#* STUDY : NOTHING MORE THAN AN UGLY ROTTEN BOY

[milkywaydrabbles]

12 and 10 fluff with Alucard 🥺 he is feeling insecure about his scars, and about his own being, considering himself to be a monster, and then reader calms him down

A/N: Me pouting the entire time I wrote this bc I love alucard sm and I hate thinking of him sad lmao. I hope this one is okay and that you like it, I'm not sure if it's my best work ): mwuah

"Hold me" "I wish you could see how I see you" x Alucard

Some days are easy. Some days are nice walks in the park, getting free loaves of freshly baked bread because the village people are so grateful for everything he’s done. Some days are sweet, simple, enjoying the day with the love of his life. Other days?

Other days are hard. Terribly so. 

Today was a hard day. A mental rain cloud had been brewing over Alucard for the last few hours, starting when he saw himself fresh out of the bath, scars seared into his skin from what could be one of the most terrible nights of his life. The traumatic events flashed in his mind, rendering him still with fear. Fear that it’d happen again, with you, fear that he’d be useless in the face of danger if someone came for you, fear that he even had the capacity of thinking you capable of such wickedness. His hands trembled, staring at himself in the mirror, a tear escaping from his eye before turning away from the mirror, dressing quickly and getting on with his duties for the day. He didn’t want to think about it anymore.

But the fear had latched onto him, growing and festering into an ugly cycle of feeling self conscious and not good enough, hating the way the scars look, hating the way the scar his father left behind looked. His body marred with imperfect skin, showing the world his weaknesses. The rain cloud had split open and a thunderstorm loomed over him, retiring much earlier from his chores than intended. He threw himself into his studies in hopes that he would forget the sick feeling in his stomach. 

“Adrian, honey?” Your sweet voice called out to him, and it broke him out of his stupor. He forgot about dinner. A dinner that he insisted on helping you with. And he left you there to finish it all by yourself. Alucard felt miserable. He’d been brewing in his own misery; he had been ignoring not only his duties to the village but to you. You must hate him, you must think he’s so selfish, and lazy, and no good, and-- “Ah, there you are!” You smiled, skipping over to him before noticing how rotten he looked. “Adrian? Are you okay?” You worried, bringing a hand up to his forehead. He tried his best to put on a brave face, shaking his head. “I’m fine, love, don’t worry about me. I’m sorry I lost track of him, I left you to prepare dinner alone.” He stood, ready to put on a facade for the rest of the night, lest you think something awful of him. 

But you knew him better than anyone. 

“Dinner can wait, why don’t we just go to the room for a bit?” He wanted more than anything to stay distracted and not think of the burning his skin felt today. But he knew you wouldn’t let him continue to wallow. Alucard sighed, saying nothing and heading into your shared room. You gave him space, sitting across from him. You didn’t ask any specifics, not needing them. All you needed to know is that Alucard wasn’t feeling his best, and that you would do anything for him. “Adrian, sweet boy...what can I do to help?” Your soft voice nearly ruined him, a broken sob escaping without his consent. The palms of his hands pressed into his eyes, hating more than anything in the world this was happening. Now was not the time to look weak. But he needed you, needed to feel grounded. So he broke. “Can you...can you hold me? Please?” He let out a shaky breath, and silently you moved to him, cradling his head in your hands and bringing him closer to your chest, Your legs wrapped around his torso, trying to cover as much of him as possible with yourself, hoping that whatever was tormenting him would slip away with your presence. 

“I’m sorry--I’m sorry love, I fucked up and I missed dinner. I didn’t mean to, I lost track of time and--” You hushed him mid sentence, rocking him gently back and forth in your arms. “Tell me what’s really going on, this isn’t about dinner.” Alucard steadied himself, releasing a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “I can’t stand looking at myself. Not with these disgusting scars.” Your heart shattered hearing how awful he talked about himself. You cursed the world for ever hurting your sweet boy like this. “Adrian, light of my life, fire in my veins, my handsome man--you’re perfect.” You kissed his temple, running a hand over his hair. “The scars are a reminder that you persevered. That you survived.” You gently reminded him, and another kiss. “I wish you could see how I see you. I love every detail about you, I’m so sorry you’ve endured the life you have, but I am so grateful that it has brought you to me.” Slowly, you untangled yourself from him and sat on your knees before him. You took his hands that had loosened from his eyes, kissing each wrist. You pushed the sleeve of his shirt up, kissing the patches of scar tissue that showed through. You moved to his chest, kissing the scarring that showed through the shirt, and mirrored your actions to his other arm. You let go of his arms, wiping away the remaining tears that stained his cheeks and kissed his eyelids, before pressing your forehead to his. 

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met in my life, inside and out. And that includes the scars. Never doubt yourself, or my love for you. I’ll be here with you, until the ends of the Earth.”

[beelsnack]

Obey Me! Boys and an Insecure MC

Alternate Title: Coping mechanisms? In my demonic dating sim? It’s more likely than you think.

I honestly didn’t mean for this to be so long, but hey.

CW: Depression, self hatred, unhealthy coping mechanisms.

Lucifer: It was subtle, but nothing escaped the notice of the Eldest. He saw them fidgeting with their tie before heading to class, watched the frown tug at their lips when all they managed to produce was a rumpled tangle of silk. Caught them poking ruefully at their acne scars in the reflection of their D.D.D. Heard the frustrated sigh as they tried to sit in a way that hid the meat on their abdomen. But, above all, he paid close attention to those comments.

“Wow, I can’t do anything right, can I?”

“You would have to be a professional makeup artist to fix this mess, haha!”

“It’s alright, you can say I’m ugly.”

That was it. Lucifer stood from his seat at his desk, an errant paper fluttering to the ground in his wake. The Firstborn made his way over to where they were sitting, working away diligently on their laptop. Their breath caught in their throat when they turned to face him, and Lucifer fought back a sadistic grin when he felt them shudder at the feeling of his gloved hand sliding beneath their chin. He would file that away for later.

“That’s quite enough.” his voice was low as he lifted their face. They averted their eyes, clearly uncomfortable, but he kept his hand where it was. “Self-deprecation is unbecoming on anyone, but I certainly will not have it marring that beautiful face of yours.”

Nothing escaped the notice of the Eldest. Especially not the shy smile they wore as they bade him goodnight.

Mammon: Call him an idiot all you like, but if there was one thing that a solid gambling career had taught Mammon, it was how to read a person’s tells. The way they stood with their arms folded and body turned inward said they were trying to hide. Their habit of avoiding mirrors told him they hated the way they looked. The twinge of resigned sadness on their face when they carefully deflected Asmo’s blatant flirting made it obvious that they thought they didn’t deserve it.

It must have been particularly bad one night. The two of them had made themselves comfortable on the bed in preparation for movie night, but instead of cuddling up next to him like they normally did, they sat far enough away that Mammon had to actually scoot forward to jab them in the shoulder.

“Hey, what gives, human? Why’re you all the way over there?”

