawing circles around her clit. She reached to where his steel cock pressed against the softness of her thigh and stroked the length of him, teasing, spreading the wetness she found at the eye over the head of him, growling softly at the stifled cry he gave.

She reached lower, cupped the heat of his balls, full with want of her, in her small hand, squeezing just enough to draw another soft cry from him that gathered her rising pleasure into a bright arrow that aimed at her core. Not yet… not yet… She wanted him inside of her before she let go; before she reached for release, and so she pushed at him, at the hand - the fingers - that were working her toward her peak… thrusting in and out of her. She released him from her grasp, then nodded behind him, toward the hard, high bed that was set within the bay window of the cabin.

He nodded in response, taking another lurching step with her still wrapped around him, wet against him, her skirts gathered at her waist, his pants open. They hit the half wall, half glass of the bay at the side of the bed, and moaning, unable to wait to join with him she reached up to grasp the chain on which she often hung the lantern, and wrap one hand in it.

With the other she reached down again, guided him to her, sliding him back and forth between her swollen lips before settling the hot, wide head of him against her entrance. There with a terrible madness in her at her own denial, she rasped, “Deal or no deal, Captain?”

“Leviathan’s Lair?”

“Leviathan’s Lair,” she confirmed.

There was a breath… still and silent, a moment that existed everywhere and nowhere, both at the same time where they held, locked at the pinnacle before either of them moved again.

“Deal,” he breathed.

She kissed him, hard and suggestive. Her tongue possessing his mouth as she grasped his behind and urged him to take her, giving a soft cry of want realized as he thrust inside of her, taking her hard - just as she wanted it - against the cabin’s bay window.

She wrapped her thighs more tightly around him, urging him on with breaths of encouragement, of need.

“Yes!”

Delicious friction gathered everything they conjured between them into a bright rod that pierced the both of them, sending her heart beating with a frantic pulse, her mind whirling, a dervish. Driving her to greater madness.

His head swam, his groin felt such delicious fire, and a greater sensation began gathering, singing in his balls, seeping into every muscle to tighten them all; set them trembling with weakness and filled with confident strength, both at the same time

“Captain,” he gasped, and she took his mouth again in a searing kiss.

“Yes,” she hissed as she broke the kiss. “Let go… let me feel you… Come…! Fill me…!”

Her words, her movements against him - the way she dug her fingernails into his ass and urged him to take her harder, faster, broke his resolve, and ignited, with a cry that hummed through the whole of him he came, thrusting and spurting into her hot and thick, drawing a cry from her as she teetered and then fell, shattering with him, and grinding against him with each pulse of her muscles around him.

He felt as though he had given her his soul, and unable to stand any longer, he toppled the two of them to the bed… somehow still inside of her, and sank his head down onto her shoulder, breathing hard into her neck.

He ran his fingers through her hair as she lay her head against his chest. It was as damp with perspiration as was his body, and where they had joined their mingled salty fluid lay testament to their alliance.

He tipped his head backwards, as did she, to watch through the window; gaze back toward shore, and the burning brands still floating on the water; pirate and king’s navy ship alike receding into the distance as they drew further and further away from Leviathan’s Lair, their ships now side by side as they cruised toward the open waters, and the raiding that awaited them into the morning.

#rumbelle #au #pirates #smut

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filmfanatic82 · 5 years

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Chapter 16: I Am Hers And She Is Mine…

Surreal.

No. Scratch that. Surreal is too tame of a word to describe the emotions that are currently coursing through Trini’s veins.

It’s unbelievable.

Even for someone who’s come face to face with a 50 ft monster comprised solely of gold.

Less than 72 hours ago, Kimberly Hart was just a bittersweet memory buried within the darkest recesses of her mind and now…

Now Kimberly Hart is laying within her arms, drawing lazily circled upon the surface of her tan skin.

“What are you thinking?” Kim asks. She gently brushes a stray lock of hair out of Trini’s eyes and then proceeds to trace her fingers down the side of her face.

“How insane this whole thing is,” Trini replies, leaning into Kim’s touch.

“The Jinn?”

“Yeah. But not just that… Everything that’s happened in the last 72 hours. You… Max… The storm… The disappearances… And…” Trini trails off as her words escape her.

“And?” Kim instinctually wraps her limbs even further around Trini’s body, blanketing the smaller Latina with nothing but warmth and comfort.

“And this… You and me.”

Kim hums in response. “Oh, it’s beyond insane. That’s for sure. Not at all what I was planning on.”

“You had a plan?”

“Not exactly. I didn’t know what to expect. Figured I’d just be lucky if you’d even consider talking to me,” Kim replies. She continues to gently draw circles on Trini’s arm, semi-lost within the hypnotic motion of it.

And Trini lets herself get lost as well. Not wanting the simplicity of this moment to ever end.

“What made you come back?” Trini asks after a few moments of silence pass by.

“Tommi.”

“Tommi?”

Kim nods. “Showed up on my front porch randomly one afternoon about a month ago. It was only me that was home at the time, so she didn’t meet Max or Richard. In fact, I don’t think she even spotted my ring… Cause knowing Tommi, it would’ve been a way different conversation if she had.”

Trini shifts her body a bit to look Kim in the eyes. “What did you guys talk about.”

“You,” Kim replies with a hint of a smile.

“Me?”

“Amongst other things. But mainly you… And how it was time to pull my head out of my ass and come back home,” Kim says with a laugh.

“Sounds like Tommi.”

“Oh yeah. She didn’t hold back with her thoughts.”

“Tommi’s not a sugar coater. That’s for sure… She’s kinda the reason I was able to my shit together after you…” Trini trails off once again, as a wave of long-forgotten emotions attempts to bubble up to the surface. She lets out a shaky breath of air and runs her hands through her hair.

“It’s okay,” Kim replies and plants a tender kiss on Trini’s forehead. “She told me.”

“She did?”

“She didn’t go into too many details, but yeah, she did.” Kim kisses Trini again, letting her lips linger a little longer than necessary. “T, I--”

“Don’t do it, Princess,” Trini cuts Kim off, with a sudden authority to her voice. “No more apologizing. Remember?”

“That rule applies to you, not me.”

“Oh, really?” Trini cocks an eyebrow only to be matched by a devilish smirk from Kim.

“Yes, really.” Kim slides her arm over Trini and plants both hands on either side of her head. She pushes herself up until she is hovering over Trini’s body, only inches away from contact.

Fuuuccck.

This is NOT what they should be doing.

No. Not at all.

They should be with the others, trying to figure out a way to defeat the Jinn and--

Kim playfully rolls her hips, and instantly, Trini’s skin combusts from the momentary friction.

Fuck.

This is wrong.

But God… It’s so right.

Just a few more minutes…

Just a few more… Before they need to come back down to reality and deal with what is transpiring.

“Kim…” Trini moans. She feels her body automatically react with her hips bucking upwards, desperate to continue the contact in any means necessary.

“Yes?” Kim hums with yet another roll of her hips. This time at even a slower and more excruciating pace than before. It’s torture. Plain and simple. And Trini can’t help but secretly love it.

“We don’t have time…” Trini voice gives out as Kim continues her relentless assault with a series of scorching kisses outlining the natural curves of her breasts.

“Says… who…” Kim mutters between nips.

“Says me.” An all too familiar voice cuts through the room, causing both Trini and Kim to come to a crashing halt. Their eyes dart towards the source of the sound and find Tommi leaning against the doorway, arms folded, and an all-knowing smirk plastered across her face. “Seriously?”

“What?” Trini fires back as she reaches for a nearby blanket crumpled up on the foot of the bed and pulls it up over herself and Kim.

