#( i'll be picking up threads from forever ago )

[saidthecaterpillar]

( guess who got a new machine )

[achaotichuman]

Hello!!! I was wondering if you have recs for pro-Tamlin fics, fics where he gets a happy ending in general? Or where the Night Court get called out on their bullshit with a side of pro Tamlin bc I’d devour them but have a hard time finding them (I love your fics btw)

Sure do!

Pro Tam fics can be difficult to find. I found all of these scrolling through either the Tamlin redemption tag, or the different relationship tags on AO3.

I'll link all the fics here. I'll put all the summaries and the relationship that goes with them, if there is a relationship. This is a list of all my personal favorite Tamlin fics, but these creators make other amazing Tamlin fics, and scrolling the pro Tamlin tag can take you to some really cool fanfiction.

A Court of Threads and Daises by @shi-daisy. Tamlin/Lucien.

Tragedy almost struck the Spring Court when Tamlin Evergreen tried to take his own life. Lucien Vanserra manages to save his former Lord, but not his power.

Now that the Spring Court has a new High Lord and the horrors of war are behind them, both Tamlin and Lucien agree to help the new heir navigate court life and attempt to rebuild the broken Spring Court, along with healing themselves.

They weren't expecting to fall back in love in the process.

A Second Chance by @goforth-ladymidnight. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra. Modern ACOTAR AU – There is a reason that Tamlin disappeared from Lucien's life seven years ago. Lucien just doesn't know what it is. They were more than college roommates; they were best friends. Now, a chance encounter in a bookstore leaves both of them wondering if they can pick up where they left off. A new year is right around the corner, but there is no wiping Tamlin's slate clean. Featuring Jurian and Vassa in supporting roles, this is not a story of redemption, but of finding love—and forgiveness—in the most unlikely of places.

Lovely and Lonely by @praetorqueenreyna. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

"In hindsight, Lucien thinks he fell in love with Tamlin the moment he first laid eyes on him."

**************************

Lucien Vanserra must come to terms with his sexuality, and his complicated feelings for High Lord Tamlin.

Wildflower by @mathiwrites. Tamlin/Rhysand.

Five hundred years before Feyre���s arrival in Prythian, the humans fought against Faeries, led by the King of Hybern, for their Freedom. Tamlin is only seven years old when the war begins, but his family’s involvement and a fated friendship with a handsome young Lord from the Night Court will change his life forever. This is the story of how he becomes the High Lord you know and love, and the redemption story nobody asked for.

TL;DR - before they were enemies, they touched butts.

A Court of Beasts and Chances by M4r0u_Mar. Tamlin/Tarquin.

About a Beast who must be prince and a Prince who wants to be beast. About a Prince who learns of second chances and a Beast who learns of redemption. About looking for love and finding it in the journey rather than the destination.

Or the one where I rewrite ACOTAR to make Tamlin and Tarquin mates.

A Court of Choices Made by Anonymous. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra. Lucien decides to go after Tamlin to pick a fight after his first Winter Solstice with the Night Court.

I see red, I see nothing by AngryRamen. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra. Lucien travels to Amarantha’s domain to try and bid for peace between her and the courts of Prythian. It doesn’t go well.

Still Beautiful, Still Mine by @goforth-ladymidnight. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra. ACOTAR AU - In the weeks following his visit to Amarantha’s Court Under the Mountain, Lucien is still recovering from the loss of his eye. Nuan has made him a replacement out of gold, but the scars on his face are there to stay. When Tamlin comes to see him, Lucien cannot help but relive the events that brought them to this point, if only he could focus on what's standing right in front of him...

A Sunbeam Shining Bright Into the Night by @nocasdatsgay. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

After the Great Rite ritual is completed, Tamlin always goes back to the Manor to see if Lucien is waiting for him. This year he is.

Forbidden by @nocasdatsgay. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra. Calanmai has come once again, but Tamlin isn’t focused on the females waiting for him.

Breezing on by Sprighnt (SliPuP_Slit). Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

His focus was shattered when Feyre dropped onto the bench next to him with a dramatic sigh, “You won’t even say hi after you ditched us last week?”

Lucien rolled his eyes at her antics, “I didn’t ditch you, I was studying for math. The exam of a subject that I need days to prepare for, remember? I didn’t think you’d even notice me gone, what with all the ogling that takes up your time in our practices.”

“Shut up!” She shushed him, glancing around wildly for any eavesdroppers, “what if he heard you?”

——— Lucien has settled into a routine now. He’s finally able to go back to competing after an accident that had him wondering if he’d ever be able to skate competitively again, he’s out of his hellish childhood home, and has friends that make him happy.

By the Fountain by Sprighnt_(SliPuP_Slit). Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

Tamlin is tired of stuffy dinner parties, luckily, he has his best friend, Lucien, to make things more interesting.

———

Tamlin took the time to look at Lucien, who was staring at an elegant fountain nearby. He examined the dip of his nose, the scrunch of his brows, the slight part of his lips that indicated he was contemplating something. Then Lucien’s mouth set in a firm line, meaning he’d made up his mind on whatever the issue was.

Lucien glanced back at him and Tamlin startled at being caught watching. He placed his hand gently on Tamlin’s arm, “I don’t think my father will plan one for me either.”

New Springs by Sprighnt_(SliPuP_Slit). Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

“I can’t be here for as long as you,” she clarifies, gesturing to the forest around them.

“You’re leaving?”

She shrugs, “It’s nice here, but my sisters, my father, they’re my only family. Even if they’re, a little difficult at times, and I don’t want to hurt Tam. I was really in love with him, but, to put it plainly, I’m not like you.”

“Like me,” Lucien repeats, confused, “what do you mean?”

———

In another universe, an alternate timeline, Feyre says “I love you”, before she’s sent off and therefore breaks the curse the way it was supposed to be broken. Things are different.

absolution by @praetorqueenreyna. Feyre/Mercenary Lady, Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

Things didn't work out between Feyre and Tamlin. Years later, they both find love in unexpected places

Beauteous Evening, Calm and Free by franklinarchive. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

Tamlin heals and then he moves on.

Or, what if Sarah J. Maas hadn’t committed ‘character assassination’ against Tamlin?

When The Sun Came Up (I Was Looking At You) by pansexual_intellectual . Jesminda/Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

There was a slight choking sound from the Night Court side of the room, but when you looked, Lucien was expressionless, adjusting his doublet.

It was the worst idea you had ever had. In the shreds of your manor you dropped to your knees. He was gone in the morning, as you knew he would be.

Burning Batter by Sprighnt_(SliPuP_Slit). Tamlin/Rhysand. Rhysand comes over to make cupcakes with Tamlin for Feyre’s upcoming New Year’s party.

A strange thing happened the night of the High Lord meeting by @umthisistheonlyusernamenottaken. Tamlin/Rhysand.

Tamlin shook his head, a small smile on his full lips. “You forget that we were closer than friends once. I know your face. Even when you think you’re being so clever, hiding behind that mask of impassivity, I see you.”

He snarled, even as his heart began to beat faster as the other male approached him.

“You think I didn’t see you? You couldn’t stop looking at me during that meeting.” He took another step closer, and his next words were tinged with playfulness, a hint of the Tamlin he’d used to know.

“Were you thinking of that night too?”

He froze. “What?”

In the Eyes of My Beloved by Alynaw66. Tamlin/Rhysand.

I promise, Rhysand sighs into his mouth; Then down onto the slight curve between his neck and shoulder. Tamlin shivers, feeling dazed. Overwhelmed.

“Another offer,” he begins, one hand sliding down to grip Tamlin’s narrow waist.

(Also fun fact about this fic, I was brought to Tumblr because of a link in the notes, so without this fiction I wouldn't be here)

Stay or Go? by SoulOfStars. Tamlin/Rhysand. Both of their families are dead. Rhysand decides to stay. They fuck in the second chapter.

heaven sent a hurricane by @praetorqueenreyna. Tamlin/Eris Vanserra. After his family is killed and he is crowned High Lord, Tamlin struggles to keep his Court under his control. (Un)Luckily for him, Eris Vanserra steps in to help.

A House of Flame and Flower by Mellowenglishgal. Nesta Archeron/Tamlin, Nesta Archeron/Azriel.

“Spare me the self-righteous lecturing, Feyre. You and your new family believe yourselves superior: that anyone who is not deemed worthy by you must bow or be eliminated. I refuse to bow to those I do not respect: and I owe none of you any such obligation. Nor am I obligated to remain where my autonomy is threatened,” Nesta sighed, gentle yet commanding, her voice low and steady and unyielding. “I renounce all ties to the Night Court. From now on, you are no longer my sister.”

“Where will you go?” Feyre snapped, but Nesta saw it: the sudden realisation that Nesta meant every word.

“That is no longer your business. Goodbye, Feyre,” Nesta said softly. She rose to her feet, elegant as an empress despite her unkempt clothing. As she stared down her youngest sister, Nesta caressed the delicious power shimmering like slumbering embers deep in her heart, until her veins sang with silver fire, pure light, blistering heat, deadly yet silent.

Flame was silent: everything it met shattered and snapped, disintegrating, unable to withstand it.

She was flame. She was undiluted, unrefined, unapologetic power.

She told Feyre, “You will not hear from me again.”

(Side note, I just started reading this fic and it looks FREAKIN amazing) Edit- Anyone who saw that I changed the name of the author to a tag, ignore it, I was wrong.

A Court of Lies and Resurrection by @ashintheairlikesnow. Tamlin/Rhysand. AU: Feyre is dead, torn apart by Amarantha when Tamlin did not send her away in time. Tamlin, forced to submit to Amarantha's terms, finds himself looking for help (and finding affection) in places he never expected, while Lucien allies with an ancient enemy (and one of Rhys's closest friends) to save him. WARNING Extensive explicit adult content, sexual situations, violence, MA

In This Peace Series by @trshtffc, the first fiction in the series is completed The Sorceress . Tamlin/Original Female Character.

Seven years after ACOWAR, Spring Court is struggling to keep from falling apart completely. A mother tries to move on and keep her daughter safe in this chaotic world, but when the young female most needs a friend, she'll give the disgraced High Lord a chance to attone for the pain he has caused, and, perhaps, to finally heal.

TW for - mentions of suicidal thoughts - mentions of loss of a pregnancy - mentions of sexual abuse - mentions of emotional abuse (toxic relationships and toxic family dinamics) - colourism - LGBT+phobia

(This one was recommended to me in the replies of this post, and it looks so good)

And finally, (shameless self-ad) A Court of Song and Desolation by me. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

She had eyes like starlight and a grin that could outshine the moon, "We'll rule the world."

"What if we fail?"

"Then we'll burn it all down."

In hindsight maybe it could only have ever ended like this. Making a man who was never made to rule, High lord. This was all inevitable.

With his Court in ruins and everyone gone, Tamlin lives amongst the broken pieces of his Court and has no intentions of changing that. Lucien, however, will not stand to leave his oldest friend alone.

When Lucien takes Tamlin back to the human lands, they discover a darkness coming for Prythian. If something does not stop it, it will completely rewrite the way Faeries and humans alike live as they know it

I hope you like these amazing fics as much as I do, anon!

Edit- If anyone has any recommendations for pro Tamlin fics, or anti IC fics, please let me know and I will add them to the list!

[babybatscreationsv2]

can you imagine tony telling peter to dress up for an event or something or like peter shows up to the lab with a half torn bag or sOMETHING and tony’s like wtf

so he buys stuff for peter and peter’s kinda uncomf at first but leans into it more n more and then at some point peter just asks for stuff that he wants and it gets bETTER and better like from a sensible jacket to designer bags or something

and thEN, if you wanna write smut, tony’s like hey dont you think i deserve a thank you? WINK WINK

-still not h

Oh did you mean your personal fantasy?

Peter's stomach dropped at the way Tony stood, blinking like he was trying to clear dust from his eyes. It was a long minute, or maybe it was only a second, either way it felt like forever before Tony's mouth curled into a fond smile.

"Is it that bad?" He'd tried to replicate a look he'd seen on the cover of one of Tony's fashion magazines, but he didn't have a lot of money and he'd gotten a lot of it at the thrift store. He'd thought he looked good but now he wasn't so sure.

"You look great, Pete. I swear." Tony crossed the floor and gave him a reassuring kiss. Peter felt himself calm a bit. Tony grabbed the faux leather bag on his shoulder. "Would you mind if I replaced this?"

"What? I just got it!"

"It's just that it's not very in season." He twisted it in his hand and Peter could see a tear along the bottom that he hadn't noticed before.

"Maybe I'll just forget the bag. I didn't realize how bad it was." He grimaced.

"No, no. We've got time, sweetheart."

"We needed to leave like ten minutes ago."

Tony waved his hand. "The party starts when we arrive, baby. They'll wait for us."

Peter rolled his eyes as Tony grabbed his wallet and jacket. He didn't resist as Tony linked their arms together and lead him to the elevator.

Back in car with a new Prada bag in his lap, Peter felt guilty. He never wanted Tony to think he was in it for the money. He loved him dearly. But he also really liked the bag.

He tried a little harder the next time. He found a nice cream colored sweater and the slacks were only a little loose... Yet, when they got in the car Tony turned in the opposite direction of the venue. Peter sighed.

"Tony..."

Tony picked up his hand and kissed the back of it. "Only the best for my baby."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Just replace my whole wardrobe while you're at it."

"We can do that."

"What? I was joking!"

Tony smiled. "You look gorgeous, but the jacket and the pants..."

Peter crossed his arms. "Fine."

He didn't know how Tony did it. He barked orders at the shop workers and had them running around grabbing specific items that he knew all by name. They all looked like things that shouldn't go together but when Tony put him in front of the mirror he looked really good. Felt good too. In fact he couldn't keep the smile off of his face.

He left in a new outfit with a second in the bag that Tony carried. Peter was still a little overwhelmed by the total. Over 3 grand? For two outfits? Were they threaded in gold? Okay... maybe he liked the sound of that more that he should have...

Then Peter noticed one day that his shoes were looking rough. Tony was going to end up replacing them anyway, right? So it was okay if he just asked him, wasn't it?

He stood in front of the man, blushing and nervous. Tony knew what he wanted, he could tell he did.

"Something you want, sweetheart?"

Peter chewed his lip and twisted his fingers together. "I don't want to be a bother..."

"You're never a bother, Peter."

"Well... Since you don't mind buying me things... I thought maybe you might want to get me some new shoes?" He stared straight at his chest, only daring to look at his eyes after a moment.

"I would love to."

Peter couldn't say he wasn't excited as they passed through the glass doors at the entrance. A woman hurried over to greet them, but Peter ignored her, drawn to a display off to the side. They had new watches with real silver bands and little diamonds around the face. He didn't even wear a watch.

Tony's arm wrapped around his waist.

"Which one?"

"What? No, I can't. They're way too much."

Tony scoffed. He pointed at the one Peter was looking at and the woman ran around the cabinet to take it from the case. Tony took it from her and Peter obediently held out his wrist.

"There. It's gorgeous on you." He smiled. Peter couldn't help but smile back. He really liked it, but those were real diamonds. "We'll take it. Anything else you want to look at?"

"We just came for shoes..." Peter blushed again. He twisted the watch on his wrist. It felt so heavy, but it didn't exactly feel bad either.

He ended up in front of the mirror again, decked out from head to toe. He looked really good. He felt really good too. And he swore Tony only looked more excited the longer they browsed. The shop lady had started a pile at the counter for them and Peter couldn't help how exciting it was. Tony never said no even though he asked again and again if he really really sure. But he let Tony coax him into leaving with another three outfits, two pairs of shoes, and the watch.

He kept fiddling with it on the drive home. It was so pretty.

Tony carried his things into the house for him. He hadn't been planning on staying the night, but he certainly had clothes for tomorrow now. Sheesh.

"We spent quite a lot, huh?" Tony said as he placed the bags on the coffee table.

"I hope that's okay."

"Of course it is. I take care of you, you take care of me, right?"

"I-" Peter froze, unsure what to say or if Tony was implying what it sounded like he was. He looked... excited. He came into Peter's space, hands on his hips, and backed him into the wall while Peter scrambled to figure out what the hell was happening.

"Tony?"

"Are you happy with your gifts, baby?"

"Of course I am. They're really nice."

"Why don't you show me how happy you are? I was so good to you after all."

It took another second before it clicked. Oh, you like buying me stuff. "You're right. I should make it up to you." He gave him a coy smile. He sunk down to the floor. His hands slid up his thighs to reach his belt.

"That's a good boy," Tony encouraged.

Peter was surprised at just how hard he was. And how impatient. He must have been thinking about this all day. As soon as Peter's mouth was open, Tony pushed his way inside. Peter gagged, unprepared, but he settled with his hands on Tony's thighs. His new diamond watch glittered on his wrist. He looked up at him and found dark, almost cruel, eyes looking back. He didn't want Peter sucking him off, he wanted to use him. He was more than happy to give the man whatever he wanted.

"Let me see how grateful you are," Tony purred. "You love being spoiled don't you?"

Tony pulled out so he could answer. "Yes, sir," he said. He let his mouth hang open, tongue out, inviting him back in. Tony pushed in until he choked, grinning as he gagged and fought with himself not to push him away. When Peter pulled back, Tony followed until his head was against the wall with nowhere to to. He was drowning in spit and suffocating around the cock that forced open his throat and he felt his mind slipping into something soft and warm and hazy.

Tony took his cock from Peter's mouth, spit hanging from the tip of his cock to his lips. Peter only moaned as he smeared spit on his cheek before stuffing his mouth again. Tony fucked his mouth, right there on the edge of his throat and felt like a fucking g-spot, making him tingly and his cock throb and every time he lost it and gagged it just made him want to cum.

Tony pulled out, leaving just the tip of his cock resting heavy on his tongue. "You with me, Pete?" Peter made noise in answer. Tony lightly slapped his cheek. "Wake up, sweetheart."

Peter blinked away the haze and smiled up at him. "I'm okay." He licked his lips.

Tony smiled. "You're fucking incredible." He stuffed his cock in Peter's mouth again, fucking the perfect O of his lips and over the soft heat of his tongue.

He pushed in as deep as his throat would allow and this time, Peter couldn't help the reflex to push him off, but Tony just grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head. He kept fucking his throat and all Peter could do was squirm when it was too much and he couldn't breathe, but Tony didn't let him pass out and Peter never stopped opening his mouth for more.

"Fuck, such a good boy. You're gonna make me cum, sweetheart."

Peter was buzzing waiting for it, ready for Tony to cum right down his throat. And he did, pinning Peter hard against the wall and moaning deep in his chest. He let him go and Peter sucked the last of it from the end of his cock. He didn't know what to do now, too hazy and still kneeling on the floor, but Tony bent down and hauled him up for a kiss.

"You okay? I didn't hurt you?"

"Only in a good way," Peter laughed. He held onto Tony's arms.

"Good." Tony kissed him again.

"You know you bought me like a lot of stuff." Peter could stop himself from grinning even as he talked in his broken raspy voice. "I think I'd better keep showing you how much I like it."

Tony nodded solemnly. "I wouldn't want to think you're ungrateful."

He picked Peter up off of the floor and tossed him over his shoulder as Peter giggled, "We've got a long night ahead of us."