“I’m just feeling a little warm.” they shrugged, pulling their knees to their chest. They were trying to pull some reverse psychology bullshit by purposefully staring him in the eye while they lied to him. Mammon snorted.

“You really think you’re going to fool me like that? You’ve got at least a millennia until you can even think of lying to The Great Mammon!” he opened his arms and his voice softened when he spoke. “Come here.”

They hesitated - eyes flicking back and forth between him and a knot in the branches that made up their bed frame, nervous - before they tucked themselves into his waiting arms.

He leaned his cheek against the top of their head, inhaling the sweet smell of their freshly-washed hair and internally purring (maybe externally, but you wouldn’t be able to get him to admit it) when he felt them snuggle in a little deeper and release a pent up sigh.

Mammon stayed silent, absently stroking the back of their neck. Words had probably done the damage, and they definitely weren’t going to fix it. He knew that from experience. But shielding his human from their own poisonous thoughts for a few moments was a good place to start.

Levi: Self-deprecating comments were one of Levi’s main forms of communication. It was a defense mechanism, a low-level shield someone would cast when the enemy was ridiculously OP but the game didn’t give you a retreat option. He knew this mechanic.

But when he heard them use it, it made him angry.

How could someone as amazing as them - smart, pretty, brave, loved gaming, made sure to feed Henry 2.0 when Levi was at a Sucre Frenzy concert - think they were anything less then perfect? No, more importantly, who hurt them so badly that they started thinking that way?

He felt like he did that one time Mammon had dropped one of his limited-edition Ruri-chan figures from a balcony. Someone damaged something precious to him, and he wanted blood.

Of course, that would involve talking about feelings and other mushy, normie stuff, and he just wasn’t ready for that. So, he did the only thing he could think of.

Leviachan: Hey, you down for a raid? There’s this new set of armor - it’s suuuuuuper rare, and you’re the only one good enough to get through the dungeon with me!! Pleeeeaaaassseee?

Satan: These little reading dates had started without him really noticing. One day, the human had came into the library seeking a quiet place to study and finish up their homework. Then, they came in with a human world book that Satan had never heard of tucked under their arm and were more than willing to talk about it. This lead to the two of them huddled on the sofa with their noses buried in the same book, and the human surprising Satan by being able to keep up with his reading speed. And here they were.

Satan had chosen a detective novel that he was positive they would like, and the both of them had taken advantage of a quiet Sunday morning to let themselves get absorbed into the story. Satan had his long arms wrapped around them holding the book, and they were leaning against his chest as they flipped the pages. An easy routine that the two of them had fallen into.

He felt them sigh heavily against him and he quirked an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

“Huh? Oh, no, I just...” they trailed off, gazing out the window at the dusty purple sky before snapping back to the present. “The love interest in this book is amazing. I’m a little jealous of them.”

“Jealous?” Satan echoed, looking down at the small frame curled up in his arms. “Why would you be jealous?”

“They were able to do so much with their life. They’re so young, yet they’ve got their life sorted out, they’re smart, beautiful, charismatic, and they’re confident in themselves despite all the shit people put them through...” they sighed again, and this time Satan heard the note of self-hatred on the exhale. “I can’t do anything like that.”

“Now where did you get that idea?” Satan said incredulously. “In the few months you’ve been here, you have excelled in every class you’ve taken, stood up against all of us in our true forms at least twice each, solved a murder, and convinced me to stop plotting to rip Lucifer’s throat out. All while adjusting to life in a world where most of the citizens could kill you by poking you a bit too hard. I would say that goes above and beyond ‘having your life sorted out.’“

The blush that bloomed across their face was so hot that Satan was able to feel it through his shirt, right next to his heart. He chuckled softly as he bent down to kiss their hair. 

“I could write for eons about how amazing you are and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

Asmo: Emotions fell right into his area of expertise, and even if they were immune to his charm, Asmo still could smell their emotions like a perfume. And their low self-confidence reeked like rotten fruit. A beautiful arrangement that had been abandoned and left to decay.

The Avatar of Lust was an inquisitive soul (Lucifer would call it being nosy, but whatever.) He was also a firm believer in the theory that you can tell everything you need to know about a person by their skincare routine. So that’s what led to him sneaking into their bathroom while Mammon had dragged them out on one of his stupid get-rich-quick schemes.

“Oh, I don’t think so!” Asmo cried in alarm as he picked up the bottle of human world acne treatment. “They might as well be washing their face with snake venom!”

With a scoff, Asmo kicked the waste basket out from beneath their counter and tossed the face wash in. Bottle after bottle followed it, and Asmo was just about to dump the last bottle of what he assumed was straight rubbing alcohol when he heard the door open.

“Asmo, what the fuck.”

“Darling, we need to have a very serious discussion about your choice in skincare products.” Asmo grimaced as he glanced at the label on the bottle before unceremoniously dropping it into the bottle graveyard. “Can you even pronounce some of these?”

Ah, there it was. The sickeningly sweet smell of self-hatred. Asmo fought the urge to recoil as they practically dove for the trash can.

“Asmo, come on, I have gross skin as it is, don’t take away the only things keeping me from looking like a slice of pizza.”

The sound of glass breaking echoed somewhere in the back of Asmo’s head. That rotten smell was rolling off of them in waves, but he fought off his aversion and knelt down next to them.

They nearly hit the ceiling when Asmo clasped their hands between his own. “Now, now, none of that.”

“None of what?”

Asmo giggled. “You know I wouldn’t bother associating myself with someone unsightly.” one of his hands moved to gently cup their jaw. “You poor thing, you’ve been ruining that lovely face of yours.”

“I didn’t think I could make it any worse.” they muttered, looking away as Asmo stroked a thumb over their cheekbone.

Asmo’s heart clenched, and he leaned forward to kiss them gently on the forehead. “Oh, I can’t stand hearing that kind of talk, especially coming from you. That settles it, then.” he stood with an air of finality.

“Settles what?” they tilt their head in a manner that reminded Asmo of a very adorable puppy.

“We’re going to get you some proper skincare products, and I’m going to spend the rest of the night making you feel like the divine beauty you actually are.”

It was only for a second, but Asmo swore that overpowering smell of rotten fruit was replaced with something just a little fresher.

Beelzebub: Normally, the Avatar of Gluttony wouldn’t complain about someone not eating. More for him. But he didn’t like the way the human was pushing food around their plate without actually eating any of it. They usually loved fried bat wing, too.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, keeping his voice low so his brothers wouldn’t butt in. “Aren’t you hungry?”

They laughed sheepishly, pushing their plate towards him. “Nah, not really. I was snacking all day. Here, you can have it.”

“But I just heard your stomach growl.”

Shame flashed across their face before they looked up at him with a grin that didn’t quite make it to their eyes. “I guess, haha. Just trying to watch my figure, you know?”

Before Beel could swallow down the mouthful of bat wing - when did he even pick it up? They had stood from the table and excused themselves, saying something about having a lot of homework.

It was a few hours before they got back to their room. What had started as them doing their homework in the living room had turned into Mammon begging them to help him study, which then somehow turned to Mammon challenging Satan to a pillow fight. Finally, they had decided to give up and do their homework in their room.