“We left you guys alone for fifteen minutes… Twenty tops.” Tommi moves into the room, shutting the door behind her as she does.

“We were just talking,” Trini grumbles.

“I bet Kim’s tongue was getting quite the workout with all that ‘talking’, Pillow Princess” Tommi laughs. She gives a slight disapproving shake of her head but can’t hide her smile.

“Hey! I’m not a pillow princess.” Trini looks towards Kim to back her up but is only met with another, all-knowing smirk. She lets out a sigh in defeat and flops her head against the bed. “I hate you both.”

“No, you don’t. But nice try, Small Fry,” Tommi responds as she takes a seat on the edge nearby bunk bed. “We need you back at the grid. The boys think they found something.”

“Like a way to defeat the Jinn?” Kim asks. She reaches down with her free arm and scoops up her shirt up off of the floor.

“Not sure. Didn’t ask too many questions before coming to get you guys. But assume that’s the case.” Tommi grabs the rest of the scattered clothes from the floor and tosses them at Trini.

“Well there’s only one way to find out,” Trini replies catching the clothes and then slipping her t-shirt on over her head.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

By the time Trini, Kim, and Tommi make their way back into the morphing grid, the boys are already huddled around one of the consoles, deep in discussion.

“How much?” Jason asks, spinning his red power coin against the surface of the console.

“Need to run a few more tests, but it looks like there’s only enough for one of us at full strength. Maybe two but there’s a larger risk of our power draining faster,” Billy responds as he pours over the data on the console screen.

“Tests on what?” Jason, Billy, and Zack all visibly tense up at the sound of Trini’s voice and whip around, greeting them with a mixture of apprehensive looks of concern.

“Our coins,” Zack says. He snatches his black coin up from on top of the console and tosses it at Trini. “B-man’s been trying to figure out just how much juice is left in these bad boys.”

Trini studies Zack’s coin for a moment or two, taking note of how dim the black metallic light is and then reaches into her pocket and pulls out her own coin. Just like Zack, the yellow light that usually radiates an array of vibrant sparkles is faded, with barely any signs of life to it at all. “What does it mean?”

“There’s only enough collective power for one of us to safely morph.” Jason rubs the back of his neck and lets out a long sigh.

“Is that even doable?” Kim questions.

“Based off of what Billy found in the archives, yes. We would just have to ensure that whoever does it has all of our power coins with them before attempting to morph.”

“Okay. But what about the Jinn? Did you guys find out anything else about it? Like how we can defeat it?” Kim ping-pongs between Billy, Jason, and Zack, searching for an answer but is only met with tense silence. Jason lets out yet another sigh. This one is more weighted than the last. His eyes fall upon Trini.

Fuck.

Of course.

It’s her.

She started this mess, so naturally, she’s the only one who can fix it.

“We need to destroy the Epithymía stone and only the person--”

“Who can destroy it is the one that made the wish,” Trini finished Jason’s words with a steady resolution to her voice. As if she has already come to terms with what she needs to do. Jason gives a small nod in confirmation, unable to bring himself to look Trini in the eyes.

“No,” Kim says with a firm head shake. “That’s not an option.”

“Kim…”

“I’m with Kim on this one, Small Fry. You going out there all alone… without any sort of backup? Yeah, over my dead body,” Tommi chimes in.

“What other choice do we got? Jason said it. There’s only enough power for one of us to morph. How are we supposed to fight the Jinn without our powers,” Trini fires back, crossing her arms firmly over her chest. “Not like I’m thrilled about it either, but it’s gotta be me.”

“Zack?” Tommi shoots an exasperated look over towards Zack but is only met with a helpless shoulder shrug in return.

“She’s got a point, babe,” Zack responds. Tommi lets out an emotion-driven sigh of frustration and runs her hands through her wild name of hair.

“I’ll go,” Kim pipes up. “In place of Trini. I’ll do it.”

“But you’re not the one who made the wish,” Trini replies without missing a beat. “It can be you, Kim.”

“Says who?”

Trini whips around and throws an exaggerated gesture at Jason. “Are you fucking kidding me? He did. Literally, five seconds ago. Unless someone else made another wish that we don’t know about, I’m the only one who can destroy the stone.”

“I heard him, Trinity. I’m not deaf,” Kim responds, putting extra emphasis on Trini’s name.

Fuck.

Kimberly used her full name.

That’s the emotional last resort move. The one that usually signifies that she’s only seconds away from…

Instinctually, Trini reaches out to touch Kim’s arm, but Kim pulls away, too wrapped up with the tsunami of emotions swirling within her to allow herself to succumb to any sort of comfort. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“Bullshit,” Kim replies, shaking away the hint of tears forming within the corners of her eyes.

“Kim, I--”

But the rest of Trini’s words go unheard as Kim up and storms straight out of the morphing grid, not even once hesitating to look back.

God, she’s so freakin’ predictable.

“Fuck,” Trini exclaims. She starts to follow after Kim but suddenly is stopped by Jason.

“You stay. There’s more than Billy needs to go over with you. I’ve got her,” Jason responds with an understanding nod and a brotherly squeeze on Trini’s shoulder.

Trini matches Jason’s nod with one of her own, unable to find her words. She watches Jason jog after Kim, down the metallic corridor as the unsettling reality of what’s potentially in the cards for her starts to bubble up in the back of her throat.

What if Kim’s right?

What if her going alone isn’t the right move?

What if…

No.

She’s not going there.

Not now.

Pull it together, Gomez.

Trini swallows down the dry lump of doubts and then turns her attention back towards Billy. “Okay. What else do I need to know?”

Billy produces a sympathetic smile. The one he reserves for those moments when he has to deliver not the best of news. And Trini can feel her heart start to crack. She’s seen that smile one too many times for her liking, and it’s the last thing she needs to see right now.

Fuck.

What else?

What more can there be?

Haven’t they been tortured enough?

“We were able to locate the Jinn. It appears that he’s residing on the top of Angel’s Outlook. Or at least that’s where the main energy spike is coming from,” Billy says matter of factly.

“The highest point in all of Angel Grove.” Trini exhales and runs her hands through her hair. “Awesome.”

“You can teleport in and teleport out. There’s enough of a good clearing up there that you can kick that Jinn’s ass without ever once having to even give a second thought to how high up it is,” Tommi replies as she moves closer to Trini, somehow sensing Trini’s rising levels of anxiety. “Right, Billy?”

But Billy doesn’t respond. He doesn’t need to. His face says it. Teleportation isn’t an option.

“I’m gonna have to go on foot, aren’t I?” Trini asks.

“Well, that’s the thing. Given the current strength of the storm, it would take you roughly two and a half days to reach the base of Angel’s Outlook.” Billy shifts from foot to foot as his hands mindlessly fidget with his blue power coin. All tell-tale signs that the shear stress of their situation is starting to get him.

“What about taking the Zords? They’re like the ultimate all-terrain vehicles,” Zack offers up.

“The ground-based ones would still take too long to reach the mountain but...” Billy trails off as he hesitates with his next words.

“But what?” Tommi says impatiently.

“But maybe the Pterodactyl might be able to bypass some of the more aggressive elements.”

A deafening silence settles amongst the four of them as they let Billy’s words fully sink in.

Fuuuuuuuck.

No.

Not again.

Not the Pterodactyl.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Trini has spent a good part of the last thirty minutes hiding out within the Zord cavern, eyes locked in on one thing and one thing only… The cockpit of the pink metallic pterodactyl.

