#//It was more efficient seeing people fall apart seemingly from their own doings than do it himself & deal with the troublesome aftermaths

[dutybcrne]

Kaeya wasn’t one to really get angry as a kid, but the very few times when he genuinely did, it was extremely obvious to everyone, in the way he carried himself.

[mermaidsirennikita]

As someone who by and large dislikes BookTok, I hate these handwringing BUT WHAT OF LITERATURE takes more, because

--"Books are fast fashion" is empirically ridiculous. It misses the actual deep issues with fast fashion and why it's bad for society. The fact that you're buying cheap clothes that fall apart quickly is really only the surface level problem that affects you the buyer in the (relative) short term.

The actual serious problems with fast fashion is that the clothes are made in highly unethical factories that exploit and actively harm people. It's more accurate to compare fast fashion to fast food than to BookTok, and let's say the quiet part loud here--what these takes are often critiquing is not actually "BookTok books" (what is that), particularly when they use the terms "fast fashion". They critique certain types of books that BookTok focuses on. Particularly romance novels; particularly indie romance novels.

These books hurt... no one. Worst case scenario, you spent like $5 on a book you don't like. "But the art"; well, I'll get into why I, so snobby about art that I once got an (undergrad, I'm not made of money here babes) degree in art history, do not care. "But the influence on society" oh yes, the books are what is affecting the self worth of women today, not the ever-eroding rights we have, actually sliding backwards in the US at least. It's not the radical far right and the school systems that won't allow us to teach girls about birth control, it's the Ana Huang book.

--Again, to be clear: I'm not a big fan of BookTok. Most of the books I love are not popular on BookTok--I will say, though I alluded to indie books (which are probably popular in part, yes, because they are cheaper in E and often available on the seemingly cost efficient Kindle Unlimited) I have seen... basically any type of book get big on BookTok. I've seen traditionally published ("trad") books that came out a decade ago have a delayed blowup. I've seen old indies have delayed blowups. I've seen new trad books have blowups (see: The Love Hypothesis, one of the few BookTok faves I did like).

One legit issue with BookTok, and here there are people whose lives are actually negatively affected by it directly, is the way it can impact marketing and acquisition of titles. Publishers are desperate to save cash in any way they can. As such, they will pretend that they can pass the buck on to BookTok. No need to give your debut author a marketing budget--tell them it's on them and make sure they hustle over to BookTok. No need to acquire fresh authors when you can buy out an indie book that blew up on BookTok, tack on an extra chapter or so, and sell what used to be $5 for $18.99. But to be frank, this isn't even really BookTok affecting authors and the trends negatively; this is publishing, the big guy in the sky who keeps books from being "made like fast fashion" exploiting BookTok and using it as an excuse and a cost-saver.

All of this being said... There's a very decent likelihood that BookTok will be absolutely irrelevant in 5-10 years. On a social media level, TikTok ain't that old. There was a time when Myspace owned this town. Where is it now? Facebook used to be tHEEEE network for everyone. Marketing that primarily targets teens doesn't even mention Facebook. Or Twitter, sorry, X; and that was before it became X. It was already losing relevancy because the younger gen did not give a flying fuck. (Shit: we are discussing this on TUMBLR DOT COM.) BookTok is a trend within a trend. Right now, a lot of eggs are being put in its basket, and y'all notice this more because the entire point of TikTok is to be LOUD. It will probably be... not a thing anymore... at least in terms of its relevancy to publishing? Sooner than you'd think.

I say this because Bookstagram was everything authors were told to put proverbial eggs into like... frighteningly recently. And Bookstagram is still relevant? But not nearly as relevant as BookTok. When was the last time you saw anything mentioning Bookstagram? It still sells books, but it's not LOUD.

So it's no wonder that authors, including established authors, use BookTok. It's no wonder that publishers use BookTok. It does have an influence, yes, but I get a bit eye-roll-y at it being pointed to as the root of all evil, because I don't think it has that kind of sauce, and I think that the things people hate so much about BookTok books existed long before it and were bound to grow anyway.

Like, for example: so much is made of fanfic-turned-books, and so much of it is thrown onto these romances that blow up on BookTok. But lmao, that shit existed well before TikTok. Cassandra Clare did it with her YA series. Obviously, 50 Shades did it with Twilight fanfic, and Christina Lauren's original debut was also based on Twilight fanfic. There is an entire wave of authors whose origins are rooted in Twific. These things have long existed, but BookTok makes it easier for y'all to notice.

--In the same sense.... This idea of "fast fashion" books was always going to take off when indie publishing became easier. When you no longer needed to engage with an small press and sell your indie books in paperback like the "wanna buy a sundial" guy in Disney's Hercules (king shit) but could simply upload a file to Amazon, edited or not edited as you saw fit, and make it accessible to kindles and tablets and eventually phones.

Look at Amazon. I speak as a romance reader who loves all types of romance novels and likes to learn about its history as a genre. There was a huge boom for certain indie romance authors after the 'zon made self publishing something almost anyone could do. For a brief period, a few authors made a fuckton of money off of it, and while they often couldn't maintain the income stream, it was well-publicized, creating this idea that you could make a lot of money off short, hot, less edited books. And every time there is a boom in any genre, there are authors clustering to get in on it--take the YA Fantasy boom. Booms come and go; generally, the authors that can maintain and stabilize in between the booms not only have a strong backlist of titles, but the kind of quality and distinctiveness that keeps people interested after the boom ends. But until that boom does end (and yes, to an extent after too, depends on the author and their goals), the name of the game for many authors is cranking out titles written to market.

And titles written to market have always existed, and always will. Authors do, in fact, need and want to make money. If you write something and just do not care if it makes money at all--you're either dashing shit off with no effort just for a bit of fun and don't care if it sells (and that ain't these "fast fashion" writers, they're cranking it out because they want to make money ASAP) or you're incredibly privileged and don't need to worry about devoting a job's worth of time to something that won't offer any kind of income. That is not the vast majority of writers. While most know we won't get rich, we sure would like to see some kind of return, if possible. Writing to market isn't a sin. I mean, penny dreadfuls were written to market.

What makes it more complicated is the fact that Amazon, which dominates publishing, is both exploitative and poorly regulated. Arguably one of the best ways to get the attention of readers early in your career, especially for true genre categories like romance and fantasy, is to publish your first books in KU. Your book is accessible to a huge range of people who won't spend $5 on an unknown author's book, but will "borrow" it on KU. However, aside from the other things that make KU sketchy, it also pays by the page read. So if you're an author, it's tempting to stretch your 300-page book to 350 pages, creating a flabby read. OR you convert your single fic into three books.

Again--all Amazon issues, all existed before BookTok, all will exist when it withers into nothing. Or into Tumblr. We'll see.

--I would also say, because again, let us be real and admit again that the BookTok books people largely get upset about are romance, that we're in a romance boom that is proooooobably beginning its downturn, and would exist with or without BookTok. Because romance does tend to do exceptionally well in times of great crisis. Check out when the 50 Shades books took off. Think about what was happening then. Now? We are crisis-ier than ever. Romance took off during the pando, and publishing grabbed it and ran with it and slapped "romance" labels on books that are objectively not romance (see: Colleen Hoover's biggest books, but publishing sure would like you to think otherwise).

Obviously, publishing marketing books that aren't in-genre within a genre that's currently popular predates the pandemic and BookTok and all that. It's certainly happened with romance before (hello: Diana Gabaldon).

--So the thing is, I think people would be upset about all of these issues whether or not BookTok existed. BookTok is just the monster they can blame at the moment.

And there are a lot of shitty romance novels out there, don't get me wrong. (Also: a lot of amazing ones.) In general, there are a lot of shitty indie books, because anything can indeed be published within indie.

On the flip side, indie is an equalizer that I would never, ever have taken away. Because for all that we can uphold the "standards" of the old publishing system a) they still let a lot of subpar shit get published across genre b) publishing is uh, super straight and white. Indie empowers people who typically would not be allowed a seat at the table (primarily poc and people who aren't cis/het) to publish their books without interference from the white people who run Big 5 publishing. And I think that's pretty fucking great. And I think that any amount of influx or low quality books is worth it if we have that outlet available.

Let me acknowledge--BookTok? Skews heavily towards white reads about M/F (and to a lesser extent M/M) pairings. I won't deny that, ever. But to me, a lot of the language surrounding these types of posts and vids about BookTok are actually about indie. If the worst that comes from indie is that I need to make a somewhat bigger effort to find books that work for me... Well, I'm good with that.

--Honestly dude, whenever you get into the hyperbolic "I would've read this at 13", "this is like Wattpad" thing, I do have to wonder about how well-read a person is. Because that's such basic, meaningless critique. What does it even mean? Wattpad is a website. Yes, there are certain types of content that tend to be more popular there. I also know of an author who's been published across a wide variety of genres and won a Lambda Literary Award and posted some shit she'd written on Wattpad... why? Accessibility? Shits and giggles? I don't know. I don't really care.

(It's Tiffany Reisz, by the way, and the stuff she's made available on Wattpad is fire.)

It's also just so incredibly edgelord to act as if what 13-year-olds read is inherently low quality, that again, the critique begins to lose merit to me because I have to wonder about the experience of the original poster and their relation to their experiences. When I was 13, my favorite book was Wuthering Heights. I also went to see Twilight like, 5 times in the theater and owned several copies of each Twilight book. 13-year-olds can have vast experiences and tastes, like anyone. So again... this kind of criticism means fuck all and just suggests a level of shame that I find clouds an individual's ability to give good critique. Are you looking at shit objectively when you're comparing it to things you clearly once enjoyed and are ashamed to admit you enjoy? It confuses me.

--And maybe people's standards are "I just want to feel good when consuming something". I don't... super care if that's the case. Do some of the books people love read as... garbage... in terms of quality to me? Yeah. Do I worry much about their standards clogging up the publishing market? No.

--Let us also be super clear: the books people often consider "quality literature" (professionally edited, often not super genre) are not competing in the indie marketplace. (If they were, they'd absolutely get crushed, but that's another thing--I mean, how much can you really force people to open something they're just not interested in unless you have a trad publishing house's marketing team behind it?)

And when we look at the trad marketplace... I mean. The high lit books that fewer people organically want to open just of their own volition? Are able to happen, in part, because genre fiction pays the bills. I mean again--look at romance. Nora Roberts sells more books than God, her publisher reaps the benefits, and her publisher has the money to pay for a book called like "The Secrets of Fruit Flies" which is about a confused libertarian college professor discovering a secret crack in the moon, and critics love it and ultimately it's about the Vietnam War or something. The house can also afford to throw all the marketing power behind that book, because they're using BookTok to push their commercial work AND find them indie books to acquire.)

(And of course, there are books people consider "high quality" that sell a lot of copies in trad. Often these are YA books. Often, I don't actually personally consider them high quality, but that is the issue we run into when we discuss quality and standards and the incredible subjectiveness of.... all of the above. One series I can think of that is frequently held up as a standard of quality... well. I enjoyed it in the beginning. Let us say that as the books continued to release and the quality, in my opinion, dropped steeply--my hunger for them dipped. But again, such is the nature of standards. I could tell you why I became less and less impressed with those books, beyond "I didn't like them". However, my reasons, however much I can back them intellectually, will never be objective. Art never is.)

--So basically: we blame BookTok for ~ruining publishing~ when a) I don't think the content is ruined, I just think you as the reader have to be more discerning when finding things that work for you b) I think these critiques are more about coming for genre work that has always been derided by those who prefer certain types of litfic, regardless of BookTok c) publishing is doing just fine imploding itself without the help of BookTok d) the issues people blame on BookTok existed before BookTok and will exist after BookTok, and it's honestly kind of insane to me to think that a single group of people that has existed for so little time could so dramatically change publishing, when KDP has existed since... what....? 2009? And trad publishing is still figuring out how to respond to the absolute game changer it turned out to be.

And ultimately, again--I'm really not super worried, because the amount of good books getting released hasn't changed (you do have to look harder for them, yes). If anything, there are more of them out there. But the trade off is that less qualified people are also publishing more. They aren't always publishing For The Art. Amazon doesn't have its house in order, so you will also have to contend with AI.

But also: this is a very boring critique, familiarize yourself with your own tastes to ensure that you pick up books you enjoy more often than not, and otherwise... Look to trad publishing and Amazon with your critiques of the industry as whole, if your issues are truly INDUSTRY-DRIVEN, and worry less about what other people enjoy otherwise.

AND THEY’RE FUCKING CORRECT

[joyfulhopelox]

Board-shorts and Choppy Waves | KTH

╰►Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

╰►AU: summer love, meet cute, surf, s2l, i2l

Genre: fluff, with a tiny bit of angst

Rating: pg

╰►Word count: 17.6k

Warnings: mild swearing

╰►A/N: This is my contribution to the Summer of Love Collab, a collab i had not intended to be in but it just so happened that i fell in love with the story and i had to write it, the banner really did not come out as I'd planned but such is life! But be prepared for two idiots to fall in love. Where The Holiday (summer version) meets Gidget! I want to thank @notyouroppar for being not only the most amazing person for reading this over for me but also for fuelling my hype! secondly i want to thank everyone in this collab for being amazing and last but not least i want to thank @hobipaint and @yoonjinkooked for helping me get through this and for believing in this Taehyung!

Did I use Umji as inspiration for Ye Won? Yes. Is Taehyung’s surfer squad the almost complete real life Wooga Squad? Yes. That being said, enjoy! 💜

Copyrights for the story and banner @joyfulhopelox

╰►Summary: A city girl through and through, not used to anything but the hustling and bustling of the streets. From people with phones attached to their hands, the only accompanying noise you had on your way to work was the honking of angry drivers. However, even someone with a devil-may-care attitude can be fed up with such a life. In a desperate attempt to escape, you embark on a crazy adventure that leads you to Hawaii - on a surfboard! Living under someone else’s roof, you find that this may not have been the break that you strived for when the annoying brother comes into play. Riding a wave is like riding the subway, he told you, yet why did his hand holding yours feel like riding a rollercoaster?

Between a job that kept you tied to your desk, and a job that required you to run around town, trying to please everyone and their mother with your projects, you would’ve chosen the former. Correction, now you would choose the former one.

As a bright eyed child though, you’d chosen the latter. And somewhere in between trying to meet the producers– your hands overflowing with a stack of papers which balanced a precariously placed cup of coffee, and a video call with the actor’s managers– who had the audacity to request a jacuzzi on set, you were beginning to regret the decision.

“Yes, yes. I got it!” Weaving expertly through the hectic flow of people coming out from the subway, you tried to grip the phone tighter between your ear and shoulder. “No, no, unfortunately we cannot agree to those requests.” Humming in response, your ears painfully assaulted from the other end of the line, you apologised as your shoulder bumped into another and carried on without waiting for a response. As much as you wanted to stay and apologise, you didn’t have the time. If you learned one thing in this job, it was that lateness was not viewed nicely. As a newbie in the field, your punctuality has been subject to disapproval more than once.

“We shall see what we can do about that.” Not bothering to wait for the response on the other end of the line, you ended the conversation thankful for your balancing skills. Phone now added onto the pile, you continued weaving through the flow of people coming your way. Realising you hadn’t checked the time, you urged your legs to go faster, cursing that you decided to wear heels on a busy day like this. No matter how nice they made you feel, a day spent in pain whilst trying to be efficient was not worth it.

The building where your fate was sealed seemed to loom over you. Gazing up at it you swallowed, your throat dry. You knew without conviction you would get nowhere in the industry, and so with new resolve you made your way through the glass doors. Show time.

It only took a few hours for your blood pressure to rise to dangerous levels. Ever since walking through that door, it felt like nothing went the way you’d imagined it to. The meeting that was supposed to start on time was so delayed, you had to postpone the following meeting with the agent representing your newest addition to the cast. The rest tumbled down with the speed of an avalanche. Not having signed up to run around in heels for coffee, and especially not when you were one of the people meant to pitch the new series, your feet were throbbing and your patience wore thin.

The cherry on top of the cake was the call you received at the end of the day from your boss. It wasn’t an unexpected call, but dare you say, untimely. The call was short and sharp, delivering the blows that would ultimately lead to accepting your friends’ invite for a bar night.

The bar where you usually met your friends was surprisingly empty, though you suspected it was because it was the middle of the week. The few groups that littered the area made it easy for you to spot your obnoxious pair of friends. It seemed they were already on their second round of drinks, judging by the number of empty glasses and Georgie’s animated talk.

“I swear that’s what happened!” As you made your way towards the group, you heard Kate declare her ridiculousness with sincerity as the rest laughed at her. With a roll of your eyes, you slid in next to her.

“What did I miss?” You cheerfully interrupted their storytelling, sharing ‘hello’s’ with them and the obligatory catch up of mundane stories.

Taking a careful sip out of your drink you silently observed the ruckus they created around the table, their cheerful loud voices making you smile inwardly. You missed this.

“So, Y/N, how is that promotion going for you?” Georgie leaned over the table, seemingly to make herself heard over the loud music. Yet, by the suspicious raise of her eyebrows you were aware of what she had been implying. Your almost-fling with your boss.

“Georgie – no.” You shook your head, your attempt to shut down the conversation a poor one at best. “We are not going there.” Taking another sip of your drink you tried to come up with something to deter them from prodding further.

“Oh come on!” Kate insisted, her eyes wide. “You live like a prude married to their work most of the time,” She waved you away when you tried to poke her. “The one time you aren’t and you have a small chance at dating!” She exclaimed and you reached out to cover her mouth.

“Shush it, will you? Any louder and everyone in the bar will hear about my dating plight.” You argued back, frustrated with the situation you’d landed yourself in.

“-He’s my boss.” You countered, knowing full well that if you didn’t explain at least part of your reasoning, there was no way this would end. “Plus –“ you held out your hand to stop them from interrupting you. “He already has a girlfriend.” You took another long sip of your drink, satisfied with the way their faces dropped.

Georgie, to her credit, decided to keep her opinions to herself, occupying her time with swirling her own drink around. However, Kate, whom you’d known the longest, stared at you, eyes narrowed as if trying to figure you out.

“So what was that dinner about then?” She prodded further and you sighed, dramatically lowering your glass onto the table.

“Look, that dinner–“ You leaned forwards fixing them both with your gaze, a small smile forming on your face. “Was definitely about a promotion.” You said conspiratorially.

Unprepared for the joyful hoots from your friends, you leaned back as they both scrambled to hug you. They had been your best friends since college and they knew you better than anyone, especially the struggles you had to go through to even break into the film industry and get the position you were in now. Let alone a promotion.

By no means were you in a bad position, it definitely kept you in the city, and you could afford a good two bedroom apartment near Central London. but remembering the way you had to run around for coffee, not being able to refuse tasks left a bitter taste in your mouth. Definitely this promotion would not only open more doors for you, but also allow you to say no. The joy you felt as soon as you got the call earlier that evening washed away the pain of your blistered feet, and with a renewed spring in your step you had gone to the bar to share your good news with your friends.

“Oh my God, Y/N!” Kate exclaimed, clapping her hands enthusiastically. “This is amazing, you definitely needed this! How soon will you be filling the new role?” She inquired and your mood dropped instantly, reality washing over you.

Disentangling yourself from her hug, you sighed. “It’s a possibility, it’s not yet certain.” Your voice sounded gloomy, knowing full well that a possibility was not a certainty. “I still have to see this project through.” Tapping your fingers to the side of your glass you continued. “It’s a long few months of waiting now. I have done my job, all that needs to happen now is for the rest of them to do their job.”

Georgie looked at you empathetically, she knew what you meant. She, herself, was in a similar position to you. The silence that followed between the three of you was not uncomfortable by any means. The bass of the music pounding around you kept you company, an unneeded headache. But worth it if it meant you got to talk to your friends.

“So…” She trailed off, her eyes scouring the fuller bar. “What will you be doing now?” Turning her attention back to you, she raised her eyebrows at you. “Date? Holiday?”

The question took you by complete surprise, drink still in your mouth in the midst of swallowing, you struggled to not choke. Kate patted your back, an almost sympathetic look crossed over her face, only to be quickly replaced by a smirk. “No but seriously, Y/N.” Glaring at the both of them for ganging up on you, you shrugged.

“I have no intentions to be dating, and you know that.” You pointed at them, eyes narrowed. “As for holiday…” You trailed off. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had a holiday. Sure, you took your required days off, but you never left your apartment during those days. And to be completely honest, you only used them to catch up on work you did not get to do during the week, respond to emails you didn’t get a chance to, and order the occasional takeaway with a film in the evenings. But even that could count more as work than relaxing. Being in the film industry, you rarely found yourself enjoying a production without thinking about the ins and outs that went on behind the scenes to put it all together. The thought of an actual holiday has never even crossed your mind.

“-I do take holidays.” You weakly argued, but when you met the girls’ eyes you shrugged noncommittally. “Look, I can’t afford to.” You simply provided. That reason seemed to be enough to quieten them both, until Kate jumped up.

“I know!” She exclaimed, her palm slapping the table hard. “How about a house exchange?”

You stared at her oddly, wondering how much she’d had to drink, but she didn’t seem flushed, nor to be staggering on her feet. Instead of insulting her with questions about her sobriety you waited for her to explain herself. “You know, like, the ones where you do it through an agency.” She supplied, but at your furrowed eyebrows she sighed. “Kind of like an AirBnB, but this one is about you contacting a person who is willing to exchange their horse for a short period of time, and you are providing them with yours as a payment.”

At her explanation, your eyes went wide with surprise, your mouth hanging open. “Wha-?” It baffled you, the idea that someone would willingly not only supply you with their house, their sanctuary, but also they would agree to come and live in a stranger’s house. “What sort of scam is this?” You finally settled.

“It’s not a scam!” Georgie jumped in, the tone of her voice betraying her excitement. “My friend did it, and she loved it!” You watched her with a careful eye, trying to decide if both of your friends had had too much to drink. At your unconvinced look, Georgie sighed.

“Look, it’s worth thinking about it, you get to see pictures of the house first, and also talk to the owner beforehand. It’s not like you have no contact with them before you even get there.” She stated, carefully watching your expression turn thoughtful. As much as you enjoyed the idea of being able to live in someone else’s house, without paying too much for it, you had trust issues. You couldn’t just let anyone in your own home, just like that.

“Is there insurance? What about a contract? Will I be able to go anywhere? What if they steal something?” Before you could continue with your incessant worries, Kate interrupted you, a hand on your arm.

“Of course, there is insurance. This is all done through an agency, it is not like you email a stranger out of the blue-” At your unconvinced expression she carried on. “And there is a contract, and background checks, and you do get to pick which place you want to choose.” She breathed a loud sigh. “Look, Y/N, this may be a good time for you to take a break.” She patted your arm as if that would have convinced you that what she was saying was true.

Well, it was true, but they both knew you were a workaholic. It would take more than that to get you to let go of your responsibilities and take care of yourself first. Georgie followed Kate’s suit, her words sealing your fate.

“And you don’t want to date, so this is the best way to make sure that you take care of your own needs first.” Your alarmed expression made her continue. “You need a break, you have nothing else to do but wait, all you will do is worry and fret.” She waved her hand around as if to disperse the worries and fears mentioned.

“And-” Georgie leaned forward as if to share a secret and you mirrored her movement. “Think about it this way, you’ve always wanted to go to Hawaii.” She smirked and you let your mouth drop, her idea already a seed in your mind.

She was right, Hawaii has always been a place you wanted to visit, never having the time or money to do so. This would be perfect for you. Still worried you nodded your head, enough for her to lean back a satisfied look on her face. She knew her job was done, but she couldn’t help but add. “And you never know, you may find your Surfer Charming there.” Georgie wiggled her eyebrows at you making Kate laugh and you narrowed your eyes at her, an offended look on your face.

“Georgie!” You then realised what she implied earlier. “Also, how does dating have anything to do with me taking a break?” You sounded indignant, and the three of you burst out laughing.

It took a few weeks for you to remember this conversation. They had been right, all you did during that period was fret, wait, and call people more than once trying to figure out if everything was going on as planned. These calls earned you more than a few groans and even some rejected your calls after the tenth time you tried to reach them within a day.

Deciding you’d had enough of your own brain, you chanced a look at the website Kate mentioned. The sight of all the reviews made you breathe out easier, of course you were going to head there first, the need to know how legit this whole business was too strong for you to get caught up in the lovely pictures littering the website. Once satisfied with the reviews you then let yourself fall into the hole, sinking in deep, and by the time dinner rolled round you had a few options you were considering as a potential. One in Europe, one in Asia, and one in Hawaii.

You bit your lip, this was one of the hardest decisions you had to make, the idea of doing this frightening. Needing more encouragement, you decided to call Kate once more to get her opinion on it, but before you could hit the dial, something caught your eye. The Hawaii exchange, the person in the bio stated they would prefer an exchange with someone from your own town, boring old London. Scrolling through the pictures once more, the airy feel of the house, along with the art that was tastefully decorating the space drew you in more and more. What sealed the deal in your eyes though, was the last picture, a view of a grand pool, the flowers that were scattered all around the garden giving you the feel of the paradise you craved. In the background the view of the ocean and the waves eased your worries and made your eyes glisten with hope. This was it.

Cursor over the email address, you read the name once more before you smiled to yourself.

‘Dear Ye Won,

I hope this email finds you well. I am writing in regards to the home exchange; I happened to come upon your one and I was instantly drawn to it….’

The morning came quicker than you expected, the sound of your alarm blaring throughout the airy beach house jolting you out of bed in an unpleasant manner. You cursed at the inanimate object for not only waking you up, but for being the reason you had to move out of your comfortable spot under the duvet to turn it off. Deciding your joints were not in pain today was an easy feat, you didn’t crumple to the ground like you had previously and you could turn your head without feeling like your head’s being pounded by a rock.

The flight over from London had not been a pleasant one, the crying child next to you hadn’t allowed you to close your eyes for a second. He was not at fault and you knew that, no one could last unscathed through an 18 hour flight; but, the throbbing headache you sported now was definitely blaming him. To make matters worse, the flight to Honolulu had been delayed enough that when you landed you had little to no time to spare before your flight over to Maui. You’d think that they would have more flights in a day towards such a popular destination, however, you were soon to find out that it was not the case.

Bags in hand, trying to multitask, desperately running towards what you assumed to be your gate, whilst checking the status of your flight as you passed by the information board– it was all a disaster waiting to happen. And when a disaster is waiting to happen, chances are it will. One moment you were skillfully dodging a passerby and the next you found yourself bumping into a solid chest, the wind knocked out of you. Derailed from your goal and with the pain of having bumped your nose into someone’s torso, it took you a good moment to realise what had happened.

“Tsk, look where you’re going.” The deep voice held the annoyance of someone who’d just been through a rough day, and normally you’d do your best to apologise. However, you’d had just as rough of a day and it was still not over, not to mention you were in a hurry. Pleasantries would have to wait.

“I’m late. And you could also look where you’re going.” You simply announced with a huff not bothering to look up, the tip of your nose still throbbing.

“Did I mention anything about your lateness, does it seem like I have time?” The man, judging by the voice, retaliated. You rubbed the tip of your nose to make sure that nothing was bruised before you glanced up, your eyes narrowed as the obvious rudeness of this person. The sight that greeted you was not what you’d expected, and once again, under normal circumstances you would have paused to gawk. He was beautiful, there was no other way to describe him. His light brown hair was quite shaggy, offering him an unkempt appearance, the bandana that tied around his head keeping his bangs from obstructing his eyes. And what eyes, his gaze locked onto yours, the ebony colour intensifying the coldness in them, you found yourself lost for words.

“Well, are you going to move out of the way?” He nodded his head impatiently as if that would simply remove you from his path. With those words, the bubble you were in completely dissipated, reality crashing down on you. You were still late. With a gasp, you didn’t bother responding to him; your grip tightened on your bag and you dashed around him, praying that those few minutes were not wasted and the flight hadn’t left without you.

Now, seated at the counter of the vast kitchen, a coffee cup in hand, you had time to think about the events from the airport. With a pained sigh you admitted to yourself you’d been the one in the wrong, not only having bumped into an innocent passerby, but also starting an argument with them instead of apologising and being on your merry way. You were certain that under normal circumstances you wouldn’t have reacted this way.

“Oh, well…” Muttering to yourself you took a last sip of your coffee thanking the stars the person who offered you the place had enough stocked to last you for a couple of days. Having arrived late last night, you hadn’t had the time to explore the area, let alone think about stocking up on food. To you, it felt like a holiday - and in a way you supposed it was, only you were without the ease of being in a hotel and having a restaurant at your doorstep.

The lack of traffic echoing in your ears felt unfamiliar, the stillness of the house reminding you of a horror film where the protagonist is only seconds away from being snatched. Only, you were not in an old abandoned house. One quick glance around told you a lot about the person that swapped homes with you. Their interest in art and interior design was clearly reflected in the way they had decorated the house. The rooms were wide and airy, yet the abundance of paintings and figurines scattered everywhere made it resemble an art gallery. Walking around trying to familiarise yourself with the house, you decided that this home would be your little piece of heaven for the next month. Especially when you reached the end of the house and stumbled upon a lovely back garden, the fence lined with palm trees and gardenias scattered all around a clear pool. Excitedly, you rushed back to your bedroom for your swimsuit. Exploring the area could wait a few more hours. You were on holiday, and what could be more holiday-esque than taking a dip in a pool, in Hawaii!

Deciding on the first suit that you came across, you debated whether or not you should cover yourself up until the pool, but before you could make a decision a loud thud coming from the front door jolted you.

With your heart pounding, you padded towards the corridor at the sound of a voice yelling “Ye Won! Open up!” as they kept pounding against the wooden door. Aware that it was not your house and afraid for the door’s hinges you ran to respond.

In a rush to get to the door before the person on the other end broke in, you had completely forgotten to cover yourself up. When the thought suddenly occurred to you, it was already too late. You had the front door wide open ready to greet whoever was one the other side.

“Thank God you responded I was ready to break the door- What the fu-” A deep voice greeted you and you couldn’t help but stare dumbfounded at the man standing in front of you. A very handsome man. His ebony eyes and light brown coloured hair looked too familiar for your liking.

“You- the airport- what?” He sputtered pointing at you, rubbing his eyes as if he was unable to believe the sight before him- and what a sight you were.

You felt as if the proverbial rug had been swept from under your feet. Once his words finally registered in your head you realised the promiscuous position you were in. Not only was the stranger you almost assaulted at the airport in front of you, but you were also standing there on display in a bikini. Your attempt to calm yourself down was futile, the adrenaline coursing through your veins giving way to your fight or flight reflexes. And you chose flight. With a shrill scream you didn’t think twice before slamming the door in his face, your heart threatening to pound out of your chest.

“Fuck.” What was he doing here?

You didn’t know how long you spent leaning on the door, heart in your throat, your mind devoid of any rational thought but when another pounding vibrated through you, it broke you out of your daze. Jumping up, you shook yourself off from any theories as to why the stranger you argued with in the airport could be there. Making sure you were presentable, with a trembling hand you reached for the door, hesitating.

“Open up!” With another loud pound against the wooden material that made you jolt away from the door, the man carried on yelling. “Open up or I am using the key, and I don’t care about whatever various states of undress you are in!” His voice turned dark towards the end, the huskiness in it making you shiver involuntarily. You weren’t a pushover, so with the intention to get him straight you swallowed your pride and opened the door abruptly, catching him mid knock.

“What do you want? Who are you and what are you doing here?” Tapping your foot impatiently, you resisted the urge to look at him more than necessary. Just like you did at the airport, you found him incredibly attractive. With his ruffled dark locks - this time tied in a bun at the top of his head, another bandana keeping the strays away from his face. His light coloured shirt contrasted greatly with his slightly tanned smooth skin and the boardshorts he was wearing were giving away a bit too much for your imagination to not run wild on you.

Mouth wide open, he didn’t offer you the same consideration, his eyes raking over your covered form, his intense dark gaze making you shift on spot. Arms crossed around your chest in an attempt to preserve your decency, you narrowed your eyes at him. “You come here, almost breaking the door down and don’t even have the decency to introduce yourself to the person living here?” You asked pointedly, your tone sharp, the annoyance clear in your voice.