[nicoline1998enilocin]

Rules:

• In a reblog of this post OR a new thread (with the rules copy/ pasted), post the filenames of your WIP's.

• Post a snippet from one of them. The snippet must have been written in the last 7 days. We're working on making progress people! If you've not written anything, get something down that you want to share!

• After you've posted, invite people to send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3+ sentences on that WIP and share it! If you cannot share it (ie. it's for an event etc), write the sentences on it anyway and then some more on another WIP that you can share :)

Thank you to @imtryingbuck and @buckys-wintersoldier for tagging me in this, it means the world! I had to pick and choose a few WIPs (seeing how I'm already working on this year's Kinktober... Well... I made a selection out of other fics 😂), but I'll be happy to see what everyone's interested in! 💙

Thin line between love and hate | Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Caught in the act | Art Teacher!Steve Rogers x Single Dad!Bucky Barnes

Control | Boyfriend!Young!Tony Stark x Girlfriend!Fem!Reader

When I look at you | Sebastian Stan x Actress!Fem!Reader (RPF)

His special treat | DBF!Ari Levinson x College Student!Fem!Reader

A simple misunderstanding | Husband!Ransom Drysdale x Wife!Fem!Reader

Make me yours | College Student!Virgin!Steve Rogers x College Student!Bucky Barnes

Love at first sight | Prince!Tony Stark x Civilian!Fem!Reader

Needy | Chris Evans x Fem!Reader (RPF)

I thought I lost you forever | Iron Man!Tony Stark x HYDRA Assassin!Fem!Reader

A snippet from A thin line between love and hate

You never thought you'd look him straight in the eye. Across from you stands the man who ripped your best friend out of your life all these years ago. Now, you will have to work with the man you hate with a burning passion. Today is your first day as an Avenger after Tony recruited you for your outstanding fighting skills. That you were one of the best assassins the US Army has ever seen definitely helps, but that's not why you were recruited. The fact that you singlehandedly took down half an army of aliens during the New York attack earlier that month is. ''Everyone, I'd like you all to meet our newest recruit,'' Tony tells the Avengers, along with your name, and you give them a small wave and a polite smile. Everyone except Bucky. You can't muster up the politeness you should give him, not after what he did to you when you were only 10 years old.

No pressure tags 💙 @late-to-the-party-81 @srgntjamesbuckybarnes @tonysslut @darsynia @marvelouslizzie @sebastianstanisahotmf @sergeantbarnessdoll @jtargaryen18 @cosmicbucky @jamneuromain @samodivaa @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @broodybuck @katherineswritingsblog @cutedisneygrl @lives-in-midgard @multiversefanfics @otpcutie @imyourbratzdoll @cevansbaby-dove and anyone who would love to join in too 💙

Divider credit goes to @firefly-graphics

[heavenmcde]

anon ➤ 🌵

time for some positivity !!! / / still accepting

send 🌵 and i'll recommend a canon rp blog

➤ @valour-bound : sol is one of the first people i interacted with when i opened by own horror based multimuse over a year and a half ago , when i had first picked up claire as a muse . as i'm sure most of you know , being a new multi can be hard to get started but sol was that chance for me to really get into claire . it's funny to think that we started all from claire and leon playing a game of romantic chicken around each other , a habit that several more of our muses have picked up along the way . since then , i've really got to interact with their chris even more , to really build up parts of their relationship , the good and the bad .

it probably sounds really sappy , but sol's chris is the chris to my claire , the one i think of when i ever think about headcanons involving the siblings . they do an amazing job of portraying chris and showing the different sides to him , really making you feel from him as you read through their replies .

they also put up with me and claire when we decide to be menaces , causing comotions on the dash in the form of crack rps but then we can also muse for ages even if it doesn't lead to threads , just building up our own headcanons for our characters .

i am forever grateful that we happened to poke each other all that time ago , that i can see how much both of us have developed in that time alongside our muses . i really look forward to where our writing will take us next so please go and give them a follow !

[quickdeaths]

GET TO KNOW YOUR ADMIN !!

name — Bryn

pronouns — She/Her.

preferred comms — Discord for sure! I'm on Discord basically all the time and I try to be pretty responsive to things. If you unlock the secret friendship tier, I will also bother you with memes/ship inspo/random conversation/etc. but even if you don't want that, it's got a big window and a search bar so it is infinitely better for plotting than anything else. That said, I do tumblr IMs too, if necessary.

name of muse — quickdeaths.tumblr.com/muses there's a lot of them take your pick

experience in RP — I started out 17-18 years ago on the forums for a D&D webcomic. Eventually I checked out of that scene, bounced around LiveJournal, had a cup of coffee in Gaia Online, and then came to Tumblr around 2012ish. Was pretty off-and-on here until 2015, and I've been part of the furniture here ever since. I've done a few things on Discord and through Google Docs since, but I think for better or worse, I'm just Here Now.

best experiences — Meeting my girlfriend will always be #1! We met here on tumblr and even though she doesn't RP as much anymore, I'm always going to be thankful for the things we wrote, and how RPing together helped us become friends, and then girlfriends. After that, all the things I've done with people that were long-term and plotted, with mutual investment. I've been doing this long enough now that even people who've left or who I fell out with, I still have a lot of fondness for those stories, as well as the long-term stories I'm doing now.

pet peeves / dealbreakers — The number one ultimate pet peeve for me is people dropping threads without personally notifying their partners. Not everyone lurks on dash, and it's easy to miss posts, and when people say things like 'gonna drop some of my drafts,' it's easy to feel like you've been put in a limbo state. Hiatuses are one thing but dropped threads like that just drive me crazy. Super long wait times on replies (I'm talking like, consistently 2-3 months or more) are rough for me too. Lack of communication as well, especially when it comes to choosing a muse(s) to write with.

muse preference ( fluff, angst, smut ) — Angst > fluff > smut for me. I'm an angsty bitch and I love the drama. I like drilling down into character flaws and weaknesses and forcing them to Go Through It and confront things they don't super want to confront, so I'll probably never get tired of writing angsty stuff. I like fluffy stuff too, but a bit more sparingly just because sometimes I think it can get a little circular. Smut... to be honest, I'm not against writing it if a plot calls for it and it makes sense for characters but I've had a handful of rough experiences in the past with people, and it's an area where I'm not very confident as a writer. You will never see a spicy sideblog from me though, I will simply put it on dash like a shameless heathen.

plot or memes — plots plots plots. Honestly, I would never do memes at all if it weren't The Culture here on tumblr. I never know who to send for, or from, when it comes to multimuses, I worry that the ideas aren't interesting and can't sustain long replies, and they don't usually inspire me. Plotting is great because you can figure out a dynamic, whether there's any preexisting knowledge, maybe a general direction you want things to go, etc. Almost everything I've loved doing has come from plots, but I'll still be offering both forever.

long or short replies — have you seen my blog i should be locked up and the key thrown away. I have lost the ability to write a reply under 5 paragraphs and with Certain People Who Know Who They Are I get up to like 8, 10, 12, occasionally some deeply unhinged 33 paragraph drabbles. I don't even have a good excuse really, it's just what feels comfortable for me to write. It lets me do all the inner world stuff that I use to round out my characters in a scene and contextualize them, while still (hopefully) having enough action and dialogue to respond to.

best time to write — It depends. Late afternoon/early evening is probably best, but later evening is fine too. Sometimes I will start a Particularly Ambitious Reply late late late and get too tired to finish it, and then finish it when I get up in the morning, and that seems to work for me too.

are you like your muse — Not really, I don't think? Although I guess that's for other people to judge. I try to give all my muses traits that I can relate to on some level, or at least one thing that feels connective between us, but I honestly think I'm too boring to be a very good RP character. I think Rio is probably the character I'm most similar to, but even then, I think it's more superficial similarities like hobbies than much else.

Tagged by: @more-than-a-princess Tagging: i will fill this in later, if you are seeing this post then i forgot to fill it in and that means it is a runabout, you can steal it, no one will ever know

[4th-make-quail]

another book down for my bingo card! currently looking like this - although i'm a lot of stories into Jewel Box (I need to finish a full short story collection for hard mode to count), but I needed a break because every time I finished one, my brain was like "ok cool!!! book finished!!! fanfic time??" lol (also the stories are very weird too).

i've been reviewing these on my dreamwidth, but for the sake of the interest i'll drop them here too! has anyone read any of the books on my list? what did you think of them?

I'm aiming for both hard mode and hero mode this year, and it's been fun so far! picking books to meet hard mode specifications was really really fun as well heh.

Book bingo is a yearly reading challenge hosted on r/Fantasy.

HARD MODE: For an added challenge, you can choose to do 'Hard Mode' which is the square with something added just to make it a little more difficult. You can do one, some, none, or all squares on 'Hard Mode' -- whatever you want, it's up to you! There are no additional prizes for completing Hard Modes, it's purely a self-driven challenge for those who want to do it.

HERO MODE: Review EVERY book that you read for bingo. You don't have to review it on r/Fantasy. It can be on Goodreads, Amazon, your personal blog, some other review site, wherever! Leave a review, not just ratings, even if it's just a few lines of thoughts, that counts. As with Hard Mode there is no special prize for hero mode, just the satisfaction of a job well done.

1. The Oleander Sword by Tasha Suri - Prologue and Epilogue Hard mode: must have both (DONE) This is a sequel to The Jasmine Throne, and it didn't disappoint. I absolutely loved it, there was a lot of intrigue and I still loved the central relationship, but the ending was such an awful cliffhanger I desperately need book 3, oh my god!! I thought the upping of the stakes was really well done, and as usual I loved Suri's lush writing style. 5/5

2. The Luminous Dead by Caitlin Starling - Under the Surface Hard Mode: At least half the book takes place underground or underwater (DONE) This was very very slow going. It's been languishing on my kindle forever so I figured I'd try it out, and while the premise was really good - a caver takes on a dangerous job and the book is told from her pov with only her handler for company - I thought it was a bit clumsily written with lots of repetition, I wasn't really sold on the relationship and I found both characters quite annoying tbh lol. Solid okay. 2/5 3. Godkiller by Hannah Kaner - Book club or readalong book Hard Mode: Must read a current selection of either a book club or readalong and participate in the discussion. (DONE) I really enjoyed this one! It was light and easy to read, and it set up a lot of intrigue in the plot so far. I enjoyed the premise of godkillers being basically mercs who, well, kill gods, and I really ended up shipping the main two characters haha, which always helps. It also had really excellent portrayal of disability, with the main character being an amputee living with chronic pain, and she has a Deaf sister. The people in the discussion threads on r/fantasy seemed to think it was too basic and boring, but idk I really enjoyed it. I'll be picking up the next book for sure! 5/5

4. The Tainted Cup by Robert Jackson Bennett - Eldritch creatures Hard Mode: The book is not related to the Cthulhu mythos. (DONE) I already knew I loved Jackson Bennett's writing because I devoured the Divine Cities trilogy years ago, and the Tainted Cup did not disappoint! I picked it up on a rec from someone on the booknook comm on dw, and I'm really glad I did - it was absolutely fantastic! His worldbuilding is second to none for imagination and interest imo, and I really loved the characters a lot. It was fast-paced and hilarious, and the mystery elements weren't overwrought or drawn out too much. Also I REALLY shipped Din and his officer who's name I have forgotten so I was very pleased by that storyline heh. Really really good, I cannot wait for the second book!! 5/5

5. The Palace Job by Patrick Weekes - Criminals Hard Mode: Features a heist. (DONE) Unfortunately coming off the high of Tainted Cup, this book was absolutely dreadful. The characters felt very one-note, the writing was trying WAY too hard to be funny, and the worldbuilding was shallow and nowhere near detailed enough to be interesting. It also just felt very idk. Almost clumsily written? It switched very quickly between POV characters but their voices weren't developed enough for it to be noticeable, and he has a real over-reliance on epithets like "the death priestess" to refer to his characters. Also one of the romances was like.. all of a sudden we're told this one character has a thing for another, but he's not shown us this at all so it just comes out of left field lmao. AND ALSO like, it felt uncomfortably racist at very many points. Idk, it was just not a good book. Very evident after reading an actually good book just before it which hit a lot of the notes this one was trying for but fell very flat with. 1/5

[pensat-i-fet]

Online city thread is saying that there was talk from a good source at the girona game that Ruben is injured possibly out for several weeks.

If they made him play the last game with strapping and have injured him I will hate on Portugal forever

Really? I didn't hear anything about it. I wouldn't be surprised if he has some muscular problems, hence the missing training one day and the bandage. But I don't know about being seriously injured. And in that case, he would probably be back earlier than the rest of the Portuguese like it happened with Dalot for United. He picked up an injury and went back to Manchester on Friday to asses it there, while Bruno is back tomorrow. I guess we'll find out soon but I'll keep my fingers crossed so that source is mistaken.

But so many players pushed themselves to carry on playing. I mean, look at Varane yesterday. Two days ago he was in bed with some sort of flu and then he played 100 minutes at high intensity. He looked half-dead when he was substituted.

[aaetherius]

I just wanted to slip on to say super quick that, like most everyone, my notifications here are fairly broken. I only get alerts for threads every so often, and I never get notifications for @’s or asks (even when the ask is replied to directly). I rarely drop threads (I do every so often if I get overwhelmed, but I never drop threads unless I happen to have multiple ongoing threads with someone and I feel one of them has reached a stopping point or I’m overwhelmed). So, if you ever believe that I have missed a response please let me know! Because odds are, I did/I never got the notification for the reply. I promise you I will never be upset with you for reaching out to me. And, heck, if you answer an ask from me or @ me in something, you are super welcome to shoot me an IM to tell me you answered it (honestly same with threads, you are more than welcome to shoot me an IM when you reply, I will never be annoyed by that). The oldest reply I owe on this blog at the moment is from December 24th. If I owe you anything older than that, I did not see it, please do feel free to reach out to me (or, even, reach out to me if I owe you something after that just to make sure I have it, I will not be upset with you). 

The same applies to my side blog ( @caeruleis​ - which, reminder that is it s side blog so I cannot follow back from it so if we’re mutuals here and you follow there, we are also mutuals there. I know it can be super easy to think we’re not if you look at the following list). I recently missed a response on that blog and I feel so bad about it, so, please, if you ever think I’ve missed a reply, do contact me! I will never be upset with you for checking in. I am a slow writer, so replies do take time, but I do not consider reaching out to me to make sure I’ve seen something to be a bother or anything. I really dislike missing responses because I do adore my threads, so trust me if you reach out to me I will be thrilled. 

I’m also honestly considering IMing people (or shooting some of my partners messages on Discord if I have you there instead) when I reply to asks because I know @ notifications just do not work for most people (and, if I look at it from my point of view, I’d be okay/happy to have someone message me for the same reason). Would that be bother or would you guys be okay with that/want me to do that (because gosh I feel so awful when I miss ask/@’s)? I can also do it case-by-case, because social anxiety is awful I totally understand if it would make you nervous for me to IM you for this (it’s not to pressure anyone to respond or anything to asks, though, as always, you’re welcome to, it’s just to make sure you actually get to see it because, as mentioned, I personally feel terrible when I miss asks and I don’t want anyone to think that I’ve ignored their ask either because most of the time I answer all of the asks I get unless it’s like a meme and you send me multiple/give me a choice, and even then I might answer multiples depending on how on top of things I’m feeling).   

And, unrelated, but since I often have multiple threads with the same partners and their muses on my blogs (which I love, I can’t thank all of you enough for tolerating me I know I can pump out like stupidly long replies sometimes and I can be so much and I’ll never apologize for the length of my replies, but I do know it can be a lot, and I am always grateful to all of you who end up being subjected to my word vomits), I do typically assume that threads that take place in the same universe/AU take place after the prior thread/s (I often do this with asks as well). So things that happen in previous threads might be mentioned/brought up/thought about. That being said, if you ever want to go back in time/do something that takes place prior or fill in some moments we didn’t get to that you would have liked to explore, I am totally okay with that (just feel free to shoot me a random dm or even random ask or starter and let me know hey we’re doing this now loser get in). We do not have to be locked into any given time.    

Anyway, I hope all of you are having a wonderful day! May your week be a blessed one!

Also, here are my Sandys under the cut because I am proud of them. You will behold them. Also, if we’re mutuals and you want to add me on GBF shoot me an IM and I’ll add you! I’m not very high ranked and my summons are kind of middle-tier I would say, but I can be helpful if I can use my earth or light teams on a thing though, and I can def very much help you out if you’re under rank 100!  

[tartagilicious]

right where you left me, viktor 🧪

"the sky is overcast and i'm sorry, one more or one less, nobody's worried. i'll believe it all, there's nothing i won't understand. i won't let go of your hand."

note: so, i finished arcane about a week ago and immediately got started on this, we need a formal investigation into the epidemic that is viktor i have no idea what’s going on. anyways, there was a common theme i really noticed while watching and i really wanted to do something with it, so here we go!! arcane really highlights the importance of its characters’ choices. a few things said differently, the presence of another person, not reacting too quickly — these are just a few of things i noticed, and i thought it tied into viktor’s unfortunate story really well </3 if a few minuscule things had been different, maybe he would’ve had an easier time :( so, my mentally ill ass has decided to forcibly give him a zest for life in the form of you, enjoy ;D

tagging @cr4yolaas !! because i finally finished!! also, thank @kazuharem for not only encouraging my shenanigans but also convincing me not to kill viktor off at the end 🙄🙄🙄

synopsis: you have always been alone. after the undoing of the undercity and the disappearance of vander and his daughters, your naive mind fell into the hands of the wrong person fairly quickly. but, your fate changed the day you came across a boy tinkering with a toy boat; and by simply being the one to pluck it from the river, you changed the course of your lives forever. you spent years by his side, changing, learning, and growing to love him through everything you experienced together -- until you're both offered a position at piltover's academy, and the decisions of your younger self finally catch up with you. now a lost scientist with merit that works for the man responsible for running the undercity, you are led back to your old friend in the strangest way possible -- by his own invention.

warnings/tags: gender neutral reader (please let me know if i slipped up anywhere!), descriptions of illness, seperation, childhood friends to lovers, we bent the timeline a little bit here aha

word count: 11,000

You had always thought you would die young and angry. It’s how life played out for many around you, after all – the Undercity is many things, but it is hardly kind. Promises and money are the things that weave the threads of the unkempt streets, and relying on such notions are easier said than done.

It’s why you tended to fall back on yourself.

Safety was a hard thing to gain when there were so little people you could trust. Consequently, when the death of Vander and the disappearance of his daughters struck the Undercity, you were among the first to flee. Simply because, there was nothing waiting for you in the darkness. Having your parents taken from you at such a ripe age, the damage was never something you quite understood – but, then again, the enforcers of Piltover weren’t looking for your understanding.

When you saw the surface for the first time, you felt hope. Albeit, the sun hurt your eyes and the warm temperature made you acutely aware of the skin on your arms, yet you couldn’t help but want to pick apart the blazing feeling in your chest. Because, despite the selfish nature that had sustained you until then, it was a hope you knew that you would do anything to share.

However, until such a disciple came along, you would run until your legs could barely stand it. Even if you repeatedly took shelter under a man with a false red eye in the Undercity, from the cracks of the upper levels of Zaun to the backstreets of Piltover, you were wholly on your own.