It’s not like Trini meant to end up here. No. That hadn’t been her intent when she had slipped out of the morphing grid unnoticed during Tommi and Zack’s third round of fruitless debates on whether or not Pterodactyl should even be taken into consideration given what transpired the last go around. Trini had originally meant to go find Jason-- and possibly Kim-- in hopes that he had worked his magic and managed to talk some sense into Kim. But something had drawn her to go another direction. One that for the last few years that Trini had all but avoided from wandering down.

The one where the heart of her newly-formed fear resides.

“There you are.” Jason’s voice echoes throughout the cavern, making his presence known well before he comes into view.

Trini lets out a sigh and runs her hands through her hair. “How’d you find me?”

Jason climbs up onto the lip of the ledge where Trini is camped out, taking a seat directly beside her and then offers up a hint of a smile. “Simple. I just looked in the most unlikely of places first.”

“I’m that predictable?”

“After a decade of all of this, I think we all are predictable.” Jason shrugs with the ever so slightly nudge to Trini’s arm.

They sit side by side, just staring out at the Zords in the near distance as a comfortable silence all but blankets the two of them. Words are not needed… Nor would be helpful in a moment such as this. At least not to Trini. And Jason has come to learn this too as well.

Yet another predictable element.

A moment or two passes, and then--

“How is she?”

“Kim?” Jason asks, already semi-knowing the answer before the words leave his mouth.

“Yeah,’ Trini responds. She picks at the hem of her t-shirt, trying not to appear too concerned, but it doesn’t matter. Just like with everything else, Jason knows the truth. He always has.

“Eh… She’s Kim. Angry and annoyed that she can’t control the situation. Had to talk her out of doing something stupid like up and stealing our coins--”

“Jase…”

“Don’t worry. She’s not. I made sure of it,” Jason responds with a smirk. He reaches into his sweatshirt pocket and pulls out the pink, blue, red, and black power coins. “Besides, I figured you might attempt to slip out without taking these with you.”

“I wasn’t…” Trini trails off as she catches sight of Jason’s face. There’s no use offering off a half-ass excuse. So instead, Trini simply takes the coins from Jason and gives him a nod. “Thanks.”

Jason matches her nod. “No problem… So, the Pterodactyl again, huh?”

“Yup,” Trini responds with a large exhale of breath.

“And I’m sure this has already been discussed, but there’s no other option, right?”

Trini shakes her head as her eyes wander back towards the cockpit of the pink Zord.

Deja fuckin’ Vu

That’s the only way to describe it.

And Jason has to be thinking the same exact thing.

He has to be.

It was literally only a few years ago they sat here… In these same positions… side by side… Staring down the Zords and talking about the potential threats to come.

“What can I do?” Jason asks, breaking the silence once again between them.

“You got a spare beer or two?” Trini replies with a bit of a smirk. She knows it isn’t what Jason meant by the question, but it feels fitting nonetheless.

“God, I wish,” Jason chuckles. “I could use one right about now.”

“You and me both… There is something though you can do for me.”

“Anything.”

Trini shoves the extra power coins into her pockets and pushes herself up onto her feet. “Let her know I’ll be okay.”

Jason gives a nod. “Of course.”

“Thanks Scott,” Trini says. Then, with one final shaky exhale of breath, she proceeds to head straight towards the all too familiar pterodactyl.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

In and out.

Just keep breathing, Gomez.

Keep breathing and concentrating on the mission at hand.

Trini takes a deep, sobering breath of air as she continues to ignore the ever-present tremors running rampant up and down her limbs. She re-adjusts her grip on the steering handles and scans the horizon for any sign of an identifiable landmark.

But there’s nothing.

Nothing but dense yellow fog.

Trini glances down for the fifth time in the last few minutes at the souped-up GPS screen nestled within the array of endless buttons and lights on the console. Thanks to Billy and his love for tinkering, it had been a post-Ivan addition made to all of their zords, and in this very moment, she is nothing but eternally grateful for it. If it not for it, Trini would have all but given up well over twenty minutes ago.

She’s sure as hell she’s not flying in circles.

At least there’s that.

And the coins.

She can’t forget about the power coins.

Trini lets go of one of the steering handles and gingerly touches the pink power coin residing on top of the dashboard. It glistens in the overcast light of the yellow fog. A small but still valid reminder of what’s on the line if she doesn’t succeed.

If…

No.

Don’t go there, Gomez.

“Trini?... Trini? Are you there?” Kim’s voice rips Trini right out of her thoughts and back into reality. A smile spreads across Trini’s face as she pushes the comms button on the console.

“Hi Princess,” Trini nonchalantly replies, trying to mask her ever-growing nerves.

“Thank god.” There’s a pause for a moment as Trini recognizes the familiar sound of Kim letting out a lengthy sigh of relief. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“You know already know the answer to that one. I was thinking that I’ve got a Jinn to track down and a gem to smash, so--”

“No. You up and leaving… Without even saying goodbye to any of us.”

Trini dryly swallows down a lump of emotions. “Thought it was easier. Besides, you would’ve never let me go if I had.”

“You’re damn right. It’s a suici…” Kim trails off before finishing the word. But Trini doesn’t need to hear the rest to know what she was about to say. The lingering thought is in the back of her mind as well. Ever present and terrifying.

“I’ll be okay, Princess. I swear.” Trini says and then exhales, closing her eyes for the briefest of seconds.

THUD.

Trini’s eyes jolt back open as the zord suddenly shakes violently with gut-churning turbulence. “Shit… Shit… Shit…”

“Trini?!” Kim’s voice calls out once again, this time laced with overwhelming terror.

“I’m… I’m okay,” Trini replies with a shaky breath of air. “Just a little turbulence. That’s all,”

Fuck.

In and out.

Just keep breathing.

It will be okay.

It has to be.

“Bullshit… I can hear it in your voice. That isn’t just a little turbulence. You shouldn’t be up there. It should be--”

“Kim?” Trini says, cutting Kim off. “Can… Can you just talk to me?”

“Talk to you?”

“Yeah.” Trini nods. She continues to focus her concentration on both her breathing and the task of flying as the ever-looming panic attack creeps closer and closer. “About anything… Anything you like. Hell, you can even talk about Richard. I just… I just need to hear your voice.”

Silence washes over the cockpit for a moment or two as the constant roar of the storm seeps back into Trini’s consciousness and then--

“You haven’t asked yet why I named him Max.”

“No,” Trini replies through slightly gritted teeth. The turbulence kicks it up a notch, causing her arms to shake as she tries to keep the zord steady within the air.

“I was in denial for the longest time about being pregnant. I mean, I knew. Who could I not? My body was transforming right before my very eyes, but still I… I dunno. I couldn’t bring myself to accept the fact that I was going to be someone’s mother. I mean I could barely manage to take care of myself… How the hell was I supposed to take care of another life? Anyway, I went on pretty much living in denial for the most part until one day roughly two months before I was due, I up and passed out. Right in the middle of an aisle in some random grocery store. Didn’t come to until two days later in a hospital room. The doctors were a bunch of assholes and scolded me left and right about not taking better care of myself. But there was this one nurse… Mindy. She was the only one who seemed to somehow piece things together. No clue how. But it was like she just knew… And late one night she showed up to my room with a bunch of Indian take-out food, and we just talked for well over five hours straight.”

“What did you talk about?” Trini asks, momentarily distracted by the story.

“A little bit about family. And Angel Grove,” Kim responds and Trini all but swears that she can hear a smile spread across Kim’s face. “But mainly you… And how you were someone that I hoped my child would turn out to be just like. Strong-willed and fiercely determined. And loyal… and brave… and loving… God, so loving… And the more we talked, the more I found myself at ease because I knew that there was only one name in the world that would be fitting enough for a child who was going to grow up to be just like you…”

“Max,” Trini whispers unsure if Kim can hear her or not.