“Just as you did when you bumped into me yesterday?” He was quick to retaliate, his stance mirroring yours. No one said anything for a few seconds, the air around you felt charged with electricity as you tried your hardest to not stray away from his dark brown eyes. You cocked an eyebrow mockingly, daring him to be the first one to break the staring match.

“Taehyung.” He conceded after a few more seconds, the weight of your stare too dangerous for his imagination. He had to admit you were beautiful, and the sight of your angered state made you even more attractive in his eyes. Deciding it was a biased opinion, he put it down to the fact that this is the only way he’s seen you up until then. The fiery glint in your eyes accentuated by rosy cheeks from the blood rushing to your face in anger.

Hearing his response and accepting it as defeat, you lowered your arms, a satisfied smirk on your face. But before you could loudly announce your win, he carried on, his response nailing you on the spot. “And this is my sister’s house.”

Eyes wide, you gaped at him. “This is what now?” You couldn’t believe your ears, his words ringing in your head as dread washed over you. “You mean to say, you live here?” You felt the telltale signs of anger readying a harsh email back towards the woman who exchanged houses with you.

Taehyung’s eyes widened, the preposterous idea making him guffaw. “What? No!” He was quick to refute. The clear panic in his voice at the thought was enough to make you sigh in relief, sending a mental apology towards Ye Won. “I’m here to see Ye Won, are you the maid?” He looked you up and down thoughtfully. “She did say she was going to get a maid, but if she’s not home I wouldn’t go around gallivanting–“ He pointed at the shift covering you, “up and down like this.”

With an indignant huff you wondered if Ye Won would be ok with you breaking her brother’s nose. Having exchanged emails with her for the better part of a month, you discovered she was not only a genuinely nice person but also considerate as she made sure to walk you through not only the house’s quirks, but also different customs in Hawaii and things to do to occupy your time. Though, you thought eyeing Taehyung with distrust, not that considerate.

“So–“ Taehyung glanced inside, his height making it easy for him to do so without struggling too much. “Where’s Ye Won?”

Scoffing at him you prepared to close the door in his face. “She’s not here, she’s in London.”

If you weren’t so annoyed at his earlier indiscretion you would’ve laughed at the way his face fell, mouth agape. “What do you mean she’s in London? Then why are you here?” He pointed at you accusingly.

“Look, it’s my first day here and I would like to spend it in a meaningful way.” You threw him a pointed look alluding to his behaviour from earlier. “If you want more details I am sure your sister can give them to you.” You placed a hand on his chest, pausing at the feel of muscle underneath your palm. Shaking yourself out of it, you reminded yourself you didn’t know this person, nor did you want to. “Now if you will excuse me.” You lightly pushed him out the doorway before shutting the door in his face.

“What a character.” You muttered, your thoughts completely taken over by the excitement awaiting you for the day.

“Kate, I’m telling you, it’s all fine. I have a long list Ye Won gave me of things to do.” Phone pressed to your ear, you reassured your friend on the other side of the ocean.

“And?” She inquired and paused hoping for more information from you. When the pregnant pause extended she sighed exasperated. “Y/N! Come on, you’re in Hawaii! What about any hot guys?”

You laughed at her, only for your thoughts to drift to the ponytailed devil you’ve met earlier. “Mnope.” You drawled, occupying yourself with the flowers in the garden. “Nothing worth mentioning.” At the whine on the other end, you felt the need to defend yourself. “Kate! I’ve only been here for a night! There is no way I could’ve met anyone in this amount of time. And also–“ you raised your voice trying to mask the blatant lie you just told her. “I am not here to meet anyone. I am here to relax.”

Kate snorted, the thought of you and relaxation in one sentence amusing to her. “You mean you will actually not think about work? Check emails? Fret about details?”

“Shhh, I know what you are trying to do.” You laughed at her ridiculousness. “Yes, I will rest. And no, I will not be hunting any men.” You added ending the call before she could speak her mind about your personal choice of staying single.

On second thought, you had absolutely no clue what you wanted to do. Going over the list Ye Won so kindly provided for you, you felt overwhelmed. It wasn’t that you weren’t any good with lists, you lived for them, your job relied on them more than you cared to admit. This list though, entailed you relaxing and having fun, two concepts which you’ve rarely experienced since leaving university.

“Not this,” your finger skimmed over the list, making a mental note to ask Ye Won what exactly did ‘going mental at the Sailor Jerry Festival’ meant. “Aha! Beach!” You exclaimed, face lighting up with excitement. “I know how to do that!” Glancing underneath the list of beaches your eyes caught her suggestion of what to do on said beaches. “Should I–?”

Smiling lightly to yourself, you nodded. Surfing. Look for Hyung Sik. Giddy at the thought of doing something out of the norm, you imagined what Katie and Georgie would say if they knew. Gathering your things you decided it was worth a try, if only to get yourself familiarised with the area and walk to the beach. Well, surf’s up I guess.

The road to the beach was littered with stalls ready to exhibit the best of what Hawaii had to offer, and you spent more than you had planned just in awe at the multitude of colours around you. The music and the atmosphere surrounded you fully, and you happily immersed yourself in the experience. For the first time in forever you felt free, the breeze coming from the ocean soothing your worries.

After a journey that took you an hour longer than intended, you reached the beach, your eyes scouring for the hut Ye Won mentioned. Past the showers, down towards the Surfer’s Den bar, you tried to remember the instructions written on the paper. Feet buried in the soft sand, your eyes wandered towards the way the soft waves broke as they reached their final destination, the music of the sea lulling you into a daydream.

“Yo-” The sound of someone yelling broke you out of your daze and you craned your neck to catch a glimpse of the source. “You’re gonna run into the tables.” Finally spotting the man waving at you, you stopped, your brain registering what he was trying to tell you. Looking around confusedly, you realised you were a few centimetres away from slamming into one of the tables that belonged to the bar.

“Oh,” squinting, you waved back to the man in thanks when your eyes caught the sign above his head. “Surf’s up.” You mumbled to yourself before your eyes lit up in recognition. “Oh! This is it!” You quickened your pace, hoping to reach the hut before you had the chance to change your mind. The man had his back towards you now, too preoccupied with a surfboard, the sheer size of it making you gulp.

“Uhm, excuse me.” You tried, your voice cracking. You didn’t know why you suddenly turned shy, you were used to talking to big names, people who could eat you for breakfast, you never faltered once. Why were you all of a sudden becoming a wallflower?

With new resolve, you tried again, your voice a notch higher. “Excuse me, are you Hyung Sik?” You asked as the man suddenly turned around, almost clocking you in the face with his elbow.

“Oh shit, I'm sorry.” He apologised, seeing your disgruntled expression. “No bubs, I’m not name’s Woo Sik.” Your heart sighed in relief at this, you could come another time, you promised yourself. But before you could turn around and run for the hills like you’d planned to, the man carried on, crushing your escape plan. “But he’s inside, I can bring him out for you.”

You wanted to tell him no and that it’s okay, but before you could utter a word he had already gone back inside, coming out with another person behind him. Wait. Another two people behind him. Were all the guys in Hawaii this hot? You questioned, the sight of their handsome faces making you freeze on spot.

“Here she is.” The man you spoke to before, Woo Sik, turned to one of the men following behind him. You assumed him to be Hyung Sik and you turned towards him, prepared to stick a hand out in greeting.

“Oh shit man, she is beautiful.” The man exclaimed and before you could decide whether you were flattered at the compliment or alienated by the thought of them talking about you behind your back, he rushed towards you, and pulled you into a friendly hug.

“Welcome to Surf’s up. I’m Hyung Sik, I’m assuming you are looking for a teacher?” He let go of you, hand still on your shoulder and you raised your eyebrow at him.

“What makes you think that, I could just be–“ you glanced at the sign behind him that read boards for hire. “Looking to hire a board...”

Hyung Sik looked you over for a second and you fought the urge to squirm under his gaze. “No offence bubs, but you look like a city person. We had one of them once,” he turned towards his friends and chuckled, “he’s a pro surfer now but, man, you city bros are so easy to read.”

The comical way in which he threw his hands up in mock frustration made you burst out laughing. You knew you should’ve taken offence at what he said, but you couldn’t find it in you. He seemed too genuine in his opinion for it to be an insult. And it’s not like he was wrong.

“Right, yes, I am looking for a teacher.” You nodded, sheepishly.

“Well bubs, I would love to be yours, I have a feeling you’re a cool one, but unfortunately I have some business I need to take care of.” He sighed dramatically.

“Oh don’t I know that.” You laughed, preparing yourself to leave once more, the hope in your heart rekindled. If he was busy you would definitely have to come again later. “Well– Ye Won’s suggestion will have to wait then.” You spoke to yourself.

“Ye Won.” The man whom you haven’t been introduced to spoke, eyes gleaming with surprise. Hyung Sik let out a loud laugh at his friend’s obvious behaviour. The man was handsome, his crooked smile and short hair giving him an air of youth that you deemed attractive. But judging by his reaction, he was already spoken for so with a shrug you nodded.

“Hush man,” Woo Sik laughed, slapping his friend over the back, the sound of it making you wince. “This lovesick fool is Seo Joon. He may be handsome, but he’s a tool.” He filled you in.

You laughed, your eyes tearing up. Between your pearls of laughter and the men’s bickering you missed the new addition to your group. “Don’t worry, I deal with tools more than I care to admit.” You winked in Seo Joon’s direction, your eyes catching sight of the man behind him. “Speaking of tools- Taehyung“ you muttered rolling your eyes. The men looked at you confusedly, before said man made his presence known.

“Y/N. You're stalking me?” He took a step towards you, the smirk on his face infuriated you.

“Perfect timing, Taehyung.” Hyung Sik wound his arm around Taehyung’s shoulders. “You got a new student.” He looked at his friend pointedly, and you had a feeling it was not a request as much as it was a command.

Taehyung prepared himself to object before you stepped in. “Oh no no, it’s ok. I can come back another time.” You tried to escape out of it, the prospect of having Taehyung as an instructor was not sitting well with you.

“Nonsense. He may be an ass, but he’s the best surfer we have.” Seo Joon smiled at you reassuringly before he lightly kicked his friend in the shin. “Stop staring.” He said amusedly, bringing your attention back to Taehyung.

“He may be a good surfer.” You said unconvincingly, “but that doesn’t make him a good teacher.” You shrugged at Taehyung’s now offended expression.

“Ohhhh I like her, can we keep her?” Woo Sik laughed, throwing his arm around your shoulders making you blush.

Taehyung looked pointedly at his friend’s arm around you before he grabbed your forearm and pulled you to him. “Fuck off Woo Sik. I’ll show you a good teacher.”

Before you could protest, he pulled you away, marching towards the side of the hut, you in tow. His friends’ laughter and teasing comments from behind were not lost to your ears. “Careful Taehyung, you may end up drowned in the ocean.”

“Right, first, you need to-” Taehyung started, only to realise he had been speaking into thin air, your form already ahead of him, ready to reach the water. “Oi!” He yelled after you, the panic settling into his heart. The waves were too dangerous for you to get in there straight away. Sprinting he ran as fast as he could, grabbing your shoulder right before you could reach the edge of the sand. “What do you think you are doing?” He huffed, trying to catch his breath.

Looking in between him and the water confusedly, you pointed at it as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “I’m uh, taking a dip?” You stared at him, eyes narrowed. “What do you think you’re doing?” You pointed at him, his shirt having unbuttoned after his mad sprint. You would’ve lied if you said it wasn’t distracting, the sight of his collar bones drawing imagery in your head you didn’t wish to have.

“Hyung Sik gave me you as a student, and we are going to learn how to surf. And this” he pointed at you, giving you a chastising look as if you were a petulant child, “is not how you do it.”

“Did I agree with you being my teacher?” You huffed, the idea of being alone with him, in water not sitting well with you. “You can learn how to surf, I will just enjoy my time swimming until someone else is available to teach me.”

Taehyung stared at you, your stubbornness shocking him into silence. “Y/N, you’re a bore.” He shrugged and you gaped at him, offended by what he was implying.

“I am not!” You almost stomped your foot, only stopping yourself when you remembered you were a grown adult not a child. “I can have fun, thank you very much.” Taehyung cocked his eyebrow, the unconvinced expression on his face spurring you on in an attempt to defend yourself. “I once went rock climbing!” You proudly declared, hoping that this would be enough to redeem yourself. You didn’t know why you felt the need to prove him wrong, but the impulse had been there ever since you met him.

“Oh, right. And let me guess, you’ve never done it again after that?” He teased you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Feeling the need to defend yourself you almost lied, ready to tell him that you had done it multiple times after that, but in reality you knew it was not true. So with your head slightly lowered you mumbled a response.

“Ah, I knew it. Tell you what?” He proposed and you looked up at him, your breath catching in your throat. The way the morning sun caught his brown eyes, making them sparkle, made him look devilishly handsome in your eyes. If it was not for his attitude, you would have probably went for Georgie’s advice and tried to flirt, but this was a hopeless case. “I will make you lose that stuck up city shell in a couple of days.” He proposed, the smug smile on his face egging you on.

You didn’t know what possessed you to agree with it, it may have been your desire to prove him wrong, it may have been your guilty pleasure of being near him, but you readily grabbed his hand and shook it, sealing the deal.

“Fine. Now-” You looked at the ocean, the prospect of being on them on a plank making you gulp. “Where do we start?” You glanced at him, the defiance replaced with uncertainty. You were out of your element, and you were ready to admit that.

Taehyung stifled a laugh at your constipated expression, his heart warming at the thought of you placing his trust in him, regardless of your previous encounters. “Not here, City Girl.” He winked, his hand still in yours, he pulled you further in. “We need to get you used to being on the board first. And those waves will do nothing but swallow you whole.” He pulled you towards the sand, his board already placed on it in position.

“Oh so you are not putting me on a plank in the sea like pirates do huh?” You jokingly nudged him, shoulders more relaxed at the thought of being on land for the time being. Taehyung couldn’t help but laugh at your joke and as he motioned for you to stand on the board he added.

“Nah, we only make you walk the plank as an experienced surfer. For the moment you are a swabby.” He nudged you with his shoulder, making you lose your balance. “Oh lord, we need to work on that.” He sighed and you whined indignantly.

“I was not prepared! I swear my balance is better than that.” Trying to prove him wrong you went to get yourself back into position, only to miscalculate how soft the sand underneath your feet was. With a loud yelp you hurtled towards him, hand barely grazing his shoulder in a futile attempt to steady yourself, and you landed painfully on your knees. Mortified at having displayed such graceful behaviour in front of him you groaned.

“Told you.” Taehyung smiled at you and offered his hand to help you up. Pulling you back onto your feet, you steadied yourself and before the smell of him combined with the scent of the beach could throw you into a daze, you stepped away from him with an awkward cough.

“So what do I do?” You could have cursed yourself for sounding so shy, but the nerves that were piling ever since you arrived at the beach got the better of you. Smirking at you, Taehyung pulled you back onto the board.

“Well, now that I’ve witnessed you fall for me once, let’s work on your balance.” Gaping at his brazen attitude you bit back a snarky remark, settling for cursing him under your breath as you deliberately stepped on his feet.

The rest of the day, you spent in agonising pain, your feet on the board and the sun beating down on your back, your mind muddled with thoughts of the man who happened to have lost his shirt due to the heat, as he put it.

“So we are done?” You couldn’t help but blink at him in gleefulness. The prospect of being near him for longer than necessary made your heart beat out of your chest.

Taehyung laughed at your hopeful expression, undecided whether the small bursts of happiness he felt were because he was just about to burst your bubble or if it was something else.

“Oh no, this is not a one time lesson.” He picked up the surfboard, his warm hand on your naked lower back pushing you towards the ocean.

“We are going to be here for a while.” He smiled at you innocently, and your breath caught in your throat as he leaned down, his breath fanning over your face with a carefree expression. “Every day.” Oh shit.

The morning came too quickly, and you struggled to get yourself out of bed. The prospect of getting more bruised and battered than you were already was not an incentive. Thinking of the previous days of activities reminded you of the man that promised you a fun week. Taehyung drove you up the wall in more ways than one. Half the time you didn’t know whether you wanted to throttle him or kiss him; his demeanour giving you whiplash every time you argued with him. You couldn’t say you had a normal conversation with him since you’d met. First, the airport where he more than readily called you an asshole, then his first appearance at his sister’s house when he called you a maid. The tip of the iceberg were the surfing lessons he’d been roped into by his friends.

Lessons where he insulted you and your skills, whilst his hands were resting on your naked skin, as he tried to steady you on the board. Remembering how his slender hands held you by your naked waist as he barked at you to hold yourself up all but made you groan in frustration. How could such an attractive man have such a sour personality? You couldn’t explain it to yourself, especially when his friends seemed to be the nicest people you’d ever met.

Thinking about their interactions, the brotherly link between all of them, the way Taehyung interacted with them, his carefree attitude and boyish smirk as they teased each other about one thing or another - gave you even more of a headache. Seeing him like this made you realise that there was more underneath the front he put up when talking to you, and you would be lying to yourself if you said his blaise attitude towards life didn’t draw you in.

A knock at the door broke you out of your thoughts, and you scrambled to get out of bed, your foot getting caught. Stumbling, you didn’t think twice about the way you looked, or the fact that you had just woken up; you headed straight towards the front door, opening it.

“Are you going to make it a habit to present yourself in the worst ways possible?” Taehyung’s amused tone greeted you and you yelped, the urge to shut the door once more too strong. But before you could give into the impulse, his foot stuck through the doorway and he slipped inside before you could do anything.

Humming quietly to himself, he made his way towards the pool as if this was his own home. In a way you supposed it was. “Uh, want some coffee?” You offered and he waved you off, not bothering to answer as he slipped outside. You rolled your eyes at his behaviour and turned around towards the kitchen for a much needed coffee, but not before you made a beeline for the bathroom to make yourself presentable.

A few good minutes later, most of which was spent in the bathroom rearranging your hair, you made your way towards the back of the house towards the garden. The early morning air, spiced by the fresh smell of the ocean with floral hints from the gardenias in full bloom, made you smile. Your tense posture relaxed as you sipped your coffee. You took in the bright yellows reflecting in the sky, and the pool which housed a bare chested man.

Sputtering, you coughed out your mouthful of coffee, almost tempted to rub your eyes in case what you saw was a mirage made up by your tired brain. What was Taehyung doing in your pool? His back was towards you and you took the time to observe the way his muscles strained against his sun kissed skin. Mouth hanging open you gulped, the sight of his bare back too much for your brain to handle.

You glanced away before you cleared your throat loudly to get his attention. “Care to tell me what you are doing in the pool?” You questioned, your eyes observing the bushes of manfern. You waited for a full minute before you got a verbal reply, the splashing sounds coming from the side an indication of him approaching you.

“Care to tell me who you’re talking to?” He mocked, your stubbornness amusing him. Pushing himself out of the pool as you turned around to give him a piece of your mind was a disaster waiting to happen. Your words caught in your throat, the sight of his bare chest and water dripping down it reminding you of how lackluster your dating life had been until then.

“Fu- You of course.” You exclaimed, your brain struggling to form a full sentence without a swear word in between.

Taehyung enjoyed the way your cheeks flamed red, the sight of your flustered face made him as amused as it did aroused, with the knowledge that he had been the one to make you that way. “Then, is there a reason you are not looking at the person you are addressing?” He couldn’t help himself, the need to tease you further overweighing everything else. Your reactions were gold to him and he planned to make the most of it.

“Is there a reason you’re naked?” You shot back, your eyes narrowed.

“I went for a swim.” He replied calmly as if you were missing the obvious. “Plus I am not naked, I'm wearing shorts.” He motioned towards his lower half and you couldn’t help but follow his movements, your eyes stuck on his narrow waist and happy trail leading towards imagery you’d rather have not thought of. You redirected your gaze at him, his smirk making you want to clock him in the face.

“Amazing.” You muttered not sure exactly what you may have been referring to. “Now that you are out the pool, can you put a shirt on?” You made a point by grabbing the towel sitting innocently on the back of the lounge chair and throwing it at him. Desperate to change the subject you hurriedly added. “What are you doing here this early? I thought we were meeting at the beach.”

Taehyung struggled not to laugh at your plight and instead he shrugged nonchalantly. “We were, but the waves are wild today. There is no way it’s safe for any of us out there.” He toweled himself and you tried your hardest to keep your eyes trained on his face instead of his well defined abs. “Thought it would be best if we went rock climbing instead.”

His proposition was enough to make you forget his state of nakedness, and you gaped at him. “Definitely not!” You shook your head, arms crossed in defiance. “Nuh-uh, no way.”

“Why are you being such a sourpuss?” He demanded, hands crossed over his chest and you tried your hardest not to stare. The sunrise was casting its rays over the two of you, causing the sheen of sweat and water clinging to his tanned skin to glisten. His stance did nothing to help with your staring, or your desire to reach out and run your hands over his bicep, if only to prove whether or not his skin was as soft as it looked.

With a hard gulp, you forced your gaze away from his naked chest, praying that he hadn't noticed the way it lingered there for a second too long. Locking eyes with his amused ones, the tick at the corner of his mouth suggested otherwise and you felt yourself flush. Mortified at having been caught ogling at the person you’ve readily declared to dislike. His words barely registered in your head as you bristled, “I am not a sourpuss.” You declared, copying his stance, arms crossed over your chest a defiant glint in your eyes.

Taehyung wondered if you realised that your position accentuated your bikini clad upper body. His mouth suddenly became dry as he tried not to stare at the way your breasts pushed upwards, or think how much the blush still dusting your cheeks made him want to act on impulse and kiss you senseless. As rough and blunt as you’d been until then, he couldn’t deny his attraction towards you, your wit and honesty drawing him in.

“I am just cautious.” You were quick to defend yourself, interpreting his stare as his rebuttal towards what you’d just declared. “I don’t like heights.” You mumbled, your arms dropping to your side, turning your gaze towards your feet.

Taehyung’s gaze softened, a small smile flitting over his face before he straightened himself and with a hard tone he replied, “It’s not that high, and you literally decided to ride waves without a second thought. With this at least you have a harness and protection.” He motioned towards the angry wall of water, its height and aggressiveness the only reason why he decided to forego his lessons for the day. He looked at the waves wistfully; for him it would have been the perfect time to ride. Throwing a glance in your direction he shook the thoughts away. You weren’t ready for this, and if turning his back towards the session meant keeping you safe, then he would do it without a second thought. He wouldn’t let you know though, your clear distaste for anything remotely caring coming from him had been made clear earlier that week.

Sighing you nodded, he was right. Gathering your last bit of courage, you straightened yourself, shoulders square staring him straight in the eyes. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Taehyung nodded at you, the desire to take your hand to comfort you was strong, your quivering lip giving away the nervousness underneath the bravado. To prevent himself from further scaring you away, he stuffed his hands inside his pockets and motioned with his head towards his car. “Let’s go then.”

****

The sight of the tall wall in front of you made you gulp, rampant thoughts of how you were going to fall running through your head.

“You scared?” Taehyung asked, his eyes searching yours. At the discomfort he found in them he smiled ruefully. “You’re scared.” He declared and you huffed at him, puffing your cheeks.

“I am not!” You stomped your foot in discontent, closely resembling a child, and Taehyung couldn’t help but laugh. Realising what you’ve done you relaxed your stance before you slowly nodded. “I’m not good with heights.” You mumbled, admitting this to him made you feel ashamed and you couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes.

Taehyung cleared his throat, berating himself for making you feel self conscious. His intention was to plan an activity that you would not only find fun, but also liberating, not to make you feel inadequate. “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with not being good with heights!” He said but you still looked unconvinced. He stopped, his mind trying to find a way to make you feel better. “Ah, did you know I was terrified of water?” At your surprised stare it was his turn to blush. Sharing information not many people knew about him, not even his closest friends, made him nervous.

“You? No way?” Your mouth dropped incredulously. Having witnessed him in the water, you could have sworn he was born in it. “But...you’re so good!” At his sheepish nod you smiled at him, the thought of having knowledge about something so personal to him made you feel warm, a wave of affection washing over you.

“But don’t tell the guys, I’ll never hear the end of it.” He whined and you couldn’t help but laugh at him, the tense atmosphere disappearing into thin air.

“So how did the mighty Kim Taehyung end up loving the water?” You inquired, enjoying the conversation that ensued between the two of you. For the first time since having met him, you spent your time admiring the boyish grin and carefree attitude directed only towards you instead of afar.

****

“Oh my god Taehyung, stop!” You laughed, unable to control your amusement at his actions. Taehyung smiled softly to himself, your laughter echoed in his brain like a song on repeat. Turning towards you with a silly smile he motioned towards the front.

“You ready?” The queue was getting smaller and smaller and you were becoming more and more nervous. Your palms began sweating, and you were certain the feeling of stickiness running down your spine was not just the sun beating down onto your naked back. The encouraging chants in your head weren’t doing a good job of keeping your anxiety at bay anymore and the churning in your stomach was a telltale sign of nausea.

“Y/N, seriously, please stop.” Taehyung grabbed your hands, and you jolted not having realised the tight hold you had on the straps of your bag. Ignoring the warmth of his smooth long fingers prying yours away from each other, you bit your lip, the butterflies in your stomach kicking up a flurry. You could’ve sworn they weren’t there at the beginning, the churning in your stomach feeling different from before. Refusing to glance his way, you kept your eyes locked onto the wire that could be your potential demise. The sight of it combined with the shouts from the people going down was doing nothing to calm your nerves. You didn’t even notice when you allowed Taehyung to interlink your fingers together, or when you gripped his hand tightly in a desperate attempt to ground yourself– but he did.

Taehyung’s gaze flitted towards your hands, the feel of your tight hold on his hand drawing his attention. For a second he allowed himself the illusion of hope, but as soon as he saw the paleness of your skin he quickly acted, afraid you may end up puking before the fun had even begun.

“Come on, we can leave if you want to.” He pulled at your hand gently, the action making you aware of your own deathgrip on his. You let your hand drop, acting as if his touch has burnt you. It may just as well have, the feeling of his warm hand on yours persisted, even after you’d separated.

Chancing a look at the wire and attempting to calculate the distance between it and the ground you hesitated. Your body was screaming at you to turn around, your fear of heights making you tremble on spot. Yet your brain kept reminding you that Taehyung was there, and you wanted to look brave in front of him- if only to prove him wrong. You knew how to have fun.

Hesitating to look him in the eye, you shook your head hoping he wouldn’t be able to read your body language. The urge to grab his hand for comfort was strong, but instead you satisfied it by gripping your shorts tightly. The line moved slowly, and with each step you took closer towards the front you felt the intensity of your trembling knees. Your mouth felt stuffed with cotton balls, and you prayed that Taehyung couldn’t see the way your hands were shaking.

Taehyung observed you for a few seconds, his thoughts at war with each other. On one hand he wanted nothing more than to grab your hand and lend you his strength, on the other, he knew that you would not accept it. Your pride was too strong to accept any consolation from him. However, when he caught sight of your hands almost ripping the pockets of your shorts he made a quick decision to reach out for your hand once more, his strong grip not allowing you to pull away from him even if you wanted to.

Not like you wanted to, as soon as you felt his fingers intertwined with yours, you gulped. Your first reaction was to pull your hand away, but the way his thumb absentmindedly drew patterns on the inside of your wrist made you pause. Was your pulse raised because of your fear of heights, or was it something entirely different this time?

Your fretting thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a cheerfully familiar voice shouting both your names from across the road. “Yo! What are you doing ‘round these parts?” You turned around to face Seo Joon, surprised to discover the question was aimed at you instead of Taehyung. Confused as to why he’d address you first, you pointed to yourself questioningly.

“Yes, you.” Seo Joon laughed. “This loser’s quirks don’t phase me anymore.” He motioned with his thumb towards Taehyung, whose face resembled a perfect picture of a tomato.

Before an argument could break out between the two friends you readily replied, “I uh, Taehyung decided that the waves are too dangerous today, so he brought me here instead.” You shrugged, not meeting Seo Joon’s careful gaze. You didn’t know why, but the way he stared at you made you shy away. He was a handsome man, and you thought that from the beginning. Not like any of Taehyung’s squad was anything but handsome, but Seo Joon’s good looks paired with his wit made you think of him more than the rest.

Your attention focused on the tips of your shoes, you missed the way the two men glanced at each other. Seo Joon’s lips curled into a mischievous smile. “Did he, now?” He wondered thoughtfully. “But the waves are perfect for a ride today, this sort of aggressiveness,” he stressed out the word and you looked up at him. “Is perfect for a surfer.”

With a cocked eyebrow in Taehyung’s direction, your lips curled into a smile as you turned back to reply to Seo Joon. “Oh, well, he clearly needed a break today then.” You wiggled your brows at him, mocking Taehyung’s habit of dipping out of training and his usual lateness. Leaning towards Seo Joon you whispered loudly, intended for Taehyung to hear. “Do you think he used me as an excuse to get out of it today?” You laughed when Taehyung sputtered in protest.

Seo Joon laughed along with you, the meaningful gaze towards his best friend not lost on you. “Ah, I don't think that is the case Y/N, late as he is, that boy lives riding those waves.” He pointed his thumb towards the ocean. “You should see him and how grumpy he is when we get choppy waves.” He laughed, this time it was his turn to wiggle his eyebrows at you. “I think he had something better in sight this time though.” He winked at you, and you felt the blush returning with furious vengeance. “I wouldn’t blame him.”

You knew what he wanted to imply, but the small glimmer of hope and warmth that took roots in your heart was quickly crushed by Taehyung’s rebuttal. “Don’t get ahead of yourself man, I may be able to ride the waves, but she can’t.” Before he could continue his phone beeped and he excused himself to take it.

You glanced after him, your wistful gaze making Seo Joon smirk as he elbowed you. “Don’t take him seriously, these waves are perfect for you to learn. He’s just a worrywart.”

And just like that, the warmth took hold of you once more, and you smiled hesitantly at him. “Well, if he is such a worrywart, why take me to this place knowing full well I have a fear of heights?” You shrugged, remembering where you were, the thought of hanging above ground only secured by a wire making you shudder with anxiety.

Seo Joon eyed you suspiciously and opened his mouth to say something else but before he could say anything, Taehyung clapped a hand on his back, phone in his other hand. “Ye Won asked about you.” He shrugged as if he was talking about the weather. However, the glint in his eyes and the way Seo Joon blushed made you think there was more to it that met the eye. Looking between the both of them questioningly, you decided to keep your opinions to yourself.

“Right,” Seo Joon awkwardly laughed, “it’s time for me to hit the waves.” Ducking away from Taehyung’s arm, he waved at you and did his signature handshake with Taehyung. “Oh–“ He turned to glance at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “To answer your question, maybe he just wanted to hold your hand and couldn’t find a better excuse.” He winked at you, disregarding the blush that took over your cheeks with a vengeance.

“Yo, what are you telling her?” Taehyung narrowed his eyes, prepared to clock his own friend if needed. He knew that Seo Joon had nothing but respect towards you, but the furious red that coloured the tip of your ears made him doubt the relationship the two of you had.

Seo Joon rolled his eyes at his friend’s possessiveness over you, and with a well placed slap landed on his back he loudly stated, “That you need to man up. Oh… and remember to tell her about the party Hyung Sik’s throwing tonight.”

“The what?” You glanced between the two, blush subsided, wondering what they had’t told you.

“Our monthly get together. Don’t worry.” He advised when he saw you bite your lip. “Woo Sik will pick you up if this one doesn’t grow a pair.” With that he disappeared as soon as he came, leaving you and Taehyung to deal with a load of unpacked baggage.

The two of you stared at each other in stupefied silence, thoughts running through your head.

“Uh–“ Taehyung mumbled, the panic of having been put on the spot by his friend rendering him speechless.

“Don’t worry, Woo Sik can come and get me.” You hurried, the heat from your blush refusing to go down. You ignored the way your heart constricted when he didn’t argue against it, and instead pulled you out of the line.

“Yeah, it’s late. Maybe we should call it a day, so you can get ready.” Taehyung didn’t know what possessed him, but hearing you accept his friend’s invite so readily made him feel bitter,

****

True to his word, Woo Sik came to pick you up, his dashing figure clad in a colourful shirt. The bright green contrasted greatly with his baby blue shorts, and you couldn’t help but laugh at him.