Something delicious wafted out of their room when they opened the door. The source was an overly full plate of food - with extra bat wing, they noticed - sitting on their desk. Blinking in confusion, they shut the door behind them and approached the plate. When they got closer, the note tucked underneath the plate came into view.

Please eat properly. I don’t want you to starve.

-Beel

Belphegor: He never would have called himself needy or touch-starved before. But after spending so long stuck in that attic room with his only interaction being with Lucifer, Belphegor couldn’t seem to get enough physical contact. Especially with the human.

He knew he didn’t deserve their affection, not with how he took advantage of them, manipulated them, murdered them. But the human had enough room in their heart to forgive him, and he would take any ounce of affection they were willing to give.

But it still stung when they flinched.

It was only for an instant, but Belphegor could feel the instinctual tightening of muscles when he draped himself over their shoulder. Feel them jump when he bumped shoulders with them in the hall. Feel their heartbeat speed up when he decided to use them as a body pillow.

“You know you can tell me no, right?” he murmured sleepily as the moment passed and the human settled down.

“Would you stop if I did?”

“Hm...” he hummed, cracking open one amethyst eye to peer at them. “If you don’t like me touching you, why do you let me do it?”

The human sighed, scooting down from their position against their headboard so they were face to face with Belphegor, who still had his hands around their waist like they were a giant teddy bear.

“It’s more like...I can’t believe you want to touch me.”

Now that woke Belphie up - well, as up as he could be while still doing his best impersonation of a koala. “What?”

They laughed, but it sounded strained. “Come on, Belphie, look at me. I’m all...jiggly.”

“So?”

Silence. They looked at him like they were trying to solve a puzzle, and he met their gaze like he was trying to figure out why they couldn’t figure it out.

“It’s not like it matters,” he shrugged, snuggling down into the soft blankets and holding the human a little bit tighter. “I like touching you because you’re you. You being soft and warm is a side benefit.”

“Belphie - “

He yawned, and they genuinely couldn’t tell if it was fake or not. “Shh, I’m going to sleep. You’re my pillow, so don’t talk. Especially if it’s negative stuff like that.”

Honestly, that was the best nap they’d had in a while.

[jeromevalseka]

coming back from my hiatus to inflict a fic i wrote 2 years ago on all of you :) i found it while sorting through old wips and was like...huh, i may have been on to something..........

Jonathan was at Bruce's house because apparently that was something they were doing now. He didn't mind, not really, but—and he would never admit this, even on pain of death—he wasn't the best at making friends. Or keeping them. He usually just hung around with Jerome or Jervis, hiding out under the bleachers to smoke stolen Camels, perpetually trapped in a play-act of high school delinquency. Which was—whatever. He was beyond caring about things like that. 

Bruce Wayne, though—

Bruce Wayne wasn't the type of person that Jonathan would have ever imagined himself becoming friends with. Study partners. Co-dependent acquaintances. 

Jonathan was not the usual type of person to be swept into his orbit. They were not—and he could not emphasize this point enough—in similar social groups. On every level, except physical, they did not even exist in the same world. 

And that was fine.

Bruce surrounded himself with the Tommy Elliot’s and Silver St. Cloud’s of the world. Pretty, vapid things that probably considered visiting a trap house an adventure and drove to school in Tesla’s. (There was no probably about it, actually. Jonathan knew Silver St. Cloud drove a Tesla because earlier in the year she ran over his bike with her shitty, energy-efficient, crime against humanity of a car.)

Bruce got along with his teachers. He had a special handshake with Principal Essen. He was inevitably going to end up being Prom King when the time came. He was an honor-roll student with enough extracurriculars to make Jonathan's head spin and, as far as he could tell, he had enough admirers at his beck-and-call that there was no reason he had to stoop to inviting Jonathan over to his mega-mcmansion to watch a movie.

It wasn't like they hung out. They were partners on a chemistry project once, and their study session had quickly been derailed by an impromptu lesson in shotgunning—which was a completely normal and natural thing to happen. Like, sure. Maybe Jonathan had been a teensy bit curious as to whether straight-laced golden boy Bruce Wayne would actually smoke with him, and maybe he was in over his head before he’d even grabbed his zippo, but, c’mon. He was only human. 

It wasn’t like anything world-shaking had happened.

(He tried, valiantly, not to think about how cold Bruce’s hands had been or the weight of him sitting on his legs or the way he looked, breathing out smoke: eyes lidded, pupils blown. He tried, most of all, not to think about how soft his mouth was. It was a losing battle.) 

So, they'd been partners once. Months ago. And then, again, in Leob's English class when they had to write a paper together a few weeks after the chemistry project. And, okay, maybe Bruce had started smiling at him in the hallways as if that was something he was allowed to do. And, maybe, Bruce had started spending a few days out of each week hanging around in Jonathan's threadbare bedroom pretending like he was charmed; pretending like he couldn’t buy everything to Jonathan’s name three-times over with just his lunch money. 

They were friendly. That was all. 

(Only that didn't really feel right to him. Something about the idea of it—of them—being nothing but a series of stomach-twisting accidents make his mouth go dry and ashy. He wasn't superstitious. He’d long given up the urge to want things; long resigned himself to the kind of disappointment that blooms ugly and rotten, and sinks like a stone in a stomach; disappointment that clings and chafes and oozes open like a burst blister with each little hurt—but every moment he spent with Bruce—every eye roll and bumped knee and shared song—made his chest well up with—with wanting. Bruce Wayne made Jonathan want. He made him burn-up. He made him dream. It was terrible—pinpricks beneath his nails—it ate away at him. He hated it. He hated it, and—)

He broke out of his thoughts, then. Bruce had a way of catching his attention.

Case in point:

A throw pillow worth more than his college savings slammed into his cheek.

It lacked Bruce’s usual subtlety. When he turned, instinctively, towards the direction of the throw, he found Bruce already wrapped tightly in a garish orange-and-blue quilt, lounging on his sofa with the air of a world-weary prince. He was too much—Bruce was—in ever conceivable way, by every possible count. Looking at him set his teeth on edge. His fingers twitched, hidden by ratty sleeves. Little prince, little prince...

Jonathan moved to sit beside him. He swung the throw pillow at his head in retribution. He felt like he was having a sugar rush. 

Jonathan was never a fan of sweet things. He elbowed Bruce in the side: sharp, straight to the ribs. Jonathan was never a sweet thing, himself. 

Neither was Bruce. He reached out and yanked down on a clump of Jonathan’s hair. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“Don’t pull my hair,” Jonathan said, twisting away, aiming for Bruce’s ribs once again. Bruce let go, only to pinch at his cheek instead, pressing the skin hard between his thumb and forefinger. He hissed, “What are you? Five?”

“You’re such a baby,” Bruce said, letting go of his cheek, smoothing his thumb over the space he’d pinched. “An asshole baby.”