“Max… My little piece of you. Maybe not in DNA, but in every other way possible.”

Trini can’t help but smile as she takes a moment to fully embrace Kim’s words. “I’m going to get him back.”

“I know, Mi Vida. I know.”

“Kim, I love--”

But Trini doesn’t get the opportunity to finish her sentence. A monstrous gust of wind, slams into the hull of the zord, instantly sending it into an uncontrollable tailspin. Trini yanks back on the handles, in a hail mary attempt to straighten it out, but it’s no use. It’s going down, and there’s nothing she can do about it.

Just before the world goes fully dark, Trini reaches out and snatches up the four power coins as well as her own in a fleeting hope that she can hold onto them no matter what’s to come next.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“TRINI!!!!!!”

The scream from a familiar voice rips through Trini’s subconscious, jolting her back into the land of the living with a harsh breath of air.

She knows that scream.

It’s Max.

Max is screaming.

But from where?

Trini pushes herself up into a sitting position as the world once again comes into view. She’s somehow in one piece and on the ground, surrounded by nothing but a sea of dense yellow fog.

“What the…?” Trini says to herself. She takes another look around and instantly spots a shimmer of metallic pink in the near distance. She somehow not only managed to survive the crash landing of the zord but also with only seemingly minimal damage.

Thank fucking god.

Small miracles.

But what about--

Trini blindly gropes around the forest floor as a wave of sheer panic crashes down upon her. “C’mon… C’mon… C’mon…”

And then she feels it. The cold glass-like surface of their power coins. Trini grabs hold of the coins just as another scream bursts through the roar of the storm.

“I’m coming, Max. Hold on!” Trini yells back. She jumps up to her feet and with one final sobering breath of air, morphs into her yellow armor.

#trimberly #trini x kimberly #kimberly hart #trini #power rangers #power rangers 2017 #wlw #ao3 #fanfic

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letbarbieshavedragons · 5 years

Text

Why I didn’t always hate the Mad Queen Theory but I do now

TLDR at the bottom

When discussing the Mad Queen Theory or Dark Danny theory the go to reasoning behind it is always Daenery’s cruelty. Her burning of the Tarlys (which I personally don’t think was that bad all things considered, but not my point) or her treatment of the masters (which was pretty awful at times especially in the show) etc. And that’s not an invalid criticism of her as a character. Daenerys can be stomach churningly cruel (especially to her enemies) just as she can be endlessly compassionate and generous. But I don’t think her cruelty in and of its self makes her mad. These theories and even the show seem to equate cruelty to madness and while mad people can be cruel and cruel people are sometimes mad, one does not prove the other. We have seen many cruel people on this show that weren’t mad. Tywin Lannister for example, was a deeply cruel man. I don’t think anyone would argue that. But no one was calling him mad. Janos Slynt was cruel and corrupt, but not mad. Alliser Thorne also not mad. And on the other side we have patchface (from the books) who was by all accounts mad, but not cruel. He was very sweet to Shireen. Selyse also was mad and even mean but not really cruel. Even Oberyn was called half mad, but no one would call him cruel (A Storm of Swords, Tyrion VI). The two things do not equal each other. Cruelty does not make someone mad.

That’s what has always rubbed me wrong about the Tarly incident. Was it cruel? Yes. But it’s wasn’t mad. Killing your enemies during war doesn’t make you mad. Desiring your birth right doesn’t make you mad. (A birthright that has made it impossible for her to live a normal life without assassins, poverty and forced marriages I’d like to add). Proud you could argue, but that’s not madness. Madness needs to show more than just cruelty, but a detachment to reality.

Which leads me to my next point: entitlement and incompetence. Traits Joeffrey had in spades and many people like to compare with Daenerys. Argueing she doesnt understand the basics of ruling and feels entitled to the throne. And this is only exacerbated by the fact that the show has a nasty habit of over simplifying Daenerys’ character and cutting out her intelligent and compassionate moments for drama and dragons. In Qarth, the show has Daenerys demanding ships from the Spice King and promising to return profit when she wins. Which the Spice King notes isn’t a secure investment for him, schooling her in sales 101. Which makes Daenerys seem more naive and entitled than what happens in the books where she barters with Xaro, pointing out that one of her dragons is worth more ships than all of the merchant ships in Qarth, instead very much schooling Xaro Xoan Doxas when he underestimates her. Showing that she doesn’t actually expect people to simply give her things, but understands how bartering and investment works.

Then, in Meereen the show cut out pretty much all of her scenes about regrowing olive trees (which the masters burned) and trying to secure the economy in Meereen after it was devastated by the end of Slave Trade and scenes of her walking amongst the common folk and sick to check on them and hear their needs. Focusing instead on, and is anyone surprised, her dragons. Once again, failing to demonstrate her intelligence and compassion in favor of drama. Now I can’t say for sure if they did this on purpose or simply because they didn’t have the time and thought the dragons and speeches would go over better with audiences. But either way, it makes her pride seem more based on entitlement than her book counterpart. Which paints Daenerys in an unnecessarily bad light that I think at least for the above examples was accidental.

Now GRRM handled madness little differently in the books. I instead of equating madness and cruelty, he relates madness with greatness. He writes things like:

“Madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.”

and

“Is it so far from madness to wisdom?”

In fact, Ned even once compares mercy and madness, which doesn’t apply to greatness but is a stark (lol) contrast to cruelty.

"The madness of mercy," Ned admitted.

And Daenerys has achieved a lot at a young age, achieved more ‘greatness’ than anybody alive, but to do that she had to take many risks people would call mad. Like walking into a bonfire to hatch dragon eggs. Or starting a war of conquest to end slavery in Slaver’s Bay. The books really tend to emphasis the point that along with greatness must come madness. The line between the two is more often than not simply success.

And when the parallel of madness is to Daenerys' extreme risk taking then I honestly don’t mind so much. (I still don’t love it, but i don’t hate it either) Because those were some pretty crazy risks. Although necessary ones and done by a woman in a desperate position. If Daenerys hadn’t taken those risks, that some thought were mad, she would still be a widow in Vaes Dothrak or dead. There would be no dragons, thousands would still be enslaved and the White Walkers would have won. Her ‘madness’ is what leads them all to victory. (Although the books haven’t gotten there yet.)

But in the show the constant correlation to cruelty makes Daenerys seem much more villainous than I think it was initially supposed to, at least in the ASOIAF novels. In asoiaf, Daenerys can be great and mad, in fact it’s continuously implied that it’s impossible to be great without a hint of madness. While in the show madness seems to equal cruelty and evil and because it’s a theme in the books they keep it in the show but it inadvertently keep correlating Daenerys with evil instead of greatness as it did in the novels.

So I didn’t really mind the comparison as much in the books at first and even the first few seasons didn’t stray too far from this. But the show has diverged drastically from the books and maybe some of you prefer this, but I think through rushed writing they quite frankly fucked it up.

TLDR: the show makes Daenerys seem more villainous than she was in the books by constantly acting like madness and cruelty are the same thing, while the books more often compare madness to greatness, generally considering it the darker side of greatness. And the show just exacerbates the problem by cutting out scenes that show Daenerys being intelligent or compassionate or actually ruling, in favor of preachy speeches and dragons burning things (both of which I do admittedly enjoy). But it still pisses me off and I think they scuffed the whole thing.

#daenerys targaryen #game of thrones #asoiaf #meta

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chilly-territory · 5 years

Text

K Case Files of Blue 2, chapter 3 (part 2 out of 3)

Continuing with chapter 3.