“What? Am I not a perfect summer vibes model?” He gestured to himself and you chuckled, shaking your head at him.

“Of course you are.” You stepped around him patting his shoulder as you went, only to come face to face with the man who occupied your thoughts earlier. “Oh–“

Taehyung smiled at you, “Hey.” He greeted with an awkward wave and you were almost tempted to pick on his lack of snark. But one look at his sheepish grin made you pause.

“Hi?” You returned the bashful grin, your heart pumping blood straight to your face, a flush making its way onto your cheeks.

“I uh, came to pick you up?” He motioned towards the car in the driveway. “Well, we did.” He added to your confused expression. “I don’t have a functioning car.” He clarified, hands running through his hair- a nervous tick you’d picked up on.

“He means to say, he totaled it earlier this month, so I'm the designated driver.” Woo Sik shook his head, turning around to walk to his car. “You coming lovebirds?” He added, smirking to himself as he heard the two of you sputter behind him. “I wanna get going before sunrise.”

****

The party involved a lot of dancing, drinking and avoiding each other. Either using a member of the squad or the toilet as an excuse, you managed to not see Taehyung for longer than a few seconds for most of the night.

Exiting through the back into the garden you took a deep breath in, the stifling atmosphere from inside felt too much to handle. The sound of crickets and birds drowned out the sound of the heavy bass coming from inside the house the further you walked away from it.

“Hey.” The sudden appearance of the man you had been avoiding the whole night made you jump and you couldn’t stop the loud curse that slipped past your lips.

“Shit, I'm sorry!” He apologised, his hand grazing yours. There was a brief awkward silence as you sat down on the bench next to him and gathered the courage to speak up.

“Thank you.” You whispered, your hand pulling at his colourful shirt. This time he chose to wear a pattern, foregoing the usual creams, and you were glad for that. Pretending to observe the swirls and shapes on his top you didn’t raise your eyes to meet his. “For earlier.”

Taehyung was silent for a moment, his eyes taking in the scenery. The sight of the unusually calm ocean, baby waves breaking onto the golden shore brought him a sense of peace. He was annoyed that the waves were choppy that day, however, he did it for a reason and that was enough for him. “It’s nothing.” He shrugged hoping he sounded impassive. “You paid for a lesson which I couldn't deliver, it would’ve been a waste of time to not do this.” He shifted in his seat, the drink in his hands suddenly becoming the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.

“O-oh right, yes of course.” He was right, and you knew it, but you couldn’t help the crestfallen look on your face as you toyed with your top.

You were a fool to think that he may have done it for you. How could he, the only reaction you’d shown him since you met was anger, annoyance, and very little interest. Your city girl, devil may care attitude making you act self sufficient. Never once have you considered that it may be a hindrance. The city was ruthless, you needed to be as strong as possible to survive in the midst of a dog eat dog world. Especially in your field. There was no place for weakness. But maybe this caused you to forget the simple joys of life.

However, since coming here a couple of weeks ago; living in paradise and having the chance to discover a life outside of pavements, and the rush of the 8am crowd trying to get to work, you visibly let down your guard. Meeting Taehyung, as much of a rocky start you two have had in the beginning, ended up being a blessing in disguise. Him and his squad showed you what living outside of your head and responsibilities meant - and you couldn’t be more grateful towards them. Especially the handsome man that decided to make it his personal mission to show you what ‘living life really meant’ - as he put it.

Truth was, despite your differences at the beginning, you knew you’d developed feelings for him. Seeing his affectionate side carefully chipped away at your perfectly crafted city girl tough act. Cautiously glancing at him, you took your time to commit to memory his calm and peaceful features, the ocean breeze blowing through his hair. And as you gazed at him, the shining dots from the city around you casting their glow over the both of you, you let yourself admit you were in love. In that moment nothing else mattered, not even the hefty amount of alcohol you drank. In retrospect, it should have been a warning sign, a signal for you to stop and think about your actions.

At the time, you didn’t care, the alcohol merely liquid courage for you to do what you had always wanted to. Carefully taking a step towards Taehyung, you reached for the hand closer to you, fingers brushing over his. As soon as he froze, you did too, your breath caught in your throat, scenarios of him walking away from you running through your head. It only took a second though, for him to alleviate your worries, his hand completing the journey of yours, fingers tightly woven together.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Taehyung breathed and you looked up at him in surprise. You didn’t know whether you said it out loud, or he was a mind reader, nor did you care. Those words were all you needed to hear. With a satisfied smile you bravely pulled yourself closer to him, head leaning on his shoulder.

****

The blissful feeling that wrapped itself around your whole being as you closed the door behind you, felt like a dream. Taehyung’s hand in yours, the two of you giggling like children as you drunkenly bumped into walls, you had never felt so carefree in your life, and you basked in the feeling, somehow aware, in the back of your mind that it may not last forever. But for that night, nothing else mattered but the two of you, and the summer evening was sweetened by the taste of alcohol on your lips.

“Shhh.” You loudly whispered bursting out into uncontrollable laughter when you realised the ridiculousness of the situation. Pulling him all the way into the garden, you settled for the bench behind the main palm tree. A bench where if you say you couldn’t see the sea, but if you dared look up, you could see the stars hanging above your head. Doing exactly that, your eyes narrowed, your whole attention onto the pitch black blanket littered by jewels.

“What are you doing?” Taehyung asked curiously, when you started counting the stars out loud.

“Counting stars.” You stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You should try it.” You turned around with a soft smile on your face as the moon and stars formed a halo around you, giving you an ethereal glow.

“I–“ he ran a hand through his unruly hair, the dark brown locks reminding you of deep rich chocolate. “You are leaving soon right?” He hesitated, the words bitter on his tongue. You couldn’t find the strength to reply, the words stuck in your throat so you settled for a light nod.

The silence that settled over the two of you felt uncomfortable and you shifted, the bench you two sat on making it difficult for you to not lean against him.

“Sorry.” You mumbled, feeling the beginning of a blush wash over you. He felt hot, the smell of sun and sea clinging onto his skin and you wanted nothing more but to bury yourself into his embrace.

Taehyung’s deep inhale brought you out of your own thoughts, finding the heat emanating off of him distracting. “I wish you wouldn’t leave so soon.” He whispered under his breath, making yours hitch in your throat. You glanced at him from under your lashes, only to discover that his whole attention was on the sky above your heads.

“What are you doing?” You blinked at him, throwing back at him his question from earlier. When he turned his attention back to you, the twinkle in his eyes seemed to shine as brightly as the lights above you.

“I’m wishing on a star.” He simply said, turning his attention back to the blanket of stars, completely oblivious to how his words had shifted your world.

****

Following your blissful few days with Taehyung, reality set in with a call that was enough to bring your world to a halt. Everything seemed to be sinking down into the ocean you had come to love. As you stared at your laptop screen, the words you wrote to Ye Won the day before about still sticking around in a hotel for another few weeks felt completely moot. The thought of having to not only say goodbye to her, but also her brother, the man who showed you that life was indeed more than pavements and pay raises, brought tears in your eyes.

It felt too good to be true, and maybe in a way, it was. You lived your summer of love, as brief as it had been, it was time to return to the real world. The words that kept ringing in your head after the call you had with your manager made you fall deeper and deeper into despair. You’re fired, the project fell through. No explanation as to why this would have been the reason to fire you, nor why they were not firing anyone else that had worked on that project, the call ended and left you empty and lifeless.

“Y/N.” Taehyung’s voice reverberated through the corridor as he made his way in and broke you out of your daze. With a sniffle, you wiped the stream of tears that continued to run down your face, but it was a futile attempt as not a second later he walked into the kitchen, catching you mid sob.

“Y/N.” Taehyung was not expecting to come in and find you looking so crestfallen, the dejected look on your face was a spear through his heart. Blissfully unaware of your situation he wondered what happened. “Are you...crying?” He cautiously approached you, not knowing what to do. His instincts telling him to comfort you, he tried to touch your trembling hand but you pulled away from him with such force he had to take a step back.

“I need to go.” You stood up from the counter, your eyes locked onto the clock ticking on the wall. A good reminder that time cannot stand still for you or your fancies. Taehyung’s pained expression did little to phase you, the panic in your heart, as reality began to set in, overriding any other thought or feeling. Despite the blissful weeks you’ve had with him, being accepted by the crew you knew it was time to wake up and realise this was not your reality.

“No.” Taehyung’s determined tone made you falter, and you looked at him eyes wide open in surprise.

“What do you mean no?” You questioned him, the weight of his words hitting you like a hammer to the head.

“You have been the better part of these past few weeks, I can’t let you go just like that. Not after that night. I don’t know what happened to make you change your mind, but it is fixable.” He explained, his hopeful expression making you resent him, and most importantly yourself. You fell into the trap of summer love, where emotions explode. But just like any other explosion, once the debris settles, there is only dust and ruin left. He had done nothing wrong, if there was one person to be blamed, it would be you. It hurt to know you were the one at fault, yet he would also be paying the price for your stupidity.

“Unfortunately my life doesn’t just revolve around you, or Hawaii, or this carefree attitude. I lost my job Taehyung.” You exclaimed, putting the necessary distance in between you and him, the distance that you should have made your heart set as well. “I have to find a job now, and all my life is back in London. This is borrowed time. Not my life.”

“Can you not see me as part of your life?” He pleaded, a last desperate attempt to grasp at smoke.

“I’m sorry.” You shook your head, the heaviness that settled over your heart almost suffocating. In fact the sight of him did little to bring any good memories that you’ve had in this place, it only served as a reminder of what you couldn't have. Of what was not yours to take. “I’m sorry, I-” You paused wondering what you were doing, why were you bartering your heart like that. You cared for him, that much you knew yet, your mind knew it wasn’t enough for you to drop what you had known for a whole life.

“My flight is leaving soon.” You whispered, the silence that followed your earlier outburst too much for your guilt to be able to handle. You knew you were damaging a budding relationship, that you dared not think, may have been the best relationship you’ve ever had.

Taehyung didn’t dare utter another word. He couldn’t. He knew you needed to get away, he was more than aware that you needed space, even if that meant he had to watch you drag your suitcases out the door that shut right behind you, putting more and more distance between him and you.

****

“Georgie, no!” You shook your head vehemently at your friend, her pleading face doing nothing to soften your resolve. “I am not going to accept this.”

You quickly paced around the room as you hurriedly unpacked your bags from your trip doing your best to ignore the other person lounging like a cat on your sofa. You’d been away for a couple of days, the old city of Edinburgh being your destination. You may have enjoyed your time there a bit too much given the workload of your new job. So much that you barely had time to breathe. But this was what you needed. Time spent not at work meant time for your brain to start thinking about an island, and waves, and most importantly, surfers. Specifically one surfer.

“Come on, Y/N!” Georgie’s pout almost reached the floor yet you still wouldn’t budge. “It’s been a while since you’ve been on a date!” She tried to reason with you. Unbeknownst to her, this only served as fuel for your rising anger.

“Look Georgie, I have been on a date, and I did tell you about it.” You angrily slammed the dirty laundry in the basket. “And before you say anything, yes I did enjoy myself but–“ you paused, the strength you had earlier waning. Suddenly you felt tired, and with a sigh you let yourself fall onto the couch next to her. Rubbing your eyes, your mind once again invaded by sun kissed skin and the smell of salt, you tried your hardest to keep everything at bay.

“Oh love.” Georgie shifted on the couch, her warm hand enveloping yours in comfort. “I’m sorry, it’s just–“ she paused, offering your desperate look a rueful smile. “I just want to see you happy. You lost your job–“ you started to protest but she held her hand up to stop you. “As I was saying, you lost your job, and lost your heart, and all in the span of two months. And then you come back, get a new job within weeks and act like nothing has happened. I’m just worried about you.” She squeezed your hand and you felt your carefully crafted mask slip away. She was your best friend, if you couldn’t talk to her then who could you talk to?

“I just, I miss him.” The admittance tumbling out of your mouth made you feel so much lighter. Not better by any means, it just reiterated the feeling of hurt and hopelessness. You were more than aware it was your fault you’ve been feeling like this.

“It’s my fault.” You whispered, the desperation causing your voice to crack. Georgie sighed, and enveloped you into a hug, allowing you to hide your wayward tears into her top.

“It’s not your fault.” She argued, patting your back in a comforting way. “It isn’t.”

“But it is!” You sniffed, another sob wrecking through your body. “He confessed for God’s sake! And I left!” Not bothering to hide your sobs, you let yourself go, crying for what may have been, crying for Taehyung and his crestfallen expression when you announced you were leaving.

“Go back.” Georgie simply said and you pulled away from her, an incredulous look on your face.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t want to hear from me again.” You shook your head, your tears at bay for now. Sliding away from her, you put some distance between the two of you and you rubbed away the last stubborn tears. “It’s ok, I can do this. It’s just another hiccup.” You didn’t know where this strength was coming from, but you weren’t going to question it. You were not back in Hawaii anymore, no. You were in London. And you couldn't afford to live the same life you did in Hawaii. Emotions would have to wait.

“Right.” Georgie nodded at you unconvinced.

“Look–“ you sighed, “I will go on this blind date. If only to get used to being amongst Londoners again.” You laughed wryly, the feel of a new resolve making you hopeful. Yet, why did it feel like your heart was shattering even further?

When you agreed to go on a blind date you weren’t expecting to find yourself in front of the Tiki bar in the middle of the city, completely overdressed for the location. Glancing up at the colourful sign you sighed, trust Georgie to set you up with someone you would most likely not click with in the least.

Entering the bar, you tried to not get overwhelmed at the overly done decorations, tempted to stop a waiter, tell them how much you hated the place and leave. Had it been you before London, you may have even done that, but now you swallowed your words and instead approached them for a table.

“What name?” He inquired, tapping on his Ipad and you paused realising you had no name to give them.

“Uh, Y/N?” You tried, but when he shook his head your face fell. How were you meant to find the table without a name? You couldn’t just walk around the whole place asking people if they were waiting for their very late blind date.

“Excuse me, it’s Kim.” A deep voice spoke from behind you and you froze. Not only did you recognise the name, but also you recognised the voice better than your own. You dreamt of that voice. You didn’t dare turn around, not wanting to get your hopes up. Kim was a fairly common name, and London was big, maybe you were wrong.

Steeling your heart, hoping it didn’t jump out of your chest with how fast it was beating, you turned around.

“Hello, I'm Kim Taehyung, I believe I am your date for the evening?” Your mouth fell, eyes wide open and you seemed to have lost the ability to speak. Only when the waiter asked you to follow him did you move, your feet carrying you automatically as your mind was too busy trying to comprehend the situation.

“This place is all wrong.” You heard the mutter coming from behind you and you would have laughed had it not been for the rampant way your heart seemed to be racing. You wanted to turn around, to ask him what he thought he was doing there, but you didn’t have the courage to do so.

Brought to a table near the open windows, you chuckled at the discrepancy between the atmosphere inside the bar and the crisp air of nighttime London.

“It’s ridiculous isn’t it?” Taehyung joined you at the table, his hesitancy to pull the chair for you sorted by the waiter. Still chuckling, you glanced at him, the sparkle in his eyes making your breath catch. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t missed this, the glint in his eyes when his boxy wide smile took over. The mole on the tip of his nose, which you couldn’t see because of the lights in the bar but you knew it was there, having been close enough to him to observe it in detail.

“You’re not a Londoner.” You whispered to yourself and he laughed lightly, having heard you. “What–“ your voice cracked and you cleared your throat, clammy hands wiping themselves onto your skirt underneath the table. “What are you doing here?” You decided to take the bull by the horns, not wanting to waste another minute with mindless chat. The two of you have been through enough to skirt around sensitive topics.

Taehyung looked at you, the smile slipping off his face slowly, until it was gone, his expression becoming thoughtful. You had the urge to poke the crease between his furrowed eyebrows, loathing the knowledge he felt like this. But you chose to stay seated, hands gripping at your skirt, waiting for his response. You didn’t know when he became the one person who could make you or break you, but he did. The power this man had over you was absolutely impressive.

“I, uh–“ he rubbed the back of his head, a sheepish look on his face.

“Better yet, how did this,” you motioned between the two of you “–happen?” If you saw the flash of hurt cross Taehyung’s you didn’t mention it. Patiently waiting for him to answer, you knew you were putting him selfishly in a tight spot. He wasn’t the one who decided to give up on you. It was the other way round.

“Ye Won and your friend may have had something to do with it.” He sighed, his attention to the bypassers across the street. He tried hard to not look at you, he didn’t want to see once more the rejection in your eyes.

Waiting for him to turn around to face you, you stayed silent. You wanted to reach out across the table, his hand conveniently placed for you to grab it. But the knowledge of what he may be feeling stopped you, you had no right.

“But, why?” You stammered, your thoughts in disarray. There was so much you wanted to tell him, ask him, but you couldn’t get yourself to utter them outloud.

Taehyung turned his gaze back to you, the intensity with which his eyes bore through you made you shiver, your breath caught in your throat. It felt as if your soul lay naked before him, and as much as you wanted to look away you couldn’t. For a few seconds neither of you dared to break the silence that settled between the two of you.

“I promised–“ he paused to gather his thoughts, and you waited breath abated. “I promised I would always be there.” He admitted and you let out an involuntary whimper, his words piercing through your heart.

Taehyung gathered all his strength to carry on with his confession, the thought of you rejecting him once again weighing heavily on his mind. Last time he bit the bullet, diving in head on not considering what you may have been feeling, his own wishes overpowering any other considerations. “So I want to be there, regardless of how you want me to be there for you.”

He tried to be as nonchalant as possible, but the pleading look he offered you betrayed the emotional storm he felt inside. His words shifted something deep inside of you. As a city girl born and raised between pavements and tall buildings, you learnt that courage to stick up for yourself was an important survival trait. Hearing him confess his feelings not only once, but twice, made you realise that courage lies in more than one aspect. And you’ve been nothing but a coward.

“I’m in love with you.” The words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them. Eyes wide at your own admission you waited for him to say something.

“I–“ Taehyung felt disarmed. He had a long speech planned, he knew you’d not be easily swayed so he came with a foolproof plan, that not only Ye Won may have had a hand in but also your friends. To hear you say you were in love with him, as ecstatic as it made him feel, his brain struggled to catch up with what was happening.

“Look, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have sprung this on you. But I don’t think I would've been able to live with myself if I didn’t get this off my chest.” You reasoned. “I was stupid, and inconsiderate, and I’m sorry–“

The warmth of his hand enveloping yours made you freeze, your eyes locked onto the table, unable to meet his. Neither of you said a word for a while, the tropical music playing in the background making you feel uneasy.

“Where is the waiter?” You tried your hardest to change the subject, eyes scouring the place, doing your best to not glance at the dark haired man in front of you. The subtlety with which you tried to pull your hand away from him didn’t go unnoticed as Taehyung squeezed it, his attempt at keeping you there with him.

“Y/N.” The desperate plea in his voice stopped you dead in your tracks, your eyes now searching his instead of a place to escape to. The pain in his eyes made you realise he thought you were planning to reject him once more, completely oblivious to reality.

“You think I am going to leave you?” You breathed out, shocked. Taehyung didn’t reply but he didn’t need to, the frown marring his face was enough proof. You knew it wasn’t appropriate, but the ridiculousness of the situation made you burst out in laughter.

“I just told you I loved you, you idiot.” You huffed, Taehyung’s eyes widening at your obvious annoyance.

“But–“ He stammered, trying to make sense as to why you’d ask about the waiter.

“We should go.” You supplied shrugging while still looking around for the missing person. The relief Taehyung felt at your words could be easily read in the chuckle that escaped him. “I don’t know about you, but I'd rather not cause a scene here.” You finished, and when you still couldn’t locate the waiter you abruptly got up, pulling Taehyung along with you.

“Are you saying this is going to go down with a big emotional confession?” He couldn’t help himself as he teased you, the glimmer of mischievousness you found in his eyes making your heart beat faster.

“Oh shush you, otherwise I’ll leave you here.” You said as you navigated through the tables. There was nothing wrong with leaving before telling someone, but with his hand in yours, the lightness in your heart after your admittance made you feel like you were a teenager about to jump into the neighbour’s pool for a midnight swim.

“Can’t do that,” he teased as you both made your way outside into the chillier London air. Once out of view, he pulled you to him. “You just admitted you loved me.”

Hearing him say the words out loud made your breath catch in your throat. And without a second thought you stood on your tiptoes, your palms resting on his chest for stability. “Well loverboy, I can always take it back.” You whispered, your lips ghosting over his in a shy kiss.

In hindsight, you should have known not to tease him, as the force with which he wrapped his arms around your middle and pulled you to him, his lips searching for yours took you by surprise. The heat of his lips, slightly bruising, felt familiar, like home, and you soon lost yourself in it. A satisfied sigh escaped you and you let your hands wonder, as he coaxed your lips open, his tongue searching for yours.

The loud whistle from a taxi driving past you made you remember you were still in the middle of the city, out in the open for everyone to see.

“And we still managed to cause a scene.” You laughed pulling yourself away, his hand not leaving your midriff. “Let's go, where are you staying?” You asked, quickly realising you didn’t even know why he was there in the first place.

“The office.” He shrugged as if it wasn’t an important bit of information and you looked at him questioningly. “I uh–, came here for the opening of my new branch. My office decided to extend from the US to the UK which was the perfect opportunity .” The tone of his voice was so neutral you could’ve fooled yourself he was talking about the weather instead of important information which he ought to have shared a while ago.

“You–“ you stopped yourself from chastising him, he could fill you in on this later. For now you just wanted to enjoy your newfound summer love and hopefully help it grow into something more as time went by.

“You didn’t think I only surfed right?” He laughed, his fingers digging into your hip as he glanced down at you. Blushing at his softened gaze you shook your head and mumbled under your breath. “What was that?” He cocked his head to the side, his smile growing bigger.

“Doesn’t matter, you can tell me all this when we are on the tube.” You hurriedly supplied, before looking at him with an impish smile. “Or, we could–“ you stopped walking and turned around to face him. “Just do,” you placed a suggestive hand on his chest, your voice low, “other things on the tube.”

“The tube?” His eyes widened and you laughed reaching up on your tiptoes to kiss him again. Grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze you pulled away and winked at him.

“Don’t worry, it’s like riding a wave.”

main masterlist

[calciopics]

Kylian Mbappé is Born to Run

The France forward grew up in the suburbs of Paris, steeped in the culture of football. At 22, the World Cup-winner is already a global superstar, and only now entering his prime. Will Euro 2020 be the moment when he overtakes Messi and Ronaldo to become recognised as the best player on the planet?

Kylian Mbappé was 18 when he walked into the changing room of the French national team. “It’s very difficult,” he recalls, “because great players don’t want to give you their place. That’s what makes them great players. They especially don’t want to give you their place if you arrive with the label of ‘Future Great Player’.” Within a year, Mbappé and France had won the World Cup in Moscow.

Three years on, we are talking in a room of his mansion in the leafy, old-money streets of Neuilly, just outside Paris. It isn’t even his home; he bought it to house his foundation, which offers after-school activities to rich and poor children alike. In conversation, Mbappé resembles a veteran TV presenter more than a young footballer. He makes short speeches in complete sentences, as precise in his footing as he is on the field. He sits as straight-backed as he runs. His expressive face keeps breaking into smiles: he likes talking, and is almost unburdened by the usual footballer’s fear of saying the wrong thing.

His burly father Wilfried sits beside us, but only once during the interview will he feel impelled to intervene. Meeting Mbappé, you come to understand how he hit football seemingly already fully formed. At 22, he has achieved more than most great players ever do. Can he take one more step and become the world’s best footballer?

His story starts 10 miles and a universe away from where we’re sitting today. His hometown, Bondy, is a multicultural suburb just northeast of Paris that looks as if someone plonked a Soviet town on top of an ancient French village. The old church is surrounded by fast-food joints and fading 1960s’ apartment blocks, one of them now adorned with a giant mural of Mbappé.

His parents grew up in Bondy: Wilfried, of Cameroonian origin, and Mbappé’s mother Fayza, of Algerian descent. Mixed marriages are common in the Parisian suburbs, the banlieues, but the couple did have to defy some local disapproval.

If a wannabe footballer had to choose the ideal place on earth to grow up, it might have been the Mbappé home in Bondy. Mbappé’s father and uncle were both football coaches, and Fayza, who ran after-school activities, played handball in the French first division. His parents had adopted an older boy, Jirès Kembo Ekoko, who went on to make a long career as a journeyman professional footballer. “I didn’t bring a new passion into the family,” Mbappé says with understatement.

He grew up practically inside the local football club, AS Bondy. “In the Parisian suburbs there are football fields everywhere,” he enthuses. “People here live for football. I was born with the sports ground facing my window.” It’s no wonder, he adds, that Paris’s suburbs are perhaps the deepest talent pool in global football, producing players such as Paul Pogba, Blaise Matuidi, N’Golo Kanté and Riyad Mahrez.

As a non-white kid from the suburbs, did Mbappé always feel accepted as French before he became a French icon? “I’ve always felt French. I don’t renounce my origins, because they are part of who I am, but I’ve made my whole life in France, and never at any moment was I made to feel I wasn’t at home here.” In the banlieues, he says, “We have a love of France because France has given to us and we try to give back to it.”

Mbappé’s parents made him take school seriously, and he was also a not-very-talented flautist at Bondy’s conservatory, but football came first. At AS Bondy, he says, “My father was my coach for 10 years. He helped construct the style of player I wanted to become. But I never felt the pressure of, ‘You have to become a footballer.’ Above all, it was a passion.”

Tagging along with his dad and uncle on their coaching jobs, the child acquired an unusual gift: he became a footballer who thinks like a coach. “Very young, I was always in the changing rooms, listening to the tactical talks and the different points of view, because football is made up of different viewpoints. I learned to have this tolerance, and I think it helped me, because being a coach is putting yourself in somebody else’s place. I think I have the gift of doing that. It helps in football, because if you’re a player, generally you think about yourself, about your own career. I can see, for instance, when something in a game is frustrating a team-mate. I can put him at ease.”

When you’re in the World Cup final, you’re convinced you’re going to win. You walk onto the field, the trophy is there, and you tell yourself it is impossible the other team will take it

Mbappé turned out to be that perfect sporting combination: a natural who is coachable. “He assimilates advice quickly. You ask him something once, and the second time he does it,” Antonio Riccardi, his former youth coach at AS Bondy, told me. Even as a child, Mbappé was an efficient footballer: decisive, never just decorative.

By adolescence, he was being courted by the big European clubs, which all keep close tabs on the Paris region. He visited Chelsea, and celebrated his 14th birthday at Real Madrid, which cannily found him the perfect babysitter: the club’s then assistant coach Zinedine Zidane, the greatest French footballer. When Zidane offered Mbappé a lift in his fabulous car, the overawed child offered to take his shoes off first.

The Mbappés sifted the countless offers and chose Monaco, where the route to the first team looked shortest. Mbappé arrived there, he says, “with my [footballing] baggage well filled.”

Kids in performance-sports families learn that they never arrive. Each step up is just another learning opportunity. In Monaco’s first team, the teenaged Mbappé encountered the veteran Colombian striker Radamel Falcao, freshly returned from unhappy loan spells with Manchester United and Chelsea.

“He was a star,” says Mbappé, “but he had a desire to transmit. He was like a teacher to me. He’s someone who always wants to score, but he left me the space to express myself. He’s very cool in front of goal, calm in his game, and he transmitted this serenity that I didn’t have, because I was young, excited and wanted to go at 2,000 kilometres an hour.”

The kid who didn’t yet have a driving licence scored 15 league goals in his first professional season to help Monaco win the French title in 2017. He added six more in the Champions League knockout rounds. He also passed his baccalauréat, France’s equivalent of A-levels.

Mbappé marvelled at the tension on the faces of other professionals, because he didn’t feel it himself. Everything came easily to him, without great sacrifice, he has said. When I ask about stress in a profession of hypercompetitive men, he shrugs: “Daily life is easy.”

His vertical ascent didn’t surprise him; it just happened a bit quicker than he’d expected. But others were stunned. Here was something new: an 18-year-old complete forward. Built like an Olympic sprinter, Mbappé ran upright, looking around him. He could dribble, cross and shoot. He was more advanced than Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo had been at 18.

How does he describe his style? “The modern attacker who can play anywhere,” he replies. He explains that forwards used to be specialists: “There’d be a number nine, or number 11, or number seven.” Mbappé, though, is the all-in-one. “I think my CV can speak for me. I’ve played alone up front, I’ve played on the left and the right. In all humility, I don’t think it’s given to everyone to change position like that every year and keep a certain standard of performance at the highest level. That didn’t fall from heaven. If I speak of the baggage given me in my teens, it’s all there.”

In one regard he has always been unequalled: the counterattack at speed. He says, “I’ve managed to work on my weak points but above all to perfect my strong points, because I was always told that it’s through your strong points that you’ll exist.”

In March 2017, Mbappé became the youngest player in 62 years to debut for France. Five months later, his hometown club Paris Saint-Germain agreed to sign him for a fee of £166m. He drew on his childhood experiences to navigate two alpha-male changing-rooms. At PSG, his good English and Spanish helped him deal with foreign team-mates. With Les Bleus, France’s assistant coach Guy Stéphan told Mbappé’s biographer Arnaud Hermant: “He knows the codes of the changing room. At table or in the bus, he doesn’t just sit somewhere randomly. For a youngster, he isn’t timid or introverted. He expresses himself.”

By summer 2018, picked for the World Cup in Russia, Mbappé was comfortable enough to claim the blue number 10 shirt — previously worn by Zidane and Michel Platini — and to say in public that he was gunning for the trophy.

“I went to play the matches calmly like I always have. I didn’t want to change just because it was the World Cup,” he says. “We were lucky to have a young squad. We were totally carefree, just a band of mates.”

Hang on, surely a football team isn’t really a band of mates? “No,” he acknowledges. “Just like the baker doesn’t get on with all bakers. You don’t have to eat with your team-mates every evening to win.”

In the World Cup round of 16, his two goals and a 37kmph gallop through Argentina’s defence made his global name. The night before the final against Croatia, he admits, “I was a bit stressed. I didn’t manage to sleep much. But the nearer the match came, the less stressed I was.” Before kick-off he was joking in the changing room. Stéphan recalls: “He experienced the final as if it were a PSG-Dijon game.”

Mbappé says, “When you’re in the World Cup final, you’re convinced that you’re going to win. Even the Croats were convinced they were going to win. You walk onto the field and the trophy is there, between the two teams, and you tell yourself it’s impossible that the other team will take it. That’s why there’s such disappointment afterwards if you don’t win.”

Half of Bondy gathered in front of a giant screen to cheer on the commune’s own “Kylian national”. Scoring in France’s 4–2 victory, he seemed to have reached his career apogee aged 19. He didn’t see it like that. Interviewed the night of the final, he described winning the World Cup as “already good” but only a start.

The next day, as the Bleus’ bus edged along a packed, ecstatic Champs-Élysées, writes Hermant, the ice-cold kid mused to the French Football Federation’s president Noël Le Graët: “Was all this really necessary?”

Mbappé explains now: “For me, it wasn’t an outcome, a finality. I don’t think of that trophy now at all. I don’t look at pictures of the World Cup before going to sleep. Honestly, it’s people on the street who come up and say, ‘You’re world champion, merci, merci.’”

He understood that his early triumph had upset football’s all-important hierarchies. Returning to PSG, he immediately reassured Paris’s Brazilian star Neymar: “I’m not going to walk on your flowerbeds. I’ll be a candidate for the Ballon d’Or [the award for world’s best footballer] this year because you won’t be, but I promise I don’t want to take your place.”

Soon after, he took the World Cup trophy to Bondy, where thousands came out to greet him. “It was a way to say, ‘Thank you.’ I’ve never forgotten which soup I have eaten. So it was important for me to return there after my first World Cup and first international title.” (Note that word, “first”.)

France’s coach, Didier Deschamps, recalls falling into “physical and moral apathy” the season after he lifted the World Cup as a player in 1998. Did Mbappé experience a hangover? He grins: “I finished as best player in the league, highest scorer, best young player, I was chosen in the team of the season, and we won the league.”