"Can't help what I am," Jonathan said, barely resisting the urge pass his thumb over the spot Bruce had just touched. "What’s the problem? You want me to change? Be nicer? That’s a slippery slope, you know. First, it’s don’t be an asshole, Jonny, then it’s cut your hair, Jonny; donate to the orphans, Jonny. Where does it end?”

Bruce kicked at his shin. “I’d hate to speak for every orphan, but I think most of us could care less about your charity.”

“You say that now—”

“And I’d never ask you to cut your hair. It suits you.”

They suddenly felt too close, sitting on the couch as they were. “Spend a lot of time thinking about what suits me, baby?”

"Ha,” Bruce said, his expression odd. ”I spend more time thinking about what doesn't, hotshot.” 

That wasn’t a denial. That was, probably, as close to the opposite of a denial as Bruce would give. Something rabbited nervously in his chest. "Well you can’t leave me hanging, now. You gotta tell me what else you like about me or I’ll think your just making shit up." 

"I like,” Bruce stressed the word, “to think back to when you were too nervous to be this annoying.” There wasn’t any real bite to it, but whatever strange, tenuous thing hung between them fizzled away. Jonathan couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or not. "Tommy's half-convinced that you're secretly mute, you know? You just—loom around without saying anything. And Ivy thinks that you’re the brains behind all the shit that Jerome stirs."

Jonathan hadn't known that Bruce and Ivy Pepper were close enough to warrant them gossiping about him. Though, to be fair, he also hadn’t known that Bruce was talking to people about him, at all. Which. Huh. Bruce was talking to people about him. His sugar rush came back, full force. He felt dizzy with it. 

"As if I could convince Jerome to do anything.” His mouth felt very dry. "Remember when he filled all of Strange's desk drawers with fish?"

Bruce made a face, but laughed anyways. "The lab room smelled like something died in it for weeks. You're telling me that wasn't your idea?"

"Disappointed?"

"Mm," he hummed, eyes crinkled up at the sides, looking cozy and warm and a world away. "Any chance you’ll give me Jerome’s number? Want to put a good word in for me?"

And there it was. So it went. Give and take. Push and pull. Push until the air fissured, pull until Bruce drew his line in the proverbial sand. Every time. 

Speech seemed to have suddenly fled him. He elbowed Bruce instead, hard enough for Bruce to roll his eyes and nudge his thigh with his foot, a lazy smile settling on his face.

"I'm kidding." He said, and his voice was warm. He shifted a bit in his cocoon of blankets so that his legs were suddenly in Jonathan’s lap and their shoulder’s were pressed against each other; Bruce a solid, warm line against him. His hair brushed over Jonathan’s cheek while he settled down, and if Jonathan moved his arm just so he could feel his heartbeat. This was the reason Jonathan kept wanting. This was the reason Bruce was too much—as a concept, as a person, as the sliver of whatever that he cast off to jab into Jonathan— 

 He felt as if he’d touched a live-wire, though he imagined that might have hurt less. Bruce was still talking, “I already have his number, anyways.”

“You want to date Jerome?” Jonathan asked, stomach turning inexplicably. 

Bruce choked, coughed, and then, in a hoarse, panicked voice, asked, “What? Date Jerome? No. What the—No. Just—no.” 

His teeth still hurt. His hands were shaking, hidden in his sleeves. He wished he was back home, wrapped in his own ratty comforter. He wished...Well. It didn’t matter what he wished, in the end. “Sorry for asking.”

He could feel Bruce staring at him, something doe-soft about the look his eyes, but he couldn’t face him—could only bear to keep him in his peripherals. “I don’t want to date Jerome,” he said, after a long moment, steady and firm. “I want...” He could see him wet his lips, take a breath, and continue, “I want to watch this movie. With you.”

"Good thing I'm here then," Jonathan said, something ugly welling up in his chest. He held it. He let it go. 

"Yeah," Bruce said, grabbing the remote with a frown. "Good thing." 

[liberolove]

Testing the Waters (pt. 2)

Summary: youve finally graduated high school and now youre moving on to college. youve decided to go to sendai university. its summer and youve become curious about checking out the dating pool in miyagi, so you download a dating app. you figure you might as well have fun before delving too deep into your studies

Part: [part two] out of ???

Pairings: nishinoya x reader / kuroo x reader / oikawa x reader / kiyoko x reader

A/N: theres tons of ships here, just me living out my hoe phase lmao please dont judge me. let me know what yall think

Genre: fluff, smut, crack

Warnings: flirting, college shinanigans

It’s been three days since the last time you saw Yuu. Gosh, even saying his name to yourself gave you goosebumps. You two have been texting non stop and honestly, it felt so refreshing. You were a pretty bad texter but he knew how to keep the conversation going. 

One of his favorite things to do was play 21 questions with you. He wasn’t like those fuckboys who would use this opportunity to ask you if you were a virgin or what your favorite position was. Yuu was different. He came up with the craziest scenarios and judged you on the way you answered. One time he asked you how you would escape a 300 lb lion that just broke out of the zoo you were visiting. You honestly had no idea how to respond but eventually you replied, 

“I’d make sure to run with a crowd and ‘accidentally’ trip a slow runner so that the lion could get distracted and probably (most likely) attack them. This would buy me some time to get the hell out there.”

This response caught Noya off guard but he loved the way you thought. You continued to come up with barbaric schemes to survive all the scenarios he would throw at you. He kept you guessing and that was what you liked so much about him. He was wild and so were you.

You were getting a little impatient over your next date so you took a deep breath and eventually asked him.

Y/N: Heeey, Yuu. I was wondering when you’d like to go out again. I’d really like to go out with you again.

Nishinoya Yuu: hey cutie! I’ve been wanting to see you again but I haven’t had any days off from work lately.. (; ･`д･´) IM DYING!! I just wanna see yoouuuuu

Y: Aw man.. :( That sucks. When do you think you’ll get your next day off?

N: idk tbh but hopefully it’s soon!!

Y: no worries, just let me know.

N: will do!!

Well, that was that. Now you wondered what you should do to pass the time. You were bored again and needed something to do. “Oh wait. I should check the app. I haven’t checked since I messaged Yuu on there. Maybe I have more matches.”

You opened up the app and you had 10 notifications. You had gotten some likes on the selfie you posted and several people viewed your profile. You checked who looked at your profile, and it was mostly ugly, older, men. “Gross,” you thought to yourself. Besides this, you noticed some new messages. 

You opened up the first message. 

“Hey sexy! Wanna come see me play? Click my link https://…..”

“Damn bots. So annoying.” You deleted the message. Next message:

“DTF?”

“I mean like yeah, but you could’ve been less forward in your message. What a turn off..” You had one last notification left. Maybe it wouldn’t be a let down.

“Are you made of Fluorine, Iodine, and Neon? 'Cause you are F-I-Ne.”

To be honest, this pick up line did make you giggle a little. You checked out the profile of the mysterious stranger who sent it and you were surprised that it was a bulked up biker. And damn, was he hot as hell. 

His hair stood up in an organized, weird bed head kind of way. It made him look like a rooster. Rather than smile in his photos, he smirked. And his eyes looked like he could undress you solely with his gaze. He looked like your typical bad boy, but that didn’t make sense. Why would he use a chemistry pick up line?