Case Files of Blue 2 by Miyazawa Tatsuki

Chapter 3 (part 2/3) (volume 2, pages 139-168)

†

"Upon a closer look at the two questions, it becomes clear that the method used is actually quite simple."

At the time when Fushimi and Doumyouji started their game of tag on premises of the Scepter 4 headquarters, Munakata was providing systematic answers to the two questions that Benzai had posed.

"Let us start with your former question first. You asked about the means that were utilized to find strain criminals. Benzai-kun, please recall how exactly Kounomura-shi had taken the comicalarious photos featuring us at the beginning," Munakata prompted while making up a peculiar new combo word.

Benzai took a few seconds to think.

"Some were peeping photos taken from a long distance. Others were illegally obtained through hacking of surveillance cameras." And then it dawned on him. "Huh? Could it be..." "That is right." Munakata nodded. "Kounomura-shi hacked every camera he could find, from security cameras legally installed within the city to private cameras for personal use. And that is all there is to it. His next step was to compilate a program that would search for a specific element in all the countless footage he had obtained." "A program?" "Yes, a program, and the scope it works with was probably the whole of the capital’s metropolitan area."

Benzai was lost for words.

So to put it another way...

The implications were such that of late, Kounomura had been watching not only the daily lives of the Scepter 4 members but of all the ordinary citizens as well.

"I believe I mentioned this before," Munakata continued dispassionately, "but Kounomura-shi is sending us a message. In this case, it is his manner of showing us that this way information crucial to the investigation of a crime can be obtained in advance. Thus, not putting this method to good use makes us negligent as an organization..." "But," Benzai spoke over Munakata's next sentence before listening to it, "that's basically blatant disregard of human rights." "Isn't that lovely? He is right. He did hit a nerve with that message."

When he processed Munakata's last utterance, Benzai gawked. Fuse, too, was staring at Munakata in bewilderment. And only the criminal accompanying them, Tamada, lifted his head in pleased surprise and took his first good look at Munakata. Munakata coughed to clear his throat.

"...I suppose that statement was a little inappropriate for the king tasked with protection of order. Needless to say, it is necessary to uphold citizen's rights to the best of our ability. However, it does not change the fact that Kounomura-shi has located multiple strain criminals that we had failed to find, and in such short time, too. I think this deserves consideration."

Both Benzai and Fuse couldn't quite decide how to reply to that. Tamada, on the other hand, was staring at Munakata intently.

"To continue, let us move on to the other question Benzai-kun posed, about the means our opponent used to bring the strain criminals he had found under his control and make them scatter across the country." Munakata showed a quick smile. "For that, he conducted a psychological analysis, anticipated their responses and coaxed them accordingly. As simple as that."

Everyone fell silent. Benzai and Fuse said nothing, showing some reserve towards their superior, but Tamada the criminal retorted sharply on their behalf for some reason.

"No, you can't just wrap it up with a friggin 'as simple as that'!"

Benzai and Fuse thanked Tamada with their eyes for his unreserved statement.

Munakata smiled.

"For the record, you can't convince me a punk like you has exceptional brains or a super complex personality or shit like that. But still. But still, man, it's just friggin impossible to read what a person is thinking like an open book, or push their buttons that easily!" "Except," Munakata's smile never wavered, "I did precisely that to determine that you were hiding in a deserted house on the hill behind your parents' home and capture you. All I did for that was to copy Kounomura-shi's method."

Neither Munakata's expression nor his tone fluctuated any. He was still smiling as he informed the other party in a level voice. And that was likely why he inspired shudder-inducing awe the way he was being at that moment.

Tamada was left speechless. "Uh..."

Benzai and Fuse looked at Tamada silently but ardently, urging him to muster his strength. Perhaps, finding courage in those gazes, Tamada attempted to rebuke Munakata.

"Still, it could be just a coincidence." "No, it is not. It is a highly accurate scientific method called the Probabilistic Future Decision-making Theory, also known as the Coin Toss theory." "Wait." To Fuse, that sounded familiar. "Isn't that..." "Correct. It is the theory at the heart of the internet service combining personal-use SNS, online shopping, video hosting and information retrieval run by James D Sevr-shi whom Kounomura-shi took advantage of to return to Japan. Now, do any of you have experience using the Coin Toss service?"

Benzai and Fuse only shook their heads in reply, but Tamada alone raised his hand.

"That's one heck of a convenient service, lemme tell you. Yeah, seriously, it's awesome."

Munakata nodded. "The main selling point of Coin Toss is it gets progressively more personalized with each use and tailored to one's ways of thinking and tastes, constantly updating with information and features the user most desires. Sevr-shi originally studied biotechnology, focusing on random changes in self-replicating life at the time, and he apparently sought a way to apply his research to forecasting the future. When I met him, he said a certain thing to me: 'from a high enough place, all coincidences become inevitability,' to quote loosely." "...But, no, wait." Tamada immediately chimed in with friendliness more appropriate when talking to a colleague. It appeared he became genuinely interested in this discussion with Munakata. "It's just an internet service, right? Saying it can do shit like reading your mind and predicting what you'll do is clearly an overreach, no matter how you slice it?" "Good observation." Munakata raised a finger in compliment to Tamada, like one would praise a child. "Indeed. Being an internet service with unspecified large number of users, its servers are not nearly powerful enough for that task. However, an exhaustive analysis is simply the matter of enough processing power. If one had a computer with necessary and sufficient performance, through application of the Coin Toss theory making exhaustively accurate predictions of the actions a person would take becomes possible." "That necessary and sufficient performance - how much are we talking?" "About what a supercomputer can muster."

Tamada gaped at that.

Taking up where he left off, Fuse asked the main question.

"Excuse me, sir, but how could Kounomura get his hands on a supercomputer?" "I heard Coin Toss Corporation has its own supercomputer for research purposes on Hawaii. I imagine he borrowed it."

Fuse fell into stupefied silence. Munakata's way of saying that was so mundane like he was talking about borrowing miso or soy sauce from a neighbor.

"Huh? Please wait a second, Captain." This time, it was Benzai. "Just earlier, you said you ran the same analysis to determine Tamada's actions, didn't you? Does that mean you went to...?"

But Munakata shook his head. "No, not quite. I used a domestic device." "Domestic?" "Yes. I borrowed the computer that His Excellency Gold King, Kokujouji Daikoku-shi, uses to analyze the Slate. His Excellency owed me a small favor for what happened this time."

The things Munakata was saying so calmly and nonchalantly made even Benzai fall silent then.

"Hey," Tamada commented in whisper to Benzai, "your place's boss is friggin ridiculous."

All Benzai could was to stretch his lips in a strained smile at that.

Munakata, on the other hand, was cheerful to the limit.

"Luckily, Tamada-shi's data from the time the previous Blue King arrested him still remained in Zenjou-san's archive room. I ran my analysis based on that. Only," Munakata's expression clouded somewhat, "unfortunately, with the exception of Tamada-shi, information on the other criminals is mostly non-existent."

It was at that time that something suddenly occurred to Benzai.

"Um, Captain." "Yes, what is it?" "While I was working on those cases, I compiled somewhat detailed profiles on the perpetrators of each case in the hopes of finding a common link. Would those be of use to you, maybe?"

Now it was finally Munakata's turn to be surprised.

"Benzai-kun, you are wonderful. Good job!"

Benzai felt relief wash over him. He did manage to be useful to Munakata, if only a little.

†

The longer Doumyouji ran around the night HQ, escaping from Fushimi, the more he was having. The chase allowed the 19 year old airhead to display his real ability, and Doumyouji ran with a big smile on his face. To him, it felt like a game of tag.