Until him, that is.

You met the young inventor when you were eleven years old, perhaps similar in age to him, on the edge of the river that bordered Piltover and Zaun. He had been far too entranced by his own ministrations to notice you peeking at him, and for the longest time, you would return by the day to watch him tinker with the peculiar contraption.

Though, the day you had finally accidentally revealed yourself, he had been startled into pulling a string that finally kicked the makeshift machine to life. Strangely, it had excited you. The young boy stared at you for a second then, unsure of what to do between the sputtering boat in his hands and the person spying on him with uncharted curiosity.

Eventually, he chose the latter, letting the boat go while waiting in anticipation of your reaction. Two pairs of eyes watched it move down the shallow river, though perhaps it worked a bit too well – as he stood up with his cane to trail behind it, you began to realise it was close to outrunning him.

You were very rarely seen with others at that time, Taught to be resilient and private, you had often wondered if you were incapable of feeling the things others did – happiness, anger, even sadness, were things you rarely had the capacity or luxury to experience.

So, you aren’t sure what propelled you forward then.

The young boy should have been well aware that his cane would hinder such a chase, and the loss of his work would be no one’s fault but his own. And yet, when you jumped down from the rocks that loomed over the bank, you knew you didn’t want that.

Trudging through the shallow water, you pulled the boat from the water with a small grunt. As you took a look at it up close for the first time, you began to realise just how much work had really gone into the invention – each part was unfamiliar, but meticulous to your eyes.

Was it sympathy that bloomed in your chest when he cautiously took it from your hands?

Hope, you reminded yourself. Is a subjective thing. While the sun may be what guides you, inventions such as this may be his.

You let yourself smile for the first time in a long time to appease him, grateful when he returned the gesture.

“My name is ___. How does your boat work?”

The innocence of the words had betrayed your slightly battered appearance. Even with Silco’s protection, there was little you could do against the world’s hardships as a child. You weren’t nearly as adept as his daughter, the blue-haired bomb technician with an unorthodox fighting style, and it showed in the slight curve of your cheekbones.

You had never been given a fair chance before he reached out a hand to you, before he requested that you come back the next day and help him with the boat a little more. His introduction into your life was as seamless as the way he offered a polite hand, manners oddly refined for a child of the Undercity.

“My name is Viktor.”

You don’t know what you were thinking when you agreed, but you continued to return anyway. You learned to sneak through the crowds in the same way your older peers did, counting on the assumption that Silco had better things to do than keep track of you when making your way out of Zaun.

And each time you returned, it was always worth it. Viktor never ceased to amaze you, his young and curious mind mapping ideas out constantly – some were outlandish, and others too simple, but one thing each inkling had in common was the sheer amount of thought put into it.

Much like his mechanical boat, he worked silently and efficiently. It was months before you felt comfortable enough to call him a friend, but you never necessarily needed words to communicate, so long as you were able to create together.

In no capacity were you gifted in the arts and sciences like he was, but as children of similar circumstances, it didn’t matter – you were his legs, and he was the brain that moved you.

Apart, you may have faltered, but together, you excelled.

Even as you grew up together, you learned slowly. Being under Silco’s umbrella, such activities were kept a careful secret on your part, so perhaps it was convenient that nothing in Viktor’s mind was ever quite your expertise. No matter the time Viktor set aside to teach you the intricacies of the things he created, you could only ever manage to dive beneath the surface levels.

It was a mix of this and a concern for your safety that made you think it only appropriate to take no credit for the inventions, even as he insisted on noting your name beside his in patents.

“It doesn’t work like that,” You’d insist, motioning for him to hand you the pen he twirled between his fingers. You were seventeen when Viktor began working on his projects to alleviate pollution in the Undercity, six years after you’d first encountered him. Though you would describe your efforts towards the reformatory gadgets created thus far as menial, Viktor didn’t seem to think so.

“Isn’t it, I don’t know, enough to note me somewhere else?” You offer, dropping your hand when it’s obvious he won’t let up. “I didn’t create this, you did.”

He nods. “It was my hands, of course. But it would be unfair to omit the parts that required your help.”

Viktor taps a part of the air filter on the table in front of him – it’s a more recent invention of his, meant to purify the toxic air that lingers in certain shimmer factories below ground. You avoid his eyes. The part he references is indeed something you had taken the time to understand on your own.

“A part here and there doesn’t mean anything.” You mumble. He looks at you incredulously, one thick brow slightly quirked.

“A machine is composed of many parts. If one doesn’t work, the entire mechanism is at risk of failing. No matter how small, every contribution is important.”

You narrow your eyes.

“You’re talented, ___.” Viktor sighs, a resigned hand letting the pen in his grip meet the page. “It would be a mistake to let you go uncredited when you’re just as responsible for this as I-”

“Vik, please.”

Eyeing you carefully, he looks down at the pending patent and back at you. You nudge him on with the slight raise of your brows.

“...Fine.” His accent piques on the word, and relief floods your system to witness him writing a few adjustments in. Of course, you’ve considered telling Viktor of your fears countless times. You’d divulged certain worries about your caretaker to him before, and even without explicit name dropping, he could surely guess who it was that was the source of your troubles.

But, still unbeknownst to Viktor, you walk a fine line around him. To be credited for an invention you spent time on with him, it’s something you want desperately – because your friend is right. Each piece that goes into any machine passes through two sets of eyes, and though you may never reach Viktor’s level of understanding, you’ve worked hard to be able to call yourself his partner.

And yet, the right is something you are barred from. To be credited for an invention with such prestige, it would surely only make you a target for Silco’s own ingenious plots. You may be tethered to the man by a deal lost to time, but you will not stand for your knowledge to be used to hurt those you have sworn to help.

Years ago, you had come up to the surface for the first time, the sun’s light birthing new, selfless ambition into your young and confused mind. Viktor had given you an outlet for your dreams, and you will not let your shared aspirations die for anything.

Truthfully, though, you wouldn’t be completely surprised if Silco had caught wind of your activities with the inventor long ago. He’s an unfortunately clever man with eyes everywhere in the Undercity – at times, you wonder if Viktor’s own lab is even safe. But, so long as you keep yourself in the dark, you know he wouldn’t dare to seek you out for fear of misunderstanding your role.

It’s why you can’t tell Viktor of your real worries. You couldn’t, also not by risk of his inventive nature – he’d surely attempt to create a solution, endangering himself and everything you’d worked so hard to keep hidden.

It would hurt you too much to tell him that some things just can’t be fixed.

Viktor had been the only one there for you even in the most tumultuous times. Losing him to Silco would only mean losing another part of yourself to the vile man, and you are not ready to give him anything else – your contracted loyalty is far more than enough.

It’s something the man takes very seriously, and for him to discover that you’ve been hiding something so important from him, it could mean the death of you both.

And so, you continue working in secret. Fixing inept systems and saving lives, bringing people of the Undercity up to the light, and providing an example as if to tell those around you, things will change.

At eighteen, you turn around to the familiar sound of a cane clicking on the floor. Viktor greets you with a jovial smile before dropping a small stack of papers in front of you.

You joke, “Jeez, Vik, I know we agreed to share the work, but this is–”

He cuts you off with a chuckle, pulling a few particular papers from the pile with a quiet hum. “Mmh, don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s not paperwork.”

You watch him unfold the papers with rapt attention, a prying hand on the locket around your neck curious of what he’s leading up to. Viktor leans haphazardly on your desk, rifling through everything until he comes up with what he’s looking for: a map.

As he puts a hand on the back of your chair to steady himself after letting go of his cane, you lean in to get a better view of what he tries to show you. It’s marked heavily in red ink, and you recognise most of the littered sites of forges and shimmer containment sites, though the purpose of the markings are still lost on you.

You take a quick glance at the man next to you, only to discover he’s already looking at you. A smile splits his lips as continues,

“This is the official number of facilities our mechanisms have been implemented at,” Viktor flips the page over. “And this, is the tracking of accidents these same facilities have reported over the past two years.”

The line graph slopes downwards exponentially.

An astonished sound leaves your mouth. “Viktor! This is huge!”

A smile washes over his face as you stand up abruptly, taking his support into your own hands as you wind an arm around his torso in celebration. You cheer as he reaches around your own shoulder and pulls you into him without apprehension, laughing as you do.

“But,” You lean back to look him in the eye, smile faltering a bit. “Does this mean we’re almost done? What will we do next?”

Viktor simply smiles at you.

“Ehh, why not start a new project afterwards?” He suggests, taking great pleasure in the way your eyes light up. Even if you have yet to realise, he has always watched you carefully – your tells of disappointment and vice versa are exceedingly easy to distinguish. Yet, he is still unsure how to face your raw dejection when faced with the possibility of parting with him.

“There are many more that we can help, if you’ll choose to stay to complete such a goal.”

A baited question, and his heart pumps wildly when you take it. His baseless theory of your afflictions towards him had long since evolved into a string of small experimentations, though he is no longer sure if he is doing it to figure out only you, or if its roots run deeper.

A familiar grin curls at your lips as you shake your head incedulously, hand that lies around him patting his back. “Looks like you’re stuck with me, because I’m in for whatever you decide.”

But, the notion is short lived.

At nineteen, Viktor receives a letter. Unlike the usual quickly packed thank you notes he normally receives, it is adorned with a large and regal red stamp, his name penned carefully over the front.

He holds it up to you when you walk into the lab one day, equal amounts of concern and curiosity swimming beneath his gaze.

“What’s that?” You ask, shrugging off your coat to hang it on a hook nearby. “When did-“

“It’s from the council.”

The words silence you quickly. Then, you notice that the letter has already been torn open, its contents most likely read over — probably thoroughly, knowing your partner.

And judging from the forlorn expression he wears, it must not be anything good.

“It’s from Heimerdinger, the Councilman.” Viktor explains quietly as you take a seat across from him, not paying any mind to the way you falter. “He’s heard of our endeavours in the Undercity and would like to discuss them.”

Your eyes widen, but you keep your reaction in check as much as possible — despite the outward luck of such a letter being addressed to him, there is an undoubtedly concerning aspect of the offer.

“Then… Why the face?”

“Well-“ Viktor pauses, putting a hand to his chin. He thinks carefully before he says, “The people of Piltover… they don’t reach out to people like us for nothing. The outcome of this may not be good, not for either of us.”

“You should come with me, just in case.” He says.

Shooting him a cautious smile, you shrug. “What, do you think they’d show no mercy to a crippled scientist?”

Thankfully, Viktor breathes out a laugh.

“The possibility is why I need my legs with me.”

The old joke brings a quiet smile to your face, voice gentle as you retort,

“Then, as long as you lend me your brain once more.”

After wandering the streets of Piltover in pursuit of the politician, you arrive at the gates of a particularly refined building — and considering the rest of the city, it’s saying a lot. Curious hands run over the wall as Viktor watches your awe, a silent smile at the corner of his lips.

Further inside the lobby of the building, you both stand there, unsure of what to do until a peculiar voice leads your attention towards the ground. An owl-like creature stands at your feet, no taller than the bones of your knees.

“Hello, dear children.”

You look up and attempt to exchange a look with Viktor, but he only pays attention to the person in front of you.

“Professor Heimerdinger,” Your partner smiles in greeting, nudging you to do the same. The councilman watches in amusement as you try to replicate the kind smile on Viktor’s face. “It’s an honour to meet you.”

The councilman merely waves the words off, motioning with a furry wave of his hand for you to follow him deeper into the lobby. Viktor finally catches your eye as you walk, and you share a quick smile.

“It’s a great pleasure to meet the young minds behind all of the developments in the forges of the Undercity.” Heimerdinger says, settling into a high seat with practiced ease.

He must have requested your presence at some sort of government building, judging by the formal atmosphere. The area you occupy lies not far from a front desk, in a small outcove perhaps meant for discussions such as this one.

“I’m sure you must have been frazzled to receive an invitation from me, but I sincerely hope that you will carefully consider the offer I give you today.”

Viktor nods. “Of course.”

You begin to eye your partner curiously. Viktor had seemed so worried when explaining the contents of the letter to you a few days ago, and yet now, he seems perfectly calm. Frowning, you run your thumb over the smooth edge of the locket around your neck.

A bitter nervousness festers in your gut as Heimerdinger continues.

“—Your expertise in these matters is why I would like to personally extend invitations to the Academy of Techmaturgy to the both of you.”

Before Viktor can answer, your brows knit. “Excuse me?”

The small area falls into a sudden silence, and embarrassment curls within your chest as you clear your throat.

“My- my apologies. I only mean to ask, I thought this was a letter addressed to Viktor only?”

Heimerdinger’s eyes flash with recognition before he chuckles.

“Yes, my dear, that is true. But, only because he is the only one of you with a registered place of residence. I figured the letter would also likely find his partner eventually.”

When you stare at him, Heimerdinger pauses.

“…Are you not also the inventor of these gadgets?”

He reaches into a bag by his side that you hadn’t noticed, pulling out familiar patents. They’re stamped with Piltover’s red seal, proving their authenticity in the councilman’s grip. On the first document, he points to the top line.

Your name sits next to Viktor’s in the man’s staple messy cursive, and beside it is a small scribble. Something in you deflates and rises at the same time, constricting painfully in your chest. Anyone else would look at this and merely assume Viktor was testing out the pen’s ink when printing your names, but you remember the moment clearly.

“You…You didn’t need help at all, did you? You just wanted me to see this.” A surprised laugh escapes your mouth, and you can’t help the expression of apprehension that passes over your face. You rifle through the patents curiously, and with rising horror, note the printing of your name on each one.

Viktor had never crossed out your name like he said he would — ever. Not ever in the two years since you’d begun the forge projects.

A warm feeling blooms in your chest despite the fear. You now realise the error in your secrecy, but you could never fault Viktor for being unaware of something you’d give a limb to hide. Yet still, the fact that he had always seen through to your true wishes to be credited alongside him is touching. So, however horrible the consequences for your inventor status may turn out to be, you will never forget your partner’s kind sentiment.

Viktor is truly the only person in Piltover that could manage to threaten your life and make a grand gesture all in one breath.

Viktor leans over carefully so only you can hear the words he whispers. “Only because I knew you would refuse. You deserve this chance.”

You shoot him a small nod in thanks, hoping your dread doesn’t show too much.

“…This, it's truly quite an offer.“ You nod to Heimerdinger, swallowing your protests with a strained smile. You can feel Viktor’s gaze on you, though you are too guilty to return it. “It’s just… I’m not sure this is a good idea for me.”

Taking advantage of the shock that permeates the air, you push out a strained laugh.

“There’s so much I have yet to do in the Undercity, not to mention, my skills…” You trail off, waving your hand in a motion that suggests your incompetence. It’s a valid excuse that someone might use, though you aren’t sure how much the professor will believe you in particular.

If you’re listed as the co-creator of the inventions put to use in the Undercity, he may have a different assumption of your skills — of which would, unfortunately, be closer to correct than the pitiful show you attempt to put on now.

“Perhaps you have the wrong idea about me.”

Viktor lets out a conflicted cough, and against your better judgement, you meet his eye. The man has never been particularly yielding with his emotions, though you don’t know that you’ve ever seen him so conflicted.

“It’s true, really.” You insist, placing a hand on your partner’s shoulder as you say, “Viktor, on the other hand, is an excellent choice.”

You’re extremely surprised he doesn’t swat your hand away.

“When he devised the warning system for the coal furnaces in the mines, he used his own kitchen to run tests on how well the machine could pick up changes in temperature and air quality.” You explain, a smile curling at your lip as you recall the memory. “We had to replace the stove twice.”

Your voice comes out sadder than intended when you nod. “He’s dedicated. He’s a good choice.”

“___.”

You eye your partner cautiously as he stands, grabbing for his cane. Long legs take him around the narrow couch and he motions for you to follow him.

“I’m sorry, professor, but could we take a moment?”

Professor Heimerdinger nods wordlessly even as you try to catch his gaze, seemingly not willing to offer any insight. Whatever Viktor has to say is for you to take alone, and you don’t necessarily blame him for wanting nothing to do with the fall.

You follow your partner into a more secluded area of the lobby that lies away from prying ears. But, when the sound of his cane on the marble floor suddenly halts, you’re finally forced to turn your gaze on him.

“Viktor, I–”

“Tell me your concerns.” Viktor interrupts, leaning into his cane a bit to effectively raise a brow in your direction. You try to ignore the heat that threatens to creep up your neck at the direct action. “I can see in your eyes that you’d like to accept, but this pattern of decline is too convenient.”

You stumble on your words. “What- A pattern? What pattern?”

Viktor studies you thoughtfully, eyes slightly narrowed. “Is there a particular reason you’d like to completely separate yourself from science to the public?”

When you can think of no way to respond, you look away and shrug.

“I always wanted to be credited for our inventions.” You mutter, fluffing out the back of your hair with an apprehensive huff. You don’t notice the way his expression begins to thaw at the quirk. “But before I knew you… I grew up with a different life. I made decisions to trust people then, and I can’t even get away from it now.”

“Our inventions?” Viktor repeats, taking great pleasure in the way you can’t help but smile. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard you say that out loud.”

You shake your head, pushing out a short laugh. “Don’t be like that, you always knew I wanted it more than anything. It’s why you put my name on the patents despite my protests.”

“That,” He sighs lowly. “I’m sorry. I had no idea there was such a heavy reason behind it.”

“It’s…well, I’m not sure. It’s complicated.” You explain. “I had always been worried that I was being watched, and that the patents would only give him a reason to seek me out.”

Viktor nudges your foot with his cane, encouraging you to go on. “Him?”

Eight years. For eight years you had kept most of Silco’s contract to you a secret, and from the only person who would ever forgive you for making such a mistake. However, now that you have the chance, you tell Viktor everything - how the man had taken you in after your parents had died, and how you had been contracted to him against your will at fourteen after he had caught wind of your inventive nature.

The way you would visit Viktor constantly even as you lay in bed each night terrified of the future, requesting to keep your name out of patents because you feared being used as a tool in Silco’s plots of anarchy.

But, the worst case scenarios always ended with Viktor getting hurt. Viktor being taken away, Viktor being killed, all because you had made the mistake of falling into the hands of the wrong person.

“You were thinking about my safety in the middle of this?” He tuts, leaning back into the wall to hover his cane off the ground and hold it like a club. “I’m not so easily reachable.”

“Viktor.” You laugh, shaking your head as he reverts his position. “I’m serious.”

He shrugs. “So am I.”

“All I ask, is that you consider Heimerdinger’s offer. You deserve this place, no one has the right to take it from you.” He reassures you, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair back into place behind your ear. “Silco can’t reach you in Piltover.”

You shrug hopelessly, head falling into his hand as you mumble softly, “His reach is much farther than either of us will ever know.”

“But, I’ll get out of there. I’ll figure out something, and in the meantime, you should accept the offer. I meant what I said about your dedication.” You nod, troves of unsaid words hanging above your heads. The most blatant of them however, is that should you fail, there’s a fair chance that you may never see each other again – an eye for an eye situation, product of your attempt at desertion.

You realise it’s not something Viktor wants you to bet on, but if you had the choice, you’d leave Silco’s grasp in a heartbeat. Finally, you have the chance to be who you’ve always wanted, working to help those in need and bringing light to the darkest corners of the Undercity. Yet, you are cruelly aware of what will happen if someone should defect, and you aren’t fond of the idea of becoming the next example.