This made you become even more interested, so you replied back with another cheesy pick up line.

Y/N: I wish I were adenine because then I could get paired with U.

Kuroo Tetsuro: Hey, kitten. I thought you’d never reply. You had me waiting.

Y: umm??? calling me kitten already?

K: What’s wrong? Are you flustered already? We haven’t even met up yet.

Y: woah there cowboy! hold your horses

K: I’m not a cowboy, but I’ll gladly have you ride me instead.

Y: skskskks i cant even-

K: Sorry. Too much?

Y: YES TOO MUCH

K: Alright. Let me start over. Ahh, a fellow chemist, I presume?

Y: yeaaah, kind of. I have a love/hate relationship with chemistry.

K: Is that so? Maybe I can help with that.

Y: oh really? how so?

K: I am a chemistry major after all. I go to Sendai. Do you go to school?

Y: uhhh i’m going to start there in the fall. I still haven’t decided what to major in, just yet.

K: Maybe you’ll end up being a chemistry major like me and I can give you private one on one lessons? 

Y: I highly doubt that, but nice try. 

K: Have you gotten a tour of the campus yet? Or are you waiting for freshman orientation?

Y: nah, I haven’t seen all of it yet. 

K: Would you like to?

Y: um sure! When are you free for my private tour? (:

K: How about tomorrow in the morning? Maybe around 9am? I can pick you up too if you’d like.

Y: Sounds good and no thanks. I’m not riding on that motorcycle! Looks scary :(

K: Don’t worry, kitten. I’ll drive safely and make sure nothing happens to you.

Y: there you go again.

K: Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. No, but really. I don’t mind picking you up. Have you ever been on a motorcycle before?

Y: nope

K: Then, let’s change that. Send me your address tomorrow morning. And get some rest.

Y: alrighty it’s a plan then!

K: No. It’s a date.

Y: sksksk omg

After that conversation, all you could think about was how the hell did you get into this mess? Motorcycles are dangerous, yet this rooster convinced you so easily to take a ride with him.. 

It was an understatement to say that you were nervous for tomorrow.

You set an alarm for 7 am the next day and went to bed.

Your alarm woke you up and you immediately remembered why you were awake so early. You rushed into the shower and once you were out, you spent 30 minutes deciding on what to wear. You opted for some black, ripped skinny jeans and a white v-neck t-shirt. 

At 8am on the dot, your phone’s notification bell went off. It was Kuroo.

“What’s your address, baby?”

You sent him the details and continued getting ready. You put on some light makeup and brushed your hair. You checked the time, and it was already 8:55 am. Then, your phone went off again.

“I’m outside.”

Your heart almost beat out of your chest. You grabbed your purse and put on some chapstick. You know, just in case..

You locked up your apartment and walked down the stairs. You were greeted by the biggest shit eating grin on the sexiest man you’d ever seen. You never went for the bad boys but college is a time for experimenting. 

“Hey, Y/N. You ready to ride? I brought an extra helmet for you.”

“Hi, Kuroo. And yeah, I guess,” your voice shook as you replied. You were really nervous but you tried to hide it.

“Don’t worry, baby. There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’ll keep you safe.”

His words made you melt and you had just met him. The way he cooed at you and looked your way made you blush. You felt your cheeks get hotter by the second.

“Alright. Hop on and hold on to my waist. Hold on tight or else you’re gonna fly away when I take off. Okay?”

“..okay..” you managed to mutter. You were shaking but you put on the helmet he gave you and lifted up your leg to sit on the metal machine. You slowly hugged Kuroo from behind and held on as tight as you could. Your head was smashed right up against his large, broad back.

“Ready?” he asked.

“..yeah,” you squeaked.

Before you finished saying this, he had taken off like the devil was chasing him. If this was his meaning of safe driving, you didn’t want to find out his meaning of reckless driving.

The ride to Sendai University only took about 5 minutes, when realistically it would take 20 minutes by bus. You arrived and Kuroo teased, “are you going to let go, kitty?”

You hadn’t realized you were still gripping onto him for dear life. You released him from your hold and your hands still tingled from the amount of force you applied to his shirt. “Sorry!”

“No worries. Hey, look! I brought you here alive. Aren’t you glad?” he cackled. 

His laugh sounded like a dying hyena but it did sound a little cute at the same time. “Yeah. Thank goodness. Your driving is insane, dude.”

He showed you all over campus, from the administrative buildings to the gymnasium, to the fields. Sendai was a pretty big campus, and it made you glad that you had a personal guide to show you all the different buildings. 

After your little tour was over, he asked, “wanna grab a bite to eat? I’ll be a gentleman and pay for you too.”

Of course, you couldn’t say no to food. Much less, FREE FOOD! You nodded and got ready to ride the devil’s machinery again.

He took you to a nearby sushi bar. “Order whatever you’d like, princess. Today, I want to spoil you rotten.”

You melted at his words and also at the variety of rolls on the menu. You didn’t ask him if he really meant that you could order anything. You just kind of went for it. You ordered everything from shrimp tempura, to octopus, to eel. Sushi was your favorite and being told that you could order everything was a dream come true.

“Damn, girl! I had no idea you had such a huge appetite!  I didn’t know you’d take me seriously on my offer. You’re gonna run my pockets dry.”

You blushed and looked away. “Sorry, Kuroo. I really couldn’t help myself. I love sushi so much.”

“I’m just teasing you, baby. You deserve to be treated like this everyday.”

You had no idea how to respond so you just kept stuffing your face with sushi.

After you finally had your fill, it was time to go home. It was getting late. Kuroo took you home and you were definitely more relaxed this time on the bike. 

“I hope you had a great time today, kitty. And I hope I met your standards.”

“Yes, I did! Thank you so much, Kuroo! This was honestly so much fun. Thanks for everything.”

“Of course. Nothing but the best for you. I just need one little favor from you, baby.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“Can I get a kiss from your soft lips? I know you want to. I saw the way you kept staring at me, today.”

“Oh.. uhh.. Y-yea-yeah. Sure, of course.. Yeah,” you stammered. 

You looked at him with soft, shy eyes and before you knew it, he leaned in quickly and kissed you on the lips. Your eyes were wide open in surprise but as he deepened the kiss, your eyes slowly shut.

The kiss felt like electricity coursing through your body. You didn’t know what it was, but this man definitely already had you wrapped around his long, slender finger. 

As soon as you realized his hold on you, he backed off, and left you wanting more. He was such a tease.

“I can’t just let you have everything today, kitten. I need you wanting more.”

You didn’t know what to respond so you looked down at the ground shyly. 

“I’ll message you later, y/n. Don’t make me wait too long, again.”

You waved and muttered, “Thank you, Kuroo.”

He revved up his bike and was gone in seconds.

You remained in a daze as you walked back up to your apartment. Once you got inside, you plopped down on your couch and released a long sigh. “Who knew that college was going to be so exciting..”