Winning the World Cup made Mbappé a national hero. Does he consider himself a star? “I think so. If your face is everywhere in the city, everywhere in the world, that’s for sure. Being a star is a status, but it doesn’t make me a better person than others.”

He lives like a luxury prisoner, who cannot leave home without being mobbed. “It takes an organisation just to go out,” he says. He has joked that when his future children ask him about his youthful adventures, he won’t have any.

“A fan gives you enormous love,” says Mbappé carefully, “but sometimes maybe an excess of love, and he might not respect your intimacy. We give our lives to the people, because we give them pleasure every three days, and we give them our time. It’s impossible to hope for a normal life, but just a little respect for one’s private life isn’t too much to ask for, I think.”

As a young man of non-white origins, he has a particular vulnerability with the French public, one-third of whom voted for the far-right candidate Marine Le Pen in the run-off of the presidential elections in 2017. Even so, he has begun to speak out against police violence.

“I took time to start talking about it, because I wasn’t ready,” he admits. “I had a lot of things to digest: my change of status, my new life. But I have always opposed all types of violence.”

When I note that French police violence is disproportionately directed against people of non-white origins from suburbs like Bondy, his father stirs from his silence: “We’re not answering that. You’re orienting it as if the violence were only against people from the banlieues, which is false.”

In high-level football, nobody will make a place for you. Ego, self-love, isn’t just the caprice of stars. It’s also the will to give the best of yourself

French fans like their stars humble. Mbappé has explained “the French mentality” to Neymar, who favours a bling-bling, poker-playing party lifestyle. Mbappé says, “In Brazil, they are more festive, in France more serious. Here it’s not considered good to display your passions. People will think he’s neglecting PSG because he plays poker. I think he has begun to understand that. At first it was hard for him because he experienced it as an affront. When he arrived, they put his face on the Eiffel Tower, and six months later they’re asking him why he’s playing poker. In France, people know what you have but they don’t want to see it. They just want to see you playing football, smiling.”

But Mbappé believes humility isn’t enough. He thinks great footballers need big egos. “In high-level football, nobody will make a place for you or tell you that you’re capable of things. It’s up to you to persuade yourself that you are. Ego, self-love, isn’t just a caprice of stars. It’s also the will to surpass yourself, to give the best of yourself.” Every time he walks onto the field, he says, he tells himself, “I’m the best.”

In truth, he knows he isn’t the best — Messi and Ronaldo are better. “It’s not only me who knows that,” he laughs. “Everyone knows it. If you tell yourself that you’ll do better than them, it’s beyond ego or determination — it’s lack of awareness. Those players are incomparable. They have broken all laws of statistics. They have had 10 extraordinary years, 15.”

Still, he admits: “You do always compare yourself with the best in your sport, just as the baker compares himself with the best bakers around him. Who makes the best croissant, the best pain au chocolat? I watch matches of other great players to see what they’re doing. ‘I know how to do this, but can the other guy do it too?’ I think other players watch me, too. I think that pushes players to raise their game, just as Messi was good for Ronaldo and Ronaldo was good for Messi.”

Does Mbappé compare himself with the other great forward of his generation, Borussia Dortmund’s Norwegian Erling Braut Haaland? Mbappé’s reply sounds a touch patronising: “It’s his second year, we’re getting to know him. It’s the start for him. I’m happy for him, for what he’s doing.”

The more you become an important person, the more duties you have. I’m no longer the little kid. I’m Kylian Mbappé

In this elite individual competition, the top spot may be coming free. Messi (34 this month) and Ronaldo (36) are “nearer the end than the beginning”, acknowledges Mbappé. In February, his hat-trick helped PSG thrash Messi’s Barcelona 1–4 at the Camp Nou. “The best match of my career,” Mbappé says, “because it was complete. I helped my team both offensively and defensively, and I succeeded in the creation and finishing of my moves, in one-against-ones. I won 90 per cent of my duels, if that stat is correct. All match, I never had a moment when I felt extinguished.” He then scored two at Bayern Munich, before PSG fell to Manchester City.

Some opposing teams now rearrange their entire tactical systems to combat the Mbappé counterattack. “There are quite a few anti-Kylian plans every match,” he says. “It means I’ve been recognised as a great player. It requires you to have multiple strings to your bow. I like that, because I adore challenges.”

Surely he’s now too big a player for the French league? He umms and aws: “France isn’t the best championship in the world, but it’s my responsibility, as a flagship player, to help the league grow.” Yet he may well leave this summer, to Real Madrid or England. The decision, perhaps the biggest he’ll face in his career, will be made inside his family. Almost uniquely for a star footballer, Mbappé doesn’t have an agent, just lawyers.

At 22, he considers himself an experienced footballer. He says he and Neymar “are now the two natural leaders” of PSG. When he kicks off the delayed Euro 2020 with France in June, it will be with more responsibility than at the World Cup. “The more you become an important personality, the more duties you have. I’m no longer the little kid. I’m Kylian Mbappé.”

Kylian Mbappé’s prime may have already arrived. Fast strikers usually peak between 20 and 24. A Euro and a World Cup within 18 months, while France’s generation of 2018 remains almost intact, may be his best chance to make football history. What are his career ambitions? That smile again: “To win everything.” (Esquire Magazine)

[writer-room]

Siblings: Chapter Three

AO3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 4

Summary: The Bats reflect on how their thoughts about siblings have changed over the years. Some opinions stayed, others didn't.

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

Jason was glad he didn’t have any siblings.

There was a point in his life where he longed for an older brother or sister, when he was younger and fluctuating in and out of his mom's apartment that smelled like a different drug every week. Someone to teach him the ropes and beat up the bigger kids when they stole the food he’d found or the pocket money he’d snatched up.

Nowadays he was grateful he didn’t have anyone to share resources with.

Sure, he didn’t have anyone looking out for him, but that was for the best. He couldn’t learn how to survive on his own if he didn’t get hit a few times, right? 

And a younger sibling was out of the question. He couldn’t look after some toddler while he was barely functioning himself. Hell, if he had an older sibling, he wouldn’t have blamed them if this hypothetical sibling ditched him after a month tops.

Attachments in Crime Alley were for people who made gangs, who had followers or brothers-in-arms. That was the best you could get, but don’t expect any of them to risk their lives for you.

A sibling would’ve been seen as a weakness. Someone others could torment to get what they wanted out of him.

He really didn’t want to think about another kid being stuck in this dump with him, either.

It was one of the small mercies of life, that he didn’t have any kin to drag him down.

,

“Why are you here, again?”

“Because unlike you, Father prefers someone do their job efficiently.” 

Jason snorted, side-stepping the henchman who charged him, kicking his leg out and letting him slam his face right into an alley wall.

“I think blasting heads is pretty efficient,” Jason said, twirling one of said guns in his hand as Damian kicked in the face of a second henchman. “But, alas, I’ll have to settle for horrible maiming.” He said, pausing to shoot two fleeing men in the backs of their legs, sending them toppling to the ground.

“Change of heart?” Damian grunted, kicking a goon in the back and using the motion to body-slam into another. “I didn’t think you were capable of such a thing.”

“You wish,” Jason snorted. “Unfortunately, Nightwing would break his no-murder rule just for me if he knew I dared kill in the presence of his majesty with nobody else to be a buffer.” He said with a remorseful sigh.

“Tt,” Damian rolled his eyes, he always made an exaggerated head motion when he did like he was making sure people could tell through the whites of his mask. 

“He’s foolish to think that would do anything.” He said, picking up the unconscious body of one of the goons he’d knocked out and tossing it to the side of the alley. “I’ve killed far more than you could dream of.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Jason said, his tone bordering on babying. “But, yeah, ol’ Wing’s got his priorities weird.” He shrugged, letting off another shot when he saw one of the men try to grab what looked like a knife from their scattered supplies.

“Maybe he’s just afraid of us bonding.” He continued, watching as Damian stood before four men splayed on the ground by broken wooden boxes, only two of them barely conscious and cowering away.

“And what, pray tell,” Damian said, psyching out the men by jerking towards them, startling them back against the wall, before turning to Jason with an unamused look. “Would you think to bond over?”

“Let’s see,” Jason hummed, leaning back against the opposite alley wall, gun resting on his shoulder as he counted off his fingers. “History with the League of Assassins, died at one point, killed people, fairly badass if I do say so myself, mothers with horrible morals, should I go on?” He said with a grin.

Damian paused for a moment, eyes narrowed. He thought for a moment before raising his head again to meet Jason’s gaze, a surprising lack of unbridled fury in them.

“Does that not also apply to Orphan?”

Jason paused, caught off-guard. He frowned, recounting off the points he made before staring at Damian, glad that his helmet hid his disturbed expression.

“Damn,” Jason whistled. “Guess the three of us need to bond sometime.”

“I’m sure she will enjoy being included,” Damian hummed, looking over his gloves as one of the seemingly unconscious men behind him opened his eyes. “Though I imagine Father would have some complaints about--”

Now, in Jason’s defense, he hadn’t been paying attention to Bane’s goons. As far as he was concerned, the fight was over. Which was why his attention was on Damian, and not anything around Damian.

Which meant that when one of the men who had been playing possum behind Damian jumped to his feet, gripping one of the wooden boards from the broken boxes in his hand, he barely flinched. In one movement, the man swung the plank of wood like a one-armed batter, connecting with Damian’s head.

Jason jerked the moment the wood hit, immediately sending Damian right to the pavement. He was firing off a shot before he even registered aiming it. The man yelped, falling back and clutching his side as he screamed out swears.

Jason ignored him in favor of crouching down while cursing under his breath, shaking Damian. The kid was blanked for a good few seconds before he jerked and stirred. Not too bad of a hit, not even out for more than a minute. He blinked his eyes rapidly, grumbling incoherently as Jason wrapped an arm around his front, drawing Damian up to his chest.

“B’s gonna kill me,” Jason grumbled, tightening his hold on the boy as he weakly felt around, gripping onto Jason’s arm.

The man wasn’t screaming as much as before, but he was still shouting as he gripped the wooden plank again, yelling about how he was gonna kill Jason or something. He wasn’t really in the mood to care.

Instead, he turned around, still holding Damian upright as he tried to regain consciousness. The man, with one hand still clutching his side, was raising the plank of wood again and waving it wildly around.

“Oh would you shut up?” Jason snapped, aiming his gun.

He fired off two more shots. He didn't pay attention nor particularly worry about where the bullets hit. The man finally slumped against the alley wall, weakly holding himself together and finally shutting his mouth.

Jason holstered his gun, freeing his other hand to wrap around Damian’s chest and hoist him up. Damian was shaking his head, eyes still blinking rapidly.

“The hell?” Damian mumbled.

“B talk to you with that mouth?” Jason lightly teased, shaking Damian slightly. 

Despite that, he still scooped up Damian, letting his head lay on his shoulder as he supported him.

“If you bite me for this, I’m dropping you off the first roof I see.” Jason threatened, stepping over one of the other men strewn out on the ground. “I know you haven’t gotten rabies shots, and I’m not taking that chance.”

There were balconies and window sills along the building to the left of the alley, so he used that. One arm kept a muttering and waking up Damian situated while he jumped between the balconies and used his free hand to grab onto the windowsills. It was a slower going than he normally liked, but he figured carrying Damian like a football wouldn’t go over too well.

The second his head popped up over the roof, he was greeted with the sight of black boots with thick blue stripes. One of the feet was softly tapping with slight impatience.

“Goddamnit,” Jason cursed, thunking his head on the edge of the roof, which was pretty uncomfortable considering his helmet was in the way and he was currently dangling by one arm about four stories up.

“I should’ve figured the sounds of murderous screaming were caused by you.” Dick said, crouching in front of Jason with a cheeky grin that crinkled his domino mask. “Having fun?”

“Right now? Worst time I’ve had in weeks,” Jason huffed, pulling himself up higher to reveal Damian hanging off his shoulder.

Dick’s smile dropped instantly. He reached out as Jason offered Damian to him, quickly taking the kid in the gentlest way that only Dick could pull off. Jason almost teased him for it, treating someone like Damian of all kids as fragile. He could be hit by a semi-truck and walk it off like it was an inconvenience. 

But Dick was clearly on the brink of having a panic attack, and it wasn’t any fun teasing him when that was happening. All it did was rile him up in the ‘I’m going to curl in a corner and try not to cry’ way and not the superiorly funnier ‘I’m going to punch your teeth in’ way like Damian or Tim.

“He’s fine,” Jason assured him, rolling onto the roof as Dick pushed Damian somewhat upright. At least the kid could properly hold his head up now. “Just took a blow to the head, was barely out for a second. More stunned than anything, I think.”

“Being knocked out is not fine.” Dick stressed, holding onto Damian tighter as he started growling and weakly trying to push Dick away.

“He’s getting better!” Jason huffed, gesturing towards him. “The brat’ll live. Honestly, you didn’t treat the rest of us like glass this after we died.”

“You lost all pity for it when you tried to kill everyone and bring up your death every five minutes,” Dick deadpanned, his worry breaking the moment his gaze left Damian. “And for the record, I do worry about you the same way, it’s just that Dam--Robin here is still a child.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Damian grumbled, still trying to peel Dick’s hands off him.

“He speaks!” Jason gave a sarcastic cheer. “Think you’ll live to see another day?”

“What even happened?” Dick demanded, ignoring Jason’s comments as he stood, helping Damian to his feet. 

“Took out some of Bane’s lackeys down there,” Jason said, pointing where he came from with his thumb. “Kid presumably ran off from the old man again and decided to grace me with his presence and help out. Just got a little distracted, he’s fine.”

“Please don’t tell me you killed the guy who did this,” Dick begged, giving Jason an apprehensive look.

“First of all, if I did, he’d deserve it.” Jason said, crossing his arms. “Second of all, no, I didn’t...I think,” He frowned, looking back towards the direction of the alley. “I didn’t actually check. Shot him a few times, though.”

“Okay, okay, stop,” Dick said, raising a hand up. “Every word out of your mouth is making me more anxious by the minute. I’d rather not know.”

“Oh, so when I kill people, it’s a heinous act,” Jason scoffed. “But when a certain ex-assassin lady and demon child kill someone, suddenly you can make excuses.”

“I do not make excuses--”

Damian, with one of his arms freed, batted at Dick with increasing violence until his brother finally released him with obvious hesitation.

“If you two are done bickering like schoolgirls over makeup,” Damian gruffed, pushing himself away. “I believe we are finished here.”

“You could’ve changed ‘schoolgirls’ to ‘Dick and anyone with eyes’ and your statement would’ve stayed the same.” Jason muttered.

“The only thing you know about makeup is how to cover bruises.” Dick retorted, hands on his hips. 

“And you only know how to look like a drag queen with excessive glitter.”

“I’ll have you know I look amazing in drag.”

“Obviously, but that is literally the only makeup you know--”

Jason only cut himself off when Damian attempted to roll his eyes and leave without them, instead swaying and stumbling into his steps. He shot out a hand and grabbed Damian by the back of his cloak like the scruff of a cat, holding him up.

“You wanna do this the easy way or the hard way?” Jason said, pulling him back. “Because I’m not against harming a child if it means I can get you back to the Manor in three pieces at worst.”

Damian growled and looked like he was contemplating spitting on him. Jason held his gaze, knowing that if he took off his helmet to give a proper glare that Damian would take the moment of broken eye contact to bolt or something equally stupid.

Dick’s eyes shifted between the two of them with a mix of nervousness and confusion. 

“...you will be the one to inform Orphan of the bonding meeting, and will be the one to keep her from doing anything abnormally ridiculous, and whatever other messes she causes during and after.” Damian negotiated slowly.

“Deal,” Jason released Damian, pushing him towards Dick. “Can we go now? I’m getting bored of this already.”

“You’re so impatient,” Dick tutted, looking like he was about to pick up Damian before thinking better of it and deciding to just wrap an arm around his side. “And what did he mean by bonding? Are you two actually getting along?” He gasped in a melodramatic fashion.

“We’re bonding over dying, the League of Assassins, and terrible mothers.” Jason said calmly as Dick pulled out his grappling gun, pausing at Jason’s words.

“And killing people,” Damian added.

“And killing people,” Jason nodded wisely. “We’re getting Cass in on it, too.” He said, sidestepping away from Damian’s attempt to kick him and muttering about using names.

“...as the responsible one, I cannot, in good faith, recommend having an amatuer group therapy session.” Dick said after a moment. “As your brother, however, I commend you getting a hobby that doesn’t involve maiming someone.”

“It’s not group therapy,” Jason scoffed, patting his belt down, wondering if he’d remembered to grab a grappling hook of his own. “We’re not softies who talk about our feelings to professionals like some commoners. We bad-mouth traumatic events like the well-adjusted people we are.” He said matter-of-factly.

“You can’t bully me about going to therapy but then get pissy when I so much as joke about leaving.”

“I can and we will.” Jason said, to which Damian nodded in agreement. “Someone in this family has to convince the little ones to find a non-murderous psychiatrist.”

“You realize that you count as one of the ‘little ones,’ right?” Dick raised a brow. “You’re younger than me.”

“I’m an adult.”

“You count as a little one in my heart.”

Jason and Damian made over exaggerated gagging noises, to which Dick rolled his eyes at, despite his smile, as he withdrew his grappling gun.

“Oh hush, both of you. We’ve got a certain someone to check for a concussion.” He chastised.

“I do not have a concussion.” Damian insisted.

“We’re checking, anyway.” 

Damian groaned dramatically, Jason snickering as he shook his head, Dick giving his--their--little brother a light scolding.

They were all going to be the second death of him, he swears.

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Natasha Romanoff x Reader : Thin Line

Summary: You’re wild and free. She’s strict and trained. You and Natasha are polar opposites and it drives her crazy. Each move you make annoys her to no end. But, there’s a thin line between annoyance and adoration.

Rating: 18+ Violence, Language, Blood, Death, and Smut.

Chapter 6

"All right, what do you see?” Steve’s voice rings through your ear piece.

Your eyes scan your surroundings, taking in the passersby and the basic chaos of a populated city.

Wanda, being the one in training, replies to Steve,“ standard beat cops. Small station. Quiet street. It’s a good target.”

“What exactly is a good target? Like, if it’s a target doesn’t that automatically  make it bad?”

Wanda snickers at your comment and Steve ignores it before running through the general surveillance with her and directing her attention to a car parked across the street. 

"It's also bulletproof, which means private security, which means more guns, which means more headaches for somebody. Probably us.” Natasha remarks, causing you to instantly glance over at her.

She quirks an eyebrow at you over her cup of tea, quickly refocusing.

Wanda is quick to inform you all,“ you guys know I can move things with my mind, right?” 

“Neat trick but it’s not that simple.” You inform her.

Natasha agrees, telling her,“ looking over your shoulder needs to become second nature.”

“Anybody ever tell you you're a little paranoid?” Sam, your other teammate throws out.

“Not to my face. Why? Did you hear something?”

Laughing, you duck your head and cross the street, eyes following the traffic.

Steve tells everyone to focus. Rumlow is a pain in his ass and this is the closest Steve’s been in a while to shutting him up.

“Right, focusing.” Your eyes narrow,“ Sam mind tagging this garbage truck comin up on me? This guy is the worst driver.” You shake your head at the way the truck speeds through traffic with no regard to it’s surroundings. 

You hear Sam speaking to his gadgets, pulling up an x-ray of the truck, and then telling you all that it’s at max weight and the driver is armed.

“It’s a battering ram.” Both you and Natasha say.

Steve tells everyone to engage immediately, Wanda being a little confused as you then explain that the target isn’t the police station.

You hear Steve fighting before anyone else, calling out how many hostiles are left and what armor they’re packing. Soon after Sam and Wanda join the fight. 

Natasha pulls up on her motorcycle and you immediately climb on, her speeding you both to the IFID. 

“Rumlow has a biological weapon.” Steve breathes heavily.

“On it.” Natasha calls and the second she pulls on the throttle you pick up on her plan. 

You stand and jump off the motorcycle, over Natasha, and straight into an enemy. Your feet kick into his chest and he falls back just as Natasha’s motorcycle scrapes across the ground into the guy behind you.

Winking at her, and picking up on her smug smirk, you quickly engage the other hostiles in the area. 

Groans and complaints hum through the ear pieces as you all take down enemies. You catch small glimpses of your team fighting, but you don’t see Rumlow. Which is equally as good as it is bad.

Just when you think things are going smoothly you here the distinct sound of Natasha’s groan followed by an explosion. 

Your eyes snap over to the sound and you see her flying out the back of an armored truck, smoke billowing out after. 

“Dammit Nat.” You snatch the head gear of the last hostile and punch him straight in the throat before heading over to Natasha.

She groans and rolls on to her back, soot dirtying her porcelain skin.

“Open those eyes pretty girl,” you pat her cheek gently.

Another explosion sounds behind you and you frown, looking in that direction.

“What is with you guys and bombs today?”

Steve ignores the comment, instead telling Sam that Rumlow’s on the move.

You stand, pulling Natasha up with you, and heading over to the motorcycle. 

The two of you ride it as far as traffic allows before ditching it again to run over car roofs. 

Your informed that they’ve split up and ditched the gear, Natasha tells everyone you guys are following the two on the left while Sam follows the one of the right. 

Rumlow isn’t with either group which concerns you, until you hear him speaking to Steve. Sam calls that his guy doesn’t have the weapon which spurns you and Natasha on. 

It’s not until you’re in a market square that you catch the two. You both incapacitate the targets quickly, with the assistance of Sam’s drone. 

For the briefest moment your lost in Sam and Natasha’s banter, laughing at it until the biggest explosion of the day seemingly shakes the city.

Eyes wide, you and Natasha race to the scene as Steve calls for evacuation and medics. Upon arriving Natasha runs to Steve’s side, but your drawn to the very distraught Wanda.

It doesn’t take long to put two and two together.

“Wan.” You squat to wrap an arm around her shoulders. 

Tears pool in her green eyes as her hand covers her mouth in shock. She’s mumbling something incoherent, over and over. The people around, who aren’t hurt, glare at her or look on in horror. 

“Wan get up, come on.” She rises ever so slowly, trembling in the slightest, and you run your hands up and down her arms.“ I’m taking Maximoff to the jet.” 

The team agrees, obviously knowing exactly why she shouldn’t stick around.

You’re adamant on getting her out of the public eye just as much as you are about getting the civilians to safety.  

A groan involuntarily escapes your mouth as you collapse on your bed back at the compound.

Today was more hectic than ever and you feel it in your bones. 

The shower you took barely worked. Sure you’re clean but you still feel crappy. And if this is how you feel, you can’t begin to imagine what Wanda feels.

“Hey.”

You don’t need to open your eyes to know it’s Natasha. 

“Hey.”

She walks further into the room, after closing the door, and sits next to your laid out form. Her eyes scan your body, lingering on each bruise you received in today’s fight.

Despite having her own bruises and knowing there was no way you could’ve avoided them, she still feels hurt seeing you hurt. 

Knowing that, you pull yourself into a sitting position, and wrap her in your arms.

“What’s goin on this head of yours Romanoff?’ You place a kiss on her temple.

Her body relaxes into you despite the stress running through it,“ nothing.” She lies.

But you don’t push it. Things happen naturally between you two and so whenever she opens up about her thoughts and feelings you want that to be just as natural.

“Okay,” you hum.“ You speak to Wanda?”

That topic alone makes her take in a big breath and sigh,“ she’s torn up. Hating herself. Which is exactly how I felt on my first mission gone wrong.”

You nod, knowing the feeling all too well. Your first bad mission went as horribly as it could have and it tore you apart. 

Natasha of course senses the instant change in you. Sure you weren’t your usual cheeky self but you’re gaze just darkened even more. 

“Tell me.” She whispers, her hand cupping your cheek. 

You hated thinking about it. The memories alone were enough but each time you thought of it the emotions weighed down on you more and more.

*****Flashback*****

Maverick puts the cuffs on your target, hauling him up off the ground, and towards the SUV.

“And here I was thinking you’d be hard to catch.” You taunt, opening the car door, and smiling when Maverick chuckles.

You take the target from Maverick and shove him in the back seat.

“I must admit, your plan worked brilliantly Mav, so drinks on me.” 

His usual cocky remark doesn’t come which makes you frown.

“Don’t act all humble now yo-” your words die in your throat when you see the blood stain on the front of the car. 

Heart now pounding in your chest, you rush around to the passenger side. Lying on the ground, shirt slowly absorbing the blood from his wound, is Maverick. 

You drop to your knees beside him, pulling your mission issued communicator out. 

“HQ come in. We’ve been engaged by an unknown threat. My partner’s down, I need back up and medics now.” As mission control replies you hover over Maverick.

Searching his body for the source of all the blood, you find a bullet wound in his abdomen and another in his chest. He’s starting to gasp for air and you’re trying your best not to panic.

“Stay with me Mav, medics on the way.” You rip your jacket off and apply pressure to his chest wound.

Being focused on Maverick, you make the mistake of not focusing on the things around you. Which results in you being blown back when the SUV explodes, the same SUV holding your target. 

Your ears ring and your head starts to pound. Opening your eyes disorients you but it’s clear to see the fire blazing from what’s left of the car. And it’s also easy to see all the people hurt and killed by the explosion.

There’s so much happening you aren’t even sure what to do. 

"Y/N.” Eyes snap to Maverick as he says your name with the little oxygen he has.“ Go.”

He knows he’s not going to make it, he doesn’t want you to end up like him.

“No, Mav-”

His eyelids start to droop and you feel your heart shattering. When they close, they don’t open again.

*****End Flashback*****

Natasha runs her hand over your back comfortingly but she doesn’t say anything. For two reasons: one, she doesn’t know what to say and two, even if she did, she knows no words could make this better.

“I can’t say he was my best friend cause outside of work we barely hung out. But then again, I didn’t really have friends outside of work so he was the closest thing I had. Losing him-” you sigh and blink away tears.“ I haven’t worked with another person since he died. It made it easier, not having to watch out for someone else.”

Fingers, combing through your hair, Natasha says,“ knowing you, I bet you felt pretty alone.”

“Yeah, of course, but like I said, it was easier. I got to do things my way, for the most part, and I completed missions much faster and more efficiently. But Fury got concerned when I started to do more reckless things.”

“Like blowing up building?” You chuckle along with Natasha.

“Right. Anyway that’s why he assigned me to the team. He said it would help me put things in perspective. He said there were things I needed to learn that I would only understand if I had teammates and the rest you know.”

“Well I think it’s working.”

The conversation stops there as F.R.I.D.A.Y informs you that Tony and the Secretary of State is here. 

In no time you’re sitting between Natasha and Steve as the Secretary tells you all you’re too dangerous. Footage of previous Avengers battles, some you weren’t here for, some you were. But then he plays footage of Lagos, how he got it so quickly, well it’s not hard to guess.

Still your eyes direct straight to your new found brunette friend. Her green eyes don’t stay on the screen long.

“Alright, alright, turn it off.” You snap at the man.

Natasha subtly places a hand on your leg but your concerned gaze stays on Wanda. 

Mister Secretary presents the Sokovia Accords and Wanda’s the first to pick it up, only to slide it directly to Rhodey. Wanda sends a single glance to you before looking back down.

Steve counters the Secretary as your eyes scan over pages of the Accords Rhodey just slid to you.

Everyone is sharing glances, trying to read each other in that moment, but no one gives away any distinct glances. 

“And if we come to a decision you don’t like?” Natasha leans forward and asks.

Mister Secretary turns to look at the red head,“ then you retire.”

You snort as Natasha gives a seemingly unbothered smirk, but you know she doesn’t like this one bit.

The compound has never, ever, been this quiet. Everyone came into the common room to have a discussion. You sit beside Natasha and she looks at you. Her eyes search yours for an answer you don’t have.

Sam is the first person to speak, voicing his disagreement with the Accords, and that incites a bit of an argument between him and Rhodey.

When Vision inputs his wisdom all eyes fall to him. And Natasha comments on Tony’s silence, which is definitely uncharacteristic of him.

“Boy, you know me so well.” he quips at Steve, wincing as he stands and walks into the kitchen." Actually, I'm nursing an electromagnetic headache.”

You raise an eyebrow, eyes trained on him like everyone else.

“That's what's going on, Cap. It's just pain. It's discomfort.” He pauses,“ who's putting coffee grounds in the disposal? Am I running a bed and breakfast for a biker gang?”

Wanda, for the first time today, smiles a little at your guilty expression. You swear you were going to clean it up but you forgot.

You divert your attention back to Tony as he makes mention of a young guy who was killed in the mess that was Sokovia. Your heart breaks at the expressions of your teammates and you almost instantly know who’s going to sign. 

But Tony tells everyone his stance anyway. He’s got all this blood on his hands and he’s done feeling guilty for doing what he thought was right. 

“I have to go.” Steve rushes out, leaving everyone confused.

You all disperse, Rhodey staying behind to talk with Tony. Sam follows after Steve, Vision goes off after watching Wanda leave solemnly, and Natasha walks with you back toward your room.

Once you’re a safe distance away she speaks,“ now you’re being oddly quiet.” 

Sighing deeply, you stop and lean against the wall.“ I can’t sign those Accords Tasha.”

“And why is that?” She tilts her head in the slightest.

Your mind races, there are a billion reasons why you shouldn't sign the Accords but for every reason why you shouldn’t you think of why you should,“ I- I don’t know.”

Her eyebrow raises as she waits for you to explain.

“Everyone is making this out to be black and white and it’s not. Signing the Accords means giving the government control over our team, not signing means all the control is in our hands-”

“This is about more than your control issues Y/N.”

Her words shock you. She says them in a monotonous way but you here how much she disagrees with you.

You scoff,“ you don’t think I know that? Of course it’s not about me or the team for that matter, or even the government. We don’t save lives for the government or ourselves. We do it for the families who expect their sons and daughters to come home-”

“And how many of those sons and daughters haven’t come home because of us?”

Lowering your head into your hands, you suppress a groan,“ why can’t you understand where I’m coming from Nat? I’m not saying this it’s okay but people are going to get hurt regardless. Are we really going to hand ourselves over to the people who were literally going to nuke NYC? How are their decisions any better than ours?”

Your had been private conversation is interrupted by Tony.

He approaches, as tired as ever despite the coffee he’s been drinking. But you know it’s more than just a physical tired. 

“I get what you’re saying Y/N, I thought the same thing but,” he sighs, running a hand over his face,“ we need this. As a team we need to answer to someone who can handle us cause if not we’re going to keep making the same mistakes like we’ve been doing.” 

You bite your bottom lip, understanding exactly what he means.

Without the Accords, more people are going to get hurt because of you. 

He steps closer and puts his hand on your shoulder,“ if we stick together on this it’s gonna get better.”

And that’s his whole point. Alongside not wanting to be guilty, he just wants the team to stick together. It’s not black and white to him either but it’s obvious what the better option is.

“You’re right.” You look down and then back up, eyes shifting between Tony’s and Natasha’s,“ it’s not gonna be easy getting Steve on board but, I got your back Tony.”

For the first time today you see relief wash over his features and you surprise him with a hug. And he surprises you by hugging back. 

“Go try to get some sleep man.”

He scoffs, smiles, and walks away,“ same goes for you and Romanoff.”

Knowing he’s right, again, you just grab Natasha’s hand and pull her to your room. She follows your lead as you lay down and pull her into your chest, fingers running through her red locks.

“We’re gonna be okay right?” You whisper, voice dripping insecurity and uncertainty.

Natasha sighs against your chest, hands gripping your shirt,“ yeah. We are.”

Despite her words, it’s in this moment that you know this won’t end well. For who, you don’t know, but it’s not going to end well. And it scares you shitless.

*******

Tag List: @uglipotata72829 @jumbojamba47 @fayhar @blackwidowromonoff @natasha-danvers​ @shycucumbersandwich​ @natasharomanoffsbitch-x​ @studywithrosie01 

[meikuree]

the runaround

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Pieck/Yelena (Shingeki no Kyojin)

ao3 link

Perhaps it’s the way the woman has been gazing with a bored look at everything around her. Perhaps it’s the way she defiantly bites her bottom lip while looking right at Pieck, with a cunning smile that says: I want you to see this.

In which Pieck meets Yelena for the first time, at a ball.

Written for Snktober 2020's Day 24 prompt "Beginnings/Endings".

(rated explicit; 18+ only please)

The clock ticks nine in the night.