Viktor lets his hand drop, and you attempt to catch his gaze hopefully.

“Maybe he hasn’t even caught wind of these inventions yet. Or, maybe he’s found someone smarter to do the work for him. But, even if none of that’s true and this doesn’t go to plan, I’ll still be able to leave eventually. It’s only a few more years, then I'll be free to go wherever I want in the world.”

Your expression deflates as Viktor simply stares at you, expression unreadable for all but the slight downturn of his lips.

“I’ll be fine.” You assure him quietly. “However easily I’m able to phase myself out of that place, it won’t be long.”

“And if you fail?” He asks, voice uncharacteristically small. “What will I do? Simply wait for your return?”

You go silent at the question, warmth festering in your chest.

“You’d be fine without me even if you chose not to.” You say quietly. “You always would’ve been.”

Viktor sighs, his unenthusiastic eyes narrowed. “...In what world would that be true?”

You’re shocked into silence.

“…Then,” Your lips thin as an indecisive hand wraps around the chain of the locket around your neck. It’s a small thing, rusted and worn from years of passive use – but conveniently easy to break. In an impulsive moment, you tear the chain from your neck, not responding to Viktor’s opposition even as you grab his hand and drop the necklace in it.

“Take this, as my promise to return quickly.”

Cautiously, he thumbs open the small compartment, a small incredulous laugh escaping his lips. Viktor raises the object in his hand with a wry smile. “You’re ridiculous. You’ve kept this, all this time?”

In the open locket sits a small picture, imperfect by every standard. The faces are barely legible anymore, and the jagged cut edges curl out from the areas that don’t quite reach the paper. However, the way Viktor had recognised it with just a glance makes you feel better about the way you still cling onto that day.

Your younger faces stare back at you, smiling with a large object sitting between your hands.

A boat.

You smile faintly, a heavy feeling rising in your eyes as you nod.

In that moment, you hear it – the slight hitch of his breath, the click of his cane as he leans back into the wall. Viktor takes you into his arms with attentive concern, with such raw apologeticness that it clouds your mind and kickstarts your faltering heart.

“I’m sorry.” You say, voice faint with tears. “I can do this. I promise.”

He nods, accent thick with heartache as he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead.

“I believe you.”

You don’t regard Viktor as one of the smartest men in the Undercity for no reason. There were quite a few times when you’d been a personal witness to his ingeniousness, and you respected the boy greatly for his inventive nature even then.

But, when did you begin to see more than that?

Was it in the awkward boy who had given you a new chance at life, or the curious teenager who laughed when a prototype nearly exploded in his face? Though you have always looked upon these memories with fondness, you choose to focus on different aspects now.

The day he had approached you to share the success of your projects in the forgeries, how he had struggled to hold back the rampant flush building up in his ears when he’d asked you to stay with him. The many occasions where he would grab your hand without a thought just to lead you to something new. His simple encouraging words that never failed to urge you on.

But, Viktor had never outright acknowledged the idea of you as anything more until the day you’d had to leave him.

It’s a bittersweet memory.

Occasionally, you find yourself wondering what course your life would have taken if you had listened to the boy you’d always had so much faith in.

he can’t reach you in piltover.

You wish you would’ve taken the chance to find out.

Hope had blinded you in the most unfortunate way — of course, Silco was already well aware of your plans and nearly pounced on the chance to dismantle them, effectively giving you no choice but to stay.

He was once a kind man, taking you in when you had nowhere else to go. But, he had since gone cynical, left without much sympathy for anyone other than his ticking time bomb of a daughter.

When subjecting your skills to the Undercity, he had told you that you would only be continuing your work. Helping people with the mind you worked so hard to cultivate. But you weren’t so nearsighted — the gadgets you designed were for no one’s benefit but his own.

Though, you’d still worked hard in the years you’d been under him. Because, against your better judgement, throwing yourself into such a familiar craft became an undeniable comfort.

If you imagined hard enough, you could even tell yourself Viktor was sitting somewhere nearby, tinkering with a part of his own.

You were never truly able to contact him after he’d left for the academy, and his new position as a creator of Hextech in Piltver’s high society didn’t exactly make it any easier. Besides, your connections were largely cut down due to the secrecy in your role in Silco’s ranks. Your confidentiality was an important piece to his schemes, and god forbid you break it.

It had gotten to the point where you were left to assume Viktor could figure out what happened to you. But, the thought is a sour one. It left you grasping for the comfort of the locket around your neck nearly every time the thought came up, despite that you rarely forgot that it was in the hands of the man you’d grown to love.

Almost six years had passed before you finally received a messily bound notebook from Jinx, the explosive girl giving it to you with a proud smile.

“I’m handing these off to you!” She says animatedly, not waiting for your reaction before she continues in a more serious tone, “You’d better not let anything happen to them, I worked hard to break these out.”

You follow the nudge of her hand onto a lumpier part of the notebook, when you realise that the cover is a makeshift pocket. Giving her an unsure look, you open it cautiously.

A harmless blue glow emits onto her face as the fabric falls back, and you have to admit, Jinx almost looks crazier in the hue — if such a thing is even possible.

“Yeah,” You agree, eyeing the stones with attentive curiosity as you nod. “Sure, I’ll take care of them for you.”

Shouldering the burden of whatever may be in the notebook in your hands, you bid her farewell before returning to your lab. You look down at the journal with dismay. You sympathise with Jinx, you really do – rumours of her story have been floating around since before the time you were initiated, and none of them are quite bedtime stories.

But Jinx is so eager to prove herself that she barely stops to think of the consequences, even when there’s a possibility of them falling to you. But, such is the role of a scientist: your hands are often dirtied at the expense of someone else’s curiosity.

Still, the book seems important, so you don’t want to mishandle it for risk of being connected to it.

You unhook the pouch containing the crystals carefully, setting it aside as you crack open the worn spine. Your lips turn up in a grimace when it falls flat against the table, but it quickly morphs into confusion as you stare at the messy cursive that fills the page. The writer’s hand had been heavy and decisive; whoever had written it was either in a great rush, or was astounded by their subject of notation.

As you attempt to decipher the barely legible writing, you almost laugh. You had only ever known one person with such bad penmanship–

At the thought, the colour drains from your face.

Thoughtlessly, you grab for the pouch of strange crystals while peering at the page. You hope to everything that you aren’t correct, but as the seemingly random lines begin to shift into words before your eyes, you curse beneath your breath.

This is Viktor’s notebook.

Your breath catches in your throat, spilling from your lungs and into every crevice of your body. Though, as you force yourself to read on, your worry only gets worse – the notes detail a new form of Hextech, a more simple version of the magic used to power Hexgates, and their plans to utelise it for more everyday tasks.

More maps breaking down new products litter the notebook as you flip through the pages, each piece more thorough than the next. Your hands splayed out beside the notebook falter as you drop your head, a familiar tightness manifesting in your chest. Just what had Jinx done to get her hands on such a thing?

Breath growing heavier, it gets harder and harder to fight the fear that bites at you with each passing second. Silco had once promised to not lay a hand on Viktor in exchange for your work, but Jinx? Jinx is bound under no such agreement.

You fall into the chair under you, hand over your mouth as you consider your options.

Of course, your worry is baseless. Perhaps Jinx had hurt no one, intent on pleasing Silco to the greatest effect. But, the chance of her going all the way and killing anyone at the scene isn’t necessarily far-fetched, either.

Taking another peek at the open page, you fight a sigh. The work is extremely detailed, and knowing Viktor, it’s likely years were spent on these ideas. It’s for that reason that you force yourself not to dwell on his life too much for now – no matter the fate he met at Jinx’s break-in, you know without a doubt that he would prefer for his work to remain his.

So, for the next couple of weeks, you feign cluelessness.

“I’m– Look, I know that you’d like this information,” You say to Silco, brows furrowed. “But these Piltover scientists don’t write in a way any of us were taught. I need the time to decipher it.”

It’s laughable that the sole reason the information could never reach him is merely bad cursive, not an uncommon Piltover scripture. Though, of course, Silco doesn’t need to know this.

“Tell me, what good of a scientist are you if you can’t make sense of a peer’s notes?” He challenges, and you fight a frown.

“With all due respect, Sir, I can begin to understand the diagrams even without notes.” You say it slowly, testing out the waters. The last thing you want to do while lying out of your teeth is make Silco mad. “But without context, anything I find is ultimately useless.”

Perhaps against his better judgement, Silco believes you that night. Fortunately, it gives you all the time you need to focus on Viktor’s notes in secret, though, you’re not sure how it makes you feel to realise that his notes actually make sense — so much time has passed since you last saw each other, it barely seems real.

You’ve grown since the last time you’d see each other, but for now, you can only hope that Viktor is around to have the opportunity to see it.

But the fact that you can’t contact him in any way doesn’t help your worry, either. It’s not strange for someone of his status to be without a direct line of communication, and it’s even less strange that you, a scientist of the Undercity, still fail to find an easy way to get ahold of the man. Your only source of information has always been the rumours that fall from the pockets of Silco’s clientele – unreliable, but better than nothing.

Assuming that the death of a creator of Hextech would be a bigger scoop amidst the usual sea of casual gossip, you’re relieved when a few days pass and you’ve heard nothing of the sort. But, even the passage of time is a dangerous game now: you know that Silco’s patience is likely wearing thin in the lapse of any progress.

So, you give him what he wants.

He can’t read the messy scripture either, and it’s quite easy to say you’ve made advancements by tacking on a random splice of information that he wouldn’t understand anyways. Giving him the true information would be a gamble you aren’t ready to take – putting that kind of power into his hands could prove exceptionally dangerous.

Still, doing such a thing leaves you undeniably on edge. Lying to Silco isn’t an easy thing, and the fears of your secret escaping run constantly rampant in your head. It’s a difficult thing to juggle, to say the least – like your own personal show, that unfortunately includes acting a part for nearly everyone you know.

One muggy night around a week later, you finally feel as though you’re nearing your breaking point. You can’t feed Silco pieces of nondescript information forever: even he will eventually begin to piece together the mechanics of the gadgets. But, what choice do you have? You've essentially dug yourself a grave.

You think you’ve finally gone crazy when a small ticking sound interrupts the quiet atmosphere. But, another round pulls you out of your thoughts, and with a sigh, you turn towards where you think the source lies.

There is a row of large windows that line the eastern wall of your lab, put in specifically to fuel your ‘creativity’. You had assured Silco it was a useless endeavour, but he had gone ahead without the discretion of your choices, as usual.

The beauty in the Undercity is certainly unorthodox – as much as you’d like to look out the windows and see rolling hills, the mechanical city has its own charms. Everything is connected in a way underground, making for a messy but tight-knit community: an oddly heartwarming contradiction.

Though, perhaps it’s connected a bit too literally.

As you glance out the window, your eyes immediately catch on two silhouettes. As if to emphasise their point, the one kneeling on the overhanging roof knocks again. They say something that’s muffled by the thick glass.

Your brows knit as you stare at the pair. They’re shrouded completely in the dark, features barely discernable behind the panes. You know you should leave them be – who knows what someone knocking on the windows of a lab could be after. But, your curiosity gets the better of you before rationality can kick in.

Cautiously, you make your way up to the window, unhooking the latch and finally letting the quiet voice of the kneeling person flow in.

“___!” A familiar voice you can’t place says your name with relief, slipping past you and onto the counter you kneel on. When they land, the sound they make on impact has you reaching instinctively to their shoulder. It wouldn’t necessarily be hard to paint whatever this is as a break-in, but you’d rather not.

“What do you think you’re–” You fall silent after you pull the person’s shoulder back, grey eyes staring into yours as if to dare you to go further.

Barely avoiding a stutter from escaping, you ask, “...Vi?”

“In the flesh.” She remarks, getting to her feet and taking a look around your lab. “I heard you’d be lurking around here somewhere, didn’t know it would be here specifically.”

Vi shoots you a pointed look and you sigh.

“It’s a story for another time.” You mumble, taking a glance at the person who had come with her that stands still on the windowsill. Dark blue eyes flit around the room, and you don’t think anything of it until you notice the gold detailing on her outfit.

“Woah!” Jogging across the room to cover your work table, you reach easily for the gun holstered beneath your coat. Offhandedly, you wonder if they’re here for Viktor’s notebook. “I didn’t know you ran with that kind of crowd, Vi. Was your disappearance not enough of a shock?”

Vi grits her teeth in frustration, pulling out her own weapon and turning it on you. It’s then that you realise the enforcer on the window carries a sniper rifle, but oddly enough, she doesn’t move to protect herself.

“Seriously? You have no idea what happened to me.”

“Vi.” The enforcer hisses, accent smooth as she carefully eases her way down onto the counter before raising her hands. “There’s no need to be so hostile, their trust is more important.”

Your brows knit.

“What are you talking about?”

With a huff, Vi’s stance relaxes slightly. Something in you deflates at the obvious display of trust between the two – you had never been particularly close to Vi as a kid, always a few years older and a few leagues weaker, but she was still someone you respected. Your own relationship with the higher-ups of Piltover is admittedly complicated, but Viktor is no enforcer. Anyone from the Undercity would be able to distinguish the difference.

“My trust?” You prod, nudging the gun in your hand with your pointer finger as if to remind them of your confusion. “What about it?”

“We heard rumours. You work for Silco? As a…” She struggles, eventually getting frustrated and spitting out a title. “Researcher, of some kind?”

“A scientist.” You correct, shrugging the error away. “But, what does that have to do with anything?”

The enforcer steps forward, eyes unsettlingly kind. It makes you feel as though you’re the one in the wrong, even though neither of you have done anything inherently bad yet.

“We want to take Silco down.”

Begrudgingly, Vi lets the enforcer lead you to the chair by your work table and take care of explaining things to you. Though, you only lower your gun once it’s clear she isn’t there to report you or to arrest you for the things in your lab that are, quite frankly, wholly out of your control.

“The rumours we heard, they said you were here against your will.” The enforcer you now know as Caitlyn says so quietly, an apologetic look falling over her face. Your lips tick into a frown.

“If you want me to help you go against him, I’m afraid it’s not possible.” You lament quietly, leaning back into your chair as you sigh. Caitlyn and Vi exchange a glance as you continue. “I might be a valuable scientist, but I’m ultimately replaceable. He’d kill me.”

And you don’t say it, but you know the man would make it a spectacle. A warning to those thinking of doing the same, and a cruel jab at the Hexgate creator he’d taken you from.

“I know that you think you have power. But, I did too once. Whatever you think Silco is capable of doing, it’s worse.”

“I believe you.” Caitlyn nods. “But that’s not quite true. We… We were given a chance to hold an audience with the council. It’s concerning a different matter, but it connects back to the man who’s forcing you to do this.”

“We want you to give us evidence that he’s doing things beyond code. Vi suggested that if the rumours of your contracting were indeed true, you might be able to help.”

If she has any other thoughts on the situation, they’re kept behind her stumbling words by lock and key. When you don’t respond, she takes decisive steps forward, kneeling down to take your hand from where you sit.

You look up at her in shock as she says,

“Don’t fret. Silco can’t reach you in Piltover.”

Caitlyn’s words are gentle, and unfortunately familiar.

“All I ask, is that you consider Heimerdinger’s offer. You deserve this place, no one has the right to take it from you. Silco can’t reach you in Piltover.”

You always wished you would’ve taken the chance to find out.

Suddenly, your face twists as your free hand flies to your mouth. Memories you had been repressing flow into you at full force, and the feeling is nauseating as you choke out,

“....Was anyone hurt the night the Hexcrystals were stolen?”

Caitlyn’s head dips as if to earn a glimpse of your face, before she hesitantly shakes her head.

“Fine, then.” You swallow harshly. “You’re right. I should come.”

Decidedly, you reach behind you and consequently make Caitlyn back up. You grab the notebook with a soft grip, hesitant in the route you’re taking until Vi pops out a nondescript question behind you.

“This,” You start, voice quiet as you let out an embarrassed laugh. “...Is the notebook that was stolen a few weeks ago. It was stolen by someone in our ranks and passed onto me.”

The revelation makes the pair in front of you go silent.

“Ah–” You put up your hands in mock surrender, brows furrowing. “But it’s not like I asked for this, nor would I ever actually give the information to anyone–”

“You have that?” Vi’s eyes widen. “And the crystals, too?”

“Yes, both.” You wince slightly.

“No,” Caitlyn interrupts, putting up a hand. “That’s good. A high profile piece of evidence will give us credibility.”

You bite the inside of your lip as you contemplate. “But, speaking of high profile. …How sure can I be that I won’t be arrested for this information? While not of my own will, I’ve created things that have been used to commit horrible deeds–”

“I’ll protect you.” Caitlyn assures you, putting a hand to her chest. “I promise you this. You truly seem like a good person, ___, and I believe that.”

An enforcer’s words wouldn’t have meant anything to you thirty minutes ago. But now, they light a casual flame in your chest.

“Thank you.” You nod shyly.

Interrupting the heartfelt moment with the quiet clap of her hand, Vi says, “If we’re all done, let’s figure something out. And quickly.”

“Stage fright?”

Caitlyn comes up beside you, the engaging question meant to be thoughtful. Instead, it just reminds you of all you have to fear — perhaps you’ll be thrown out the moment the councilors know who you are, but even if you do stay, will they believe you?

Or, will they think you’re merely painting a picture for your own benefit? There’s no easy way to explain how the stolen materials were so easily entrusted to you without somehow implicating yourself, and the possibilities are terrifying.

You shrug, shifting the bag over your shoulder. “Something like that.”

“Don’t worry, I told you.” Caitlyn says, a thoughtful hand resting on your shoulder. “I’ll make sure you’re protected. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“…I hope so.” You mumble.

“Either way,” She motions for you and Vi to follow her. “We’ll get through it. Are you ready?”

When you both give your forms of acceptance, Caitlyn lays a careful hand on the large door that separates you from the council room, waiting for an appropriate time to enter.

“Perhaps Marcus was working independently,” a disembodied voice says thoughtfully. “But what could anyone in the Undercity offer him that he didn’t have up here.”

At the momentary pause of chatter in the room, Caitlyn takes this opportunity to enter.

“It’s not what they offered him. It’s what he had to lose.”

Guards accompany you from behind, and admittedly, you can’t muster the courage necessary to raise your head. Caitlyn seems to know what she’s doing, and even Vi is fairly comfortable with facing the officials as she glances among them.

“Councilors, my daughter has a unique insight into our situation.” An unfamiliar woman stands, that of which you assume to be Caitlyn’s mother. Curiously, you raise your head.

There’s certainly a resemblance.

She nods in her mother’s direction. “Thank you.”

“First,” She turns her head to Vi, who stands beside her. “Councilors, this is Vi. She was born in the Undercity.”

“Even though we failed her in countless ways, she risked everything to show me what life is really like down there.” They share a heavy glance that makes you wonder just what had happened between the two of them before they had decided to seek you out.

“People are starving, sick, ravaged by shimmer. They live in constant fear of the coordinated efforts of violent crime lords. And one man leads these efforts — Silco.”

A robotic councilor is the first to speak, refutting. “We’ve done investigations of Silco. They yielded no such level of organisation.”