[link to kuroo pic i found]

[ourimpavidheroine]

May I ask why it is you didn't write any homophobia into your fanfic?

You may!

I was born in 1969. When I was a young girl growing up in the 70′s, there was absolutely nothing available to me that referenced anything queer. No books, no media, nothing at all. And by nothing, I mean NOTHING.

Were there queer people in the 1970′s? Oh my yes. But I knew nothing about them because it was just not part of my world. As far as I knew, queer people did not exist.

The first time I learned about queer people was overhearing a conversation when I was about nine or so about my Dad’s co-worker Ernie, a lovely first generation Chinese American man who often came to our house to hang out and who once brought me a beautiful doll from China that had long black hair and a hanfu with lilies all over it. My mother was saying something to my Dad about not wanting Ernie around my younger brother and me because he was gay and my father got pretty pissed off at her about it. I couldn’t understand why Ernie being happy would be such a bad thing, so I asked my Dad later and he explained what that meant. My Dad being the guy he was, he pretty much normalized it for me and I took it at face value.

The summers of 1983 and 1984 I attended acting school in San Francisco and that’s when I learned a lot more about queer people. That was smack dab in the middle of the AIDS epidemic; one of the teachers lost his best friend the night before our class and sat on the floor and sobbed and sobbed about it. It was, you can believe me, a real eye opener.

But you see, this is what the media told me about gay people as a teenager in the 80′s: they all had AIDS and were spreading it to straight people. They were pedophiles. The men were desperate, lonely people or overdramatic bitches that fucked anything that moved. The women were mean and ugly and out to steal other people’s wives or weird hippy pagan ladies that never shaved and smelled. They would all come to a bad end, one way or the other.

My biology/sex ed teacher in 9th grade told us that same-sex crushes were normal for teenagers and that they would go away and didn’t mean we were gay. Oh, I thought. Well then I guess laying awake all night thinking about Annie Lennox in the Sweet Dreams video and that one redheaded girl on the varsity volleyball team is just something I’ll grow out of.

(Spoiler alert: I did not grow out of it.)

I did not think of myself as being queer. For one thing, I still found boys attractive. For another, Mr. Powell told us it was something we’d grow out of. And I wasn’t like any of those women that we started seeing bits and pieces of in the media. So I just didn’t think about it.

I was at university in the late 80′s and early 90′s, studying theater, and then of course I was introduced to plenty of queer people. That was when I realized that yeah, okay, this is not going away. I am attracted to both men and women; I am bisexual. (Pansexual wasn’t something I’d heard of then but it’s how I identify now.)

Were we in the media? Eh...not so much. A glimpse here and there. But again, not much. And when we were in the news? It was Matthew Shephard (oh god, I remember sitting on the floor and hyperventilating when I saw that on the news) or it was Boys Don’t Cry or Will and Grace where Will was played as straight by a straight guy and never had a boyfriend and Jack was played for laughs.

This was not what my life was like.

I did come out to my family in my 20′s when I got a girlfriend; no one liked my girlfriend (god, she was so hot but such bad news; the sex was so so so good but she was so so so rotten, learn from my fail, children) but the fact that I was queer fazed none of them on either side. I come from very liberal stock, however. (Very liberal.) When I divorced my first husband and brought my then Finnish girlfriend around everyone loved her. It was not a traumatic experience for me. It hasn’t been traumatic for me in Finland, for the most part. 

Of course I understand that this is not the norm for everyone coming out. I know people suffer from discrimination; I am next door to Russia, I know what the fuck is going on in Chechnya. Trans people in Finland are still required by law to be sterilized before they can legally transition. Gay marriage only became legal here very recently. I know kids get kicked out by their parents, still get sent to conversion camps. I am aware of the kind of violence transpeople are subjected to.

But this is my point. What are people still seeing on the news? What do they see in media? Homophobia, coming out trauma, violence, rejection, people having to engage in political debate for their right to simply exist. Is it better than it was even ten years ago? Oh yes, it really is. Absolutely it is. Is it good, though? Is it normalized?

Nope. Not yet. And I firmly believe that a huge part of that is because queer media is still being produced by straight people. Many of whom mean well, of course. But it’s not their story. 

I know it can be very important, especially for younger readers, to read stories about coming out, about homophobia. It’s a way for them to process it and I’m not about to sit here and say that’s wrong. It’s not wrong! But there’s a world of difference between a queer person writing their own experiences as a form of processing and a straight person using those experiences as a means of conflict in their stories.

Do I think Bryke had good intentions writing a whole coming out arc for Korra in the comics? Retconning homophobia into their universe? I do. I absolutely do! I think they are very careful and thoughtful about representation. It matters to them.

But the fact remains that Korra’s coming out and the subsequent retcon of homophobia was written by a straight man in order to add conflict/drama to his story. There is no other reason for it to be there; Korra being queer does not require a coming out storyline nor subsequent homophobia. 

Let me repeat this:

Being queer does not require coming out or homophobia. That is something that straight people add to the stories of our lives, both in real life as well as media.

So that’s what I am doing in my fic. I am normalizing queerness. Am I doing it perfectly? Of course not; I’ve been learning to write with my fic, and I’ve made certain choices I would like to go back and change now. But I am making a choice to write the kind of world I think queer people should be living in: I am normalizing us.

My queer characters have negative things happen to them; they are as human as I can make them. They don’t live in a utopia. But the things that happen to them do not happen because of their gender or sexuality. I am not now nor will I ever be killing my gays.

[shanklin]

The Gargoyle (5/?)

Filbrick angers a witch, gets cursed and gains two sons. One is special and has twelve fingers. The other is a gargoyle.

Chapter Summary: Shermie really shouldn't be keeping a baby gargoyle in his backpack like this, but at least he knows how to use a book correctly.

Chapter [1] [2] [3] [4]

Read it on Ao3

Wordcount: 1775

Author’s Note: Apologies in advance to any librarians reading this. Your profession is a noble one and didn’t deserve to be slandered like this.

5. The Glass Shard Beach Public Library

The moment the pawn shop is out of sight, Shermie stops running and sighs in relief. Now he has a whole day to come up with a plan of what to do next.

Something hard gives him a sharp jab on his spine making him jump. Shermie hides in a street corner and opens his backpack slightly. A single glowing eye stares back at him. 

The poor thing. It looks like the marble Shermie used to replace the lost eye with only works for aesthetic purposes. Shermie should really go back and look for the real eye, but if his father sees him still lurking around the house things might get even worse. He bites down hard on his lip and decides against going back. “Sorry, I can’t let you out yet. I promise I’ll make it up to you, but first we need to go to the second scariest place in the whole of Glass Shard Beach. The Library.”

The scariest place of course being Pa’s workshop Shermie has been forbidden to enter since he can remember. The Glass Shard Public Library is located right at the outskirts of town next to the various lead paint factories pumping their waste into the ocean and everyone with just a hint of common sense stays clear of the building. Smog from the factories is perpetually surrounding the rundown stone building and if any plants ever tried to grow near it they have long since perished. The moment Shermie sets a foot on the property and passes the library sign, it’s as if time suddenly stands still. All sounds from the streets and the factories fade away and not even the wind dares to enter. Near the roof a crow caws and settles down on some weathered down and broken stone formations protruding from the side of the building. It must’ve once been a beautiful building, but through years of pollution and neglect it became a perfect candidate for a prop in a horror movie, almost cliche in its appearance.