After all, the work he had to do lately built up a lot of stress in him.

"You ass! Doumyouji! Get back here! Stop, damn you!" the profanities shouted from behind him only added more thrill to the game, spicing it up quite splendidly.

While the scene may have looked like a teacher chasing an enthusiastic kindergartner who escaped from the kindergarten, it should be mentioned that both participants were the same age.

Doumyouji ran through a hallway with flexible agility and jumped down the stairway; once, he barged into Enomoto and Fuse's room, stepped over Enomoto who was groaning uneasily in his sleep and was gone, happily running away from Fushimi. As he ran around, he ended up tumbling into a certain room located at the end of a dead-end hallway. Alert and cautious, he produced a flashlight to illuminate the room's interior.

And almost immediately he couldn't help a disappointed, "Oh, it's that room..."

Once before, when he was searching the headquarters high and low for anything that could be Munakata's bedroom, he discovered this small room. It was furnished exceedingly modestly, having only a desk and a bed, and Doumyouji decided it was a spare room for visitors.

"You piece of shiiit," came from behind him.

Fushimi, breathing a little rough, had caught up with him. In his left hand he held a lantern, while cracking loudly the knuckles of his right, clearly intending to punch Doumyouji.

"Doumyoujiiiii," he articulated. "Hope you're ready for what's to--- Mm? The hell? Ain't this Captain's private room?" "Eh?" At Fushimi's words, Doumyouji, who dropped his center of gravity low and was ready to gleefully flee again, straightened in surprise. "...Fushimi-san. What did you just say?" "Huh?" Fushimi's expression looked vicious. "I said, this is Captain's friggin room." "Huh? Wait? Uhnm... but I thought Captain doesn't have a room...?" "Are you an idiot? Of course he does. Captain is a human, too," Fushimi spat out. "Obviously he does things like resting and sleeping like the rest of us." "But..." "He just works all the time like a moron. Since he's got abnormally huge raw stamina reserves and mental fortitude, those around him mostly only always catch him awake. That's why a stupid spooky tale of him not having a room even came into existence." Fushimi's lips twisted. "But even he is only human. No different from the rest of us." The wording was complicated, not only - or necessarily - conveying goodwill. "Then again," Fushimi added with the undertone of irony, "if I hadn't accidentally glimpsed him exiting this room, I would never have guessed this is his room. Not that I had any interest to begin with." "..."

Doumyouji was staring intently at the room around them lit by the lamp. Munakata's civilian clothes and accessories were probably stored in the closet, but it was almost strange how this room was utterly devoid of anything resembling personal effects anywhere in sight. That was something that struck a cord in Doumyouji somehow.

He was the type who sucked at putting things into words. As such, now, as well, he couldn't find a good way to express the emotion that was surging in him. But if he had to try and find a word for it despite that... He'd say this blank empty room was overflowing with Munakata's "resolve". That's how it looked to Doumyouji's eyes.

"Fushimi-san," Doumyouji suddenly spoke up. His face turned very serious. "I'll do it." "Huh?" "Paperwork. I'll do my damnest to deal with it. Yep. It just occurred to me that I must give it my best effort." "..." Fushimi gave Doumyouji a brief glance of puzzlement and suspicion. Then he snorted. "I have no idea what brought that on, but nice resolve there. And out of respect for that resolve of yours, I'll make sure to squeeze every last bit of effort outta you." The last part was said in a threatening tone.

Doumyouji turned pale in the face.

"Ah, erm, on second thought, could you, uh, maybe go easy on me, after all, please?" "Shut up. Let's go!"

With that, Doumyouji was escorted out of the room by the watchful Fushimi, leaving it behind.

And then, the light in the data processing room was on all night.

†

After barely waking up, Enomoto buried his face in the pillow once again. His blood pressure was always low to begin with, so he was never a morning person, but lately, due to barely getting any sleep at all, even after waking up, his head was full of white haze and he didn't feel rested at all.

Still, he forced himself up through sheer willpower and headed towards the common use bathroom, washing his face, brushing his teeth and making effort to smooth out the bristling hair on his temples with water. But no matter how he tried, this particular case of bed hair was just too much for Enomoto to handle, so he finally gave up on styling his hair at all.

Feeling down, he made his way to the data processing room. For breakfast, he bought a jello drink. Draining the nutritious drink, he desperately tried to force his head to work on the sugar content from canned coffee, keenly aware that he needed to search for a way to restore the Scepter 4 computer system that was still down.

The sigh he heaved was heavy and bitter.

'Agh, every fiber of my being wants to watch some anime. And play some games, tons of games.'

He was sick and tired of the staring contest with the monitor that only displayed rows of wrong numbers and of having to face a keyboard the keys of which became worn off by now.

'Lord, please grand me salvation! Bestow your grace upon me so that this deadlock we're in could be broken!'

Praying in the earnest, Enomoto opened the door to the data processing room and froze, for inside there sat the man who just might become his savior.

First thing to be mentioned was that in the back of the room, right on the desk, there slept Doumyouji, restlessly moaning in his sleep. On the same desk, there sat stacks of processed paperwork. And next to the aforementioned Doumyouji, eyes on his tablet, was Enomoto's savior, Fushimi Saruhiko, drinking canned coffee.

"Hm? It's you, Enomoto." Noticing Enomoto's presence, Fushimi lifted his head. His hand immediately resumed operating the tablet though. "Tell me frankly: are you an idiot? There's so many clues scattered all around in plain sight, see? I found them right away without even trying. Listen, we're gonna restart the Scepter 4 system now, so go get to your computer alre---" he started saying but faltered mid-sentence, startled and raising his head.

All because Enomoto walked up to him with brisk and determined steps and suddenly grabbed Fushimi's hand with both of his.

"Fushimi-san. Can I please hug you for the dear life?" he asked misty-eyed.

Fushimi recoiled in shock. "F-Fuck off, moron!" He shook off Enomoto's hands vehemently.

Enomoto couldn't hold it together anymore and started openly weeping.

"Fushimi-san, Fushimi-san," he kept repeating, "I'm really so, so happy you're back! People here have no foggiest about these things! I was all alone, and it was so terrible!"

Indeed, with the exception of Fushimi Saruhiko, among the rest, not even Munakata Reishi could quite be called expert in information processing and machinery-related matters. There was no doubt that the burden Enomoto, forced to deal with the system-wide trouble all by himself, carried was immense.

"..." For a while Fushimi just started at Enomoto in silence with an unreadable face. "Tch!" he clicked his tongue at last. "Anyway, I'll help you, so let's get to it already," Fushimi curly commanded, looking away.

To Enomoto though, those words were the best words of 'salvation' he'd ever heard.

"Yes, sir!" Enomoto responded, wiping his tears and beaming with smiles.

†

"Captain. I have one more question."

It was dawn when Benzai spoke up, addressing Munakata who was seated in the seat opposite of his.

Presently, Munakata, Benzai, Fuse and strain thief Tamada were in the middle of traveling the northernmost area of Honshu via a local line.

Originally, after landing at the Hokkaido airport, they planned to take a direct flight to return straight to the capital, but due to squall winds, all flights were cancelled, leaving the four with no choice other than to spend the night in a hotel in the city and then to head to their destination via an overland route that was considerably more time-costly.

The four stocked up on crab lunches, tea, tangerines and dried scallops and boarded a normal car like they were on a most ordinary trip, taking 4 seats opposite of one another.

Those who happened to be near them kept whispering about the group. 'What's that?' 'Cosplay?'

It was only understandable seeing as Tamada was the only one among them not wearing the Scepter 4 uniform. To draw an analogy, it was not much different from policemen deciding to board a normal civilian train in full uniform. In other words, they were sticking out like a sore thumb, and nothing could be done about it.