The forefront creator of Hextech drops what he plays with in his hand, the small pin making a sound that makes the room go quiet. Briefly, you think you notice the shuffle of someone sitting behind him, but you don’t dwell on it.

“What does this Silco even want from us?” Jayce asks.

Caitlyn turns to you, and hesitantly, you clear your throat. You’ve never been a terrible public speaker, but in this moment, you have to wrest the edge from your throat.

“That— he believes the Undercity should be independent.” You explain stiffly. “He calls it the nation of Zaun.”

Jayce’s thick brows furrow with uncertainty. “…And who might you be?”

“My name is ___.” You answer. “I’m a scientist that works under Silco, and I’d like to provide concrete proof that he’s someone that needs to be dealt with.”

Finally, you let yourself get a good look at all of the councilors. They’re all quite unique in appearance, from a range of species and colour, some wearing defining pieces of jewellery while others stick to more plain ensembles.

But as your eyes make their way across the board, waiting for someone to speak, you catch something that stops you short.

You were right. There is someone sitting behind Jayce. He leans out from behind his much larger counterpart to let his eyes flicker over the faces of your companions, only pausing for a split second before they fly back to you.

You dare to meet his gaze when you feel his attention on you. Suddenly, your words die in your throat.

The man’s cheekbones are almost gaunt against his pale skin, and the bags under his eyes must be a similar hue to Caitlyn's uniform. But, there’s a deeply familiar emotion in the way he looks at you. It pricks beneath your skin as the onset feeling of recognition dawns on you.

It feels as though someone’s given you a kick to the stomach when he reaches out for something beside him, solidifying your thoughts by grasping a crutch.

Viktor?

He releases a small breath, urging you on with a slight smile.

You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from letting the extent of your emotion show. Of course, Viktor is sitting in on a councilor’s meeting looking like he’d been put through a wringer, facing you as if you’re a criminal awaiting trial, but some things truly never change.

You swallow firmly as Vi nudges you, forcing you to tear your gaze away from Viktor. She gives you a pointed look that startles you back into function — she’d likely taken the room’s silence as an invitation to go on and was wondering why you hadn’t done the same.

Pushing down the rushing sensation that threatens to burst from your chest, you clear your throat again.

“I’m sorry. As- as I was saying, Silco is someone to be feared because his reach is enormous. With trade routes, shimmer, and control of the Undercity mines, he relies on fear to keep things in order.”

“He may seem kind, but it’s a show. Silco cuts people off from the outside world and makes sure they have no choice but to rely on him.”

You hope Viktor is able to pick up on the distinctions — though you will never be able to properly apologise for the way that you left him, you hope the short explanation will fill in certain gaps.

Taking a slow breath, you look at the ground as you say, “…I had my only chance at happiness taken away when I was nineteen, all so I could stay behind and fulfill the role he needed me to. It's been six years."

“He holds people I care about over my head to this day.” You frown, looking at each of the councilors meaningfully. “But, I’m sick of it. So, please. On the off chance that you will listen to my story, let me provide certain important gadgets from the last few years.”

A few beats of silence pass before an impeccably dressed woman raises her hand regally, a slight smile making the golden freckles across her face lift. A light shines over her head as she says,

“I believe this could be worthwhile.”

After her, councilors raise their hands one by one, all noting their own personal thought processes throughout. Relief builds quickly in your chest, and as the officials speak amongst themselves, you try to catch Viktor’s eye. Though, when you find him amongst the group, he is speaking to Jayce, noting something string-like tied to his cane with abstract gestures.

“Actually, convincing them to spare you punishment may not be necessary.” Caitlyn grabs your attention with the quiet statement as the last councilman ponders. “Most seem accepting of your story.”

You can’t help the smile that comes to your face as the last light shines over the lone councilman, signifying his agreement.

“I’m glad.”

The rest of the session is long and tedious. Certain members of the council, while in agreement to listen to your story, certainly don’t have much faith in you. They question you at every turn, and while it’s usually not hard to find an answer, they strain you – ask if you really did take no pleasure in being the creator of such vile weapons, in being the mind behind the tools.

But as you pull each from your bag, explaining them as a guard handles them at a safe distance, you refute each councilor that dares to doubt your explanations. While their acceptance is important, you know fear of the unknown too well. Those who are the loudest are often only scared of what they don’t understand.

However, it’s a shame that the only other person in the room that can truly grasp the situation doesn’t get a vote.

Viktor listens thoughtfully to each of your descriptions. And though you can’t exactly watch for his reactions in the crowded setting, you can practically feel the interest that radiates off the man. A pleased buzz settles into your chest as you continue on.

The moment that likely matters the most is when you finally reach the bottom of the bag, where only one object remains. Hesitantly, you reach for what could be the day’s catalyst.

“This,” You hold up the leather bound notebook in one hand, not turning around to face the council members just yet. “Is not my creation, but I felt it was important to show it today.”

Cautiously, you turn around, taking the journal into one hand to feel for the crystals kept in the front. A wave of relief goes through you when you feel them inside.

“These were stolen from labs here and passed over to me a few weeks ago, with the hope that I would be able to make use of the notes and Hexcrystals inside.”

Quiet gasps echo through the room as you take experimental steps towards Jayce. You hold them up in a silent offer, but rather than take them directly, he lets Viktor stand and reaches for them instead. You hand them over with a bated breath, noting the slight flicker that goes through his eye when your hands briefly touch.

“I didn’t let them have any of it.” You mumble, not even sure if Viktor had heard you until his lips quirk up into a small smile.

“I know.”

But, he makes a show of flipping through the pages as you stand there anyway, making sure nothing is missing amongst the notes and crystals you’d returned.

“I believe nothing is missing.” Viktor nods to Jayce, who you hadn’t noticed was already borderline studying your face. You realise then that it was essentially impossible for him to have not picked up on the exchange between you and Viktor, not that there’s anything you can do about it.

You take a step back when he nods, Viktor’s eyes lingering on yours for what is perhaps a count too long.

The session ends with the council’s promise to look deeper into Silco’s endeavours, and a collective sigh of relief is released amongst the three of you that had requested the audience. When you exit the room, it is with hope for a changed world, and faith that the Undercity will finally be acknowledged in the way it deserves to be.

But, there is one other notion of change that is more unique to you.

As the crowd begins to disperse, you tuck yourself into a more hidden corner of the hall in hopes that the person you want to see will emerge. And luckily, as the last strings of conversation leave earshot, the large doors open yet again,

Something in your chest tightens as the distinct sound of a crutch hitting the marble floor sounds through the hall. Six years of pain and uncertainty come undone the moment Viktor’s eyes meet yours. He is tired and noticeably older, but the person you remember still lies in the way he smiles at you, in the way he makes his way over to you without faltering.

When he stops in front of you, your voice goes breathy as you shrug, “I told you I could do it.”

Viktor beckons you forward and you waste no time in taking the invitation, wrapping your arms around his torso. He lets out a stagnated breath as you sink into him.

“And I told you that I believed you could.” He whispers, letting you take some of his weight and pressing his chin into your hair.

You release an unsteady breath, heart pounding against his. In a way, it's like no time has passed at all -- you're both still standing in the ridiculously fancy hostel Heimerdinger had summoned you to, connected for the last time as you waited for the unknown.

But, things aren't the same. As he holds you now, there is nothing that you would let pull you away as Silco did back then.

Suddenly, you part from him far enough to look at his face, brow creasing with worry as if you’d just remembered something. Viktor looks at you with easy curiosity as you swipe a thumb beneath his eye, over the curve of his cheek.

“...What happened to you?” You ask softly, noting the pain that strikes through his gaze.

He frowns, and suddenly, he looks exhausted.

“I’m sick, ___.” Viktor admits quietly. “And, I don’t think I can fix it.”

Your heart stops. What’s worse is it’s viable, a good explanation for the changed man you see in front of you. But you don’t want it to be true, you don’t want the possibility of losing him again –of losing him for good.

Abruptly, he pulls back, eyes roving over your face. You stare at him blankly, unable to process his actions so quickly.

“The prognosis revealed my illness was due to pollution from the Undercity.” He explains, his own gaze looking for the tell-tale imperfections of sickness in your face. “You spent a lot of time in the same areas I did, have you felt anything?”

Quickly, you shake your head, still reeling from the strong sense of concern for you that he’d never seemed to shake – not even when he is the only one blatantly in danger.

“No-no, nothing.” You assure him, wishing your heart didn’t pick up the way it does when he releases a sigh of relief. “But, you–”

You go quiet, biting the inside of your cheek as your eyes flit around. Perhaps if you think hard enough, you can think of a way to help him. Though, in your endeavours, your gaze catches on something else – the ‘string’ you’d seen tied to his crutch previously is now noticeable at the close distance.

Silently, you reach down towards it, lips parting in surprise. Viktor’s free hand rests lightly on your waist.

“You-?” You have a hard time getting the right words out as you take the small charm between your fingers, thumbing open the small cartridge to see two small faces. “You’re ridiculous. You really kept this?”

The locket you had given him the day you’d last seen each other, over six years ago, has stayed with him. The surface is more worn than you remember, attesting to the sheer number of times it had probably been pried open.

Tears finally prick behind your eyes as Viktor smiles thoughtfully, a careful hand placement beneath your chin bringing your gaze back up to his. “It was your promise, I was only waiting for you to fulfill it.”

You don’t know what you’re thinking. The moment is crude, and it’s still unclear as to whether or not Viktor still holds the same feelings he did back then – but despite this, despite everything telling you to step back and think, you take the hand that hovers beneath your chin and kiss him.

When he momentarily falters, you pull back immediately.

You suck in a short breath. “I’m sorry, I–”

Viktor cuts you off fairly quickly, guiding you by your own hand and directly back into him. He kisses you gently, tenderly, like he’d been waiting ages for this moment. And in a way, perhaps you have been too.

When he releases you, the sensation of his breath mingling with yours brings a small smile to your face.

“I’ll help you.” You promise it softly without thinking, slightly breathless. “Whatever you can’t fix on your own, we can fix together.”

“That is, if you choose to let me help you complete such a goal.”

Viktor shakes your hand a bit in mock exasperation, shocking a laugh out of you. “You’re insufferable.”

You had always thought you would die young and angry. But, you can’t quite remember the day that changed – simply put, life has always been a struggle. A constant game of tug of war between you and an invisible entity. But on the days you felt that you couldn’t handle it anymore, that the weight of your mistakes was simply too heavy to bear, you had someone to turn to. Even after those said mistakes tore him away from you, there was still always an inkling of your partner that stayed with you.

Such is the power of connection. Viktor gave you what you needed to feel alive, and breathed hope back into your fragile lungs even as dirt clouded you.

When you look at the fragile man in front of you, you don’t see him as someone who’s beyond saving – if anything, he is a reflection of the person you’d once known. Your roles have been reversed, and it is finally time to repay his favour to you.

[sojutogo]

soulmate au:

There was a time when Wonwoo saw nothing but shades of white and gold every single year.

Bands glittering underneath the Tuscan sun or flowers softly swaying under a canopy of red woods, the scent of earth clinging to his shoes at every step. Where the revelry went for hours and hours on end and the wine flowed like a fountain as shrieks of laughter broke the night air and made it warm. He also remembers swaddles of cloth and love held in the arms of his friends, of rosy-cheeked babies and long afternoons rolling on hills and picnics underneath the trees.

And then like the changing of the seasons, of summer bleeding into the cold winds of fall until the harshness of winter surprises him one morning when he least expected it, an ocean of black and somber white was all he could see—of umbrellas held under the rain and cold headstones. The scent of earth clinging to his shoes smells like mourning.

Not everyone lives forever.

The heart, at some point, grows old with weariness and succumbs to resignation as its other half remains lost—a boat untethered to its shore.

Wonwoo will watch friends turn old and grey, skin withering until he gazes into their milky eyes and realize that recognition has long passed and they remember nothing of their nights of revelry when the wine flowed and the laughter went on until morning.

Wonwoo makes sure to attend every funeral as an apology—all sixty-five years worth of it.

The butler had already prepared his suit by the time Wonwoo dropped the call. He does not know if he wishes to praise his efficiency or to worry about how they have established a routine with how often Wonwoo receives calls like he just had these days.

It feels like the grim reaper is also calling for him.

Nevertheless, Wonwoo slips the suit on—he used to have a favorite but as the years passed, the threads began to fray and Wonwoo had to call for a new one. He thinks he likes this one best, it's simple and it will be easier for him to blend with the crowd later.

Wonwoo had never liked drawing attention to himself.

“I'll pick you up after, Sir?” His butler asks, a tall blond man who does not look a day over eighteen but has worked for Wonwoo for over twenty-seven years. He has a silver band on his finger and his hands are smooth and pale—some are lucky to have found their soulmate so young and stay frozen in youth, forever.

And is that not one's ultimate desire?

Countless tomes of literature and reels of films have spoken about humanity's search for the fountain of youth, for the elixer that cures old age and sickness and lets the beholder stay young for all of eternity.

But Wonwoo had come to realize that these are nothing but products of souls who have not found their own souls, the chattering of mad men in the dark or the drunken conversation from one bottle of spirits to another.

A hidden desire, a prayer to the lost gods.

“No need,” Wonwoo replies as he slips inside the back seat of the car, bringing his wrist in front of him to check the time. “I'll be fine.”

His butler steals a look on the rearview mirror for a second, kind understanding in his eyes, before he nods and they drive off.

The funeral this time is quick and only attended by a few friends and family.

Wonwoo sees some familiar faces during the service and he chances upon Seungcheol once the casket had been lowered and Wonwoo had finished offering his respects to the family.

“Leaving already?” Seungcheol greets him, face just as cherubic as Wonwoo remembers when he first met him in college, fourty-three years ago. “You haven't even said hello to the gang, yet.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes at Seungcheol's fatherly tendencies but he supposes it's warranted. Seungcheol is the oldest friend Wonwoo has ever had.

“I'll see all of you at dinner tonight anyway,” Wonwoo replies as they walk side by side on the grassy lawn of the cemetery. It's a shame that most of New York's greeneries are found here.

“Forgive me if I wish to spare myself a few hours of peaceful sanity.”

“Dramatic as always,” Seungcheol scoffs as he folds the umbrella he had been carrying earlier when it started to drizzle. “They're not that bad.”

Wonwoo shrugs as he focuses his gaze on Seungcheol's side profile, “What? Don't they tire you?”

The older is quiet for a minute as they simply walk in companionable silence.

When you have known someone as long as Wonwoo has known Seungcheol, there is no need to fill every meeting with conversation—Wonwoo knows enough as much as Seungcheol knows him enough. Understanding each other was just as inherent as breathing, Wonwoo thinks there was no else in the world that he knew him in the way Seungcheol did.

Eternity is often lonely as Wonwoo had come to realize but he's glad he will always have a familiar face to go back to.

“I think funerals always had a way of shocking me back to reality despite having lived this long,” Seungcheol starts. “It's a cold reminder to me that not everyone has a lot of time, not everyone is like us.”

Immortality was conditional: a person stops aging only if they meet their soul mate. No one knows how this rule came to be, the gods have long refrained from answering prayers and neither history offers any answer. It simply just was and that is how they came to be.

Yet despite such premise, they could still die. Old age will not touch them, not even if they grow as old as the mountains that once were piles of rocks and seas that once were barren with water. But Death has other ways to announce its arrival because after all, the heart is also a fragile, fragile thing.

Heart break was his favorite harbinger.

Sometimes meeting your soulmate does not mean the guarantee of forever. Sometimes differences do not work out even if their destinies have been written in the stars.

Stars after all, no matter how bright they burn, die.

So does love.

Human beings are fickle creatures and love becomes arbitrary when the years stretch long enough for it to simply be not enough.

“Good, now you're reminded to start my funeral preparations.”

Wonwoo gets nothing but a dead-eyed stare in return for his cheek.

“Do you still honestly believe you haven't found him?"

Him.

How was Seungcheol so sure?

“Of course,” Wonwoo scoffs, shrugging away the disbelief in Seungcheol's eyes. “I have been feeling old age in my bones lately, my joints hurt when it rains.”

Now, it's Seungcheol's turn to roll his eyes.

“You do not look like you've aged since the year we met,” Seungcheol replies, sounding like he's trying to explain a basic concept to a five year-old (Wonwoo knows, he's been around Seungcheol's kids for dinner long enough) when he had already explained it earlier but has to do it again.

Wonwoo does not think he appreciates the sentiment.

“Maybe you're the one getting old,” Wonwoo squints. “Don't you see my wrinkles?”

Seungcheol throws his hands up in the air in a whatever gesture and simply walks away with his back turned against Wonwoo, the picture of defeat. There's a car waiting for him at the curb and Wonwoo does not have to guess that Jeonghan is the one behind the wheel.

Late for every single thing unless it involved Seungcheol.

Mingyu as the eternal host of honor had figured that if he wanted their dinner parties to start on time, Seungcheol was the one to ask and not Jeonghan if they were going to make it.

“Don't forget dinner, grand pa!” Wonwoo calls after him and Seungcheol simply shoots Wonwoo the bird as his figure retreats even further until Seungcheol finally fades out of sight.

Despite Seungcheol's frustrations, Wonwoo still finds a reason to laugh at his old friend's antics. He know understands where Hyunbin got her moody tendencies.

"Well," Wonwoo sighs as he fishes for his phone, "Looks like I don't have a ride home after all."

"Why? Too old to walk home, old man?"

Wonwoo spins around, phone halfway raised to his ear as another (unfortunately) familiar face comes into view.

Wonwoo's mood immediately dampens.

“What are you doing here.”

“I'm attending a wedding,” Soonyoung hums, his tone adopting the sarcastic one he always has when he's within the hearing vicinity of Wonwoo's.

“Hope it's not yours, I fear for the groom,” Wonwoo fires back with the same ease of banter and dose of acidity.

“Aww. Jealous, darling?” Soonyoung grins mockingly as he shrugs a black jean-jacket over a frayed band shirt, horribly under-dressed as per usual.

“Don't flatter yourself, I'm merely concerned for the poor man that has to spend eternity with you.” Wonwoo mutters as he pockets his phone and begins to resume his walk towards the cemetery's exit.

Uncaring if Soonyoung follows.

But like a fly that annoyingly buzzes in one's ear, Wonwoo hears the rush of hurried footsteps.

Great.

“Shouldn't you be more concered about those wrinkles, old man?” Soonyoung replies, easily falling into step with him despite the younger's obvious disdain, which he has made very clear every time Wonwoo was present.

"Shouldn't you start dressing in warmer clothes? Those jeans can't be too good for your blood circulation."

Wonwoo doesn't remember when he first met Soonyoung but he distinctly remembers the wave of white-hot anger that came crashing down when the younger clumsily crashed against him and consequently, the diorama Wonwoo had spent weeks building for class.

To his credit, Soonyoung had tried to help Wonwoo and even going as far as offering to come with him to class to explain what happened to Wonwoo's professor. But patience was not (yet) a virtue Wonwoo had come to cultivate and he was too proud for his own good to accept Soonyoung's apologies despite the younger's insistence.

And thus began a war that spanned all through out college as Wonwoo had retaliated by sneaking into Soonyoung's frat house (courtesy of a once-impressionble Chan) and putting powdered chalk all over his clothes and beddings and well, his laptop was just lying there and Wonwoo had a year of computer engineering before he shifted to creative writing and got, well, creative.