Shermie gulps and clutches the backpack closer to his body. He took it off to better comfort the creature during their travel, but now he’s the one who uses the little guy's presence as a safety blanket. How glad he is that he didn’t have to come here all on his own. Usually, whenever he’s forced to enter the building for schoolwork, he’s accompanied by a couple of schoolmates and they’re in and out as fast as they can. However this time he isn’t sure how long it’ll take to find what he needs, so he needs every bit of courage he can muster to go through with this. The library really gives him the creeps. He just knows there's something foul and rotten hidden inside, besides the old librarian of course. The door creaks open and Shermie is hit with a shower of dust falling from the ceiling and making him cough. “H-Hello? Anyone there?”

The question echoes through the empty entrance hall. Nothing but a flicker of the ugly yellow light bulbs that barely provide any light replies. Looks like he’s safe.

The creature whines and protests again. Shermie hushes it. “It won’t be long now. Just stay quiet for a little longer.”

He tiptoes through the entrance hall, reluctant to lower his guard, and reaches for the door handle to open the way to the actual library part, when his arm is suddenly grabbed and pulled away.

Shermie shakes his wrist free and stumbles back in shock. The figure of the old librarian hovers above him. She’s a creepy witch of a woman with thin greasy hair and sunken eyes. “I- I’m just looking for some books.” 

Shermie is just stating the obvious, but the woman makes him feel like he's protruding on her personal space. She scowls and lifts one boney finger up to points at something behind him. He won't fall for that. No way he’s taking his eyes off the unsettling woman for even a second. 

It was the wrong decision. The woman takes one step closer to Shermie, who is backed against a wall,  and grabs his face, forcing him to turn around. “Read the signs, you brat.” A pungent vinegar like smell hits Shermie as she croaks out the words and he has to stop himself from puking. This was a bad idea. 

He should just run, but instead he’s frozen in place looking at the sign with various crossed out forbidden things on it. No food and drinks, no talking and no bags. “I can’t have you troublemakers steal my precious books. Put your bag in one of the lockers, before you enter.” She snarls and nods in the direction of some rusted and unsafe looking lockers. 

Of course. Shermie feels stupid for forgetting the rules of this place.

“Yes, right away, ma’am. Sorry.” The librarian lets out a curse under her breath and sits down behind her wooden desk, giving Shermie an opportunity to put some space between them. He places the bag with the precious cargo inside the cleanest looking compartment and whispers some apologies to the creature when the woman isn’t looking. He feels awful locking it up and leaving it without protection near the creepy woman and promises he’ll be quick.

There’s no time to lose. Any minute now the creature could decide it has enough of sitting around in a bag and could escape. As soon as the old hag is out of sight, Shermie dashes through the empty library in search of a book that could help him with the creature. There must be at least one book about fantastical creatures somewhere around here. Shermie considers looking in the nonfiction biology section first, since the creature is real after all and currently living in his backpack, but what kind of scientist would seriously study and write about the paranormal? They’d be laughed at for sure or their work would land in the fantasy sections.. Shermie rushes through rows upon rows of fictional works, but none of the books are even close to what he’s looking for. He stops to look around and catch his breath. For a public library with practically no government funding or visitors it sure is much bigger than you would expect from its rotting exterior. “No running in the library!” The librarian's voice zishes into his ear much too close to comfort, making Shermie jump a foot up into the air. Shermie swirls around ready to defend himself in case she tries to touch him again. “What’re you looking for so urgently, boy?” “A book about supernatural creatures or monsters or something. I’m ehm trying to write a story?” Shermie wants nothing less than to ask the woman for help, but this is the quickest way to find what he needs and escape this place. The woman looks entirely unimpressed with his explaination and Shermie feels someone foolish to have given it at all, but without another comment she orders him to follow and guides them through rows of dustier and dustier bookshelves to the very back of the library. Shermie wishes he’d bought a flashlight. The corridor he was led to is small and almost completely dark. The light from the dirtied up windows near the ceiling refuses to enter the section and the nearest electrical light source is a sad dimly glowing lightbulb two rows behind them. Shermie waits for the librarian to go on, but she stopped moving and with dread he realises she’s watching him like a predator would their next meal. Shermie backs away, but the woman is quicker, grabs his face again and squeezes down too hard to be anywhere near friendly. “You’re the pawn shop owner’s son, aren’t you?” She knows his father. Things never turn out well for Shermie when his father gets involved. “Y-yes.” He stutters out and instantly regrets not lying. The hag’s eyes light up and she gives him a nasty smile.

“And how is your mother? Did her pregnancy go well?” Memories of his mother acting off and secretly crying over his brother’s crib enter his mind and he squeaks out a high-pitched “She’s fine.” This causes the librarian to smile even wider, displaying all of her few remaining yellow brownish teeth and giving him another dose of that disgusting vinegar like smell. “The book you’re looking for is somewhere around here. Look for it yourself.” She says and finally lets him go, disappearing into the direction of the entrance hall. Shermie shudders and needs a moment to gather his wit’s. He’s never ever coming back here after this. The search for the book he needs is difficult. It’s too dark to see most book titles and he’s constantly on edge looking over his shoulder scared the librarian might’ve returned. Finally, after what feels like hours but couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, he finds something useful right at the very end of the corridor. A book about various myths and legends that includes enough descriptions of monsters that Shermie is hopeful he might find a clue about his little friend in there. He turns to leave, but his eyes catch a glimpse of a narrow wooden door in between two ramshackle book shelves. The door sticks out from its surroundings, looking far better maintained than any other part of the library. Shermie carefully runs his fingers over the wood. No dust at all. It must be used pretty frequently. Shermie knows he should just leave, but his curiosity takes over and he quickly checks his surroundings before reaching for the door handle. The moment his hand touches the metal a terrified screech echos through the library hall. The creature!

All need to explore forgotten, Shermie sprints through the library chastising himself for taking so long and endangering his little friend. He rams the door to the entrance hall open, almost breaking it in the process and is met with the sight of the librarian holding his little friend up by one leg and grinning menacingly, a mad glint in her eyes. His friend has been through enough already! The hag turns to face Shermie and Shermie raises the book in his hands up and charges at her.

“Let my friend go, you witch!” He screams and, before she can react, smashes the book over her head causing her to let go of the creature and collapse onto the floor holding her head.

Shermie pays her no mind, stuffs the book into his backpack lying on the floor and gathers the creature into his arms, running as fast as he can away from the library.

[cyborgsquirrel]

Sanctuary: Chapter 1

Pairing: Wolfstar

Summary: The epic tale of Remus Lupin and Sirius Black, from their first meeting until their happily ever after.