Fuse and Benzai did feel a little uncomfortable under all the gazes, but Munakata was dignified and confident as ever.

"Yes, what is it, Benzai-kun?" Hand stopped mid-motion, Munakata looked up from the tangerine he was peeling. Like that, with a handkerchief in his lap, he somehow had a homey feel about him.

"...Sir." Benzai was looking only at the tangerine. "After our last conversation, I've been thinking." "Ah, would you like some?" Having followed his subordinate's line of sight and probably misunderstanding, Munakata offered a segment of his peeled tangerine. Benzai shook his head with all due respect. "N-No, sir, I'm good, thank you, sir." "Really. It is quite delicious though?" Munakata said after chewing on the segment he deftly tossed into his mouth.

Benzai made effort to put on a small insincere smile, but his face became serious again almost immediately.

"Captain, you said that the actions of the strains like Tamada, scattered all across the country, have been processed and analyzed by a supercomputer."

Hearing his name, Tamada, who was enthusiastically wolfing down a crab lunch, stopped, looking from Benzai to Munakata in turns.

Munakata silently nodded. "Indeed, I said that." "And I'm satisfied with the explanation you provided concerning the analysis method. But, Captain, from what you said, it appears to me that the means for procuring the information that had become the base for such an analysis are still unknown." "What do you mean?" "Let's assume that pictures and footage, as well as location, of each culprit in question was obtained via hacking. The problem is, in my opinion, that alone is not enough to get a good grasp on their personality and on what makes them tick." "..." "So I was wondering, what exactly did the Kounomura faction do to obtain enough data to run such an analysis?"

Benzai's observation prompted Munakata to outline the report on the matter he received from Fushimi.

Benzai's eyes went wide. Fuse looked surprised as well.

"A strain that can read minds is involved?" "Yes, correct. Such an ability is very rare and very useful. I assume he did psychological profiling and collected data not only on Tamada-shi and the others like him, but on the Scepter 4 members as well." "Now I see." Benzai nodded, adding things up. "That explains a lot. Our psychological profiles, too, were analyzed by Kounomura, I take it. And via the Coin Toss theory that Kounomura applies, we, too, were made dance to Kounomura's tune. That's also the reason why we got split up and scattered as if in a scenario prepared in advance."

Munakata smiled. "Correct. That is the sleight of hand behind the 'magic' Kounomura-shi has worked on us." "Damn it!" Fuse punched the palm of his hand with the fist he balled his other into. "Why is he going that far?!"

"Only," Munakata suddenly interjected, "even that hypothesis leaves out a few things that I have yet to find an explanation for. That is why I think of it this way: there is a traitor in our ranks."

The easily and casually made statement was shockingly scandalous.

"Huh?" "Eh?"

Both Benzai and Fuse tensed and froze.

Munakata smiled and unhurriedly carried his tea to his lips. Glancing outside the window, he murmured in a perfectly carefree tone, "The clouds look quite menacing, wouldn't you say?"

A single droplet of water landed on the glass of the train's window.

†

It was no exaggeration to say that that person was entrusted with the most difficult mission. As it were, the mission was to infiltrate the enemy territory all by himself. It required smarts, guts and the ability to always stay calm and collected, no matter the situation. And the man in question lived up to that high standard.

Being a police career-track bureaucrat to begin with, by the second half of his twenties he rose through the ranks to become the chief of a small police station, cruising through life comfortably and problem-free. His superiors had a favorable impression of him, and his colleagues and subordinates put a strong faith in him, but a single vice was the ruin of him.

In his case, it wasn't alcohol or women.

It all went downhill thanks to his addiction to far too risky gambling.

Until having graduated from university, he had no connection to gambling to speak of; if anything, he found it rather disgusting. Since he chose to sit for the police force qualification exam, his sense of justice was on the strong side, and he actively wished to crack down on illegal gambling and related crimes.

But one day, his set of values that served as the foundation for his sense of ethics got turned upside down.

The reason for that was a change of heart of a woman he was going to exchange vows and share the future with. They were supposed to get married at the start of the New Year, but the woman did an about-face, declaring that she fell in love with another man, and unilaterally cancelled the engagement.

Due to the shocking heartbreak, he wound up drinking alcohol he wasn't used to drinking and found himself standing in front of a pachinko parlor before he even registered it.

He gave in to despair. But by some ironic twist of fate, that time he ended up scoring an unbelievably big win.

It sparked some really pleasant reaction in his brain. He almost heard how a forbidden door to never pass through slowly opened. The rest happened in the blink of an eye. At first, he got addicted to gambling on horse races and boat races, the amount he bet steadily went up, too, except soon, that alone stopped being enough to satisfy him and he got involved in illegal gambling.

Initially, he was able to hide his destructive habit successfully enough, but before long what was going on became evident along with skyrocketing sums poured into it. Before he knew it, those around him, including his superiors in the force, learned he was a compulsive gambler and, after many a warning and reprimand, he was forced to retire from the police 'at his own request'. In essence, it was a discharge.

In the end, no matter how much people around warned him and what they said to him, he couldn't stop gambling. Having burnt through all of his savings, he was rendered homeless without means of sustenance. But there appeared a man who stretched out a helping hand even to someone like him. It was Kounomura Zen'ichi, from the period when the short man was devoting all of his energy to charity work.

The former policeman was lucky enough to be admitted to a medical facility Kounomura established to cure dependence on alcohol, gambling and the like. Thanks to the rehabilitation program that a board of specialists put together, and the earnestness of Kounomura himself as their honored head, he was able to exercise a degree of control over his urge to gamble. The most important key to that turned out to be learning all about his personality traits and tendencies through exhaustive psychoanalysis.

He had learned he was a person with a so called preference for suffering. Putting it crudely, he was a masochist, the type of person who derived absurd amounts of pleasure from being put in situations that caused him pain and suffering.

He chose to accept it in a positive way, and afterwards, starting with arbitrating conflicts between gangster organizations, he became a certain country's agent affiliated with the government, undertaking dangerous jobs, such as tracking certain people down unofficially and smoking them out.

It was rather difficult to define his job in formal terms, but calling him a troubleshooter, a private eye or a handyman would not be too far from the truth.

To him, the more thrilling a job was, the more it was worth doing. He straightforwardly enjoyed doing risky things like infiltrating various places and gathering intelligence.

And then, he became a supernatural ability holder. It was like a sudden awakening.

That's when he heard those words.

'I see. So you now have one, too. In that case, there is something I want you to do for me, if that's okay with you?'

The one to make that request was Kounomura who the former policeman came to idolize after overcoming his gambling addiction. Two replies afer, he jumped at the request without a second thought.

Partly it was due to the request coming from Kounomura, his benefactor, and the rest of the reason was that the mission sounded particularly difficult and risky. To him, with his borderline abnormal preferences, such circumstances were nothing short of ideal. And so, putting his strain power to good use, he had infiltrated Scepter 4.

The mission requested of him could be divided into 2 big tasks.

The first task was to keep gathering data on Scepter 4.

And the second one was to obstruct Scepter 4's work whenever a chance presented itself.

The former policeman was doing this high difficulty job with flying colors.

He concentrated his intel-gathering efforts on the members of the special operations squad, infiltrated the deepest levels of the facility and when the opportunity presented itself, he inconspicuously employed videotaping. The fact that the information he sent was of use to Kounomura fired him up even more.