Soonyoung not one to take such insult lying down, had proceeded to egg every inch and crevice of Wonwoo's newly-washed car so much that it had to take three more washes for the older to get the smell off.

In hindsight, Wonwoo thinks they could have just talked it out like proper and civilized human beings. But pride was on the line and Wonwoo had spent way too much money on balloons that he had blown up and snuck in Soonyoung's car to bake under the heat and pop simultaneously the moment the Dance major attempted to open the car doors.

As such, it just became a thing to both their eternal thirst for revenge to one-up the other and their friend's amusement.

("I've never seen Wonwoo exert so much effort until he meet Soonyoung," Mingyu mutters in quiet awe as he watched two of his friends chase each other down the lawn with a can of whipped cream. "You couldn't even pay him to attend sports day."

Jeonghan simply hums as he grabs the can of beer from the still-frozen man and leans back on the beach chair he had comandeered from one of the frat houses for No-Beach-Beach Day.

"Sometimes your soul mate makes you crazy.")

"Don't worry, I'll still out live you." Soonyoung replies as he twirls his car keys over a finger. "Now, does the senior citizen need a ride?"

There's a scathing reply at the tip of Wonwoo's tongue but it gets cut off as a gust of wind billows around them, making the both of them shiver and goose bumps to errupt on their exposed skin.

Freezing to (possible) death just to wait for Desmond to arrive will save his pride but Wonwoo had just come from a funeral and he's just about ready to call it a night with a glass of wine to lull him to sleep.

Getting stuck in an awkward car ride with Soonyoung seems like the lesser of two evils and he wants Desmond to come home to his own family on time for dinner, for once.

"Fine," Wonwoo mutters as he walks towards the direction of the car park, "Get me home."

"Oh, is that a please I hear?"

"Fuck off," Wonwoo mutters as Soonyoung grins manically beside him as he rushes to his car.

Once they're both inside with much less fanfare than Wonwoo had come to expect, Wonwoo presses himself against the car door as close as possible to at least create a line of separation between him and Soonyoung.

Wonwoo will find a way to keep his dignity intact.

To his chagrin, Soonyoung doesn't even comment on it and simply drives.

The ride is silent for a few minutes save for the constant stream of whistling from Soonyoung's end after he had turned on the radio to some pop station that he knows will annoy Wonwoo to death. Wonwoo having no other desire to exert any unnecessary effort to interact with Soonyoung, simply keeps his mouth shut despite the headache throbbing in his temples at the repetitive lyrics.

"Hey, you think you'll die soon?" Comes the sudden question from Soonyoung as they drive out of the cemetery property and into the highway.

Wonwoo furrows his eyebrow for a second before he shrugs and decides there would be no harm to entertain Soonyoung's answer.

"If you still keep that smoking habit, you might." Wonwoo mutters as he eyes the pack of Malboros on Soonyoung's dashboard and the accompanying lighter beside it.

One of Wonwoo's eternal ticks was the smell of nicotine and Soonyoung was a walking cigarette pack ever since he met him. It was just natural for Wonwoo to add that to the long list of things he found annoying about Soonyoung.

"I stopped!" Soonyoung whines, petulant as if Wonwoo has greatly wronged him. "Why do you always think the worst?"

Wonwoo rolls his eyes at the younger's petty tears, "You've been smoking since college, how was I to know you stopped?"

But, Wonwoo did know.

He knew because the car was strangely absent of the scent of nicotine that used to line the leather over the years and he had seen Soonyoung stay on his seat the entire time during dinner last week, when the black-haired man would usually excuse himself during dessert for a smoke break.

"Well, I'm stopping now." Soonyoung mutters as he rubs a finger against his nose, body bowed in a self-conscious curve.

"Congrats? Is that what you want me to say?" Wonwoo wonders out loud and it only serves to make the hunch on Soonyoung's shoulders more pronounced.

"You don't know have to be such a dick about it," Soonyoung sniffs as he manuevers the car in the free way. "Asshole."

"Well, what did you want me to say then?" Wonwoo sighs as he rubs a tired hand against the space between his eyebrows.

"Nothing, forget it." Soonyoung replies tersely and his sudden closed-offness just serves to make Wonwoo's headache worse.

"Just spit it out, Soonyoung." Wonwoo mutters as he leans back on his seat and gazes out the window, "Or you'll end up holding it against me, again."

"I said it's nothing!" Soonyoung suddenly shouts and it makes Wonwoo jump on his seat with surprise.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Wonwoo hisses as he tries to calm his heart beat down, "Do you want to get us into an accident?"

"Oh so now I'm a horrible driver?"

"I did not say that you dip shit," Wonwoo fires back.

"You were implying it, dickhead."

"I really was not but if you're going to insist on it, fine. You're a horrible driver and I will fucking kill you if you get us in an accident."

The car grows quiet after that with nothing but Wonwoo's still-harsh breathing and Soonyoung's god-awful radio station to puncture the silence from time to time.

"I'm not," Soonyoung whispers after a while, strangely subdued after his sudden outburst.

"You're not what."

Wonwoo watches him drive the car to the outermost lane before Soonyoung kills the engine and parks the car by the sidewalk in silence.

"What are you doing, some of us has to get home."

"I told you, I'm not gonna get us killed."

Wonwoo raises his eyebrow, slowly growing concerned over Soonyoung's unsual behavior, "Okay? Now drive?"

"Just..." Soonyoung sighs, a harsh sound escaping his teeth before he unbuckles his seatbelt but makes no move to get out of the car.

"Have you been drinking?" Wonwoo asks, "What is wrong with you, today?"

Wonwoo can feel the headache consuming his whole skull as his skin burns with impatience.

He has no time to deal with whatever brand of crazy Soonyoung has decided to dish out today and just wants to get home, take off his suit and wash the scent of flowers and burnt candle wicks out of his body and then drown himself with alcohol until he feels numb and he forgets the image of his hand throwing a rose at a dugged-out pocket of land as he watched its petals touch the solid wood of the casket being lowered to the ground.

He just wants to go home and forget that he lost another friend.

"Nothing's wrong, why do you always assume something's wrong with me?"

God, why now?

"Soonyoung, I'm not in the fucking mood to deal with your bullshit right now." Wonwoo breathes harshly through his teeth as he tries to will the headache away, "So you either drive me home or I can get out of this car and walk."

"Do you really hate being with me?"

It's said so quietly that Wonwoo could just miss it but they're alone and the highway is silent that Wonwoo hears every word.

He's about to reply when something glints on Soonyoung's cheek and Wonwoo realizes with aborted surprise that the younger is crying.

"Shit," Soonyoung swears once he (too) realizes that he was crying, "Shit, why the fuck am I crying?"

"Soon–" Wonwoo doesn't know what to do with his hands as Soonyoung keeps crying, tears stubbornly falling on his cheeks even if the younger tries so hard to wipe it off.

It's the first time Wonwoo has seen Soonyoung cry.

He has known him for fourty-one years.

Soonyoung's tears evolve into full-on sobs, shoulders hunching as his body is wrecked with the force of his cries and Wonwoo doesn't know what to do.

He doesn't know what to do, he has never had to take care of Soonyoung before.

The younger was always so bright and full of life even in the face of the worst of Wonwoo's pranks. The worst of his emotions was only limited to being pissed off after Wonwoo one-ups him or to bursts of annoyance that came when he couldn't get the choreography right for a dance recital or when his unreasonable boss piles another job on him which usually ended up on Soonyoung taking it out on Wonwoo in the dorms when they were still in college or after their dinner parties in his apartment.

Yes, they slept together.

Their petty rivalry had to rear it's ugly head at some point and it happened a few months after they started when they got into one of those arguments that had everyone fleeing the room to avoid the inevitable car crash.

Wonwoo doesn't remember who kissed who but he remembers ending up in Seokmin's bedroom with his pants halfway down his thighs and the feeling of his teeth clamping on his own fist as he tried to hide his moans as Soonyoung sucked him off.

Then he jerked the younger off to near passing out until they collapsed on their friend's bed with a tired sigh.

They still hated each other even after that but instead of ludicrous pranks, Soonyoung can leave mean bites on Wonwoo's shoulders where his shirt will hide them and Wonwoo can edge Soonyoung for hours if he pissed Wonwoo off that day.

It didn't have to mean anything else but another way to get revenege against each other.

Wonwoo could still see the bite he had left on Soonyoung three days ago peeking through the collar of the younger's shirt and if Wonwoo could concetrate enough, he can still feel the phantom throb from where Soonyoung had pressed his fingers deep into Wonwoo's shoulder as he fucked him from behind last week.

There's an entire constellation of themselves on each other's skin—pressed, bitten, kissed.

A reminder, a claim, a promise.

Wonwoo suddenly feels so, so tired all of a sudden.

He's so tired of having to pretend that all this time, from college up until this very moment where he's watching Soonyoung cry, he doesn't want to hold his hand.

"You are not going to die," Wonwoo starts, not knowing where he'll end up after this. "Not even in the nearest future or even after then."

A waterly laugh errupts from Soonyoung's mouth from where he's leaning on the steering wheel, "How sure are you?"

"I just am, Soonyoung." Wonwoo sighs as he looks ahead of him, through the window of the car and into the long and silent road.

"I could die anytime now," Soonyoung mutters. "I could die anytime."

"Why do you think you'll die, why are you so sure?"

Soonyoung scoffs as he lifts his head off from the steering wheel, "C'mon genius, you and I both know why."

Wonwoo turns his head and looks at Soonyoung straight in the eye.

He has known Soonyoung for fourty-one years.

"I really don't."

Soonyoung sighs as he wipes the last of his tears off before looking away and staring at his own side of the window, "I don't have a soulmate. There. Happy now, asshole?"

Wonwoo is not.

"You really had to make me say it, don't you?" Soonyoung scoffs as he begins to start the car up, "You're really an asshole."

Wonwoo closes his eyes and thinks that he has known Soonyoung for fourty-one years.

Fourty-one years, Wonwoo should be over sixty now and yet he still looks like he's still twenty-three.

He met Soonyoung at twenty-three.

"What am I, then?" Wonwoo whispers, quiet.

A confession, albeit fourty-one years late.

"What are you what?" Soonyoung asks, tone confused as Wonwoo opens his eyes and stares back again at Soonyoung.

Fourty-one years.

He has been in love with Soonyoung for fourty-one years.

"What am I, if not your soulmate?"

[littlestarofthewest]

Forever ago request that I started long ago and finally finished. Hope you'll see this, anon.

Title: Saved by the Bell | Words: 2,611 | Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Arthur x female reader

You can't exactly tell when it started; you just know it's getting worse. For a few weeks now, you and Arthur have been dancing around each other, making jokes and comments that aren't solely friendly. You also don't remember who started it, but now that you're both in it, neither of you wants to give in and stop. 

Somehow, Arthur always manages to do his work right in front of you, often needlessly shirtless, giving you a good look at his muscular body. In turn, you bend over way more than necessary, not caring if your clothes stay in place, exposing your cleavage or legs up to your thighs. 

Today, it's one of those days again. Arthur is chopping wood, always in your frame of vision, once again refusing to wear a shirt. He only stops when you use helping Pearson as an excuse to lick your fingers clean at every chance you get. 

Arthur disappears after that. You see him again when you're down by the river to clean some clothes. He washes barely a few steps away from you. Unlucky for him, you're not the most squeamish when it comes to cold water. Only dressed in your chemise, you don't care how the stream soaks the fabric, making it cling to your thighs. 

By the time Arthur walks over to you, you managed to get a few splashes of water on your chest as well, letting your breasts shine through like a beacon in the night. Arthur's eyes clearly rest there for a moment before he looks at your face.

"Charles said you wanted to come on our next hunting trip. That true?" he asks.

"Sure, why wouldn't I?"

"Lots of wild animals out there. It's pretty dangerous."

You know he doesn't mean that. After all, you've been out with them before. The whole conversation is just another way of teasing you. Arthur is standing way closer than he has to or does with the other girls. Droplets of water are still searching their way through the hair on his chest to run down over his stomach before they find their end at the hem of his jeans, not allowed to venture any deeper. Just like your gaze.

After weeks and weeks of this, it begins to annoy you. "You know, the chance of being ravished by some wild beast out there doesn't scare me at all. In fact, it would be a nice change of pace."

Arthur needs a moment to process your answer, and something in his face and posture shifts. "Are you sure? You could get hurt."

He sounds way too serious, and maybe you should get to the bottom of it, but you're out of patience. You get up and pick up the basket with the clothes before leaning over to Arthur. "I'm tired of the chase, Arthur. If you want your prey, you shoot it, or you don't. You don't make it run until it wants to throw itself off a cliff just to put an end to it."

Arthur opens his mouth but doesn't say anything. At that moment, you decide that you don't want a man who can't be honest about what he wants. You gave Arthur enough hints, making clear that you wouldn't be opposed to taking it a step further with him. If he can't act on that, then you'll call it quits. 

"Maybe I'll find someone else to hunt with," you say, walking away. For a brief moment, you have a flicker of hope that Arthur might hold you back, but the silence behind you is absolut. It's over.

[Line Break]

A week later, Arthur and Micah bring in a big score. They're the most unlikely pair out there, but Arthur is also the only one who can keep Micah in check aside from Dutch. Arthur chooses to work with him, so nobody else has to.

It's barely past noon, but a little celebration is born. People are singing and drinking, and while you're usually not much into booze, you make an exception this time. Micah, on the other hand, gets drunk faster than anybody else. That's probably why he tries to talk to you at all. You could never stand him and made that so clear that even a thickhead like Micah accepted that he should avoid you. Today, he seems to have forgotten all about that.

"Come on, doll. We've just gotten off to a bad start. I'm sure we can become friends."

The way he lets his eyes roam over your body makes it pretty clear that being friends is the last thing on his mind. Usually, you would have told him to get lost, but Arthur is walking over to get another beer, and an evil voice inside you tells you to get even. 

"Friends, huh?" you say, reaching for the collar of Micah's shirt. You straighten it before running your fingers over his skin, playing with the little hairs on Micah's chest. "That all?"

Micah grins, trying to puff himself up. Instead, he sways dangerously, barely able to stand upright. "Oh, I can be more than that. Say the word, and I'll show you a good time."

It's not lost on you that Arthur hasn't moved from his spot. He's just standing there, listening in on your conversation. "Tell you what," you say, leaning over to Micah and dropping your voice, "I'll think about it, but you have to do a lot better than this."

Arthur drops the bottle he's holding, but Micah pays him no mind, too occupied with you. "Let's go right now."

"Get sober first," you say and push Micah, making him fall flat on his ass. You walk away, hearing Micah laugh behind you.

You hope that he's forgotten all about this when he wakes up. You don't have the nerve to keep him off your back again, but Arthur's reaction was worth it. 

Not in the mood to participate in the festivities, you grab a basket from Pearson's wagon before venturing into the woods to find berries or mushrooms. The sun drops down through the trees, basking even the darkest places in a warm light. The bushes hang ripe with berries and picking a few, you wish everything was that easy.

You're about to move on when you hear something behind you. Pulling your knife out, you whisk around, the basket dropping to the floor. Arthur is coming out from behind a few trees, lifting up his hands as he sees you. "Just me."

"Why are you following me?"

"I was just heading into the woods," Arthur grunts. "Is that a crime now?"

You put away your knife and drop to your knees to collect the scattered berries. Arthur moves over to help you, annoying you even more. You can't be angry at him for being nice.

"Cowardice should be a crime," you murmur under your breath. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see how Arthur clenches his jaw, fighting not to give you an answer. Two berries later, he loses the battle. "I'm not a coward."

"If you say so."

"I'm not afraid," Arthur huffs, "just because I'm not an asshole like Micah."

You grab one of the berries so hard that it crushes in your hand. "At least he wants me and acted on it."

"Who says I don't want you?" Arthur hisses.

Your faces are only inches apart now, and you stay there to hold your ground. "If you want me, Arthur, you have to take me. You can't-"

You don't get a chance to finish the sentence. Arthur closes the gap between you and presses a hard kiss on your lips. At first, you're too stunned to react, but then you throw your arms around Arthur's neck, eager for more.

Spurred on by your reaction, Arthur moves closer, and you topple over into the grass, Arthur on top of you. He kisses you open-mouthed and sloppy, his hands digging into your sides. It's almost painful, but you can't hold back either, running your hands over his chest.

While opening his shirt, you rip off a button, and it flies away into the bushes, never to be seen again. Arthur kisses along your neck while his hands roam over your body, cupping your breasts. You arch your back, pressing up against him, and Arthur opens your dress. With quick fingers, he manages to work it down enough to expose you and leans in to kiss every inch he can reach. You thread your fingers into Arthur's hair and can't help that you pull on it when he sucks one of your nipples into his mouth. 

"Finally," you gasp, and Arthur reaches down to pull up your dress.

His hand immediately goes to your center, his hand sneaking into your underwear to tease your pussy. With how long you've been waiting for this and the rough treatment of Arthur now, it's no surprise that you're soaking wet for him, and Arthur moans against your skin at the touch.

"You really want to get ravished, huh?" he murmurs, and this time you pull his hair on purpose. 

"You really should listen better."

"Fine," Arthur grunts, something in his voice that makes your skin tingle in anticipation. "Turn around."

He gives you free and helps you along, rolling you onto your stomach. "Arthur, what-?"

You can't finish the question and let out a surprised squeal when Arthur grabs you by the waist and lifts you up, forcing you to go on all fours. He pushes your skirt up with the same enthusiasm as before and pulls down your underwear, just enough to have access. 

For a moment, you can't feel Arthur but hear him rummaging around with his own clothes. Then, a warm hand finds your thigh, the touch setting butterflies free in your stomach. Arthur might talk about ravishing you, but doesn't have it in him to hurt you, still way more careful than you're used to.

He moves closer, making you feel his heat as he brushes his cock along your wet folds before pushing in. You claw your fingers into the ground under you as Arthur stretches you open, pushing in deep until he draws a soft cry from your lips. He stills then, hesitating once more.

"Arthur, please," you say, pushing back against him, "more."

Finally, Arthur moves with more confidence. He thrusts into you while his fingers dig into your hips, holding on to you for leverage. Knowing that you're not that far from camp, you try your best to stay quiet, but with the way Arthur treats you now, you can't suppress eager moans.

When you add the occasional "God, yes" and call out Arthur's name, he groans and goes even harder. You dig your hands into the ground and push back against Arthur, your insides on fire. It borders on being painful, but you still can't help begging for more.

Arthur runs his hand over your back and up your neck before he fists his fingers into your hair. The touch alone sends heat waves through your body, and then Arthur pulls. You're forced to lift your head to avoid the pain and hollow your back, lifting your ass even higher in the process.

Using the new angle, Arthur takes you without mercy, holding on to your hair. You're completely under his control, unable to move unless you want it to hurt. Cries of pleasure escape you, and without warning, Arthur pushes you down on the ground.

He only glides out of you to get into a new position, then he forces your legs apart with his own, pushing back into you. You groan when you feel Arthur's weight on you, and he grabs your hair again, making you lift your head. 