The scene on the floor lurches into full swing, as the last of  the ball attendants stream in. Pieck’s perched alone beside a bannister, observing the room and content to remain inconspicuous. The sound of strident orchestral music reverberates around the room. The nouveau rich among the Marleyans try their hand at dancing in the centre of the room, encouraged by decadent libations with highfalutin names.

Something about this particular soirée makes Pieck feel a little more reckless than usual. She’s not here for business, not strictly, in the first instance. Balls like this have become more frequent in the past few months, as Marley’s economy sputters forth with the spoils from skirmishes won and areas conquered. Pieck has never been one to sincerely delight in what they celebrate— she considers them to be in poor taste, frankly, and more of a means to an end for staying attuned to what’s happening within high society— but she has come to appreciate the opportunities to get some fresh air beyond the barracks. She has her strings that allow her to come in through unofficial means and slink out when she gets tired.

But there’s something unergetic and lacking here, making her attention wane and crave some action. All the requisite elements are present, like food and entertainment and a crowd, but there’s no life to the people. She's only heard irrelevant gossip and news so far. Perhaps she’d exhausted all the novelty here earlier, when she was eating the canapés and admiring some clams that opened like butterflies at the dinner selection. 

She wanders around, unusually weightless in the airy garment of her black evening dress, searching for some outlet for her disinterest.

She spots another woman some way off into the distance. It’s hard not to, indeed, given that she sticks out like a sore thumb with her great height. Said woman is standing tall and apart from the labyrinthine circles of conversation snaking around the ballroom, rebuffing the crowd and stationing herself in her own corner instead. A look of tedium is etched into her face. The imposing light from the chandelier casts a halo upon her, like a lonely spotlight on her straw-colored hair and sharp fringe. A half-filled wineglass is grasped in her hands, the wine inside segueing into a velvet swirl as she gives it a listless swivel.

Something about her piques her curiosity. She can empathise with her, Pieck thinks. The inevitable superficiality of these events leaves a lot to be desired.

Suddenly, she looks up. Somewhere in the trajectory her tilting head makes, she makes eye contact with Pieck, and something like a flicker of mutual understanding fizzes there. 

Perhaps it’s the way the woman has been gazing with a bored look at everything around her. Perhaps it has to do with the way she defiantly bites her bottom lip while looking right at Pieck, with a cunning smile that says: I want you to see this. 

Then it’s back to the present, the noise of the bustling crowd wreathing around herself. In a snap, something like naked interest or desire compels her forward— there's little to lose, and why not? are what she’s mainly thinking now, shrugging off the instinct to premeditate every decision— and she takes her next step. Before they lose each other to the sea of people between them, Pieck gives the woman in the distance a meaningful nod.

The mystery woman smirks in response. It lights up her face for the first time since Pieck began watching her. She takes a lengthy, decadent sip from her wineglass, eyes boring into Pieck’s all the while. Pieck decides that, yes, she will take that as an affirmation. She ducks into the nearest alcove, finding her way to a side exit hidden there. Minutes later, the tall woman emerges, the sound of her brogues clacking audible as she walks up to Pieck. 

“Greetings,” she says to Pieck.

Up close, she looks even more riveting. Pieck decides she likes her immediately. There’s something unassuming yet striking about the woman, an undercurrent of self-possession and sharpness running underneath her disinterested demeanor earlier. Like a king’s most prized and dangerous page is perhaps the analogy she would use. She's smartly adorned too, in a tailored blazer that shows off her broad shoulders. That doesn’t hurt. She’s ditched her wineglass somewhere, evidently aware that they won’t need it soon where they’re going. Pieck’s body warms from something that is not the wine. 

It doesn’t take much more conversation for them to get down to business. She’s bored. Pieck wants to get out. The night is young, or as young as it can be under the watchful eye of Marley. It’s simple enough, truly. She leads both of them out with the aim of bringing her back to her room in the barracks.

-

They don’t make it back to her room. The woman walking beside her— Yelena, she’s called, Pieck learns— curls a hand around her waist at one point, after which Pieck decides to move in favour of escaping into the nearest room possible. 

They eventually come upon a suitably disused supply room within some far-flung corner of the building. Yelena enters first with the look of a determined gladiator, then locks the door behind Pieck as she follows her in. The moment it clicks, she wastes no time backing Pieck against a table and getting the both of them entangled. Yelena leans down— or rather, kneel downs on the ground, which she has to do with how tall she is— to press a heated kiss to the crook of her neck. The motion makes Pieck sigh eagerly. She instinctively raises her hands to hold onto Yelena’s back and steady herself.

Without any preamble, Yelena suddenly lifts her up to lay her down, spread-eagled, on the table, seemingly without breaking a sweat. An inarticulate thrill rises up Pieck’s spine in response. The biting coldness of the table against her skin makes her wince a little, but Yelena is soon taking off her blazer and padding it underneath her. She bends over her, resting her elbows beside Pieck’s torso on the table surface, and dips her head to kiss her again, this time on the lips. 

They continue kissing as Pieck, eyes closed, moves to sit up straight. Yelena parts for a moment to work at undoing the clasps at the back of her dress, but frustration soon outwins enthusiasm as she fumbles with the tricky criss-crossing pattern.

“Here, I’ll help,” Pieck offers. She reaches back and deftly undoes the remaining ties, then pulls the zip the rest of the way down. 

The dress comes halfway off her, and suddenly the rest of it doesn’t seem as important any more. Yelena exhales slowly and pauses to take in the expanse of fawn-coloured skin that’s been revealed before her. It’s Pieck’s turn to bite her lip this time. The concentrated look Yelena is giving her makes her dizzy with want. Before she loses her wits entirely, she undoes a trail of buttons down her collared shirt and slips the white fabric off her shoulders to even things out between the both of them.

They fall almost naturally into each other after that. Yelena doesn’t bother with the lower half of Pieck’s dress. It’s just as well, since Pieck has to walk back with her clothes on somehow eventually. She skims her mouth on Pieck’s collarbones and unclasps Pieck’s bra at the same time with ease. That one she’s had practice with. She kisses her breasts and takes a nipple into her mouth, laving at it with deft strokes of her tongue. Pieck immediately arches her back towards her and flexes a hand in the short hairs at the back of Yelena’s head. It’s hard to think like this, with the sensation and sound of Yelena touching her burning up her entire body.

She wonders what Yelena has in store for her. She’ll find out soon enough if she keeps playing along with her. Yelena moves down, pace unhurried but not overly slow either, and curls both her warm hands around the curve of Pieck’s waist. Pieck’s body seizes up instantly with laughter that she tries to stifle with a hand to her mouth.

“You’re ticklish,” Yelena remarks with wonder, glancing up at her for a moment. She further explores the area around her hips, cunningly trying to see which parts of her will elicit a similar reaction.

Pieck struggles to speak through her giggles. “Yeah,” she bites out between huffs of laughter rippling through her body, “And you aren’t? But that's not my most sensitive spot, so you might want to move—“

Yelena chooses that moment to press a wet kiss to the zenith of her lower abdomen, where her groin just about begins. Pieck’s voice turns into a full-blown moan instead and she fails to complete her sentence.

“You were saying?” Yelena hums against her skin, in a tone of smug satisfaction. Pieck’s caught up too much in the ardently distracting things she’s doing with her mouth to attempt a glare, or any sort of response.

“Ah,” she cries out breathily, as Yelena begins to grip her hips and inundate the soft sensitive flesh of her lower abdomen with kisses. She cradles her hand to the back of Yelena’s head again, urging her on gently. Yelena decides not to tease her any further. She pares back just briefly to take in the sight of Pieck— hair slightly mussed, a vivid blush adorning her upper body, chest heaving with breathlessness— and not a moment longer. 

Her hands wander up Pieck’s thighs as she hikes the rest of her dress up. She efficiently divests Pieck of her remaining underwear and then moves in closer. She first licks a wet stripe up the inside of Pieck’s thighs, which shiver a little in response. Her fingers find their mark quickly and slip in with ease into sheer wetness; Pieck has long been aching for her by this point. Pieck lets out a sharp gasp and her head falls back, eyes almost fluttering close.

She calls on the dregs of her willpower to shift to rest her weight on her elbows then, propping herself up at just enough an angle to glimpse what Yelena is doing. She’s content to watch Yelena take the lead. There’s something intoxicating about watching an imposing, handsome woman getting on her knees for her, trying to divine the rhythm and movements that will push her over the edge. Yelena experiments a little to figure out what Pieck likes: she first works her mouth between her legs, tongue drawing tentative circles around her clit. The wet warmth of its press against her feels good, and Pieck clenches her thighs gently in response. She sighs quietly, a lovely sound that dances in the air.

Then Yelena slides two fingers into her while keeping her mouth on her, and Pieck outright sees stars. She moans and reflexively bucks her hips up into her mouth, seeking friction. The smirk plastered across Yelena’s face thereafter is felt against her skin more than it is seen; Pieck’s fallen back again, unable to stay upright, while her hands fist themselves in the fabric of Yelena’s blazer in search of futile purchase.  

A brainwave occurs to Yelena then. She rises from where she was situated between Pieck’s legs and arranges herself so that one of her hands is able to thumb at her clit while thrusting it’s fingers into her. Her mouth finds its new target at last upon her breasts; she rolls her tongue over a nipple, an overwhelming preponderance of heat gathered at the tip of it, and Pieck lets out a needy whimper from the back of her throat. She can feel a fierce blush appearing on her face.

“Keep doing that,” she gasps, as her hips stutter upwards. Yelena stills for a second, taking in what Pieck just said, then dips her head again with an intense look: she doesn't need to be told twice.

Yelena angles her fingers inside her so they hit her just right, and quickly enough the sensation of her touching Pieck in all the right spots overwhelms her. She soon becomes intimately acquainted with just how vocal Pieck can be, and takes it all in amused stride (“I’d feel proud if someone complains about the noise,” she comments wryly as Pieck reddens). At one point Yelena pauses briefly to place a hand under Pieck’s chin, and Pieck tilts her head up to look at her at her urging. Then Yelena moves back down again to continue her ministrations, watching her with a predatory glint in her eye, and they don't take their eyes off each other again after that. It doesn't take long for Yelena to coax an orgasm out of her thereafter. Every push of her wiry fingers into her earns her a sharp stroke of pleasure that flares in the pit of her abdomen, and the intensity soon builds until she can hold on no longer. She comes with shuddering breaths and a loud moan that she barely manages to muffle, back arching off the table into Yelena’s warm body. 

They both catch their breaths for a few seconds after that. Pieck slowly wipes away the few beads of sweat gathered at the back of her neck with her hand. When her breathing evens somewhat, she sits up again. Yelena is kneeling on the floor, still, a slightly unfocused look in her eyes as she watches Pieck. Pieck flicks her midnight hair over her shoulder and beams at Yelena, unembarrassed despite her state of half-undress. 

Yelena suddenly twitches as though she’s just remembered something, and she moves to withdraw her hand— but Pieck stops her. Without breaking her gaze on Yelena, she draws Yelena’s hand from between her legs and captures her fingers in her mouth to suck them clean. She doesn't miss the way Yelena sucks in a breath.

“Getting you going?” she teases.

Yelena snorts. She grazes the back of her hand against her mouth. “What did you say your name was again?” she asks.

“Rose Palermo,” Pieck lies with a confident flourish.

“Well then,” Yelena says with a skeptical raise of her eyebrows, “I must say you look remarkably familiar, Miss Rose, now that we’ve met.” 

Pieck frowns. “Go on…?”

Yelena takes this as a cue to lean in so close that her face is only a hair’s inch away from Pieck’s. “I’m certain I’ve seen you a few times on military grounds, Miss Rose. But that’s not your name, is it? Should I be calling you Pieck Finger?”

Shit, Pieck thinks. “You’re sharp,” she responds. “How did you know?”

Yelena parts from her and shrugs with a proud smile. “Generally, you’d make sure to take your armband off before masquerading around with a Marleyan name.”

Pieck can't even argue with that. It’s true. In her defense, old habits die hard. Now her first concern is getting Yelena to shut up about this the moment they leave the room. But she pauses first to calm down and reach into the recesses of her mind for what she knows about her. The identity of the woman before her has been silently dawning upon for a while. She’s seen her a few times in the past, she remembers now. 

“I know you too,” Pieck counters, regaining confidence. “From the 54th, aren’t you?” When Yelena doesn’t reply, she continues, knowing she’s right. “I’ve seen you at the firing range. You're good with a gun, I have to say.”

“Looks like I've a fan,” Yelena comments drily. But underneath that she’s impressed, Pieck can tell.

Pieck simply returns a smile, unnerved. “You're quite an intriguing character.”

“As are you, Miss Pieck.” She raises an eyebrow.

“Pieck’s fine,” she says, resisting the mild urge to roll her eyes. You’ve just bedded me, for God’s sake. She stretches herself out along the table, trying to diffuse the tension in the air. “I assume you’re not going to tell anyone in the barracks about this or, god forbid, your superiors.”

Yelena scoffs. “What, do you take me for a fool? Of course not.”

That makes Pieck chortle a little. She taps her fingers rhythmically on the table. “Just making sure we’re on the same page,” she clarifies, “we both know that I'm not the only one who’d get into trouble.” She punctuates the insinuation with a threatening smile that Yelena’s sure to see. The military takes a hard stance on fraternizing within its lines. The trick is simply, as usual, not to get caught. Which was precisely why she wanted to run under a false name this night. She needs Yelena’s cooperation in that, though.

Though perhaps she can already count on her, if she didn’t object to her being Eldian despite noticing it. She has far more to lose from ratting them out than Pieck does, anyway. It’d be a stiff verbal warning for Pieck, versus a release from the military for her, if it comes down to that. A Marleyan like her would also generally be pressured to keep this on the down low for simpler reasons like social stigma. She’s not too worried at this point. 

“Oh, I’m well aware,” she hears Yelena reply. “I have discretion, don’t you worry.”

“And you’re not going to tell your friends? Boast about it?” Pieck studies her own hands.

Again, a scoff. “No.”

Clipped words, but a full answer nonetheless.

Satisfied, Pieck turns to face her again. That affirmation will do for now. She bridges what little distance remains between them, and cups a hand around Yelena’s jaw. With a gentleness that surprises even herself, she thumbs at the corner of her lips, leisurely drawing out the friction between them from before and whetting it through her touch. It’s as if a switch has been flipped, and Pieck finds herself back to basking in the magnetism of Yelena’s presence, savouring this strange thing between the two of them. 

But first, a question. “Did you single me out back there?” Just because I’m someone with a name?

Yelena gives an amused snort. “No, believe it or not.” She wraps a hand around the one Pieck has cradled around her face. She remembers how those same hands felt on her earlier. “Your own charming, pseudonym-using self led me here.”

“That’s good,” Pieck murmurs, “I’m not anyone special, you’ll quickly realise.” The statement is part deliberate irony and part circumspect self-opinion.

For some reason, that makes Yelena turn her head to laugh into Pieck’s palm; Pieck feels the vibrations travel up to the tips of her fingers. She’s soon capturing Pieck’s hand in hers, manipulating it until she’s kissing her cool knuckles. A quiet thrill surges forth in Pieck’s hands at the contact, though she tamps it down.

“Modest. I like that. Why don’t we be friends?”

The expression on Pieck’s face gently changes. She regards Yelena with a mix of curiosity and not-misplaced vigilance. The scene would resemble a knight ceding unquestioning fealty to a stately princess, were Yelena not wearing a charming yet obviously haughty grin. And were they not both still half-naked from something much more involved. 

Pieck thinks: she cannot help but feel that they are playing a conversational game of cat-and-mouse, ducking around changing rules with every line, but she does know she finds the woman interesting enough so far. She would make for a good eye to keep on the ground in the military, to boot. The only resource Pieck has ever had are her friends and friendly relations and all the strings of influence she can tug at. One more person wouldn’t hurt to be let into her orbit.

She does want to know the woman before her better, besides. It’s as simple as that.

“Sure,” Pieck says after a while, expression unreadable, though she’s still convivial. “You’ve certainly been friendly enough.” 

This pleases Yelena; she moves in to kiss her on the lips. Pieck reciprocates, gently. She sighs into her mouth, the warm breath tickling both their cheeks. She wraps a hand at the back of Yelena’s head again to draw her in, intending to finish this up.

They don’t say much more before Pieck wraps a hand around the lithe flesh of Yelena’s hips, resolving to return the favour from earlier. But Yelena does move to whisper something into the shell of her ear; and Pieck, eyes closed and pulse jumping in her ears, receives it with silent assent.

“This is going to be the start of a beautiful partnership between you and I, don’t you think?”

[angst-fairygodmother]

Hi, I have a Diego x reader request if you’re still taking them. Reader stays over at Diego’s after a date with him and wakes up in the Morning to find a drunk Five asleep on the couch. Reader is uninitiated into the Hargreeves stuff so is supremely confused as to who this drunk child is. Awkward family introductions ensue. Thanks in advance if you write this

A/N: I probably shouldn’t be taking requests with everything else going on right now, but it will be a cold day in hell the day stress and work/school take away writing from me again. Also, Five is my newest Favorite, so I am happy to include his shenaniganary. Although it ended up not so much being drunk Five as Roastmaster Five. Still, I hope you like it. Word Count: 1404 Content Warning: swearing, reference to alcohol, references to season 2

The morning sun’s rays peeking through the only mostly-closed curtain fell gently across your face, their warmth and light stirring you from the most beautiful dream. Stretching languidly, you cracked open your eyes to discover that perhaps it had been less a dream than you thought. Curled up on his side, facing away from you, was Diego Hargreeves, snoring softly and more at peace than you had ever seen him.

It was a sight you could certainly find yourself getting used to, and you hoped you’d have the opportunity. The two of you had only been dating for a month or so, and were still getting to know each other in many ways (including the way you had spent quite a bit of the night…getting to know each other for the first time, which had led you to this very moment). So you didn’t want to get your hopes up, but you could really feel yourself falling for the man just barely waking beside you.

Unfortunately, any romantic thoughts you might have had were interrupted by biological needs, and with a sigh, you rolled out of bed feet touching the cold hardwood floor as you searched for something to put on, not comfortable enough in his place to walk around completely naked. Fumbling, you shrugged on his too-large turtleneck and padded out into the rest of the apartment.

Almost immediately, your eyes fell on a peculiar sight, that definitely wasn’t there the night before.

Hey, um, Diego?” you called over your shoulder, staring openly at the child asleep on his couch. “Why is there a teenager on your couch…?” you peered a little closer, registering the nearly empty glass bottle in his arms. “And who replaced his teddy bear with Smirnoff?”

“Dammit Five,” you heard him growl as he stumbled out of the bedroom, still buttoning his jeans.

“Oh good, so you know him?” you asked, still wide-eyed and curious as you turned back to your boyfriend.

“Yeah,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s my brother, Five.”

“Five? Like the number?”

“Yes like the number,” the annoyed voice startled you and you jumped, not realizing the teen in question had woken up. “Now could you two keep your imbecilic chatter down, I am trying to sleep.”

“You wanna tell me why you’re doing it on my couch?” Diego countered, glaring over your shoulder at Five, who flipped him off and slammed a pillow down over his head to muffle the sound of conversation.

“Why is your brother named after a number?” you asked, trying to keep your voice a little lower.

“We all were,” Five chimed in, voice slightly muffled by the cushion. “The others just chose to replace their numbers when our mother and monkey butler-slash-surrogate-father-figure gave them ‘real’ names when we got older. I chose not to. Because I am not ashamed of who we were.”

“Sorry what?”

“Oh did you not know you were dating Number Two?” the kid sat up, casting you a very uncomfortably judgmental look.

“I would be careful getting involved with this idiot,” he continued. “His last two girlfriends, one ended up dead and the other turned out to be evil.”

“Hey! She wasn’t totally evil, only…sort of,” Diego said, moving to stand protectively in front of you and jabbing a finger toward his brother. “And if anything, that was your fault, not mine. Which is why I was planning to keep you and our entire bullshit family away from Y/N for as long as possible.”

“Diego, I don’t understand,” you said, frowning. “What’s going on?”

“That’s right, I forget that you didn’t grow up around here,” Diego commented softly. “Did you ever hear about The Umbrella Academy?”

“Sure. That was that weirdo superhero family or whatever, occasionally showed up in the news or tabloids after some stunt why?”

Diego looked glum and a little sheepish as he waited for you to put the pieces together like he knew you would.

…oh shit. You mean, you’re…?”

He nodded.

“I’ll be honest, I never really paid attention to all that stuff, it seemed sort of…fake? to me. So I still don’t totally get what’s going on, babe.”

Diego sighed, and then gave you the rundown of their family: how they had all been born at the exact same time down to the second, to different parents around the world, and then they were adopted as infants by eccentric billionaire Reginald Hargreeves. They all had superpowers and Hargreeves had raised them to be an efficient crime-fighting team, at the cost of normal childhoods.

“Five,” he continued, pointing to his brother who was now, seemingly at least, back asleep. “Had the power to teleport, and kept pushing our father to let him try time-travelling with it. When he got shut down for the last time, he tried anyway, and ended up stuck in the post-apocalypse for forty something years before he found his way back.”

“So you want me to believe that the strange drunk teenage boy is actually your 58-year-old twin brother? But you’re not 58, just he is. Because he time travelled?”

“W-we’re not twins. We were just born on the same day.”

“Right…like twins?”

“No, at the exact same time, to different parents. Us, and a lot of other kids.”

“That’s not all that strange. People are born at the same time all the time…”

“She’s not very quick on the uptake is she? Perfect for you then,” Five commented with a smug smirk, evidently giving up on sleep in favor of joining you both in the kitchen.

“Hey!” you shouted, glaring at the littler man. “I didn’t come here to be insulted, okay.”

“No, I’m sure my brother had plenty of other things on his mind than insulting you,” he said, angling his head pointedly, with a raised eyebrow at your very bare legs, which you had frankly forgotten about in all the kerfuffle.

You felt the heat of a blush creeping up around your ears.

“I’m not awake enough to deal with this. I need coffee,” you muttered.

Five perked up at the word, watching you intently as you carefully measured out the grounds and set the pot, which Diego owned despite claiming that his body was in such peak condition that he didn’t need caffeine, to brew. When you silently poured a cup for the younger Hargreeves without asking, and it actually tasted rather decent, he regarded you again with renewed interest.

“What do you see in him?”

“What do you mean?” you studied him over the rim of your mug, not even noticing that Diego had left the room.

“You’re quite pretty, and obviously aren’t in it for the ex-celebrity thing since you didn’t know. Seven billion people on the planet. So why him?”

You sat there for a while, sipping at your coffee, pondering the question. Why had you agreed to go out with Diego in the first place? It had only been a month, but it felt like a lifetime ago for all that you could remember the reasoning.

Finally you shrugged. “I don’t know. There’s just something about him I liked, I guess. He’s always looking out for other people, and he’s sweet, and funny.”

“And he’s got a real nice butt,” you muttered into your coffee, smirking when Five made a disgusted face.

“Ugh!” he cried, setting his coffee down as if another sip after your observation would make him hurl.

“Hey, you asked,” you laughed.

Diego wrapped his arms around you from behind, having come back from getting fully dressed, kissing your cheek as you both watched Five pace and wave his hands around as if trying to fan away the image in his mind.

“I think you broke him,” Diego commented.

You chuckled again, turning to drape your arms over his neck and kiss him properly.

“I couldn’t resist. But I like this kid, he’s…interesting.”

“And you held your own against him impressively.”

You smiled.

“So does that mean I get to meet the rest of your siblings soon?”

“You still want to after that?”

You nodded. “Of course I do, Diego. They’re your family.”

He smiled softly down at you, eyes shining at your unspoken confession, that you wanted to share every part of his life, even the weird bits. And even more, heart feeling strangely fluttery at the fact that he found himself wanting to let you.

“I’ll make a few calls.”

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

10 Headcanons about IPKKND

Headcanon: It refers to something that the reader assumes about the story (in this case, a television show) or a character, though it's never officially stated in the books (tv show) or by the author (writer/creator).

Of course, I’m in the bandwagon of watching Iss Pyaar Ko till the end of my life, and now I’m so mentally convinced that these are ten things that definitely happened in the Iss Pyaar Ko world (beyond the script & screen).

P.S: I love you writers, creators, actors and the sensible decision makers <3 

#1 Arnav and Anjali are the mirror images of their father and mother, respectively.

#2 Anjali realised the truth of her marriage on the day of Arnav & Khushi’s remarriage.

#3 Aman Mathur is Arnav’s best friend.

#4 Aman and Anjali DO FALL IN LOVE.

#5 NK and Lavanya fall in love as well.

#6 Aarav grows to become closest to Khushi.

#7 Shashi recovers and tells the families about his ‘paralysis’.

#8 Akash and Payal get to know about Arnav & Khushi’s first marriage.

#9 Arnav and Khushi explore dating and friendship after their remarriage.

#10 Arnav gets shy when Khushi makes the first move.

#1 "Aap wohi kar rahe hain, jo aapki pita kiye rahe.”

“You’re exactly doing what your father did.” Nani to her grandson, Arnav.

Although Nani unfairly does use this line on Arnav far too many times, one thing that is true is that Arnav is his father’s son. From the only picture we have of Mr. Malik - there is an uncanny resemblance of the man who does not want to look like his father in any way. 

When Arnav talks to Khushi about his father’s mother, he is pissed at how tenacious, prejudiced, judgmental and stubborn his grandmother is. And this line of cruelty seems to be a Malik streak that even Arnav has. 

There is no denying that Arnav has the Malik blood in him coursing through his veins. But it’s just a magic that he has turned every weakness, fault of the Maliks into his biggest strength. 

And in between all this we perhaps miss how identical Anjali is to their mother. Anjali is not only pivotal to Arnav’s life like his mother, she is also literally similar to Ratna Singh Raizada.

Calm, composed, ability to see through their Chote’s anger, clad in a rich saree, always present with a large smile. 

But along with personality and features, she also inherited her mother’s fate. 

A cheater for a husband. 

However Anjali fared worse. Not only did Shyam cheat on her, he did not care about his child and made numerous attempts to murder his wife and was behind the Raizada wealth. 

But when Ratna and Anjali realize the true faces of their husbands - they seemingly say the same thing;

“Aapne mujhe pyaar kiya hi nahi,” You never loved me.

“Aur aap humein pyaar bhi nahi de paaye.” You couldn’t even love me.

And you have to wonder, if not for Khushi in their lives - what would’ve happened? Her presence helped Arnav step out of the shadows of his family’s past and gave Anjali the support to escape the emotionally manipulative marriage she was in. 

#2 “Nahi Shyam ji, humare Chotey aur Khushi ji ka rishta itna kamzor nahi hai. Inn dono ka rishta toh iss sab se bohot upar hai.”

“No Shyam, my brother and Khushi’s relationship isn’t that weak. Their relationship is above and beyond all this [misunderstanding, tragedy, manipulation].” Anjali to her husband, Shyam.

This is one of the few times in Anjali’s marital relationship where she has gone against her husband. And this was more than going against, this was dismissing him. While I rejoiced that Arnav came back to his Khushi to live their happily ever after - I was more surprised by Anjali’s calm demeanor.

For a woman who had clung onto her grandmother, Dadi, the minute she entered their house - Anjali did not even have a single hesitation to Dadi leaving the house permanently. 

There’s a sudden maturity and clarity in Anjali. She laughs, teases, worries just as before but there’s a realization that history has never been the way she and Arnav saw it. 

I think that maybe Anjali too believed it was an outsider who ruined her parents’ marriage - but perhaps seeing Khushi crumble without Arnav and her brother’s strength to face his past and embrace his present, and above all blatantly seeing her grandmother’s manipulation shifts Anjali’s perspective. 

She sees what no one else does. That Dadi chose this day, the day of her dearest Chote’s wedding, the happiest day of her brother’s life to speak about a past that does not matter. This freezes Anjali against all her hatred she had for the other woman, her father, their past. For Dadi her grandson’s happiness does not matter.

But for Anjali, nothing was worth more than her brother’s happiness. 

And I positively stand by this head canon because immediately Anjali signals her brother that he did the right thing after he asks Khushi to marry him. She requests for Khushi’s happiness from Arnav as her nek. She keeps insisting, in front of her family, that Arnav and Khushi are made for each other. And above all, when Arnav tells Anjali that he might hurt her - she immediately shushes him that he can never hurt her. 

And so one of the first things Anjali tells to Shyam is that; 

“Why should I trust you? So you can betray me... again? My family was against you, every evidence was against you but I... I stood with you.”

#3 *Gets SOS message from Arnav to send Khushi a gift* *Sends the gift but signs it off with his name*

Somehow I have this deep feeling that Aman messes with Arnav on purpose! I find it hilarious that we never see Aman so genuinely he is a figment of our imagination - why is why I believe this man is canonically Aman and I have evidence which I refuse to be disputed on!

But in general I also feel that Aman is one of Arnav’s closest friends apart from colleague. According to me, Aman Mathur is one of the first men to join AR and a key employee who helped Arnav grow AR to what it is. He is responsible for the functional logistics, is Arnav’s best friend and one of the only people to not be intimidated by ASR. 

In a world of ‘yes men’, Aman is a ‘no’ man and it is their intellectual arguments that makes him Arnav’s best friend because Aman truly looks out and cares for Arnav as his own family. Also, he wants the best for Arnav.

He probably knows everything about Arnav and Khushi’s contract marriage, gets to know everything about Shyam’s duplicity and even though we never see him in the family - I can imagine that Arnav, Akash and Khushi, consider Aman as their own. 

And either Arnav and Aman function on the same brain cell, i.e.,

Arnav - can memorize the entire Oxford dictionary but cannot conjure ‘Happy Birthday’. Runs a fashion house but has NO IDEA that his wife needed a bag for functionality, not accessory. Can have telepathic conversations with his wife but NOT a real one.

Aman - one of the most efficient person on this planet. Immediately organizes a gift for Khushi, upon Arnav’s instructions. Finds the best handbag, puts it in a box and sends it through a worker in time. FORGETS TO REMOVE HIS NAME AND SCREWS UP ARNAV’S HALF ASSED APOLOGY ATTEMPT #8592.

- OR -

Aman - tries interrupting ASR by dropping subtle hints that Khushi needs a ‘happy birthday’ instead of a bag. Seeing the density of his best friend Aman does two things; selects a bag that is completely out of taste for Khushi but pleases Arnav because it’s expensive, makes sure to leave his name behind for Arnav to understand what a gift is. 

Tell me which one sounds more like your imaginary Aman ;)

#4 “WHAT THE FU-”

He completes that sentence the day Arnav learns about Anjali and Aman’s relationship. Definitely the two people, apart from Khushi, who is closest to Arnav and cares for him the most. 

The two people Arnav loves the most.

The two people Arnav would NEVER WANT TO LOVE EACH OTHER.

How and when Aman and Anjali fall in love - I’ll leave that to competent fan fiction writers - but to add in a few thoughts;

- Aman and Khushi develop a strong friendship. Khushi and Anjali are more than sisters. 

- Aman and Anjali connect because of their common point (their sincere care and concern for Arnav) and maybe there were prior feelings? I leave it open - but their love has this trance like gentleness that grows into humor and friendship and more as they try to sneak their way as an official couple.

- Khushi is the first to notice and connect the dots between Aman and Anjali and she is glad. Arnav denies the thought and is positively horrified by it. 

- Khushi bears the brunt of having to placate Arnav into Aman and Anjali’s romance. It’s hilarious (and we get to see another flare of Dramatic Singh Raizada).  

- Oh there’s almost always going to be a love-hate relationship of Arnav and Aman. While Arnav truly is happy for Aman and Anjali, he never fails to remind Aman he’s the boss. While Aman truly loves being accepted into a family and cares for Arnav as his younger brother, he never fails to remind him that he is married to Arnav’s sister. *Khushi and Anjali’s exhausted eye rolls*

- But in times of adversity they stand together against anything and everything. 

#5 "Shurukiya Lavanya.” “Shurukiya NK.”

Let me say, I began to ship NK and Lavanya the day NK said ‘shurukiya’ instead of shukriya - just like Lavanya! While the intellect, grasp of the Hindi language and foreign lifestyles match - they are also a case of opposites when it comes to personality. 