Though, when putting together a jamming program in the data processing room in the very heart of Scepter 4 or causing trouble in the generator room to put it out of order, even he felt antsy. Between the algorithms for each member of the special operations squad derived from the Coin Toss theory, Kounomura's detailed plans drawn up based on them, specially developed electronic devices and the ex-policeman's own high grade skills and experience, such feats were made possible.

Needless to say, some assumptions turned out wrong and there were a few small miscalculations here and there, but in general it was safe to say that the sheer military gain was big: the ex-policeman practically single-handedly plunged the HQ into chaos.

And it was precisely because he was so capable that he sensed that the tides were beginning to turn. The turning point was probably Fushimi Saruhiko's return.

Kounomura ordered his man to withdraw immediately if he ever found himself in danger of being exposed. But the former law enforcer, wanting to come back to Kounomura bearing some quality information pertaining to Munakata Reishi, decided to risk it one last time.

His affection for Kounomura threw a monkey wrench into his innately cautious and careful approach.

Through the intelligence network he'd been building, he learned about important documents kept in Munakata Reishi's office, so he chose the right timing and invaded the room. As he was opening one by one the drawers of Munakata's desk, it dawned on him: he had fallen into a trap.

"What the hell are you doing, Gotou?" a voice asked, its owner sounding both accusing and refusing to believe what he was seeing. The voice belonged to Hidaka who, as it turned out, entered the Captain's office unnoticed and was now standing by the door. Next to Hidaka, arms folded across his chest, there stood Fushimi Saruhiko and watched him with ice-cold eyes.

Intelligent as the ex-policeman was, he instantly grasped what was going on. There hardly could be any doubt that the one behind spreading the rumor about crucial information being in the Captain's office to lure out the invader was Fushimi Saruhiko.

Still, the invader tried his luck and replied as Gotou Ren, "Hm? What do you mean?" "Tch!" Immediately, Fushimi clicked his tongue. "Your trick's out in the open already, fucker. We know that you're a strain with a perception manipulation ability, and that you were impersonating Gotou this whole time!"

And with that barked accusation, he steeled himself. Still, his mind demanded he grope for some way out of his desperate situation, so he rushed at the two. At the same time, putting his fingers to his lips, he blew with all of his might, producing a whistle which served as the trigger to activating his perception manipulation ability. Together with the high-pitched sound, “Gotou Ren” shapeshifted into somebody else.

"Ugh!" Hidaka faltered in a big way, for right now the invader had taken the shape of none other than Hidaka and Fushimi's unquestioned boss, Munakata Reishi.

Incidentally, during Awashima Seri's capture, the former law enforcer worked together with Kounomura, too, and employed the exact same trick. When Awashima's eyes registered Munakata's form, she instinctively stayed the hand that was swinging her saber, flabbergasted.

"You two, out of my way!" His voice sounded like a perfect copy, he was sure. Even Fushimi appeared to be stiffening with shock, not to mention the completely frozen Hidaka.

'Alright!' Believing his escape route clear, he tried to slip between Hidaka and Fushimi, and when he did, another miscalculation on his part became evident.

Fushimi didn't stiffen with shock. He tensed summoning his muscle strength.

What he did looked similar to the art of sword drawing. At a fearsome speed, he released the power gathered in his muscles throughout his body and, making the length of his arm from the shoulder to the elbow the pivot point, he swiveled his right arm. In his fist, the handle of his saber was gripped. He smashed it into the face of the running invader, like a quickly executed counterattack.

"Gbwhah!"

The ex-policeman did what looked like almost a half turn in the air before crashing hard into the floor. For a second, consciousness fled him.

"F-Fushimi-saaan!" Hidaka let out a small drawn out whine. "Moooron," Fushimi snorted. "It's not like he's real," he added, spitting the words out. "Look and see for yourself, his perception manipulation ability is coming undone."

As the ex-policeman's consciousness grew hazy, the last words he heard before blacking out were Hidaka's, "Huh? Is it me or does the face this guy's making look awfully content?"

It really just felt so good to get his butt kicked so thoroughly.

†

From a certain point on, Akiyama Himori, detained on molestation charges, stopped letting upset and agitation show on his features altogether. Every morning, he would do his personal maintenance, and then, during the long hours of questioning, he would always stay unfailingly polite and well-mannered. That dignified attitude and demeanor, even assuming it was only a tough facade, impressed even the detective who was in charge of Akiyama.

"You're really something," said middle-aged detective murmured absentmindedly and then immediately coughed, hastening to cover it up, as if ashamed of bringing his personal feelings into the investigation.

Akiyama's only reply was a smile. In that smile, there was no resentment, or anger, or excuses, or pleas - it was free of anything. All Akiyama did was calmly deny the charges against him.

He must have steeled himself.

No. He must have found faith.

Of course, Akiyama went through his fair share of conflict before reaching that state of mind. He felt furious at being arrested on such absurd charges, and embarrassed for his honor to be smeared like that. He also worried about the implications for his organization at his being detained by the police for the whole of the legally permitted detention period. He even considered the possibility of his arrest being a type of harassment by the police against Scepter 4 that they didn't have a favorable opinion of.

But at the end of the day, Akiyama chose to believe: sooner or later, his innocence would be made clear, without fail; so long as justice lay with him, light would eventually shine on his circumstances, just like clouds hiding the sun would eventually be gone along with the passage of time.

For truth's sake it should be noted that were Akiyama alone in this fight, perhaps, he wouldn't be quite so sure about it. But he wasn't alone: he had trusty comrades in Scepter 4, starting with Benzai. And what's more, his king, Munakata Reishi, would surely take the most appropriate measures for his sake. That, he could be adamantly sure of.

Maybe his faith was a little too blind. But that was the kind of man Akiyama Himori was, and he accepted himself that way and considered it a good thing. That's why he concluded that what he had to do was to simply wait, calmly and patiently. That was all there was to it.

And...

The moment he was waiting for had suddenly come.

The door to the room he was held in opened, and the detective in charge informed him, "Hey, you can come out. The charges against you have been dropped." "Is that so," Akiyama intoned and quickly started to gather his things. "What, ain't you gonna ask why?" hearing his disinterested response, the detective in charge questioned in wonder.

Akiyama shook his head.

He knew precisely why: Munakata Reishi and Akiyama's squadmates collaborated with the attorney and worked something out. That's why Akiyama simply said, "I expect I will hear the details from my superior."

He was already thinking about what would need to be done once he returned to his duties. He strongly suspected that Scepter 4's situation at the moment was difficult.

For that reason, it was imperative he return as soon as possible and start filling the hole left by his absence. In the first place, his own ineptitude was to blame for his winding up in such a situation.

If one were to search for the most fitting descriptors for the members of Scepter 4, it could be said that, for example, Zenjou Gouki was best described as a warrior, Doumyouji as a free spirit, and when it came to Akiyama, the most fitting description would be a man with makings of a natural-born soldier. A professional who was naturally disciplined and utterly devoted to his task.

But still, when Akiyama exited the police station and saw his partner there, back propped against a pillar and one hand raised in a silent greeting, he couldn't help breaking into a smile. Benzai Yuujirou walked up to him with unhurried steps, and Akiyama bowed his head slightly but sincerely.

"...Sorry to have caused you so much trouble."

He knew even without anyone telling him just how tough Benzai had it having to cover up for Akiyama by doing his partner's share of work in addition to his own.

Benzai wasn't too verbose.

"Don't worry about it," was all he said, shrugging his shoulders a little. Clapping Akiyama a couple of times on the chest to let him know that he considered this conversation over, he headed over to the parked car.

His attitude was calm and collected, as always, even as light drizzle was sprinkling from above.

"Heh." Akiyama smiled and followed him.

For the two of them, that was enough.

#k project #project k #k case files of blue #k translation

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