"Is that what you wanted, sweetheart?" Arthur asks, something dark in his voice.

Before you can answer, he already thrusts into you, and you remember how you talked about being ravished by a wild beast. It seems Arthur finally takes your words to heart. He barely gives you a second to breathe, holding you in that limbo between pain and pleasure, and your only choice is to take what he gives you.

When Arthur finally lets go of your hair, he puts his hand around your throat, and although there's no pressure on it, the gesture alone has you whimpering. 

"You're mine now," Arthur says, his breath hot against your ear. "No more joking around with Micah, you understand?"

"I was just-"

Arthur only moves his fingers, and you become quiet, barely able to breathe.

"Try that again," Arthur says, and you swallow hard, sure that Arthur can feel it.

"No Micah," you say, and Arthur hums, satisfied.

He picks up the pace, only interrupting the way he ruts into you to pull back and push in deep, making you cry out each time. By now, you're sure that at least one person in camp must have heard you, but Arthur gives you no chance to think about it.

He's everywhere, his voice, his touch, and his cock, filling you up so good that you're trembling with lust. You feel like you can barely take it anymore when Arthur reaches under you, his fingers pressing against your clit. Trapped between his hand and the constant thrusts, you can't hold on any longer.

"Arthur, I-" you manage to say but break off when your orgasm hits your core and rushes in waves through the rest of your body.

Arthur holds still as your muscles tighten around him, letting you set the pace for now. You push back against him, riding the last waves before your body relaxes and Arthur glides out of you.

He carefully turns you around, cupping your face with his hand. "You're alright?"

You lift your head to kiss him, a big smile hopping onto your face. "More than alright."

"Good," Arthur says, kissing you back, and you reach down between the two of you.

"Come here, big boy."

Arthur moans when you grab his cock, and when he tries to protest, you kiss him and hold on to his neck. This time, it's you who doesn't give him a chance to move, your hand sneaking into his hair.

Arthur curses against your lips as you tuck at a few strands and his cock pulses in your hand. He buries his face against your neck, his hips bucking, and finally, everything goes quiet.

You both take slow breaths before Arthur lies down next to you, staring up into the trees. 

"You know, we could have done that months ago," you say, unable to keep the snide out of your voice.

Arthur huffs. It's a single, somewhat defeated sound coming from deep within. "I admit it, I'm an idiot."

You turn to him, running your hand over his chest. "It's my fault, too. I could have been more forward instead of waiting until even Micah made a move."

"I said no Micah," Arthur groans.

"What? If it wasn't for him, you never would have made a move," you tease. "You should thank-"

Arthur moves over so fast that you barely see it before his lips seal yours. 

"I thank Micah in hell," he growls, fury in his eyes. "And I think I said no more Micah talk."

"Fine," you say, rolling your eyes, but you can't help the tingling feeling that his voice sends all over your body. "I'll shut up if you make me."

Arthur laughs and leans over you, his lips almost touching yours. He grabs a strand of your hair, letting it run through his fingers. "I think I know just the way to do that."

[jeysbvck]

Forever Winter

A/N: hi guys :) this is my first attempt at a Buddie fic, I just couldn't get it out of my mind! I really enjoyed writing this, and if you read it, I'd love to know what you think; just send me an ask :)

read on ao3

Warnings: signs of mental health (slightly?)

Word count: 1.4k

Summary:

I'd fall to pieces on the floor

if you weren't around

too young to know it gets better

I'll be summer sun for you forever

forever winter, if you go.

Buck and Eddie finally start communicating after Eddie's revelation.

"I'm leaving the 118."

Leaving like Abby. Leaving like Chim. Leaving like Maddie. Twice.

Buck didn't understand. Why would Eddie leave the 118? Leave his family? Had something happened that he wasn't aware of? Buck knew there had been some distance lately, but he thought it was what Eddie wanted. He didn't think it would mean that Eddie would shut him out completely. Buck hated being on the outside, not knowing what was going on with Eddie. Hated it.

He hadn't moved from his bed since he got back from the party, which was five hours ago. After Eddie's news, there didn't seem like anything to celebrate, not for Buck at least. He was thankful Taylor had decided to go home, he couldn't face her being here while he was processing. He stared up at the ceiling, memories flashing before Bucks eyes, like a film reel on a cinema screen. He thought about the nights they spent together, having dinner and playing video games; the times watching movies with Christopher, only to have him fall asleep in the middle of them both. Every time he took Christopher to the zoo, and spoiled him with stuffed animal toys and too much sugar. He thought about working at the firehouse with Eddie, how easy it was with him by Bucks side; how they didn't need words to know what the other was thinking. Buck tried to think of the 118 before Eddie, but the memories were faded and blurry. Eddie and Christopher had changed Buck so much, helped him grow as a person, and maybe it was selfish, but Buck didn't want to lose that. He was terrified to lose the person he'd become. He was terrified to lose the two people who made him this way.

The more Buck pulled at each thread, connected them to the little pieces he had, he felt closer to solving the puzzle of what was going on in Eddies mind. Like it was a bomb in his head that Buck needed to disarm. He'd noticed Eddie putting a little more distance between them each time. He'd stopped sitting next to him at dinner, he'd stand further away when they were talking. Eddies smile was usually so bright and something that came naturally, but it was now forced and didn't reach his eyes. His laugh, that was like music to Bucks ears, hadn't been heard for a while. Eddie had done a really good job of repressing his feelings, of pretending that everything was okay, but of course it wasn't. Between losing Shannon, Chris (and Buck) being in the tsunami, the shooting and the kidnapping, it was no wonder it was taking a toll on Eddie. How hadn't Buck seen it sooner? He felt like such an idiot, he had been too caught up in his own façade to see his best friend falling apart in front of him.

Buck had picked up his phone and hit 'call' before his brain caught up. The phone rang for what felt like an eternity, but just as Buck was about to give up, Eddie answered.

"Buck? Are you okay?"

Buck rolled his eyes affectionately. Of course, Eddie was more concerned about everyone else's feelings. Not everyone's. Just Bucks.

"I'm fine," Buck replied, "I was, uh, just checking on you." 

"It's three am, Buck." 

"I know, but we need to talk." 

"And it couldn't wait till morning?" Eddie asked.

Buck answered with a question of his own. "Did I wake you up?"

"No," Eddie replied, after a long pause.

"Come on, Eddie, you need to talk to me. I know you haven't been feeling great since-"

"Buck, I'm fine." Eddie insisted. He knew what Buck was going to say, and honestly, he didn't want to hear it. Not right now, at least. He didn't want to hear about how he was making a mistake, how he couldn't leave his family. He didn't want to deal with what he was, or wasn't, feeling.

"Eddie," Buck pleaded into the phone, and Eddie squeezed his eyes shut as his chest tightened. Buck had many ways he said Eddie's name, and each of them made his heart flutter. Some in good ways, some in not so good ways; this was one of the latter. "Is this really the best decision? Talk to me; we can get through this."

Eddie didn't know why he was saying this now, after months of bottling it up. After months of pushing the one person he wanted by his side away. Maybe it was because Buck wasn't staring into his soul with those big stupid eyes, looking like an abandoned Labrador. Eddie had failed to realise that even over the phone, Buck had a way of making Eddie come apart; ten minutes on the phone with him and he'd already been more truthful than he had been in months.

Eddie sighed. He knew Buck wouldn't fully understand. He knew it wasn't the Christopher element that Buck didn't understand. Eddie had no doubts Buck loved Christopher, that he would lay down his life to protect his kid; that's why he changed his will. It was that Buck wouldn't understand why Eddie had to leave the 118. But how could Buck understand, if Eddie had never told him? Hell, how could Eddie tell him when he wasn't being truthful to himself, let alone to anybody else.

"Buck, I don't know what to say." Eddie began. "I don't think this is just some phase I'm in like the fighting was. This decision was made with Christopher in mind; I just want him to be happy."

Buck heard the pause, heard the hesitation in Eddie's silence, and held his breath, scared that any noise he made would deter Eddie from opening up. 

"But maybe I need it too."

Buck inhaled through his nose, trying to ignore the huge ache in his chest. He didn't know how to make this better for Eddie, especially over the phone. If he was there with Eddie, he might have had a better shot of disarming the bomb in his head. How did he tell Eddie that he would fall apart without him, without making it all about Buck? He certainly couldn't tell him that he lived his life afraid that Eddie would leave, that would absolutely make things worse. Instead, Buck said,

"I'm sorry."

"Well see, I thought I did a pretty good job of hiding it."

Eddie was taken aback. This was the last thing Eddie expected to hear from Bucks lips. "Why are you apologising?" 

"Because, Eddie," Buck breathed his name, making Eddie's heart grow two sizes, "I didn't know. I didn't know you were breaking down. I've been so focused on myself and Ta-" He stopped short of mentioning his girlfriend- "everything else, that I didn't see what was going on with you."

Eddie couldn't believe how much Buck was blaming himself for this. No, actually, he could, because Buck blamed himself for pretty much everything. Eddie shook his head and as he replied, he tried to make his voice sound lighter, as he joked,

Eddie stopped. He knew he hadn't been open as much as Buck would like, as much as Eddie wanted to be. But it was a start, a really good start, and they both knew it. Buck felt lighter; the weight of the night didn't feel so heavy on his shoulders. He knew there was a long way to go, but he was going to be there for Eddie.

A chuckle escaped Bucks lips, the first since Eddie's big news earlier that night, and Eddie could picture his smile perfectly in his mind. 

"You really think so? Because I don't want to burst your bubble but..."

Eddie smiled, "Alright, alright, I get it. But seriously, Buck, it's not your fault you didn't see." 

"That's my point though; I should've seen it! You're my partner, my best friend. I should have known the reason you were pulling away is because you needed help." 

"Buck, I know you have my back. I know it in my heart. I just- I don't-"

"Eddie, it's okay." Buck said, softly. "You just need to believe one thing, okay? I'll never go away."

Eddie knew, in his heart, with every fibre of his being, that no matter what Eddie needed, Buck would be there. He would fight every single person on the planet to make sure Eddie and Christopher were happy and healthy. They would deal with what was next, together. But for tonight, they both needed to rest.

"Buck?"

"Yeah, Eddie?" 

"Do you want to have breakfast with me and Christopher?" 

Buck smiled. "I'd love that."

[getitinbusan]

Naughty & Nice : Yoongi

A Soft Smutty Christmas Drabble for everyone missing Yoongi. 18+

Curmudgeon, that's what he was being. Yoongi was occupying himself by making fun of his bandmates on the TV while you sat on the floor surrounded by boxes, draped in ribbon while wrapping presents.

"I'm glad I'm sitting this one out, look at the stupid little tie they made Jin wear." 

You turned to look, "I don't know, I think he looks handsome no matter what he wears." 

He huffed, "The stylists didn't even brush Jungkook's hair. He looks like he just rolled out of bed" 

You sang along to the carol a little louder. He was feeling sorry for himself and you weren't going to indulge him. 

"This is so childish." He laughed from his permanent residence on the couch and began imitating their moves on the screen.

"Shit," he winced after getting a little too carried away with his actions. 

"Serves you right." 

"Wow, that's rude." 

"I'm rude? Min Yoongi are you kidding me?"

His tongue stretched the inside of his cheek, a move he did when he was trying to think his way out of something. 

"You want to know what's rude? Rude is the fact that you know Christmas is my favorite holiday and you're doing everything in your power to suck the Merry and Bright right out of it." 

"I think as my girlfriend you're supposed to be a little more sympathetic towards my needs."

Aggressively pulling the tape tightly over the gift, the paper tore exposing the contents. 

"I feel about as sorry for you as you do for me having to wrap all of these." 

You lifted the gift up to examine it. "Who the hell buys Ping Pong Paddles as a present anyway." 

"Jin loves Ping Pong, It's a great gift. You're just mad that I'm a better gift giver than you." 

"You're also a bigger pain in the ass if we're keeping score." 

Crumpling up the ruined wrap you threw it in his direction.

Instinctively trying to catch it he moaned in pain at the sudden shoulder movement. 

"Shit baby, I'm sorry are you okay?" 

Feeling terrible you quickly got up to check his shoulder. 

Sat beside him on the edge of the couch you helped him lay back as he winced. 

"Sure, now you feel sorry for me after making me hurt myself." 

He gave a little pout and turned to focus his gaze on you while you adjusted his pillow. 

"I'm sorry, I know I've been a downer. I just…" his voice trailed off a little embarrassed.

"I feel bad for missing work and for everyone having to cover for me. And you, you really are an angel taking care of me and making sure all this stuff," he motioned around the apartment, "is done so that we still get a good Christmas."

You kissed his forehead and smiled. "I think your pain medication is making you soft."

"Yeah? that's not what you were saying 5 minutes ago." 

His hand moved over yours where it was resting on his chest. "I don't like feeling useless." 

"There's a big difference between vulnerable and useless Yoongi."

"I can't help you with any of this, and I'm sucking the fun out of your favorite holiday."

"Well I've been thinking, If you're up for it there is one thing you could help me out with…" 

"What's that?"

You gave a coy smile, "It's about a real special gift." 

"No way, you always talk me into giving you your gifts early, not this year. Besides, they're all at Namjoon's so I couldn't if I wanted to."

Pulling a piece of ribbon from around your neck you ran your fingers slowly down it's length. "I'm not talking about that kind of present."

His face pulled into a confused scrunch so you straddled his lap to give him a better clue. Threading the ribbon through the zipper pull of his jeans you tied it into a loopy bow. 

"You know we've both been really good this year, maybe we could just open one early?" 

Placing kisses down his neck you pled your case. Since the surgery a few weeks ago it had been completely hands off, either too much pain or too much medication to even try. Today though, he seemed feisty and playful so it was worth a shot. 

He pulled you down closer with his good arm, "Only if you promise not to go easy on me."

"I'll do my best." 

Pulling his t-shirt up you quickly realized it would be a whole process to get it off around the sling. "We'll have to make due I guess." 

"Take yours off for me, I just want to feel your skin on mine." He was already out of breath just with the anticipation. 

Standing, you lifted your shirt off and stepped out of your pajama pants. 

A long slow groan left your boyfriend. "You're so beautiful." He reached out with his good hand to grab for you. 

"uh-uh," you reprimanded him, swatting it away, "You're not allowed to over exert yourself."

Tugging the bow, his zipper slid down allowing your hands to grip the waistband and shimmy his pants over his hips. The hard bulge in his underwear showed he was just as excited as you were. 

"It feels like it's been forever," you whispered, your lips brushing over his fabric covered cock. 

"Even a day without you feels like an eternity, this has been torture." 

It felt so good to feel desired after the weeks of the most intimately unintimate moments you'd shared together. Cleaning stitches and administering medication wasn't exactly sexy.

Reaching into his underwear  you pulled out his full and heavy cock. His eyes fluttered delicately as he anticipated the sensation of your lips sliding around him.

Shallow breaths escaped his lips as you worked his length. Worried he'd drifted off, you slowed until his hand raked through your hair encouraging you to keep going.

"That feels so good but," you sucked hard and deep giving a squeeze around the base." 

"I'm not going to last, it's been too long and it feels so good. I want to make sure you to cum too" 

Working your way back up his chest to his neck to his waiting mouth, you kissed him. 

"You're okay?"

"I'll be better when I'm inside you."

As he lay waiting you sank yourself onto him. The stretch of not having him for weeks sent shivers of pleasure over your skin. 

Slowly rolling your hips you ground yourself against him. 

"God, I missed you." his working hand rubbed your nipple between his fingers. "Ride me harder, it's okay...It feels so good." 

Picking up speed, the couch squeaked under you as your bodies slapped together. 

"I'm gonna cum baby, tell me your close." He pleaded under you while you chased you orgasam. 

"Keep talking, I'm almost there…" 

"I missed your wet pussy around my cock so much, your tits bouncing while you ride me. I'm gonna fill you with such a big load."

You could already feel his cum leaking out of you as he moved his hand to thumb your clit furiously. Knowing he was pleased you let your orgasm wash over you until you collapsed on top of him. 

"That was amazing."

He winced a little, "You're kind of on my shoulder." 

"Oh my god Yoongi I'm so sorry!"

He laughed, "don't be it was worth it. I do think I'm going to need a pain killer though." 

His facetime rang and all the boys were on the line, "Did you watch the show? How'd we do?"

"It was good, you all did really well." 

"You seem to be in really good spirits," Taehyung cheered. Were we that inspiring?"

"No," Yoongi smirked," I got an early Christmas present."

It was quiet for a second until it registered with them. "Gross, You're both going on the naughty list," Jungkook decreed.

"I disagree," Yoongi looked at you across the room winking. "It was actually quite nice."

[jonahlovescoffee]

Hi! I hope you are well : ) So, I was trying to think of an idea and then I saw the title on your blog - loving can hurt sometimes- and that kind of gave me an idea...Maybe one of the wdw boys is in a relationship with the reader, y/n, and they hit a rough patch and things are kind of hanging on a thread. Neither of them know whether it's going to work out. Hope this inspires you! I'll send some more if I can think of something.

Grey | J.M.

a/n: @randomlimelightxxx thanks so much for sending in an ask <33333 and I’m sorry for replying to it this late :( i love love love your idea!!! but i hope u don’t mind if i make it a little sadder (◐‿◑) whoops. 

(ps: this turned out worse than i hoped but i do hope you like it)

summary: a happy ending isn’t always guaranteed, even when you love someone with every fibre of your being, because life isn’t a fairytale.

warnings: angst

word count: 2517

“i can’t believe i let you go.”

Jonah doesn’t know for sure how long he has been staring at the framed photograph that has been hanging on the living room wall for as long as he can remember. It was taken during one of the few 4th of July celebrations that you both had celebrated together. In the picture, your smile was brighter than ever, even brighter than the fireworks that were bursting through the dark night behind you, fiery blooms amongst the stars. He had an arm around your shoulders, his green orbs looking at you lovingly as you took the selfie.

Both of you seemed so happy back then—something you both hadn’t felt in a long time, even before your dramatic fallout. You were going strong, weren’t you? Both of you used to be the poster children of the perfect couple — you had each other backs and lifted each other up when the going got tough, which led you to believe that nothing could ever come between the two of you.

But life did. When his career started to blow up, your relationship with him did too.

Every time he closes his eyes; the vivid memory of the horrible night months ago starts to play before him like a movie.

#

“Jonah Marais Roth Frantzich, have you been drinking again?” You tore your eyes away from the TV and directed it towards him instead when you heard the sound of the door opening then closing, followed by the rattling of keys as he threw it into the small box beside the door. The stench of alcohol filled your apartment almost immediately, indicating that he had a heavy intake of whatever alcoholic drink he consumed at the party.

He didn’t answer, or even bat an eye at you as he made his way into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Your lips pressed into a thin line as your blood boiled upon being ignored by him. You glanced at the clock. It was nearly 3am. This was the latest he had ever been home after attending a party, which was something he had been doing almost every day lately.

You hated his new habit of getting absolutely wrecked after every party, and he knew that too. He also knew that you hated him getting too friendly with the alluring LA models that were up to no good, as much as you hated him spending most of his time on his job, resulting with him neglecting you far too often for your liking, until you guys were basically nothing more than strangers living under the same roof.