In my head they meet - either for the first time or again - at Khushi’s birthday. This time Arnav babua knows how to win his lady love’s heart and how to say happy birthday so he does organize a small, intimate but colorful party with all the people who matter. 

Which includes NK & Lavanya - Khushi’s two best friends (which she found thanks to Arnav). 

There is definitely attraction at first sight but love? That takes its own sweet time to grow. It does NOT help that NK is Arnav’s cousin - but NK and Lavanya do end up together and are perfect for each other.

Neither NK nor Lavanya need to change, and their love story is like any other Hollywood romantic comedy - there’s everything (much to Khushi’s delight and Arnav’s dismay); meet cute, misunderstanding, accidental kissing, pretend boyfriend/girlfriend, denial of feelings, final grand confession at airport/balcony of La’s house and of course a white, hilarious wedding! 

AND OF COURSE KHUSHI SHIPS IT! And Arnav curses his life because he was probably just coming to terms with Aman and Anjali coming together! (How come every employee gets married to a family member - the only exception being Payal and that Khushi is married to the owner and she was an employee so that doesn’t count). 

I can just imagine an over enthusiastic Khushi helping a besotted NK and an empathetic but practical Lavanya. And probably there’s a breakup, or Lavanya chooses to not pursue the relationship until, ironically but according to clichés, Arnav saves the day by tapping into the friendship he shared with Lavanya. 

And by driving NK to the airport - or La to the airport.

There is an airport scene ok. 

#6 “Mom”

Never, in a million years, with all her twenty imaginary babies would Khushi have ever imagined to be called ‘mom’. In her fantasies of Laad Governor & Sanka Devi’s Shaadi Shuda Zindagi she thought she had imagined it all;

A hot, passionate but crazy marriage. Their brood of children would be half western, thanks to English Singh Raizada, and half traditional. Her son would probably take after his father in looks (which she would be grateful for) and in temperament (which she would curse Arnav for). Their daughter would be just like Khushi (which Arnav would be grateful for) and probably believe in all love and romance (which Arnav would curse Khushi for as he fought off suitors for their daughter). 

And then Arnav and Khushi would have another set of a son and daughter to have the roles switched. Of course, they have mastered the skill of making love and babies. 

Arnav would be positively traumatized upon being called “Babuji” and would drop all his business to make sure his brood calls him “Dad/Papa” and Khushi would leave all her jalebis and shop to make sure her little army of Raizada's called her “Amma” instead of “Mom!”

That is until the day Aarav calls her mom. Suddenly, that is the sweetest word Khushi has ever heard and she does not want Aarav to call her anything else. Because it's what Aarav calls her. 

Aarav, although shown to be identical to Arnav and immediately close to him because he believed all along that Arnav was his father - hence tried to impress him as much as he could - grows to become mamma’s boy. It’s Khushi’s childishness, sense of humor, joy for life, maturity and zest that brings out the boy’s childhood. 

I am sure one day Khushi sits and talks about being an orphan - and Aarav would be surprised at Khushi’s happiness despite her tragedy. I feel Khushi would actually play a key role in nurturing Aarav and making him a wholesome boy who can laugh, dance and enjoy life like his mother. 

In a nutshell, Aarav grows to become the perfect combination of his parents; slightly religious, loves sweets, plays pranks, is extremely sharp at mathematics, sarcastic, introvert, dry sense of humor, values relationships, values money and is temperamental enough to get people to obey him. 

Oh, and did you think Arnav was a terror if anyone insulted Khushi in front of him? That Arnav would slap and rip away the person from planet and protect his wife from all costs. 

Don’t even think of insulting Khushi with Aarav Singh Raizada around. 

Even Arnav can’t raise his voice on Khushi in front of Aarav. 

Aarav is obviously, protective about his father too - except he’s not too vocal about his. Arnav becomes a mentor, guide and a loving father for Aarav, while Khushi becomes Aarav’s best friend. 

#7 “That was not an accident.”

One line that would shake the worlds of the Raizada's and Gupta’s would be to learn that whatever happened with Shashi Gupta was not an accident. Of course, the show was great the way it was but with Shashi Gupta being such a competent and fantastic character - I just have this head canon where this last knot is tied up as well.

I think nothing adds more gravity to Shyam’s villainy than the fact that he nearly murdered a man right under their noses and no one even had an inkling. I just think it was important to address how disastrous it was for Buaji and Garima to immediately rely on Shyam and hasten Khushi’s wedding. Like Garima is truly selfish when she asks Payal to not say the truth and how horrible it was for Khushi to believe Shyam could change. 

All along her father lay paralyzed by that very man’s hideous actions. 

A part of me is not okay that they show Khushi, out of all people, trusting Shyam again. That Shashi’s paralysis is never addressed - it was a murder that failed. That Buaji and Garima have no idea what the consequence of their decision was. 

They nearly married Khushi off to her father’s murderer. There’s just a part of me that does not want to blame anyone or expect any drama, but I need to know that the family knows how close they had been to losing everything because of their gross naivety. 

Anjali lived with a murderer for so long; it’s been out there! Shyam paralyzed the man who suspected him, attempted killing his wife multiple times, kidnapped and nearly murdered his brother in law for wealth and then finally he did kill his child. 

So I just need a moment for the Raizada's and Gupta’s to realize what a horrifying man Shyam is - independent of everything else. And I would have loved to have seen Shashi Gupta and Arnav’s interactions! So for me, it is my head canon that they all get to know the other truth once Shashi heals enough to speak.

#8 The Six Month Contract

I mean I am completely fine with no one having an idea of the nature of the marriage. But also, I can’t imagine that Akash and Payal - who are very quiet but very in tune with their siblings and aware of their siblings nature - would be just quiet. 

Especially when both of them knew that Arnav and Khushi were a bubbling pot of feelings on the day of their marriage. Arnav’s attraction for Khushi at that time was not a secret, and I am positive that an observant character like Akash would have picked that up.

Payal, the one we know, knows every single thing about Khushi - from her dreams to her wishes - would be completely shocked to know that Khushi agreed to a marriage where there was no priest. 

If any character knows Arnav and Khushi best - it’s Akash and Payal. They are the only characters that Arnav and Khushi don't justify themselves to. But I feel in dignified manner, both Payal and Akash would try to find the truth on what happened that night. 

Unlike Di, Nani and Bua ji, they won’t be happy with “oh they’re getting married again.” In my head canon, Akash and Payal are more active than what they were shown. And they would do this together - no secrets. They would discuss that knowing Khushi, she would never say yes to a marriage without a priest. And Bhai does seem like the last character to elope - especially when there is no reason to. With the way things were going, naturally Arnav and Khushi were next in line. 

Probably from Nani Akash and Payal would learn what happened on their wedding day. They would learn about the fact that Arnav knew about Shyam, on that day. He thought Khushi was involved with Shyam. And he did make a big mistake in his life on that day. 

From Di they would learn that Arnav did not marry Khushi because he loved her. 

And that would give them all the knowledge that they knew and it would lead to a difficult but poignant conversation between all four of them. Akash and Payal are the ones who know the whole picture, but they’re also the ones who are closest to Arnav and Khushi.  

#9 “You’re going on a date?” “Haan.” “HAAN! KISKE SAATH!?!” “Obviously Khushi ke saath.”

“You’re going on a date?” NK

“Yeah.” Arnav

“YEAH! WITH WHOM?!” NK

“Obviously with Khushi!” Arnav

This is probably one of the funniest scenes because NK has to question his cousin, who is about to be remarried to his wife, who he’s going on a date with. 

And that sparks this head canon for me that Arnav and Khushi enjoy all the joys of courtship, friendship and dating post their marriage. They start heading to the movies, playing pranks, discussing business, traveling countries and flirting with each other shamelessly. 

It’s an aspect of love they scratched on right before Akash and Payal’s marriage and their remarriage. With the absence of all hate and prejudices - Arnav and Khushi probably have a really fun marriage with one always pulling the other one’s leg. 

When they’re serious and romantic - they burn the house in flames from their intensity.

When they’re pulling pranks they’re  also bringing the house down with Khushi screaming murder and running behind Arnav to maul him. 

We see glimpses of this when Arnav, seductively, draws a mustache on her. Or teases her about the moon and she slaps him, lightly on his chest. Or when he suggests that the world isn’t weird but she might be. Or when Khushi teases Arnav on being called “chote.” 

*sigh*

In a nutshell - Arnav & Khushi explore the facets of romance and courtship post marriage - dates, friendship, movies, travel, exercise, cooking, gardening, pranks, arguments, etc.

#10 Arnav Shy Singh Raizada

Another completely silly head canon - the silliest of all - is that when Khushi takes control, Arnav becomes shy. He isn’t as vocal as Khushi when it comes to expressing his emotions but he does have his brief moments of being slightly flustered which he graces with his one look. A soft smile and a sweet challenge brewing in his eyes. 

We get a hint of him being bashful when anyone else interrogates him about his feelings for Khushi - there’s the obvious nonchalance and anger, but this little heart likes to believe that there’s a soft boi underneath who’s going starry eyed every now and then. 

If anyone read this in full then may Devi Maiyya bless you with infinite happiness and patience. It was a lot, even though it was supposed to be a silly list of head canons! Thank you for your time!

[ashleyswrittenwords]

Of Gods and Goddesses (IV)

Note: I finally revisited this one. Here is the final installment of OGAG! This is dedicated to my burning love for HyLink. A final thank you to @royxhe for the inspirational fanart!

First Chapter

Previous

---

Of Gods and Goddesses

Hyrule had been torn to pieces by Demise’s hoard. It had been years since Hylia’s descension and the Hylians were cornered. Refugees from all walks of life met at a single point to defend both the Triforce and their survival. The goddess of light was at the forefront, organizing forces and splitting resources to sustain the camps. It would be wildly convenient if her sisters would return, but they never did. Hylia was left alone to pick up the pieces. All the while, looking forward to the day she would drive a blade through Demise’s dark heart. Her people were calling him a demon king and refused to refer to him as any sort of god.

Then one day, one of her commanders approached her with word that a man with the Triforce imprinted on his right hand was found. She rushed to the entrance of her tent and threw aside the drapes. Lightening boomed through the sky and she found him knelt in the pouring rain, knees sunken in the mud. Sandy blond hair was soggy, and his forest green attire was drenched by the travel. From what the commander had said, he was from the frontlines.

The man refused to do no less than bow in reverence before her until she demanded to see his hand. The wavering words and the sight of the triplet triangles made their eyes meet for the first time. However, to Hylia, it felt like the countless time she had seen those blue irises.

“Alikah?” she breathed out in disbelief.

His expression twisted in confusion but held an odd air. The man couldn’t quite place her. He knew who the goddess was, of course, from the tales and legends. But this was altogether different.

“Actually, Your Grace. My name is Link.”

Alikah’s death echoed pain through the years and her heart seized. Eyes wide with a tight grasp around his hand Hylia knew it was him, although now in a mortal form. It had been over 25 years since she felt him take his last breath. Usually that span of time would be nothing, yet each morning felt empty and each night lonely. It had been so long and here he was, albeit different. He didn’t have a godly glow around him, nor the perfections that came from being holy, but this was him. Alikah’s eyes, his voice, his hair, his mark that he had tattooed on his back was in her hands.

Even so, he did not recognize her. She was to him as she was to the rest of the mortals. Hylia could see it in his face. The mother goddess and the light of Hyrule.

Biting down a wave of grief, she released his hand and it fell to his side. Link returned to kneeling and she realized what Alikah had meant. He wasn’t useful as a god and there were strains in her chain of command. They revered her, but when it came to drawing out battle plans they refused to speak their minds. Having their own at the table beside her would potentially change the course of this war.

With a steady breath, she pulled the sword from her side. The master sword had been her companion since the beginning and she was no stranger to Alikah. He had wielded her once before, and he would have to unwittingly do it again. His eyes flickered up to hers as she held it out, “Link, I must ask of you to give more than just yourself. To wield my sword and stand by my side until the Demon King is defeated.” Hylia forced her voice to be strong, but the implications of forcing a mortal to endure conquering Demise… is this what Alikah would have wanted?

“You’re free to walk away. I will not hold you to this,” she finished. His eyes fell from hers and all that could be heard was the rain falling around him. When he finally spoke, all she saw was resolve.

“If it means protecting this land and your people,” Link spoke as surprise filled her, “I wholeheartedly accept, my goddess.”

My love…

Then, it was done. He took the Sword that Seals the Darkness gingerly from her grasp and the crowd that formed around them watched in awe as the chosen hero accepted his destiny from the goddess of light.

  Time went by steadily and the war dragged on longer with it. It wasn’t like the War of Old where centuries went by without a notice. Each year was grueling and tore at Hylia whose army beat down on Demise’s hoards. It didn’t matter how efficient they were, the monsters regrouped greater in both strength and number. She felt that every life that fell was by her own hand. Even still, she had to keep positive. The Hylians depended on her and saw hope in her being. If she were to lose face before her people, she feared all would be lost.

Hylia found comfort in wearing their clothes and actively participating in their customs when war wasn’t immediately called for. As she charted out where each battalion would move next, she wondered what Din would say at her discolored and seemingly bland skirts. It made her smile despite the weight on her heart. Even the generals have insisted on more elegant apparel. She had expressed her profound disapproval of the notion. Why would she wear anything different than the people that fight for her?

The opening of her tent shifted, stilling her quill. A head of blond hair popped through and the rest of the man followed.

“Ah, Link,” she smiled. “What do I owe the pleasure?”

The sword on his back glowed warmly as it always did in her presence. It was rather late in the night and she hadn’t expected him. He nodded in her direction, “Your Grace.”

She glanced around, “Please sit anywhere.”

He did, drawing a chair to her desk and looking curiously at her plans. These past few years were cruel, but Link’s presence was a great help. His prior years climbing the ranks until his mark was found out gave him an edge that many generals did not have in the fight against the demon king. The man knew the varied monsters and strategies to take them down. His expertise only solidified Hylia’s conviction that he was the rightful one be by her side. Not to be forgotten was their growing friendship.

“I had a premonition last night,” Link said in that quiet voice of his. He didn’t speak loudly and the only times she had seen him upset were in the manner of his words, not his volume. She straightened, fully taken with his speech. “A premonition?”

Link’s hands rested on his knees, thumbing the seams of his trousers. “I have no other explanation for what it could be,” he looked up at her then. In his eyes there was a pleading. “Hylia, if I were to die… what would happen?”

A pregnant silence settled so softly that she hardly noticed how much he sounded like a god who was killed nearly three decades prior. Her gaze left him to rest on the melting candle before her. It wicked away at the wax and she wondered if the appropriate action were to cry. Though, she decided against it. Whatever stirred within her had to wait.

“You won’t. I do not think I could bare a pain like that again.”

He was quick to reiterate her words, like he knew something she did not. In his seat, Link leaned forward, “Again?”

Hylia searched his face. He looked so much like him. A wilted, weak part of the goddess wished to make him hold her as Alikah did. Another part desperately tried to separate them only to see their mannerism, their words, and features grow so similar that they melted together in her fantasies; causing her to start the process all over born from the frustrations of her own inadequacy. Even now, she could see that in his patient waiting the man was picking apart her words and trying to read her as she read him.

If her hunch was correct and he was the reincarnate of Alikah’s wish, there was danger in speaking too much. Hylians simply weren’t built to carry the soul of a god. If, for whatever reason, the memories of Alikah were to surface there was no telling what would happen. It was easier for Hylia to avoid talking about him altogether – no matter how much it hurt.

She wore a plastic smile and folded her hands in her lap. “I misspoke.”

His body seemed to sag at her words. It concerned her. “Link,” she reached for his hand and he did not stop her. “If you want to walk away-”

“No, it’s not that,” Link interrupted, curling his hand in hers. “I need to know if… if you would be able to endure.”

As it was, the strategy was to incapacitate Demise. At best he would be dead. Link was the driving force. Once they pushed through the hoard, the demon king would be forced down by the chosen hero. With her light, Hylia would then plunge Demise into light. If she was able to reach his heart, his life was as good as over.

If the goddess could labor both, she would. Forgoing the downfall of Demise was her ultimate goal, but if she were to slip and succumb to his darkness at any point there wouldn’t be enough power vested in her to make one final act to save her people. After all, Demise was an ancient god in himself and it took an army of immortals to vanquish three of his kind.

“Unfortunately,” she started, “even I have limitations. The future would be uncertain.”

They grew close, she found comfort in his trust. Link’s forehead brushed hers. A sad smile graced Hylia and her voice dipped into a whisper, “But you must know already that when it comes to it, I will give myself for you and this land.”

“In all of your plans, do you see yourself staying with me?”

The question was plainly stated, but it had brought back the aching. She was certain that without the dark reign of Demise, the people would be able to cultivate the land once more without her. Everything her sisters gifted them would remain. It had given her hope that when she uses herself to bring the god of darkness to his own demise, they could continue without her.

Never did she afford herself a dream where she survived.

“It would be a lie to say I haven’t tried.”

Alikah had told her that Hylian culture had many odd customs, although she found nothing odd in the way Link pressed his lips to hers. As his hand threaded through her hair, she realized that he had hid more than she thought.

  The demon below her screamed has Hylia’s light burned it from the inside. Around them, the hoard was thinning as they cut through the monsters. Black blood coated her armor as she waved the battalion forward. It was a smaller group of men and women, but their loyalty to the cause was of gold. Link retched the master sword from the head of a Hinox. Her feet touched the ground beside him.

“He’s inside,” she said gravely. A spiraling building was before them. Above that, thick clouds swirled and drowned out the daylight to create perpetual night. Link stared up with a grimace, “To think someone would want the world like this.”

Wind was rushing by them with a fierceness. The dark hurricane had been roaring since they broke through the second wall of monsters and now it was almost deafening. To Hylia, there was no doubt in her mind that this was where the portal lies – and with it the creator.

Link then turned to his soldiers and barked out orders to keep any incoming hoards away while he and the goddess confronted the demon king. They followed suit, taking defensive positions as Link and Hylia walked towards the entrance of the dark tower. This was it. This was what years of violence had led up to.

Hylia hummed, “Most of this is an illusion. He’s expecting us.”

She willed her power to course heavier through her veins. With it, any petty illusion that she used to blend in with the Hylians slipped away. Golden hair softly wavered around her in a halo and if you looked in her eyes, you’d see heaven.

Wordlessly, the hero and the goddess walked along the drawbridge. Below them were serpents in the moat that moved in the same manner as water. The walls were lined with torches and the sickening scent of death. It opened up into a cavernous throne room where a single sword laid in the center. Everything was the color of coal, yet the weapon still burned darker. Link voiced his curiosity and began walking towards it.

That was when Hylia realized she couldn’t feel its presence.

“Link, don’t!” she shouted, making him twist around in confusion. It was an enchantment. While the hero’s back was turned a sharp void shot from the sword and the goddess leapt, creating a wall of light as she did. The blast hit the wall and sent shocks through her magic. The darkness withered her light into faint sparks.

A laughter haunted through the room in several directions as black sludge melted the sword. From it an arm emerged, curling against the stone floor before birthing a twin. In long drapes, a cloak stood from the darkness. The whisperings of black magic plucked at Hylia’s consciousness for this was its father. In Demise’s grasp was a jagged weapon. Orange flames licked down his face, matching the fire in his eyes.

Blown back from the force of power, Link steeled himself at Hylia’s side.

“You been locked in your own dimension all this time,” the goddess stated bluntly.

A crooked, mangled smile spread itself on his face, “Always the clever one of your sisters. Why should I waste away on the Surface when I could be saving myself for you?”

The god walked a thin line around them slowly, eyeing Link with some curiosity. “The Almighty has assorted with dirt for so long. I wondered if perhaps you would simply guide me to the Triforce yourself. How is it living with rodents?”

“It will never be yours.”

Her words made him laugh.

“You’re living in a pipe dream, Hylia. Though, there is still time to leave everything for my good graces. I wouldn’t mind a pet,” he left her for Link. “But it looks like you’ve adopted your own to send to the slaughter.”

Light burned in her hand and in her palm formed a hilt up to a sharp point. Her feet tapped on the ground in a quick burst as she jumped through the air for her sword of light to meet his. It clashed and sent shockwaves. With a spare hand, she pressed it to Demise’s chest. Before she could gather enough power, he gripped it in his own and twisted it. She bit down and gripped his forearm in a vice, flinging him into the opposite wall. The goddess needed to buy time.

Demons poured through the hole in the wall Demise made. Link and Hylia looked upon each other. Their defenses outside the fortress had fallen. In a desperate attempt, she visualized a boxed room in her mind and made it so. As the vision became reality, the shield started at her feet and crawled along the floor like spilling water. The demon king growled, already recovered and sped towards Hylia with red eyes. She braced herself for the impact.

A different clash was heard; it was familiar. The master sword whispered in her mind and she saw Link’s red mantle, now long muddied by the journey, in front of her. His feet slid on the ground from Demise’s force but stayed upright. The shield around them was almost complete. She could feel Demise fighting it and pushing his own poison to will her light away. Distracted by the Hylian, the shield was positioned.

Demise was trapped.

“You insolent-!”

The master sword slipped in a grating sound against the spiked tips of the dark sword. Link ducked out of the way. Enraged by his actions, Demise suddenly doubled over into a hunch. Screams tore through his throat, knocking back the goddess. Before her eyes, he grew in a mangled fashion. Spores burst from his back and his veins split. Screams turned to laughter.

“He turned himself into one of them,” Hylia couldn’t look away, horrified. “I have to stop him.”

Link shouted her name, but it was too late. The goddess started out in a sprint and sent a charge through her sword. With enormous strain, she stabbed into the god’s back only to watch the wound heal. Each attempt let darkness infect her sword just as the void did her wall of light. The whispers of fear adhered to her as she tried to evaluate what to do. He was merging with his demons.

With all her might, she drew her light cleaver upwards and slashed deeply into his back. The swords dragged down with the sickening noise of wet flesh flaying. It shattered in her grasp. She thrusted her now empty hand into the bloodied tear before it could regenerate and bellowed as light burst from her fingertips. Her power drained slowly as if he were absorbing it.

Suddenly the world went sideways as Demise roared over her in more voices than one. In a blast, she hit her own shield and then the floor of the throne room. The goddess could hear her chosen hero scream her name and the wet, sinking footsteps of a monster coated in his own blood.

“Do you think I would suffer through isolation for millennia to squander at your feet?” it said through scratchy and inhumane noises. “I find happiness in your misery, goddess of light, and I will perpetuate it longer than you have mine.”

Unable to recoil from the coldness that dripped on her, it took everything to keep the shield steady. In the least, she had dislodged whatever kept him healing. Another set of footsteps and then Demise let out the awful yell that deafened her. Hylia opened her eyes to find Demise being sunk to the ground by the master sword. Her weak heart leapt and she forced herself to her feet, swaying from the drain of lifeforce.

“Damn you, Alikah!” the demon king growled. “I will take the pleasure of killing you twice!”

As the tip of the blade evaded Demise’s monstrous arms and touches what was left of his chest, the corrupted god pierced his own sword into Link’s abdomen. Link plunged the sword deeper, ignoring Hylia’s screams and the pain that would inevitably kill him. Even so, she couldn’t get to him fast enough. His hands slipped from the hilt and the master sword wavered in the chest of their enemy, Tears poured from her eyes as she fell to her knees in front of him. With a broken cry, she willed the sword to stay, knowing it wouldn’t hold him for long. Tears fell from her cheeks as Link gasped for air. The shield had shrunk around them and Demise’s hoard pounded on it.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried, pulling him into her lap. “This is all my fault.”

Link denied her with a slight shake to his head, then with a withered voice, “You don’t have enough left in you, do you?”

He grasped her wrist; her pulse was faint. Without heaven’s source, she was limited. After years of putting protections of villages and crops, this was what she was left with. A nod confirmed his fear. She wouldn’t be able to vanquish the life of a god so easily, instead she would need to seal him away and nothing was permanent. The sword shook again.

“It’s okay,” Link smiled weakly. “I’m so proud of you.”

And she saw Alikah again, instead he was dying with red blood in place of gold.

She took his face in her hands, “I want to see you again.”

“I would happily die if it meant I could know of your smile in another life,” he said. Hylia felt herself faulter as golden light surrounded them both. He was slipping away; a god’s soul was dangerous to hold onto for long. The demon king hoarsely screamed out curses as words melted from Hylia’s lips.

The light was blinding now. Around them, the Surface groaned and shifted. Link’s fingers lacked the warmth they once held. The green of his tunic was beginning to match the dark scarlet of his cloak. Far away, where they met, land was being uprooted.

Along with it, the Triforce.

Hylia was giving herself to the darkness and the darkness with giving in to her. The curses of Demise faded with his demons.

She wasn’t there anymore.

When the goddess opened her eyes, warm breeze hit her cheeks. She sat under an oak tree in a field of grass. In her lap with a languished grin, Alikah stared up at her. No longer was he bloodied. Hylia ran her fingers through his hair, “We lost.”

“Though, you’ve succeeded them.”

“The world will change drastically.”

“And they will still prosper because of you.”

She sighed, sinking deeper into her seat in the grass. Her sisters had influence in this place. There was truth in his words and despite her body not surviving, she felt comfort.

“Our destinies have become intertwined, my love,” she brushed blond bangs from his eyes.

Alikah’s smile softened, “Then I will see you again.”

[bensakindofmagic]

Chapter Eighteen

A/N: look at how fucking soft he is in this pic, i'm weeping, imagine opening facetime and seeing that face

Warnings: none, just fluff

w/c: 3.1k+

Chapter Eighteen 

Filming was tough. The light was sparse in Scotland at that time of year, so everything had to be ready to go the second the sun came up in order to maximise productivity. It was cold and windy, and often raining, and if it weren’t for a delightful cast and crew you would have been thoroughly miserable. You weren’t nearly so close with them as the Borhap boys, but they kept you in decent spirits. The real hardship, however, was being away from Ben. For as long as you’d known each other you hadn’t spent more than two days apart — even when you were barely on speaking terms you still saw him everyday. Your colleagues noticed how often you were on your phone during breaks (and you were sure there were some people who resented what they perceived to be anti-social behaviour), but it was because every time you looked Ben had sent you a dozen messages: pictures of Frankie, a link to a video that he thought you’d find funny, news articles that he thought would interest you, pictures he found on the internet, but more often than not just a message to say he missed you. You guessed that the separation was probably harder for Ben, given that he was the remaining party. You left for a new environment that he had never been in, and while you ached for him often, work kept you busy and there were plenty of people round to distract you. Ben was left with a hole where you used to be, an empty place on the sofa or at the table, and a sudden lack of company (though you noticed on social media that he was suddenly spending a lot more time meeting up with old friends, which made you happy). But at certain moments, like when you were standing in the pouring rain and shivering as the sunlight began to dwindle, you were desperate for him to wrap his strong arms around you and carry you to bed, where he would proceed to hold you tightly until all the chill had been chased from your bones. You felt a buzz in your pocket, somewhere in the great depths of your coat. It was a message from Ben asking when you were due to wrap for the day. 

Y/N: about 5.30pm. can’t wait to have a shower i’m freezing my bollocks off

Ben: You don’t have any bollocks 

Y/N: well not anymore obviously!! 

Ben: Facetime at 6?

Y/N: better make it 6.30, it’s going to take a while to warm me up

Ben: Wish I was there to help ;)

You were relieved when the director declared that there wasn’t enough light and you’d have to wrap it up for the day. Performing your duties as swiftly and efficiently as possible, you raced back to your hotel room and peeled off layers of clothing that had seemingly frozen onto your skin and jumped in the shower. You stood under the water for a long while, letting it hit your head and trickle down your body, warming you up little by little. You thought back to times when Ben would be in that shower with you, and your whole body would feel as thought it was on fire, though it had nothing to do with the scalding water. But the smile that adorned your face at the memory was melancholic, and soon you longed to be out of the shower and on your laptop to talk to him. You made a cup of tea, put on your fluffiest pyjamas, and sat down on the bed to call Ben just in time. His name popped up on your screen with a now familiar ringtone. 

“Hey, Benny!” you delighted as you saw his face on your screen, as close as he could feel in the present circumstances. 

“Hi gorgeous!” he smiled brightly and held Frankie up to the screen to wave hello with her little paw, “I’ve missed you.” 

“What, since we facetimed last night and texted two hours ago?”

“Yes. I’ve missed your cuddles.” 

You sighed, you’d missed his too. The long distance would have been okay if it weren’t for how much you ached to hold each other. Day-to-day, Ben expressed most of his affection through touch and you could see more and more how tough he was finding being denied that. 

“I was thinking about you in the shower today,” you mused. 

He smirked, “Is that so? What were you doing while you were thinking about me?”

You rolled your eyes and laughed, “That’s not really what I meant,” — though the question was certainly warranted, Ben didn’t need to know the answer just yet — “I was thinking about how much I miss you holding me. Not to get too soppy or anything.”

“Well you know how soppy I am, love,” he assured. That made you smile. 

“I just miss touching you — not in a sexy way! Although that too — it’s the feel of you, you know?” 

He nodded, reassuring you that he knew exactly what you meant. It hadn’t even been a month and you were both struggling more than you cared to admit. You’d missed your first Valentine’s Day together, and even though Ben had sent you flowers and you’d had a long and eventful video chat, part of you felt like you were missing out. You’d spent much of the early part of your relationship hiding it from those around you, and though you had those three precious weeks to be unashamedly in love, you now felt bitterly as though you would miss the best part of the honeymoon phase. 

“So tell me about your day, love.” 

You related all the gossip that the day had brought, jokes shared with your colleagues, how someone had to go running off through the highlands chasing a false beard that had been torn off by the wind. He laughed in all the right places and asked all the right questions. He, in turn, told you that he’d gone to the gym (which he’d been doing more often since you’d been gone), and met with a director for lunch to talk over a possible job. He was excited about it: you could see how much he wanted it, despite trying to convince you (as much as himself) that it was early days and he wasn’t getting his hopes up. He remarked how’d he’d sneezed five times in a row which he was sure was some kind of record — you laughed but noticed how he looked a little paler than usual and how he kept sniffing, and predicted that he was about to get a cold.

You accepted the call to receive an image of Ben wrapped in a duvet cocoon with a steaming mug in hand and tissues strewn about the place. 

“How’re you doing, darling?” you cooed. 

“I’m sick.” His nose, red and sore, was clearly blocked. He was pale and clammy, and his hair, damp with sweat, hung limply over his forehead. 

“Mm, I can see that.”

“See? I told you I couldn’t cope without you!” he whined. 

“It’s just a cold, Benny, you’ll live. Just drink lots of fluids and get plenty of sleep, okay?”

He frowned, looking remarkably like a toddler who’d just been denied an ice cream, “I was looking for sympathy, not instructions.”

You laughed and soothed him as best you could. As much as you opted for the ‘tough love’ approach, you wished you could be there to make him cups of hot water with honey and lemon, and bring him a new box of tissues when he finished the last one, and cuddle on the sofa with him watching old Disney movies. You wanted to stroke his hair and tuck him into bed. 

Apparently he wanted the same because after chatting for a little while, when his eyelids started to droop and his head got heavy, he quietly asked, “Will you sing for me?”

“Sing? What do you want me to sing for?” 

He shrugged, an embarrassed smile lacing his lips, “I’ve missed it. You sing all the time when you’re here, the place feels empty without it. I’ve been playing music a lot but it’s not the same.”

You chuckled, and went quiet. You allowed the silence to seep into your soul, to expand inside you and push all the noise for your mind. In its place a melody began softly and it danced off your lips.

‘Looking out on the morning rain, I used to feel uninspired, 

And when I knew I’d have to face another day, Lord it made me feel so tired.

Before the day I met you, life was so unkind.

Your love was the key to my peace of mind.’

The tiredness abated from Ben’s face, instantly soothed. Frown lines evaporated and his skin was left velvety smooth. His eyes fluttered closed, calmed. Even in the slightly pixellated image of him on your computer screen you could see how he ached for you, and how your voice helped to soothe that pain.

‘When my soul was in the lost-and-found, you came along to claim it.

I didn't know just what was wrong with me till your kiss helped me name it.

Now I'm no longer doubtful of what I'm living for, 

’Cause if I make you happy I don't need to do more.’