He knew many things, but he never cared, because those were the requirements of his job — to constantly socialize and make music — so he thought that you’ll understand but from the look of the annoyed scowl on your face, that didn’t seem to be the case tonight.

“Jonah, answer me,” you ordered sternly from where you sat on the couch in the living room.

He didn’t know whether if it’s the fault of the alcohol that was coursing through his veins or the fact that both of you hadn’t really talked in days (maybe months) had started to drive him over the edge, but he found your displeasure oddly infuriating, although he knew you were merely looking out for him.

You are his girlfriend, not his fucking mother. 

“Yes, not that it’s any of your business,” he seethed and you seemed taken aback by his reply. At least that’ll shut you up for now.

He placed the cup into the sink with a greater force than he intended before leaving the kitchen to head towards the master bedroom, trying his best to ignore your accusing glare that was still boring into his back and hold back the rest of the harsh words that was threatening to spill out of his mouth.

He knew he was drunk and he didn’t want to say anything that he would regret later in the morning so staying silent was currently the best option. Everything would return to normal the next day once you forgot about this, like you always had for the past few weeks. The tension would be gone and you both would return to playing the role of a lovey-dovey couple that, unbeknownst to others, barely talked in what felt like forever.

But you had other plans. You weren’t letting this matter go this easily. This had been going on for too long. You had enough of his immature behaviour that was gradually driving a wedge between the two of you. You wanted -- no, needed -- this to stop right now, for his own good and yours.

You wanted the old Jonah back -- the Jonah who’d walk to the ends of the world for you, who’d join you in bed at night to ask about your day and who’d put you as his first priority. You walked briskly towards him and captured his wrist in your hand.

“I’m your girlfriend, Jonah, and I have the right to hold you accountable for your dumb actions,” you purposely emphasized on the three words that you knew would get on his nerves. You wanted him to talk, to explain why he was suddenly so obsessed with getting drunk. Was he stressed? Was something bothering him? 

Once again, you received no answer from him.

“Drinking is bad for your health, Jonah,” you softened your tone, just by a little. “And you barely get enough sleep recently, it’s--”

“Just shut up for once, can you?” He jerked your hand away. “Always ‘Jonah don’t do this’, ‘Jonah don’t do that’ like I am some kind of dumb baby that needs help. Just so you know, I’m a grown man who is perfectly capable of making my own decisions, mind you.”

This was the first time Jonah had ever raised his voice at you. You tried not to let his words get to you, you tried to convince yourself that it was the alcohol talking for him but tears ended up welling up in your eyes anyways. You held them back as you continued to speak. 

“I was just trying to advise—”

“I said shut the fuck up! Even if I do need help, I won’t be asking it from the likes of you!” Before you could react, the glass vase that was once placed beside the TV went flying against the wall behind you, shattering into a million pieces.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Jonah?” You cried out, your hands fisting the front material of his shirt. “What the heck was that for?”

“Get off me, you psycho!” he pried your hands off him and pushed you away forcefully, making you stumble backwards and fall to the ground due to your loss of footing.

Tears were streaming down your cheeks uncontrollably now. “You’ve changed. The old Jonah will never do this to me,” you stood up, wiping off your tears with the back of your hand.

“Maybe it’s because you don’t know me well enough.”

“You know what?” You were jabbing your finger on his chest. “If this is the real you, maybe I shouldn’t have dated you in the first place,” you shouted at him.

“Fine, don’t date me then! Maybe I finally can live a lot more freely without your constant nagging!”

Your breathing stopped for a moment and you swore his did too. Silence ensued, the only sound being the tv that you forgot to turn off before the fight.

Shit. He said too much.

When you finally came back to your senses, you pushed pass him to make your way into the bedroom, pulling out your luggage and set it open on the bed.

“You should’ve told me earlier that you didn’t want me in your life,” you said breathlessly as you proceeded to dump all your clothes into your luggage before slamming it shut, ignoring his pleas for you to stop.

“No, baby, I don’t mean what I said,” he grabbed your arm and you flinched at his touch. That was how he knew he messed up. Badly. “Let’s just forget—”

“I’m so done with always sweeping our problems under the carpet and pretend like they don’t exist, Jonah!” You yelled frustratedly. “Let me ask you, when was the last time we had a heart-to-heart talk, Jonah? When was the last time we had a peaceful meal together without arguing? When was the last time we actually spent quality time together?”

He couldn’t answer any of your questions.

“Can’t you see it? We haven’t been a couple for quite a while now,” you explained, pulling your closed luggage out of the room towards the front door, not forgetting to pick up your purse along the way. “What happened just now was just one more sign that we,” you gestured between the both of you, “are not meant for each other so maybe it’s for the best if we break up.”

“No, please, no,” he fell to his knees before you, his hands moving to grasp your arm. “Don’t go. I’m sorry. Please.”

“I’m not wasting any second more of my life with you,” you spat mercilessly in his face. “Now let go.”

“No, please, stay with me, baby,” he continued to beg, the grip on your hand unfaltering.

“I’m sorry,” you said and felt his grip loosen at the two simple words. He knew there was no point in holding on once you already made up your mind. “Goodbye, Jonah.”

You yanked your arm away and walked out the door, not looking back, leaving a distressed male behind, in tears.

Yes, Jonah remembers everything from that night, especially the slam of the door behind you as you walked out of his apartment and his life, forever.

And he is the one to blame.

#

Fast forward to the present, he misses you so much that he is starting to lose his mind.

He thinks about you so often that sometimes he forgets that you aren’t his anymore. He still finds himself reaching out to what used to be your side of the bed the first thing in the morning, only to find it cold and empty; he still looks forward to coming home from work every day to run into your arms that used to be his safe haven, only to be reminded by his quiet house that your laughter, your kisses, your touches are luxuries that he can no longer afford, no matter how wealthy he is.

You gave him a chance—scratch that, you have kind-heartedly given him countless chances in the past for him to make up for his mistakes, to prove to you that loving him was worth all the suffering, but all he did was disappoint you over and over again by choosing to walk away from you when his career was at stake.

It wasn’t until you were gone that he noticed all those valuable chances that have unknowingly passed him by.

He runs a hand through his hair and heaves a sigh, throwing his head back so that he is mindlessly staring at the ceiling.

He was cowardly fool, for putting his needs above the person who he swore to love till the end of time, for giving up when he should’ve fought a little harder to preserve what’s left of their love, for doing nothing as the distance between them grew by leaps and bounds until you eventually slipped out of his grasp into nothingness.

Most importantly, he was the world’s biggest idiot to ever think that he can live without you.

He knows that he should stop missing you; he knows that he should forget the past, or at least lock all the fond memories he had built with you into a box and shove it into the darkest, deepest corners of his mind, not to be opened ever again; he knows that he should move on, like you already did.

But “I know” and “I can” are two completely different things. Yes, he is terribly exhausted from holding onto the past, holding onto you, even as he feels the remaining shred of hope that you might one day return to him slowly diminish as days passed but at the same time, he is still too in love to let you go.

Therefore, for what seems like the thousandth time that month, he pulls out his phone from his pocket, and dials your number that is still marked as favourites in his contact list. As expected, the call goes to voicemail right away, after your recorded voice says, “Sorry, I can’t come to the phone at the moment but feel free to leave a message instead!” in a cheerful tone, as if you are mocking him for not being able to talk with you like he used to anymore.

After the beep, Jonah hesitates a moment before opening his mouth to speak, but no words escape. He has no idea where to start. He knows a simple ‘sorry’ isn’t going to fix everything, for the pain you had endured because of him is definitely not worth to be forgiven with a simple two-syllable-word. He contemplates if he should end the call, like what he has done for the past thousand times.

No, he has spent too much time dwelling in his misery without making any effort to win you back It’s about time he at least tries to start a proper conversation with you because even if you don’t reciprocate his feelings, you still deserve an apology from him.

“Hi,” he breathed nervously. “How are you? I know I should not be trying to contact you after what I did to you that night but,”

A pause.

“It’s not the same here without you, y/n. I miss your cooking, your terrible singing voice, your hilarious pep talks – hell, I even miss your long boring lectures whenever I forgot to wash the dishes,” he smiles a little at the memory.

“And I’m sorry, I really am, for ruining everything. I know it’s not enough but it’s true. Not a day passes where I don’t regret what I did to you that night and all the mistakes that I’ve made before that.”

“Please baby, give me one more chance to make it right. Just one more, please. Come back, be here with me because,” another pause.

He searches his brain for the right words to say, rubbing his temples with his fingers as his mind whirs.

Because of you, his life used to be filled with endless love and laughter. Your love was like the warm daylight, illuminating his world in golden, chasing away all the darkness. You painted his life with the vibrant colors of the rainbow whereas now that you’re gone, everyday it rains, the previous sunshine you provided long gone. He should’ve never let you go. With a swipe of his tongue over his trembling dry lips, he finishes his sentence before he decides to chicken out.

“Because I still love you. Without you, now everything’s grey.”

[amostimprobabledream]

And He Walks With Flames (Dabi x Reader) - Part One

They say humans, in a strange, ironic twist of fate, owe their magic to demons. A thousand years ago, they walked the earth, wreaking destruction and chaos wherever they tread. Humans were no more than meat for the slaughter, or glorified playthings for their amusement. The first generation of humans to fight back against their monstrous oppressors did so by a peculiar, ancient magic. A power that could repel demons and bring hope to all humanity. A terrible war raged for the fate of the world and the humans managed to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. The demons were banished to their land of origin, sealed away in defeat. But seals don't last forever. While historians argue on how literal these legends may be, there is no denying that ancient creature have begun to stir, appearing in our world again with growing frequency. And soon there might- The last paragraph was torn away. "Oh, for god's sake," you tsk. Sunlight pours through the large, high window of your lecture room, dust motes dancing in the golden rays. Though you were engrossed in your book, once you look up, the spell is broken, and the clear sky outside once again has your eyes wandering to it. It seems that you are not the only one getting distracted, either - even the professor keeps tapering off at the promise of an afternoon outside in the gorgeous spring weather. "Well," the professor says, shuffling the papers in front of her. "That's all for today. Please revise over the material and we'll discuss it in further detail next time. You are all free to go." You're only too happy to comply, putting your things away and scrambling to your feet. Everyone else is hurrying to get outside, pouring down the stairs to the doors, chattering to one another as they go. Normally you love going to lectures, but it's just too nice outside to be cooped up indoors. You push open the doors and step outside, a muted sigh of pleasure leaving your mouth. Your university, the Royal Academy of Magic, has the reputation for being tough, but so far, you've been enjoying the work. Learning about the different faces of magic, its uses, and the history of it, it's all so very fascinating to you. You've been able to use magic since you were young, but it's studying it here that will really help you unlock your true potential, and hopefully give you a concrete idea of what to aim for with your career. So far there are so many options a magic-user might do that it's been a little overwhelming trying to decide. As you cross the lawns, grass crunching beneath your feet, you decide to swing by your dorm first to drop off your books - they may contain a lot of knowledge, but damn if they're not heavy - your mother pointed out that you've developed something of a slouch since you started studying here. "I'm back!" you call as you push open the door of your dormitory. "Huh?" Kendou looks up from her bed, where she has a couple of books sprawled out next to her head, notes scribbled in the margins of her notebook as she looks over her textbook. Her red hair spills down her shoulder, coming loose from its signature ponytail. "You're back early!" "Yeah, they let us out sooner than I expected," you reply with a shrug and a small laugh, dropping your bag on your own bed and stretching, wincing as a kink in your shoulder pops. "Oh, well, that's good timing, someone came by earlier with a message for you," Kendou says, pushing herself up into a sitting position, apparently deciding your arrival is a good a reason as any to take a break from studying. "Your mother wants you to go down to the Imperial Research Centre to get your father." "Did she come by here?" you ask in surprise. Normally your mother arranges to meet you after lectures or seminars if she wants to see you during the week, and she's a rather busy woman besides. "No, she left a message at the front desk and someone passed it along," Kendou shrugs. "But she also said you guys are doing something tonight, right?" "Oh, yes, I'd forgotten all about that!" you say, feeling silly that it could

possibly have slipped your mind - you love it when you get to go out for a meal with your parents and often it means one of them has some exciting news to share. "Thanks, Kendou, I'll head over there now." She grins and gives a little wave. “No problem!” You suppose it's fortunate that the Imperial Research Centre is only a short walk from the campus and that you're very familiar with the place, since your father's been working there for so long. Anyway, it's a pleasant walk, the way there is lined with rows of trees that are only a week or two away from growing from dark to light pink and shedding their blossoms. When the street is in full bloom, it's like there's been a wedding. You even find yourself humming as you walk, breathing in the subtle smell of flowers on the breeze, wondering to yourself if the blossom trees were planted before or after the buildings were founded, but either way, whoever was responsible for them made a good call. The Imperial Research Centre is a peculiar building, made of blue stone and with a roof that boasts four conical points, one in each corner, making it resemble a castle from bygone days just plopped in the middle of the city. There's an aura of mystery to it, too, hinting at the all-important, life-changing work that’s always going on inside. If ever cutting-edge technology is released to the public, odds were that the Centre had a hand in making it. The building is cooler on the inside than it is outdoors, powered by a system designed to spread cool or warm air throughout the entire building, depending on the system. You approach the front desk, wishing that you'd thought to bring a jacket, because it’s always cold in here during the warm seasons, and the receptionist glances up on you with a slightly dismissive expression on her face. It's probably because she thinks you're an overeager student or some hapless intern, it's very rare a researcher your age would be able to work here. "May I help you?" the receptionist asks in a cool, professional tone. "Yes, I'm here to see my father," you reply. "He's one of the vice executives here." You give his surname, and the woman pauses. Is that a trace of nervousness you can see? "He's downstairs in Containment Room 1A," she says, checking a sheet of paper on the desk, which is littered with various papers, random pieces of stationary and one of those magitech intercom systems that they use. They have something similar at the Academy too, though of course, the Centre get the most high-tech version of everything. "All right, thanks," you say, turning to head for the elevator. "Wait!" the woman cries out and you glance back, confused. "I'm sorry, but you can't just walk through here, especially to the lower levels! You don't have the clearance and it can be dangerous." You scoff in disbelief. You have visited your father here before, many times, and this has never been a problem for you before. You always just tell them who you are and then get a visitor's pass. You even know some of the codes to the doors, thanks to waiting around for your father to finish work so often. "Well, please can you have someone go fetch him for me?" you ask, going to reluctantly perching on one of the chairs in the waiting area. "Can't it wait?" the receptionist asks impatiently, and maybe it can, but her attitude is starting to piss you off, so you shoot her a frosty smile you've perfected after watching your mother pull a similar face at people who don't meet her standards. "No, it can't." The woman sighs but she dutifully presses a button on the intercom system and speaks quietly into it for a moment or two, while you idly pick at a loose thread on the chair you're sitting on. She then glances back at you, eyebrows raised. "A messenger has been sent down to speak to him. Hopefully he should be upstairs shortly." "Thank you so much." you reply sweetly, the last words with heavy emphasis. After that, the two of you sit in a mutually frosty silence, with the woman sorting through paperwork on her desk and occasionally

directing people who approach her desk to the correct floor (which seems redundant to you - why can't people just read the clearly printed sign on the wall next to her desk ?), while you flick through some glossy magazines without actually taking in a single word. But you're not leaving until you've spoken to your father. Minutes tick by and you start drumming your heel lightly on the floor, leg jiggling with impatience. You wonder if the woman just lied about sending a messenger down to the Containment Room in an effort to pacify you, in the hopes you'll just get bored and leave. You grit your jaw at the thought, ignoring how cold you're getting, sitting here doing nothing. After maybe ten minutes, a man in a lab coat approaches the front desk, leaning over to speak to the woman. "Kino, could you come with me a moment? Hannah can start her shift." "Oh, I'll be right there!" Kino says, flustered, getting out from behind the desk and following the man as he walks briskly down the corridor, without a backwards glance at you. No doubt her replacement will be along any moment - perhaps she's running late? But you don't plan on sticking around. As soon as the receptionist rounds the corner, out of sight, you spring up and walk briskly across the room to the elevators, stabbing the button and stepping through the doors. You don't bother to fight the smile that spreads across your face as the doors slide shut. ~ "Father?" There's always something slightly creepy about the lower floors. The orbs lining the walls that are designed to keep the machinery running in case of a power shortage cast an eerie glow in the corridors, washing everything with a pale blue light that makes it seem far colder than it actually is. It reminds you a bit of walking through a tunnel of ice. Your boots click on the stone floor as you follow the lights to Containment Room A1. Finally, you reach the double doors leading inside, flanked by two windows each side. You can see your father inside, his back to you, so you rap on the windows. Nothing. You try again with more force, hurting your knuckles, but he still doesn't turn around. Perhaps it's soundproofed, so whatever's out here can't disturb whatever's going on in there? You glance at the keypad next to the doors, but you've never been to this particular room before so the code for the doors on the upper level is unlikely to be the same one for down here. Then you see movement, shadows beneath the crack between door and floor, and the doors slide open with a mechanical swish and two scientists in lab coats come out, comparing notes and murmuring together excitedly. You slip inside before they can slam shut again, unwilling to stand outside in the chilly corridor for any longer than necessary. "Father!" you call out as you enter. But then you stop dead in your tracks. Ahead of you, trapped behind some kind of containment field...is a monster. "What-?!" you hear your father say in surprise at his daughter suddenly marching through the doors. "What are you doing in here?!" But you don't answer. You can't look away from what's in front of you, even if you wanted to. You know without being told that this is a demon, but it's certainly not what they looked like in any of your history books. A tall, humanoid being that is undoubtedly male and you can tell from where you’re standing that he’s tall. The demon's huge, black wings arch out from behind him, reminding you of a bat. Two horns jut out from a crown of spiky black hair, but aside from that, you're surprised by how… human he looks. Your cheeks warm up as you notice he is shirtless, peculiar burn marks covering over half of his body and seemingly crudely stitched together like a patchwork doll. Despite that, he's impressively sculpted, sinewy muscles on full display and you know that demons were said to be uncommonly strong. Your eyes drift further down, and you spot a whiplike tail wrapped around one leg, topped with a pointed barb at the end, like a club in a game of cards. His arms are in restraints and so are his

ankles, yet he doesn't seem stressed in any way, leaning against the back wall of his holding cell as though he's waiting for something. "What...is this?" you breathe out, finally turning to your father. "This is our latest research subject," your father replies beside you, also staring at the demon, though his expression is surprisingly somber, considering just how amazing it is that they have been able to capture and contain a demon. You've never seen a live demon before, and something tells you that the one before you certainly isn't any garden variety one. "Director Fuji is very excited about this. It's not every day you see a demon this high ranking." Slowly, the demon stirs, raising his head a little. You're perfectly safe outside the containment field, as well was the multiple other safety measures both inside the cell and out of it, yet the sensation of being watched makes your flesh break out in goosebumps. From beneath spiky fronds of hair, the demon's eyes - so blue they almost don't look real - stare right at you, his gaze alone rooting you to the spot, laying all your defenses bare and leaving you feeling bizarrely naked before that look. Watching you without once blinking or breaking his gaze, his lips part in a sneer to reveal two rows of teeth, the fangs sharp and white as an icicle. You find yourself holding your breath as your father speaks again. "Sweetheart, meet Dabi."