It seemed the more Ben was dulcified, the more your own agony grew. The softness of him was intoxicating, and it exposed how much he needed you. Guilt flared in you at not being there to look after him, and your own selfish desire to be near him added a sharp longing to your cocktail of grief.

‘Oh, baby, what you've done to me,

You make me feel so good inside.

And I just want to be close to you,

You make me feel so alive.’

His head got heavy, his shoulders relaxed as he leaned back on the sofa, and slowly you saw sleep settling weightily over his features. You indulged yourself by watching him for a few moments, chest rising and falling steadily as he began to snore, but soon the pang in your chest became too intense to bear. You whispered, “I love you,” into the boundless space between you before ending the call and quickly opening a new window on your laptop. 

———

Ben had been feeling particularly sorry for himself. He never coped very well when he was ill (being a frequent sufferer of man flu), but this was worse than usual. For starters, he didn’t get sick very often anymore so when he did it felt all the worse, and he hadn’t been this unwell in a while, and to top it all off, Y/N wasn’t there to look after him. Every morning he’d wake up in an empty bed, hardly able to breathe and feeling like his whole face had been plugged up. He’d drag himself to the kitchen, cocooned in his duvet, get himself some hot water and a piece of toast because that was all he could bring himself to make, before collapsing on the sofa, drifting in and out of sleep, some crappy movie on in the background, and ordering food when he couldn’t be bothered to get it himself. He was pretty sure that you would have been horrified had you seen the state of him — he didn’t like to look in the mirror because it frightened him how much he looked like a ghost of himself — but really he just wanted you there to look after him. He kept finding himself daydreaming about you, whispering soothing words to him as he slept, holding him close against your body. Sometimes he got so lost in his imagination that he could almost feel the touch of you, and for a moment convinced himself that you were there, that you would sit down next to him any second with two cups of tea and some sassy remark. To be honest, he had been like that most of the time you’d been away; he had felt the void of you more acutely than he had anticipated. But this constant state of semi-waking delirium had amplified it. So when he heard a knock at the door, thinking that he must have ordered take-away and forgotten but opened it to find you there with an armful of groceries and a grin, he assumed he was dreaming. 

He sighed melancholically, “Y/N.” 

“Oh Benny, are you okay?” 

Your tone didn’t seem right. You never sounded worried in his imagination, only gentle and calm. His heart started to beat faster. 

In a voice that sounded far away, like he was underwater, he heard you say, “Darling, let’s get you into bed. You don’t look good.”

“Wait, you’re really here?”

“Of course I’m here,” you said, ushering yourself inside and laying your things down before placing your palm against his forehead. He closed his eyes, falling gratefully into your touch. Your hand felt cool against his burning skin, and he almost collapsed with relief to have you beside him again. He could see you were worried, your movements suddenly infected with a slightly frenetic urgency, but all he felt was elation. He let you shepherd him into bed without resistance, and drank eagerly from the glass of chilled water you placed in his hands. 

You tucked him under the covers, and knelt beside the bed, stroking your fingers with the most delicate touch over his cheek. It made him shiver. His eyelids slipped closed and he felt the heaviness of the past few days evaporate into weightlessness. In those few hazy moments before sleep overtook him, still sceptical of the veracity of his own senses, he mumbled, “Will you still be here when I wake up?”

You smiled tenderly, “Of course I will, love. I’m going to look after you,”

You knew Ben was pretty unwell but hadn’t anticipated quite the extent of it. He seemed to be delirious, and the glassy look in his eyes made you wonder if he ever knew you were there. He was burning up when you tested his temperature, so you got him some water and sent him to bed. It broke your heart a little to shut him off in the bedroom as soon as you had reunited with him after missing him so deeply, but it broke your heart more to see him so sick, reduced to a shadow of himself. You kept yourself busy while he slept, walking Frankie, cleaning the apartment which had unsurprisingly fallen into a state of neglect, and getting a stew on to be ready by the time he woke. Your mind wandered back to him often, the thought of him curled up under the covers like a child. It took all your strength not to climb in next to him and cuddle him until he felt better. But you knew that would do nothing for his fever. 

He woke up a few hours later and trudged back into the kitchen where you were sat quietly entertaining yourself on your phone. He’d thrown a hoodie on, pulled up over his head with his hands stuffed in his pockets. 

“Hi gorgeous,” you beamed, standing to meet him. He looked better already; his eyes were less puffy and some of the colour was returning to his face. 

“Hey,” he said hoarsely, “I wasn’t sure you’d be here when I woke up. I thought I’d dreamt you.” 

You opened your arms and he shuffled gratefully into them, letting his head fall against your shoulder. He exhaled, relaxed, while your fingertips trailed gently across the back of his neck. 

“I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere until you’re better.” 

He pulled back to meet your eyes, searching them for the truth, “Really? Won’t you have to go back soon?”

“They’ll just have to cope without me, because clearly you can’t.”

He shook his head before burying it in your neck again. 

“Come on, I’ve made dinner.” 

Ben ate hungrily, glad of a proper, hearty meal. You sat at the table for hours, surreptitiously filling up Ben’s glass to make sure he was drinking plenty of water, revelling in being in each other’s company again. It was bittersweet. Despite your assurance that you’d stay as long as he needed, you both knew that come Monday — Tuesday at the latest — you’d have to head back to Scotland. But for the moment you talked and laughed, and nursed Ben back to health. You decided to go back to your own apartment overnight to make sure Ben got a good night’s rest, as well as reduce the risk of you getting his cold. He made you promise him that you’d come back first thing in the morning, which of course you readily did. And when you did return, already making breakfast by the time Ben surfaced, he was looking healthier still. 

“‘Morning cherub,” you cooed. “How’re you feeling today?” 

“All the better for seeing you,” he smiled and hugged you from behind. You kissed his cheek and he detached himself, allowing you to hand him a hot mug of honey and lemon. 

By the end of the weekend Ben was almost completely better. He had even managed to go out for a walk with you and Frankie. He could speak properly again, without his ‘m’s turning into ‘b’s, and his spirits where infinitely raised — until he saw your packed bag, ready to go again, as you sat side-by-side on the sofa.

“When’s your flight?” he sighed, disconsolate. 

“First thing in the morning, taxi’s picking me up at 6.” 

His shoulders slumped. “You can’t go yet, I’m still sick,” and he coughed lamely, pouting like a toddler. 

“Considering you’re a professional actor, that was thoroughly unconvincing,” you deadpanned and swiped your thumb over his cheek. “I’ll come visit again soon.” 

“I don’t want you to come visit,” he lamented, leaning into your hand, “I want you to come home.” 

“What do you mean, love?” you faltered, frowning. 

He sidled closer to you, resting a hand on your knee. He was quiet, eyes fixed on your lap, but when he looked up he was absolutely focused, intent. 

“Move in with me.” It wasn’t a question. 

You were overwhelmed with green. All you could see was his eyes and the determination in them, their confidence in you. The love and the warmth and the longing made them sparkle. 

Your voice was hushed but firm as you replied, “Okay.” 

The next thing you knew he was kissing you and your world was revolving. Everything you felt and heard and tasted was him and that was all you wanted for the rest of your life. 

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[chasseurdeloup-retired]

Friendly Neighborhood Harmacy || Simon and Kaden

TIMING: A few hours after Blanche was possessed LOACTION: Pharmacy Downtown PARTIES: @inconvenientsimonstrocity and @chasseurdeloup​ SUMMARY: Hunter and Werewolf shopping trip that didn’t go wrong at all

Kaden knew he shouldn’t be out right now anywhere unprotected with wards or salt. He was a walking lightning rod for bullshit ghost activity. But he needed more ibuprofen. Desperately. Maybe some Excedrin. The headache pounding in his skull seemingly refused to die down and there was nothing left in his house. The combination of crying and worrying and just overall stress wasn’t boding well. Riding it out wasn’t going to fix it. The pharmacy down and around the corner was close enough to his apartment. He’d be in and out quickly enough. The ghost should still be gone for now, too. If not, he had salt packets in his jacket and an iron knife in his back pocket. He turned the corner, eyes still a little blurry and saw someone standing in his way. “Hey. Can you move?” Kaden wasn’t normally super polite to begin with, but he was too haggard to even pretend tonight.

Simon had been standing there for… longer than he would’ve admitted to a total stranger-- well no, that wasn’t true. Simon was always ready to take a fall or look like the fool to spare someone else’s ego or intelligence and this was no different but he was honestly comparing and contrasting the labels on at least three different types of allergy medication at that moment. He wasn’t a huge fan of nasal spray but maybe that would’ve been more effective? He found himself slowly but increasingly growing worried of developing liver failure or a stomach ulcer from how many pills he had to take depending on how close to the full moon it was. Was it placebo? Was he just making this all up? What if it was psychosomatic? These were all thoughts that floated through his head as he lifted one bottle to read the contents, then the other that was wedged between his ring and pinky fingers when he heard a voice push through his thought cloud. He turned sharply and regarded a… Kaden? He had only seen the man once before, at his birthday party but he knew his memory wasn’t failing him yet though he certainly looked worse for wear this time around. “I’m sorry,” He apologised, taking a generous step back as he felt the hair on the back of his neck instinctively stand on end at being so suddenly close to a werewolf Hunter. He ignored the feeling. “Are… you okay?” He found himself asking though part of him certainly didn’t mean to.

“Thanks,” he grumbled as he shuffled past the guy to get to the rows of painkillers. For a second, Kaden thought he felt something. A chill, maybe? Was the poltergeist here? Or was it something else? He couldn't tell. All he could feel was the fucking throbbing in his head like it was getting louder somehow. Maybe this guy was bringing it out, maybe he was a fucking werewolf because that would be his luck tonight, who knew. Kaden certainly didn’t. And he sure as fuck didn’t care as long as he moved out of his way. Thank god he did. Or he was tempted to throw a punch or something. That kind of night. “Why do you care?” he said, rolling his eyes as he grabbed at least 3 different kinds of painkillers, barely looking at the labels to see the difference between any of them. Didn’t care. “What’s it to you anyway?” Normally he would move on and let some weird stranger’s small talk lie but something about tonight made him want to pick a fight. An eyebrow quirked in what seemed to feel like a mixture of concern and curiosity as Kaden seemed keen to shove past Simon had the latter not complied. “Because you weren’t like this at your party,” He said, considering after the fact that perhaps it wasn’t his wisest move to show his “cards” so soon into the awkward small talk. Normally, he would’ve been more careful about how to proceed but so far, he’d seen Kaden twice now and he looked miserable both times. He glanced briefly at the medication Kaden had picked up - and he seemed to pay more attention to what they were than the younger man, at least. He didn’t say anything about that though and set his own contemplations back where they had sat on the shelf carefully. He wanted to add something else, something like ‘you seem like you need to yell at someone’ but he didn’t, keeping his comment brief and leading. He remembered the verbal spat they got into online a few weeks back, noting that he had to get ‘mean’ for Kaden to… react. He was hoping that might not’ve been the case this time.

Kaden’s brow furrowed as he turned to look back at the other man. “At my party?” he asked. Did he know this guy? Should he know this guy? He looked kind of familiar, sure. In that way that meant you could have passed each other in a hallway once or twice or been to the same bar a few different nights. Noting specific sprung to mind. “Do I know you?” Shit was this someone he worked with? Maybe he was supposed to know this guy. Putain. Either way, know him or not, Kaden didn’t need anyone seeing him like this. Didn’t need to chit chat about his miserable fucking life in the middle of the fucking pharmacy. Just when he was about to open his mouth to ask something more, a light overhead flickered. Only a little. He glanced up. It was just a shitty  fluorescent light in a beat down small town store. Had to be. Right? Putain. As Simon correctly predicted, the question was enough to give Kaden pause and the younger man regarded him. He entertained several different responses to Kaden’s question such as ‘no, I just work at the morgue’, ‘no but I know you’ and just the regular classic ‘no, sorry’ but he didn’t give an answer at all as Kaden seemed to open his mouth to say something more but he faltered and looked up at the light as it flickered. Simon didn’t turn his head upward but he did accompany the hunter in looking up briefly at the light - he had been in and out of that store many times since he first arrived and not once had the lights been faulty, at least not like that. “I, uh…” He picked an answer to Kaden’s question. “No, you don’t. At least not the face.” He cleared his throat. “I’m the guy that said he didn’t like dogs online and got some backlash from you.” Animal Control, he remembered. He himself had a dog named…. Abel. Be kind.

This conversation made less and less sense to him as it went on. Kaden had a feeling there was something this guy wasn’t saying but he couldn’t put a finger on it. “Right. You.” He may not be able to recognize this man but anyone who didn’t like dogs was automatically questionable in his book. At best. “Weird way to introduce yourself,” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He searched the guy’s face for any clue for his angle. What the hell he was after. “So. Who are you? Why were you at that shit hole of a party anyway?” The lights cut out in the whole store. Kaden staggered, head darting back and forth like he could find the cause of this. A few seconds later, they flickered and came back on. Not good. “I was--” Simon started to reply when the lights in the whole store shut off for a few seconds. His eyes adjusted much faster when they turned off than when they turned back on and he narrowed his eyes faintly, not entirely too shaken about what seemed to be a basic power outage but Kaden’s body language suggested otherwise, giving Simon the impression that this wasn’t normal. Well… he was correct, it WASN’T but Simon opted to stay calm; he had his fair share of paranoid nights and he was certain that people oftentimes thought he looked similarly disheveled to the Hunter. “Are you okay?” He asked again, tilting his head slightly as he regarded Kaden with a slightly gentler expression. “You seem… nervous.”

“I’m fine,” he snapped. Kaden was used to being the one in control of a supernatural situation, the problem solver. The one to swoop in with the answers and the ability to protect the uninitiated humans around him. Asking people if they were okay was his line. “Why do you care any--” Before he could finish, there was a crash from across the store. “Putain de merde,” he grumbled, mostly to himself. Not again. He took the boxes of drugs and shoved them onto a shelf. Any shelf. “Yeah, gotta go.” As fucking weird as this conversation had been, he had to get out of there now. As he pushed past the guy, the lights went out again. And this time they stayed out. Kaden froze in place. The few other people in the store screamed. No. No no no. “I just wanted Advil!” he shouted in French at the ceiling, like that’s where his mother was. Granted, she was a fucking poltergeist. She could be anywhere. Fuck. All he heard was another crash, this time in the opposite side of the store. The older man also turned his head sharply when the crash sounded off and when Kaden passed by him, making sure to make contact this time, Simon followed whether out of innate curiosity for the sound, Kaden’s clearly compromised mindset or some third purpose. The lights went out yet again, not to return and he almost ran into the younger man as the latter stopped suddenly. Simon himself tensed up this time as other people screamed but he had to be honest, he wasn’t sure why Kaden himself was now yelling in French, why the lights kept going out, or what that crash on the other side of the store was. He wanted to ask what was going on but given Kaden’s previous track record of… not being honest, he wasn’t sure if his question was going to get an answer so he silently clung close to Kaden as his blue eyes glanced towards the crash… he may not’ve known what was going on but he had a feeling that Kaden, the ever-efficient werewolf hunter, would have some sort of weapon or knowledge up his sleeve to at least bark an order at him if he could help.

By this point, it seemed like the other people in the store had filed out or were making their way to the door. Not “Are you okay?” guy, though. Whatever, Kaden didn’t have time to worry about that. “Yeah, now’s probably a good time to be anywhere but here,” he told the other man through grit teeth. Kaden ran back into one of the aisles on the way to the front of the store. Then he heard a creaking and a big slam. Well that sounded bad. Then another slam. And another and-- Putain. Before he knew it, he saw the entire aisle tilting forward onto him, boxes and plastic containers pummeling him. Shit. At least he finally gave Simon some direction on where to go, even if that was to leave the store. Though part of him wanted to go check up on the other customers, he was noting as he followed behind Kaden that everyone else had fled, smartly. He didn’t run the way Kaden did but his stride was purposeful though his mind still buzzed with curiosity rather than danger the way it should’ve - why did the lights go out? What was attacking the pharmacy? . . . Would he get a sale if he offered to help pick up afterwards? He was interrupted from is absent thinking when he heard the sound of something colliding with something else, then repeated like… dominos. He tensed further as the rhythmic crashing got louder and he glanced ahead just in time to see the shelf tilting and starting to tumble towards Kaden. His next couple moves were autonomous, not thinking and just reacting as he dove forward, rolling onto his back and throwing all four of his limbs up to catch the shelf. He felt a burst of adrenaline, a pulse through his body as his strength was thrown into holding the shelf up at least long enough for Kaden to escape without being totally crushed.

Kaden winced and ducked, arms above him, anticipating the shelf to come crashing down on him. Only it didn’t. He opened his eyes and saw the other guy holding the fucking thing. Shit. Also why didn’t he think of that? Putain. Kaden didn’t waste anymore time and shuffled out of the aisle. He gripped his hands around the edge of the shelf and pulled with all he had. Only way to be sure his current life saver didn’t get crushed as well. “Out!” he shouted to the other guy. Not sure how long he could hold it. He didn’t have to wonder long. A gust of wind raged through the store. Kaden held tight until his companion was out, even as it threatened to push him off his feet. As soon as he could, he let go and ran to the door. He pushed. It wouldn't open. He pulled. Nothing. He rattled it back and forth, rammed it. Stuck. Locked. Maybe. One bang on the glass with his first was enough to assure him it wasn’t glass at all  but fucking plastic, some sort of anti-shatter shit. Which sure, made sense in this town. Also fucking inconvenient at the moment. “Need a way out!” he yelled over to the guy, seemed like they were the only two unlucky bastards left in there. As soon as he saw Kaden get out from under it and hold it up for him, Simon flipped onto his hands and knees and skittered out himself so Kaden didn’t have to hold the thing up longer than absolutely necessary though it seemed as though everything was trying to get him to fail - he sensed that was a running trend for Kaden. His arms hurt from catching the shelf and even then he was wondering why he did that but neither of them were hurt that badly so far so they had that going for them. “Thanks,” He replied over the sounds of disarray and chaos that seemed to swirl about them. He saw the other man try the door before banging on the glass with his own balled fist. “Damn,” He muttered, turning on a heel to look for something that could help them break the glass and instead finding the front counter. A key? He glanced up and found himself sniffing the air. A vent? That might be efficient. A back door? He found that too much information was going through his head, body getting more tense and he felt his fingernails growing subconsciously. “What did you have in mind?” He called back.

Kaden looked for an exit sign, the kind that usually stayed lit even when the lights went out. Apparently not right now. Putain. “Back door maybe. If we can find it.” He took his phone out and used it as a flashlight as he shuffled through fallen items on the store’s floor, hoping to maybe find some salt. Or that fucking advil he wanted. Shoplifting didn’t feel like a fucking issue right at this point. So far all he saw was a lot of weird colorful shit he assumed was makeup. Some hair products. Hey, that was one he-- A blast of wind poured into the room. From fucking nowhere. But it was so strong, Kaden had to fight against it; products were lifted in the air and swirling around, whacking and slicing into his already cut and scabbed skin. “Door-- Need to-- Find it,” he said as he tried to shield his face from flying objects. He tapped the guy’s shoulder, pointing towards the direction he was headed when he felt it again. That chill down his spine. He was-- Putain de merde. Of course he was stuck in here with a fucking werewolf. “You know what, I don’t care,” he said as he climbed over shelves and battled through the wind, trying to pick his way to the back of the store. The wind only intensified as he walked away from the werewolf. Back door, right. In a few light hops, Simon went over to the counter and opened the most obvious drawer quickly to try to find the key that could open either of the doors. Not the first drawer, maybe the second? Claws scraped around inside the drawers until he caught a faint glimmer and he snatched a toothy key up. “Okay, okay,” He repeated to himself and quickly caught up to where Kaden was searching for things on the floor when another sudden blast of wind buffeted them both with boxed medicines and fine edges of makeup. He held one of his arms up as he also tried to shield his face, not caring quite so much but something spiked in him when Kaden touched him, brief as it was. He wanted to run, fight and attack simultaneously but he pushed what he felt were ‘primal desires’ down. Suddenly, though, Kaden turned and he heard Kaden say something along the lines of ‘I don’t care’ even through the whipping wind. “H-hey wait!” Simon called, still following after him. “I have the key!”

Kaden’s foot caught and he slipped on one of the shelves, banging his calf into another on the way down. He cried out in pain and felt the edges of flat backed packaging starting to lacerate his skin. Again. He winced and tried to push himself up. He just wanted to run away from this and he couldn’t even do that. Then he heard something that sounded like “keys” through the blasts of wind. Kaden wanted to scream. Of course the werewolf was the one to save him and get him out of here. Of course. And he was sure his mother wanted him to kill it but really, he was having trouble caring what she wanted right now. With a groan, he pushed himself up and headed back towards the fucking werewolf. “Great. Get us the fuck out. And then run.” In the darkness and wind and items flying around them, Simon saw Kaden stumble and it was then that the smell of blood greeted his nose. Another pulse through his body, clenching his clawed fists, cracking his neck and he planted himself on the ground, steeling against the wind as he pushed through to meet Kaden as the latter limped back to him. “Here--” Though he knew Kaden was surely going to protest, he ignored the other man’s resistance if he put any up and placed one of Kaden’s arms around his shoulders, keeping the key tightly in his hand. He didn’t know what was going on, but he knew every fiber of himself wanted to either try to kill this man or flee from him but he was determined to do neither as he pushed through the wind alongside Kaden. The store itself wasn’t very big and the emergency exit was within sight to him even in the pitch-black store so he kept going with a resolute pace and feeling Kaden’s warmth against his skin. “Okay, gimme one sec--” He pushed the key into the lock and struggled for a second to open the door, finally pushing it open and almost falling over as he tumbled forward, spilling onto the back patio.

Kaden grumbled but allowed himself to be helped out of the fucking tunnel of wind by the goddamn werewolf. As much as he hated asking for help, even more so when from a monster, he hated the idea of dying in a shit small town pharmacy because the ghost of his mother buried him with boxes of medicine and bottles of shampoo and packets of ramen. There was no way he could kill this werewolf either. Not in human form. He’d never even seen the change. Not that it seemed to matter to his mother. Still he sighed and pushed forward with the other man to the door. “Any faster,” he said through grit teeth, glancing behind him as the tunnel of wind in the center of the room picked up and began to spread. He bolted out of the door as soon as he could, then turned to slam it closed behind them both. “I’m going home. You should, too. If you know what’s good for you.” His voice had no warmth or appreciation to it, but it was better than the disdain most wolves garnered from him. “Thanks,” he muttered under his breath before turning to run back to his well warded apartment.

As soon as they were out, Kaden made sure to pull himself away from Simon, who exhaled heavily as he stretched his arms and legs; they were gonna be sore tomorrow. He didn’t know what he was expecting in terms of reactions from Kaden so it didn’t surprise him that the younger man was still abrasive towards him. Surely, he had to have figured out by now that Simon was a werewolf, which probably added to his innate hatred for him. Simon didn’t think much of it; at least he didn’t die in the store or get crushed by falling shelving units. He massaged his shoulders at the thought of that bit as he kept his eyes on Kaden with a certain alertness. As much as part of him wanted to scoff dismissively at Kaden’s warning - like he gave a single shit about suggesting what Simon should do that was good for him - he didn’t and instead gave a rather quiet “Happy to help” in response to Kaden’s half-hearted thank you. The Hunter departed and Simon sighed again, dropping to a crouch for a moment as he sat outside of the ruined pharmacy in the dark, clicking his sharpened nails together idly and finding himself wondering if he did the right thing.

[self-proclaimed-chaotic-good]

Persephone | John Wick x Reader (Three)

Words: 3132

A/N: Usual JW-verse violence, mention of being drugged

Previously: John Wick, an ex-hitman on the run from seemingly everyone in the Underworld, teams up with the Bowery King to take down the High Table that controls it. To do that, they need more allies. You, an assassin known as Persephone, were rumored to be held captive by the Instructor, having lost your memory five years ago. Wick sets out to retrieve you and help you regain your memories in order to aid them in their fight. A bond starts to form the more you train and familiarize yourself with Wick. A shadow from your past plans to drag you back in.

-

In the Underworld, not everything was digital. It seemed that information was safer in either a physical form behind guards and vaults or kept in memories of the need-to-know people, giving you and John extra work on tracing information. To take down a network, you need to cut the right wiring or it’ll electrocute you.

First off, you look at the power source. There’s the Elder who sits above the High Table, then the High Table members with a variable power of their own. There were people like Santino that would even kill their own family to be a member.

Twelve seats in the council. Twelve crime lords.

The judgement that the Adjudicator, the chancellor and representative of the High Table council, served was a testament to how much power they were given. It was to show everyone what the High Table can do. Go against the rules and there will be punishment. Swear fealty to the Table, present your serving hands, the punishment for going against them would be having those hands pierced through. Gave seven bullets to an excommunicado assassin? Seven slashes for you. Housing said excommunicado in your establishment? Business is now allowed in the Continental.

Where the hell do you start? Where do you find the right allies in a world of criminals? Practically every assassin around the world jumped at the chance to kill John Wick when his bounty was sent out.

You were worried for him. You thought it was best to lay low and build yourselves up before taking on the High Table, but it seemed after he was forced out of his retirement, he couldn’t keep still. He had a drive for vengeance that wouldn’t rest until the threat was dealt with and that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

You ended up working on several projects at a time, which wasn’t good for your focus, but at least there was still something to keep you busy when you were stuck on one of them. The Bowery King’s people, or the Bowery boys, were helpful in getting the supplies that you needed and even tested some of the prototypes.

Given that the services offered to the high-profile assassins of the Underworld were off limits, you worked to provide tools in any way you can. You even made a bulletproof vest for John’s dog, though you didn’t tell John that. He had mentioned that an old acquaintance of his, Sofia, who runs the Continental in Morocco, had bulletproof vests for both of her dogs, so you thought it was a nice extra something, even adding a pattern that was similar to John’s suit at the front.

There were tactical vests and weapons modulations that you drew up as well as of various blades designed for quickness, efficiency, and precision, which would compliment your special project that you were saving for last. They weren’t the best, but they could still do the job.

You were pouring over a few blueprints of gun models that you were considering on upgrading when John knocked on your door. “It’s me,” he said.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sound of his voice, especially after a long day of tinkering. “You know you don’t have to knock, right?” you told him, putting the prints down as he opened the door.

His dog rushed to your side, panting happily. You patted your lap and allowed him to jump up, snuggling comfortably against you. There was a soft look in John’s eyes as he looked at the two of you before shaking himself out of it.

“The others said we had to knock before coming in,” John said, pointing at the door.

You nodded, scratching behind his dog’s ear. “Yeah, they do, but not you. You don’t have to.”

The implication on the level of trust that you had on him made his walls crumble down again, but he didn’t let himself smile. There was business to attend to. It doesn’t help when a strand of hair kept falling on your face and all he wanted to do was tuck it behind your ear and cup your face and- 

When John continued to be silent, you continued, “Anyways, we’re heading out?”

“Yeah,” was all he said.

“Um, okay. I’ll get my stuff and meet you at the entrance.”

He was about the reply, but stopped and nodded before walking away. You exchanged a look with his dog who was used to his behavior then jumped off your lap to follow his human. You sighed gathering your blueprints and stored them away, grabbing two of your prototypes and a slim utility belt.

You had thought that John would have left without you, but there he was, quietly talking to his dog by the entrance of one of the Soup Kitchen’s underground tunnels. You were dressed in a practical dark outfit the belt around your waist, hidden by your black leather jacket. You leaned down to hug John’s dog goodbye, planting a kiss on his flat head and booped his nose with a finger. John stood up, sending his dog away and turned to you.

“Ready?” he asked, adjusting the strap of his duffle bag.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

-

Nothing gets by the Bowery King and his people. The benefits of having him as an ally was the fact that he built his empire from the bottom and existed as its own entity. The High Table did not like that they had no complete hold on them and wanted him to swear fealty. His punishment for helping John was unjust in his eyes, seeing it as a display of the High Table’s arrogance.

The Bowery King had eyes and ears everywhere and had the advantage of anonymity to an extent. It was only a matter of time until he heard of the Instructor’s people looking for you.

You needed to get back into your apartment for your things and hopefully something that will jog your memory, maybe a clue of what the Instructor had planned for you. The two of you were currently waiting out in an old apartment in the middle of renovation. John stood nearest to the window, keeping an eye on the people going in and out of the building across the street.

You could tell there was something that John wanted to ask you, but instead, he said, “You didn’t kill everyone.”

You stared down at your boots with a sigh. “She ordered my parents to be killed. A selected few knew of it, was sent to carry out that task. I didn’t find out ‘til later after countless missions that I’ve done, the people that I’ve trained with, I didn’t see what was happening around me.”

“I knew the Instructor,” John said, his eyes still trained on observing the building’s activities, “she left the Director after some time training under her. Her goals were ambitious, but her execution was something the Director always criticized her on. Things didn’t turn out the way she wanted, but she did made you, whether you like it or not.”

“I suppose so,” you said.

You were aware of John’s connection to the Director, but to hear him talk about the Instructor in that perspective, you wondered how it felt like when an old colleague walks into your office to assassinate you. You suppose you were going to find out, given the situation. The Instructor didn’t talk much about her past and while she had trained, abused, and apparently favored you, you never knew what brought her to creating the program.

John’s eyes narrowed as he spotted a familiar face. He gestured with a finger for you to come over, stepping aside so you could see. Marion had walked out of the building, heading towards the bus station where the last sighting of you and John were, having purposely drawing attention before losing them again. Once Marion left, a man and a couple stood near the entrance, their eyes scanning the area as they pretended to do menial tasks. One was on his phone facing left while the couple conversed facing the opposite direction in an angle.

“The blonde woman is Yuri and the dark haired man with her is Beck. They work better as a team, but their weaknesses show when they’re separated,” you found yourself saying, snippets of memories from training flashed through your mind like a camera shutter until it organized into a library of books and filing cabinets that you could sort through. “The other man on the phone is Victor. He’s a good shot, but his right knee is busted from an injury during a mission. He usually does ground work or long distance.”

“Back entrance?”

“Fire exits off on the sides, more secluded areas.”

“Fire escape?”

“They’re well-maintained except the left side that has a rusted ladder.”

“Room?”

“Near the front of the building. Windows facing the alleyway on the left. All of the wide windows were semi-blocked by strategically placed furniture until inspection. Fourth floor.”

“Okay, let’s go.” John took out a pocket sized metal device from the duffle bag and hid it in the corner, setting the timer before heading out with you close behind.

It wasn’t going to be a simple walk in. John insisted on going with you to the building, an argument filled with frustration and long pauses of stubborn silence and staredowns.

You walked ahead of him as the two of you made your way across the street with street lamps and the moon as a source of light. You instinctively grabbed John’s hand and pulled him closer to you. There were people who were willing to please the High Table and killing John Wick was the way to go. You weren’t much of a shield, as he was taller than you, but it was the thought that counts, so John followed your lead.

A businessman carrying a suitcase walked purposely forward, his body language giving away his next action. Your hidden blade shot out from under your sleeve and jabbed him in the armpit. You pull John with you as he staggered back.

“Can I have one?” John asked, his fingers tapping your wrist where the hidden blade was strapped to.

“Sure.”

Victor was already walking towards you as you approached. You flashed him a smile, striding forward and pushed him into the alleyway. John watched your back, looking out for Yuri and Beck as you rammed your foot on Victor’s right knee. He gritted his teeth in pain, trying to pull out his handgun before you hoisted yourself onto his hunched figure, wrapping your legs around his neck and used your weight and momentum to knock him down. You yanked his dominant hand away from his gun and pulled yourself up with your hidden blade drawn and stabbed his throat.

The gurgling noise was familiar to you now with the countless times that you dreamed of that night when you killed Sasha. You couldn’t get yourself to be emotionless towards it like how you used to, but you weren’t sure if you’d want to be that person anymore.

John reemerged into the alleyway, his hair disheveled and small blood spatter on his suit. He nodded over to you, helping you drag Victor’s body to a hidden corner of the alley. You took a moment to collect yourself then surveyed the area.

The ladder of the fire escape was dodgy, the edges rusty and the paint chipping and crumbling away. John pulled the ladder down, rust and paint shedding off of the metal as it lowered with a clang. He tested the durability with his weight, lifting himself up from the bottom rung causing it to groan.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go through the front door?” John asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I mean,” you grimaced, hands on hips as you looked up at the fire escape, “kinda wanted to avoid running into more people. It’s not really my style, but…”

-

The elevator ride seemed slower than you remembered, smelling like cigarettes, sweat, and cleaning solution. You sighed, turning to John who was silently taking inventory of the weapons the both of you had, the possible escape routes if the fire escape didn’t work, estimating the amount of people that could be waiting for the both of you.

“Couldn’t take the stairs?” John asked.

“It conserves energy,” you defended, fixing his jacket and his hair. John watched you in amusement as you began to rub the blood spatter from his cheek with one hand while the other was playing with a soft lock of hair. “Besides, they won’t kill me. They’ll kill you, John.”

“You’re protecting me?”

You shrugged, pulling away but remained in front of him. “Someone has to.”

The elevator stopped at the third floor, the doors slid open, allowing two people in. They stood there without pressing a floor button and waited until the doors closed. You grabbed a throwing knife from your utility built, twirling it around your fingers until the elevator started moving again. One of the men whipped out a gun and went to shoot at you. John held his bulletproof jacket out and shielded you before wrestling the gun out of the man’s hands.

The other man approached you, but you were ready as you stabbed him in the chest. He grunted, pulling it out and throwing it on the floor. He grabbed your arms tightly to restrict your movements and pushed you against the doors as the elevator jolted onto the fourth floor. You kneed him in the groin and got your hidden blade out, getting him in the gut and wherever you could reach.

The doors opened again, making you fall backwards with the now bleeding man landing on top of you and using his weight to slam you down. The impact on your head made your vision blurred, and it didn’t help when he slammed your head down for a second time, making your ears ring. Your eyes vaguely seeing him pull an object from his jacket that triggered something in you.

The assassins that you’ve trained with, the ones that were sent to kill your family and those who worked to erase those events from existing, were scattered across New York. Some worked under the Italian mobs, few with the Chinese, and even the cartels. All of the ones that worked under the rivals of Tasarov were already killed by John Wick. There were a few groups that you had a working partnership with and was able to help you hunt the others down.

The more experienced assassins like Sasha were harder to track down, but they were the ones that the Instructor trusted with information the most. They were the ones that were tasked to put you down. It was at the docks out of all the places where they ambushed you. They held you down, they beat you near death, then injected you with some kind of drug. You weren’t sure if it was the mysterious liquid or the injuries that knocked you unconscious.

When you wake up, you were in an apartment in New York, not knowing who you were or who were the people standing in your room.

The man was yanked off of you by an furious John Wick who shot two bullets in his chest and one in his head. Luckily, there was a suppressor on his gun, as it would have alerted the innocent people on the floor. If they were all innocent. After what you’ve realized that the past five years you were surrounded by lies, you wouldn’t even be surprised if the whole fourth floor were composed of assassins tasked to watch you.

After the man was dealt with and dragged into an alcove with the other one, John held out a hand for you to take. You shook yourself out of your daze and grabbed it. He helped hoist you up and tucked his handgun away. His eyes scanned over you for injuries, his eyebrows furrowed in worry and concentration.

“I’m okay, just dizzy,” you assured him.

He nodded, his hand hovering by your back in case you stumbled as you headed to your old apartment. The old key you had didn’t work, but John was quick and used the throwing knife you dropped and jammed it into the keyhole. He drew his gun out and went in first, sticking his head around before walking fully inside. You followed behind with your blade at the ready.

The two of you inspected the rest of the apartment and came up empty. You went back to your room and rifled through your belongings, hoping they hadn’t touched anything valuable. John handed you the duffle bag and helped you pack with essentials and person items. You wondered what else they took from you.

“I’m going to double check Marion’s room for something real quick,” you told John, leaving the room before you could reply.

You rushed over to her room before the thought could escape you. It was something that you’ve wanted to see ever since you started getting your memories back. You hoped that going back to the apartment would help with your memories and while it somewhat worked, there was something that you hoped that Marion had taken, if it meant that it wasn’t lost forever.

Her room was quite bare with not much of a personal touch. You sifted around her closet and under her bed, stomping on the floorboards and going through her drawers. When you came out with nothing, you took a moment to calm yourself and took in the room. A dark object under one of the desk’s legs that was partially under the drawer stood out.

You kneel down and lift the desk, sliding the object out. It was something wrapped in a black cloth that Marion had been using to keep her desk balanced. As you unraveled the cloth, the sight of a shiny metal edge made your heart race.

You tossed the cloth away and held out the object out. It was your vorpal blade.

You walked out into the main area and peeked out of the window towards the building across the street where you and John were. John walked up behind you and showed you his watch before pulling you out of the line of sight. Just as expected, one shot rang out, followed by an explosion.

-

“What do you mean he blew up?” Marion demanded, standing on the side in the rail station.

“Arlo did as you told him. The room blew up as soon as he took the shot, taking him and the other three with him.”

“And the other five?”

Silence.

Marion threw her Nokia against the wall and screamed, the sound echoing off the walls.

-

Taglist:

@venusgothic

@weappreciatepower

@anita-e-taylor

@mikaneonox

@sparrowsparrow

A/N: Decided to write one of those “Previously on...”, which I haven’t done since my days on FF . net lol. I’m going to try and do this more, maybe add a summary for the first chap and a Previously on the second chap. Sorry if this chap is too wordy, but there’s stuff starting to go down. Lmk what you guys think. Thanks for reading!

[etherealwaifgoddess]

What He Wants (Pt. 24)

Main Characters: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced Reader

Summary:  On going series of Bucky getting his shit together and falling in love with you.

Warnings/ Content: showering together but it’s surprisingly lemon-free, and sweet fluff

Word Count: 1560

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! Welcome to the last installment of What He Wants. I’ve agonized over what to say here for most of today and nothing sounds quite right. I guess it’s never easy to say goodbye, but part of the journey is the end. Some of you will leave happy and satisfied, some of you will grumble, and some will beg for more. I stand by this as a good stopping point though. I’m not saying I’ll never pick up where you and Bucky leave off; to maybe do another story or some one shots, but I don’t know yet. I need to let my brain rest after two weeks of daily updates and pouring my soul into this little world. I do want to say thank you though. You readers (especially my darling tag list peeps) have been so kind and welcoming to this little writing community here on Tumblr and over on AO3. I am eternally grateful for every single one of you. Every like, comment, and reblog has given me infinite joy even when shit got real in my real life. So thank you for going on this journey with me and hanging out until the very end. I love you all 3,000.

If you missed the first few parts, you can read them here: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23

XOXO - Ash

What He Wants, Pt. 24

The bathtub shower combo in your bathroom is really only meant for one person. Squeezing a super soldier in it comfortably with the curtain closed is a feat in itself, but with both of you in it, it verges on comical. Bucky is determined though and as soon as you have the water falling at a reasonable temperature he’s guiding you in under the spray. He lathers your perfumed bar of soap between his palms and you’re surprised he isn’t worried about getting his vibranium arm wet. The marvels of Wakandan tech, you suppose. 

Bucky rubs his soapy hands across your chest, kneading your shoulder muscles before moving lower to caress your breasts. He lavishes them with attention only for a moment, intent on actually cleaning you instead of starting something again. His palms slip down your waist, rubbing soothing circles across your soft tummy, and he reaches for more soap to lather his hands up again. Bucky smooths his slippery hands down further down, cupping your sex gently in his palm as he works gently to clean you. You brace your palms on his shoulders for support, his hands are relaxing all of your muscles as he works and making it difficult for you to stay upright. Your thighs tremble as he moves to them, working out the knots in your muscles as he goes. Delicately, he lifts each of your feet as he reaches the bottom of your calves and even takes the care to wash them as well. 

“You’re gonna have to turn around, sweetheart.” he tells you gently and you oblige, holding on to the wall for support instead of him. He moves back up your legs, stopping above your knees for more soap. Bucky is savoring every moment of washing your well loved body and he works your tense glutes until you’re sighing in relief. Bucky continues upward, ending finally as he works the last of the knots out of your shoulders. Once he’s satisfied you are completely clean he trails kisses across your shoulders, “All set, doll. Do you want me to do your hair too?” 

You moan again, “I would say no, you’ve already done too much, but god help me your hands are magic.” 

A satisfied chuckle rumbles in Bucky’s chest, “I haven’t done nearly enough, doll. Turn around and I’m gonna do your hair too. Let me take care of my girl.”

Your heart speeds up when he calls you his girl. It’s so old fashioned but it makes you feel cherished and loved. You turn to face Bucky, getting your hair under the spray, and he’s ready with your shampoo bottle. Bucky’s hands are just as skilled massaging your scalp with your shampoo and then conditioner, even knowing to work the knots out of your hair as the conditioner rinses out. You are completely spineless by the time he’s done and you wish you could return the favor but he swaps your positions and starts washing himself with quick, efficient swipes of his soap. He’s gorgeous as his vibranium hand rubs the soap across the hard muscles of his body and you are chastising yourself for not offering to reciprocate, especially as he moves down to wash his thick thighs and your mouth goes dry at the thought of running slippery hands down and in between them. 

Pulling yourself together you grab Bucky’s shampoo and wait until he finishes washing himself. “Let me at least do your hair?” you ask him.

“I’d love that, doll.” he moves to kneel in front of you and you’re amused by how tall he still is compared to you. You tilt his head back into the spray, ensuring it’s well soaked. The shampoo Bucky picked out smells crisp and piney, it compliments his natural scent and you love it on him. You work your fingers over every inch of his scalp slowly, ensuring his hair is clean and he’s able to enjoy your gentle massaging. Bucky’s eyes are closed, a peaceful smile on his lips, and you’re pleased he seems to be enjoying it. Since he’s letting you take care of his hair, you grab your good conditioner and start massaging it in too. He might not think it’s worth using on his hair but you suspect once he feels the difference he’ll be hooked. 

You finish rinsing Bucky's hair and he’s still sitting back on his heels, seemingly lost in his own little world. Leaning down you place a kiss on his forehead, rousing him from his thoughts. “That was fantastic, mouse.” He says as he stands. 

You shut off the water and Bucky steps out, grabbing your towel to hand to you. He looks inquisitively at the stack of four large towels and when he turns back to you he finds you bent over twisting your hair up in the towel he’d handed you. “Interesting.” He muses looking at the towel wrapped securely around your head. 

“Do you not do this?” You ask, surprised, “There’s two towels for each of us. I figured you did because your hair is so long.”

Bucky shakes his wet head, “No, but I’d like to learn.” 

You grab one of the towels and have him lean forward, mirroring how you did yours. You walk him through the steps and a minute later he’s doing it perfectly fine on his own. “I like this.” He says patting at his handiwork. 

“It saves drying time, I think.” You explain. 

Bucky nods and starts drying himself off, looking over occasionally and smiling at you. There is an unexpected intimacy as you share the bathroom, even as you brush your teeth together. It makes your usual morning routine more enjoyable having someone to share it with. You plan your day as you get dressed in the bedroom and Bucky insists he’s going to make you his ma’s spaghetti for dinner. You’ll need to stay home all day while the sauce cooks on the stove but neither of you mind. Bucky wants to get the laundry done and offers to help fix the wobbly shelf on your bookcase in the living room. It’s drizzling outside now and there’s a slight bite to the air that makes you more than happy to stay inside all day. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky loves putzing around your apartment. It makes him feel productive and useful. He wants to do everything possible for you, not because you can’t but because you shouldn’t have to with him around. Bucky ends up putting your old toolbox to good use, not just on the shelf, but on a window that sticks, a loose cabinet drawer, and the wiggly handle on your large soup pot. You watch with amusement over the top of your book as he works, knowing if you try to move from the sofa you’ll just be scolded again. 

You’re trying to wrap your mind around the concept of this becoming a regular thing. Waking up together, Bucky trying to spoil you and splitting the chores, quiet cozy days spent relaxing and enjoying each other’s company. Even once you go back to work, having him with you will change that routine as well. Getting ready, driving in, lunch breaks, coming home, everything done together. It might seem smothering to some people but the idea of spending all of your time with him sounds perfect to you. Eventually the occasional nights out with your coworkers out will resume, and Bucky will want to make time to go see his friends, and that will be okay too because at the end of the day you’ll be coming back to your cozy little apartment, together. 

Bucky has run out of things to do and after a quick check on his sauce, he joins you on the sofa. He watches you quietly, wondering what thoughts are keeping you so occupied. Bucky picks up a worn, copy of “American Gods” and settles in to relax. The book only holds his attention for a few minutes as you shift in your seat across from him. Bucky takes a moment to just watch you, the way you worry your bottom lip between your teeth and the way your eyes crinkle on the edges when you read something that amuses you. He could watch you all day given a chance and he finds himself baffled by how much his life changed in just a few days. 

Steve has been gone just over a week and the pain is still fresh but it’s softening around the edges. Now that Bucky understands the type of happiness and peace he’s found with you, he can only imagine how rare and beautiful it had to be for Steve to go back to Peggy and live out his life by her side. He will always miss his best friend, but he can honestly say he understands the choices Steve made and that they were the right ones. Bucky smiles to himself as he listens to the soft falling rain and let’s himself really be present in the here and now. This is his life now, a cozy little place off of SHIELD’s radar, a good woman who loves him, even though they hadn’t yet said the words, and endless possibilities for the future. Because for the first time since 1944, Bucky Barnes is looking forward to the rest of his life.

The End. 

Tag List Lovelies: @my-current-fandom-is @blacklightguidesnic @amazonianbeauty@ladyemofhousestark@abswritesfandoms@rupestria @dark-night-sky-99 

[tgunn64]

Favorite Villains - La Squadra di Esecuzione (Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure)

Part 5 of Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, Vento Auero, takes us to 2001 Italy, where a civil gang war between stand users creates a vaccum of power in the Venetian mafia. From this description alone, you may be able to guess this is my favorite Jojo season yet--with my love of Italian culture and organized crime stories allowing this to cater perfectly to me. It also features La Squadra di Esecuzione (Italian for 'The Hitman Team'), who may be my favorite villainous force in Jojo yet. La Squadra isn’t actually the big bad--they’re the starters our heroes face on their way, and yet the way they are motivated and weaved into the narrative make them feel like organic parts of the conflict rather than mere stepping stones. The revolting assassins are a seven course meal consisting of Formaggio, Illuso, Pesci, Prosciutto, Melone, Ghiaccio, and Risotto.

What really struck me about La Squadra was their chemistry as a team. While they fight the heroes individually, we see a good deal of their inner workings in scenes exclusive to the anime that add a lot to their characters--most notably a sequence in which their conflict with the Boss of the Passione mafia is laid out. In charge of the dirty work of assassinations, la Squadra is mistreated by the higher ups of the mafia chain and paid the least of any branch. Sick of doing the hardest work for the least money, they conspired to overthrow the mysterious boss of the gang by discovering his identity, which no one has managed to uncover. The mere notion of doing so reached the boss, who retaliated by killing two of their men, Sorbet and Gelato. La Squadra is in the middle of a meeting wondering where their missing men are, when they receive a delivery of 36 packages. They unwrap them in a chilling scene where they discover each one contains a chunk of Gelato’s corpse, cut into 36 piece and encased in formaldehyde. La Squadra’s reaction is one of terror that truly humanizes them--they were fighting an injustice inflicted upon them and they are immediately silence. One can’t blame them for revolting, but they are swiftly made an example of.

Their dreams were crushed, that is, until word got out that the boss had an estranged daughter that the heroes were protecting for him (the heroes and la Squadra both unaware that the boss only wanted his daughter protected so he could personally kill her). Realizing the potential for a weak spot and ransom, La Squadra declares their goal to usurp the boss by taking his daughter, putting them at odds with Jojo and his new mafia family. One by one, La Squadra steps up to try and kidnap the boss’ daughter from her protectors, starting with Formaggio. Formaggio, being the first to fight, is also the shortest lived of La Squadra, but this actually benefits his character in the precedent he sets. He tracks down the youngest and most naive of the hero team, Narancia, and engages him with his stand, Little Feet. Despite being mocked by his peers, Formaggio is determined to prove that his stand, which can shrink objects as long as he can will it, isn’t as useless as it sounds. He and Narancia have a chaotic and bloody battle, and the way he ruthlessly pursues this young kid sets the standard for the story--these are gangsters and they’ll fight tooth and nail for power within the same organization. Narancia, his hand forced, goes from an unassuming kid that can barely read to just as much a violent mafia enforcer when he needs to defend himself, and it’s this flip in perspective that makes their battle so memorable. Cars are wrecked and blood is spilled as Formaggio tries to shrink Narancia and feed him to rats as well as throw shrunk down pieces of furniture from his pocket before expanding them in mid air.

A stand that can reduce objects’ size is much more suited to killing than one may realize--we see an assassination courtesy of Formaggio in a restaurant where he shrinks down a car and drops it into the drink of a politician the team’s been hired to kill. The politician unwittingly swallows the car, cuing Formaggio to release his powers, expanding the car inside his target and tearing him apart from the inside. I love Araki’s talent for coming up with idiosyncratic and unique powers that feel more like creative and intelligent phenomenon than mere “this guy gets fire powers and this guy gets shrinking powers”, and Formaggio is just one exception among the deadly hitmen lurking within La Squadra. Next on the list is IIluso, and to be blunt he’s the one I have the least to say about. He has very little personality to speak of outside of being a sort of indiscreet jerk even among his peers (quicker than anyone to call Formaggio’s stand useless and to air Sorbet and Gelato’s dirty laundry that they were an item). Even his stand, Man in the Mirror, I just feel is a poor man’s version of the part three villain Centerfold and his stand, Hanged Man. It also sucks that the good guy he fights is Fugo, who ends up written out of the story halfway through so he basically helps to introduce a stand that battles once and never shows up again.....Eeeeh, moving on.

The only two who cooperate at once are Prosciutto and Pesci, the duo of mentor and rookie gangsters. The composed and experienced Prosciutto gives lessons on the art of crime and assassination to the nervous Pesci, who at the start of the series has never even killed. Even though they aren’t my personal favorites, I think the short arc Prosciutto and Pesci go through in their chunk of episodes is the most dynamic of the bunch. The first lesson Prosciutto gives Pesci is to act instead of talk, and to have the confidence that he has already killed his foe rather than to be planning to. The unsure Pesci is eager to impress his mentor, who he calls a brother, a term of endearment in the mafia--but he’s easily scared and doesn’t have the constitution that’s expected of him. It doesn’t help that his Stand, Beach Boy, a fishing pole with a line that can go through solid objects, is easy to fumble and not as efficient as Prosciutto’s Grateful Dead, which rapidly ages his targets. But we see an interesting turn occur. Bruno confronts the duo as they ransack the train in search of the Boss’ daughter. With his brother by his side, Pesci actually manages to hold his own with Bruno a fair deal. Beach Boy turns out to be a perfect counter to Bruno’s Sticky Fingers, and Prosciutto is highly complimentary of his protege for the first time. The battle continues as Prosciutto tells Pesci to keep watch at the front of the train, Beach Boy’s line extended while he finishes Bruno off. Things don’t go that way though, and Bruno throws Prosciutto off the train and beneath the tracks. Pesci senses something is off...and sees the aging effects of the Grateful Dead wearing off the train’s passengers. His teacher had died just as he earned his approval.

And in a complete turn, Pesci’s fears disappear as his resolve hardens to fulfill his mission and kill the man that killed his ‘brother’. An angered train passenger calls Pesci ‘mammoni’ (Italian for Mama’s Boy, and the insult the other Squadra members would throw at Pesci) and Pesci takes his first life by killing him on the spot before stopping the train and challenging Bruno to a final duel of honor. I was sincerely rooting for Pesci at this point--he didn’t have good intentions but I was genuinely pretty sad that Bruno ultimately slayed him as well. I kind of really love that a stand as seemingly goofy as Beach Boy proved extremely deadly as he threw the line into Bruno’s chest and tied it around his heart, nearly killing him in a moment that had me on the edge of my seat.

This brings us to La Squadra’s resident freakshow, Melone. Melone is nearly the gang’s mad scientist type, the weirdo everyone lets lick his lips in the corner but they keep around for his brilliance. As if his habit of eyeing potential victims wasn’t enough, his stand is probably the most disturbing in the team--the laptop shaped Babyface. Before he gets his turn to fight, we constantly see Melone people watching and ogling pretty women. It’s hard to imagine this vile gangster having a nice idea of what he wants to do with these women, but when you grow to understand how Babyface works, you realize just how terrifying he is. By attaining the blood of a strong Stand user (in this case, Bruno, which he finds after his fight with Pesci) in the laptop, he can find a victim (preferably to Melone, a beautiful woman) whose body can be combined with the blood to create a living homunculus. The Homunculus has unlimited potential, and Melone can use Babyface to educate him in ways of assassination. I really love the imagery of Melone gently teaching his homunculus like it’s a little child, but precisely what he’s teaching him is torture and murder. It perfectly encompasses his depravity despite fancying himself a savante of sorts. Like most children, Melone finds that his Homunculus is too hot blooded to take orders for long, which proves his undoing. Unable to cooperate, the rapidly pubescent Homunculus fails to cooperate with his ‘father’, and both fall to Jojo’s might. Leaving just one member of la Squadra besides the BIG man himself.

Ghiaccio, my favorite member of la Squadra. From the moment I saw him at the first meeting between the disgruntled assassins, something about such a sleek design offset by such a garish face and the shouting vocal chords of Nobuhiko Okamoto (Bakugo in My Hero Academia) really drew me in. Temperamental and incredibly vocal, Ghiaccio isn’t afraid to say what everyone else is thinking. He calls the check they get from the boss chump change and asserts that la Squadra deserves better. He’s kinda the foundation of the mentality that way--even if everyone else was just too subtle to say so. That’s FAR from the only thing he’s mad about it though. Ghiaccio takes great pride in his Italian blood and detests anyone that would use the American pronunciation of ‘Venice’ for the city of Venezia. He damages his own damn car worked up over mere turns of phrase, a very different personality from the cool headed Prosciutto, intelligent Melone, or bewildered Pesci. Ghiaccio seems bullheaded and brash, but you’re not brash if you can back it up. Ghiaccio takes on both Guido Mista and Jojo with his deadly stand, White Album, which lowers temperatures around him to below sub-zero, to the point that an armor of ice forms around him. Remember how I said the huge strength of Jojo’s is that no one is ever JUST the ice guy or so on? Ghiaccio perfectly encompasses that. He isn’t a cryomancer per se, he just makes things SUPER cold, and has mastered his own ability. He chases the heroes in their car by forming ice skates out of his armor and freezing the road as he travels. Guido, with his sharp shooting Six Pistol stand, finds himself useless because White Album literally freezes the air around Ghiaccio, creating translucent shields that reflect projectile attacks, a tactic Ghiaccio calls “Gently Weeps”.

Ghiaccio may be a tantrum throwing psycho, but his conviction and overall moxie more than provides context to supply his attitude. His final confrontation is fucking BRUTAL. Guido fires away at Ghiaccio, who continually shields himself, not hurt or penetrated, but pushed backwards, into a spike on a light post. The spike barely penetrates the back of Ghiaccio’s neck, while Guido keeps shooting. Every bullet fires back INTO GUIDO, but with every push he shoves Ghiaccio further into the spike. The two literally have a game of chicken for who bleeds out first. But Ghiaccio reveals he’s won because HE HAS FROZEN HIS OWN SPURTING BLOOD, WHICH IS SUPPORTING HIS NECK FROM BEING SKEWERED ANY FURTHER. He outlasts Guido and for all intents and purposes, would have won, had Jojo not revealed himself to have survived his own encounter before he returned to finish the job. Ghiaccio talks of conviction and resolve, and you can’t fault him considering he kept fighting far past the point most would call death. It’s hard to look down on his temper when he’s as goddam hardcore as he is. I also think it's really cool how he counter's Jojo's Golden Experience, which creates life, by creating an inhospitably cold environment around him--I would've loved to see more of him as a foil.

So. Six really good trash boys fall, and all that’s left is the head of the snake, Risotto Nero, the towering boss of the Hitmen who is ready to open a can on those that made fools of his brothers. Risotto is a reasonable boss, he encouraged teamwork (quelling conflict between Illuso and Formaggio), but not to the point of romanticism (encouraging that everyone forget Sorbet and Gelato and move forward.) Despite this, in battle Risotto is anything but soft. Metallica is a microscopic stand that lives within Risotto’s blood stream. The deadly hitman can manifest metal in any shape he desires by focusing on the iron in his target’s blood. Meaning just by using his stand and focusing really hard, he can put nails in your hands, razor blades in your head, and needles in your mouth. Fighting Risotto isn’t a matter of combat, it’s one of torture, befitting to his nature as mafia enforcer. We see him squeezing info from an informant by continually creating and driving nails into his hand--and that’s really what he boils down to. He isn’t the kind to dazzle you with strategy or prove his superiority with incredible skill, he’ll overwhelm you with the most morbid pain he can imagine, and more or less with a mere thought, because it’s his job to kill, extort, and push his victims to their limit until they talk.

And such a dreadful foe doesn’t find himself engaging Jojo, Bruno, or Guido….but Doppio, the meek messenger boy of Passione whose only stand ability is to see ten seconds into the future. Risotto personally bullies the weaker foe and experiences little resistance, laying on excruciating punishment, demanding info on the Boss and his daughter. True to his nature as a mafioso, Risotto declares he’ll torment Doppio as long as it takes, as the sheer pressure forces Doppio to release a latent ability...King Crimson, the stand of the mysterious boss. An ecstatic Risotto realizes Doppio isn’t just the right hand of the boss, he IS Diavolo, the boss, hiding in plain sight. Risotto is about to achieve his dreams by killing the boss..who erases time and saves himself, making way for intervention by Narancia, who riddles Risotto with Aerosmith’s bullets to save who he assumes is the innocent Doppio, who manages to protect his identity for a bit longer. And I think this final end to La Squadra speaks to the tragedy of the team and of the narrative of Jojo Part 5 as a whole. It’s a story of a civil gang war--no one was born evil, they simply picked their sides, and at a certain point, they all had the same enemy in the form of Diavolo. Had no one been deceived by Diavolo’s enigma, Bruno and Risotto’s teams could have cooperated. However, Bruno was serving the boss while Risotto was fighting him, and when paradigms shifted, they were still in the wrong place, destroying each other in the name of an erroneous conflict. Though that may sound like a waste, there is nothing more romantically mafia-esque than dying for your chosen side out of conviction and loyalty. To do so defines being a gangster. You're not expendable if you fought for your brothers. The teachings of Prosciutto, cunning of Illuso, conviction of Ghiaccio, efforts of Pesci, intelligence of Melone, resolve of Formaggio, and capo honor of Risotto all could’ve been assets in another life, but the crossing bullets of a gang war scattered them, and if nothing else, made them insanely memorable villains.

[justiceitselfwrites-blog]

The Machine

Author’s note: I wrote this for fun the other day when challenged to come up with a quick sci-fi piece as writing practice. My goal was to paint a picture of a dystopian society in 1,000 words or less, and it ended up right around there. I just left a remarkably terrible call center job, which required every minute of my day to be logged and accounted for. I felt like a cog in a machine, one whose job was not even to help customers solve their problems, but instead to extract payment from customers using whatever means necessary and as efficiently as possible, so I could more quickly move on to the next caller. It was certainly not Justice. With that hurdle to my mental health removed, I’ve been taking some time to work on my own writing projects again. It’s an incredible feeling, to have the freedom to decide what projects I prioritize and to decide for myself what’s important to me and worth pursuing. Of course, with this newfound freedom comes a distinct lack of steady income. So it goes. With all of that in mind, as I was writing this I tried to focus on that interplay, the struggle between the narrator’s desire for the freedom to follow his dreams versus his desire for the safety and security that the Machine provides. I hope you enjoy! There used to be farms. They stretched as far as the eye could see, growing corn, wheat, barley, apples, anything you could imagine. Sometimes the farms had animals, like cows, or chickens, or pigs, and the farmers would kill them to harvest their meat for food. Jalen didn’t like the idea of killing animals, he thought as he ate his breakfast, a warmed nutrient bar, but otherwise he thought being a farmer sounded kind of nice. That was back in the days before the Machine of course. Nowadays the Machine handles growing and harvesting all the food humanity needs to survive, and people don’t need to worry about things like killing animals. The Machine had given humanity much to be thankful for.

As Jalen sat to slide on his work boots, he wondered idly what it was like before the Machine scheduled when folks woke up, when they worked, when they rested, when they recreated. Heck, thought Jalen, farmers could probably decide that they’d worked enough and take the rest of the day off! It’s a wonder they ever got any work done at all without the Machine. Maybe that’s why there are no more farmers, thought Jalen sadly. After all, if he didn’t have the Machine keeping track of when he needed to be working or resting, he would probably spend too much of his time trying to grow plants in the arid soil and watching documentaries about when there used to be vast forests, with all kinds of animals. Jalen liked those.

With his allotted time for idle wondering passed, Jalen opened the door to his apartment module and stepped into the hallway. After passing a seemingly neverending line of identical doors, Jalen, right on time, reached the pod bay and joined the queue for a pod. The Machine kept track of where everyone needed to be and made sure that their pods took them via the most efficient route. During pod rides, the Machine provided entertainment depending on what it determined the passenger needed at the time. For Jalen in the mornings, it was usually a news broadcast. The Machine made sure that everyone was kept up to date on all the latest happenings, like what had happened last night on the game shows or in the blood sports.

Jalen preferred nature documentaries, but the Machine knew he needed to keep up with current events, so it always made sure he watched the news. He would be expected to socialize with his co-workers during rest times using that knowledge, else the Machine would certainly require mandatory remedial entertainment during his evening recreation period, which Jalen very much wanted to avoid. The blood sports were just too violent, he hated watching them live. At least the replays were censored.

Once at work, Jalen sat down at his desk and prepared to start his day. Precisely at 0800 hours, Jalen began filing request forms. People could make requests of the Machine, but the Machine decreed that all such requests must be submitted through a process the Machine designed. Jalen knew that there were more efficient ways of collecting these requests, but this convoluted process caused a lot of people to give up and decide not to bother submitting their requests after all, which was good. The Machine had enough to deal with, what with running everything and all. Jalen sympathized with the Machine. Plus, it meant Jalen had a job to do and wouldn’t need to compete in the game shows or the blood sports.

Jalen often wondered at some of the requests that came across his desk. Like when people would ask for a temporary reprieve from work after the death of a parent or spouse. The rules set forth by the Machine were incredibly clear. Once dead, a person can no longer provide value to humanity, and thus no longer has value. Why compound the loss of labor with more loss of labor? Jalen couldn’t understand what these people were thinking. Those requests went straight to the incinerator.

Some of the requests were reasonable though. Jalen felt especially good when he approved those, because he was doing his part to advance humanity. Take just yesterday, when he approved and forwarded on a transfer request from a woman in his very own department. She had spent the last three years improving her scores so that she could move to one of the science labs. Jalen wasn’t sure what was wrong with filing papers, but since the scores showed she was now better suited for science than administration, it made him happy that she was finding a better way to serve the Machine.

At 2000 hours, Jalen was permitted to leave. Since his mind had been wandering during the morning news, he hadn’t been able to participate much during his lunchtime discussion, and sure enough, the Machine had assigned him remedial entertainment. He would have to spend two of his three hours of recreation time watching last night’s episode of “Sole Survivor.” That was his least favorite by far, mostly because so many of the contestants died. He knew that people who didn’t serve a purpose to the Machine had no reason to live, but for some reason, it still made him sad to watch them die. But the Machine knew Jalen needed to watch it, so he didn’t have a choice.

For the last hour of his waking day, the Machine had scheduled for him to continue the documentary on farming he’d started the night before though, so that was nice. He knew he’d be able to get to sleep much easier after watching that. The Machine was very conscientious, it understood that in order to be a good worker Jalen needed six full hours of sleep. Plus, he hated it when he couldn’t fall asleep and the Machine needed to inject him. His arm was always sore the next day, although that didn’t affect his filing times.

That night as he drifted off to sleep, Jalen imagined himself working on a farm.