Link to Prologue

Link to All Chapters

10th March 1971 Remus rolled out of bed and stomped across the bare wood floor, averting his eyes from the deep gouges in his floorboards caused by the wolf's claws. His dad had decided several years ago that repairing the cosmetic damage every month was a waste of time, despite it taking no more than a wave of his wand. Even that small act of kindness was too much for him, apparently.

In the bathroom, he stripped off and entered the shower, forcing him to face another constant reminder of his condition, the network of scars that covered his body. Most were old, faded silvery lines of varying thickness and length, winding around his arms and legs, and crisscrossing his torso. Some were fresher, still raised against his skin in an angry red. The original bite on his upper left arm was barely visible really, but to him, the circular puncture scars were the most prominent of all his disfigurements. They were tinted a pale lilac from the silver used to keep him from bleeding out, and they clearly marked him for what he was. A beast. He washed with his eyes closed, so he wouldn't have to see the ugliness of his body. There was no point in making his already rotten mood any worse.

Stomping back to his room to dress, he caught the scent of frying bacon drifting from the kitchen and sighed. Every birthday, she made him bacon for breakfast, bought him a gift and made a fuss like he was just a normal boy. It all felt so hollow to him. The rituals, the pretence. Pointless. The remote Devonshire cottage his parents had moved them to after his first transformation felt like a prison at times. Their closest neighbours were six miles away, and he never travelled that far out. He had contact with no-one but his parents, and he was lonely. He glanced out of his bedroom window as he pulled on his jeans and t-shirt. The view always brought him comfort when he was getting depressed. Beautiful woodlands bordered the back garden, and he enjoyed going for hikes through the trees when he felt well enough. The natural setting soothed his soul, but there would be no chance of that today. His mum would expect them to do something together. He just wanted to be alone. Sucking it up and plastering a smile on his face, he trudged into the kitchen to face his eleventh birthday. 'Happy birthday, sweetheart!' his mum said as he entered the room. He took a seat at the table, and she carefully handed him a plate filled with bacon and eggs. The caution in her movements made him clench his fists. His parents laced every interaction with reminders of his abnormality. 'Thanks, Mum,' he said, forcing his mouth to form a weak smile. She smiled widely and sat down opposite him to begin her own breakfast. 'What do you want to do today?' she asked. He glanced up from his plate, stopping mid-chew, and blinked at her. 'Do?' he said. 'What is there to do?' 'Don't talk with your mouth full, Remus. You're not an animal,' she said. His face heated, and his heart pounded in his chest. Memories of his transformations ran through his mind. Watching as his fingers and toes sprouted claws. Staring down at his arms and legs covered with coarse fur. The sound of his screams turning into monstrous howls. He swallowed his food, slammed his cutlery down and stood from the table, shoving his chair out behind him so violently that it toppled over. 'That's exactly what I am, Mum! A mindless animal!' He screamed the words at her, not caring about her stricken face, and fled to his room, slamming the door behind him. Alone in his room, he curled into a ball in the corner. His eyes burned as the rage bled away and guilt gnawed at him for shouting at his mum. She hadn't meant anything bad by what she said; the words were nothing more than a common phrase, but they had hit a nerve in him. He recalled her expression when he screamed at her. There was fear in her shadowed eyes. Her once pretty face was tired and drawn now, and he knew it was his fault. If he hadn't been so stupid and opened his bedroom window that night, they would still be a normal family. Happy and carefree, not exhausted and at each other's throats. A quiet knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Remus sighed, it was the same every time. She never left him to stew for long, 'Come in,' he said. The door opened, and as he'd expected, his mum walked in. She was carrying a small gift wrapped in shiny blue paper. 'I'm sorry for yelling at you, Mum,' he said, staring at his hands so he wouldn't have to see the look in her eyes. 'It's okay, sweetheart. I'm sorry too. I understand why you were upset. Let's forget about it and move on. I bought you a present.' She stepped over to where he was hunkered in the corner and handed him the gift. He unwrapped the package slowly, folding the paper up to be kept and reused, before looking at the contents. He knew it was a book before he unwrapped it. Not only because of the distinctive shape and weight, but because his presents were always books. Books and chocolate. That's all he wanted and all his parents could afford, anyway. This book was special, though. It was the last book he needed for his collection. A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration. He was thrilled. 'Wow! Thanks, Mum, this is perfect,' he said, already flicking through the pages. 'I talked to your dad, and he agreed that you can buy a wand in September,' she said. That pulled his attention from his present. His head shot up, and he gaped at her. 'Are you serious?' She nodded, beaming at him. 'Oh, Merlin! Thank you! That's brilliant!' He clambered up from the floor, not sure what to do with himself. 'You must be very careful about not overextending yourself when you practise though. You won't have the Hogwarts teachers to guide you.' Remus ignored her. He was too caught up in his excitement to listen. The news was an even better present than the book. Owning a wand meant he could practise. He hadn't expected to be able to test out his knowledge until he came of age. He wanted to hug her, but he couldn't, so he started jumping up and down instead. 'Remus? Promise me you'll be careful.' He heard her that time and stopped jumping. 'I'll be careful, Mum. I'm always careful.' 'I know you are, sweetheart, I just wanted to make sure. Right, well, I'll leave you with your book. I'm sure you're dying to start reading it.' Remus acknowledged the accuracy of her statement with a nod of his head, opened the book and settled on his bed to read. Knowing he would own his very own wand in a few months made studying hard even more important.

-o-o-o-o- That evening, one hundred and fifty miles away from where Remus lay reading, a young boy with shoulder-length black hair and silver-grey eyes was staring out of his bedroom window at the almost full moon and thinking about the day a fierce bronze-haired boy with golden-yellow eyes had kicked his tormentor in the shin. Would Remus be at Hogwarts in September? The hope burned in his chest like fire. He longed for the chance to thank him for the brief moment of happiness he'd brought him that day and for the comfort the memory had brought him on so many days since. It had started the same way it always did. As soon as he woke up, he was in trouble. Mother had punished him the first time that morning for jumping on his bed, petrifying him with his arms in the air and forcing him to stand in the corner with his muscles locked in place for an hour. His arm muscles were burning by the time she released him from the spell. At breakfast, he was in trouble for poor table manners. He had used his fingers to pick up a tricky piece of bacon that refused to stick to his fork. For that crime, she attached his cutlery to his hands with a temporary sticking charm, making them extremely challenging to use, and then shot a stinger at him every time he failed to pick up his food with them. How was that even fair? In Diagon Alley, he hadn't been able to prevent himself from running around in the street; he knew he shouldn't, but the open space just called to him. A few minutes before Remus had found him huddled in the apothecary, Mother had promised him he would spend the night chained in the cellar for his inappropriate behaviour. As soon as she had stopped spouting reprimands and taken her eyes off him, he had run into the shop to hide. He shuddered as he recalled all the nights spent in that cellar. The memory of Remus kicking his mother in the shin and screaming at her to leave him alone had sustained him through many tough periods since it happened. Her facial expression when his foot had made contact was priceless. Unforgettable. He hoped Remus would be at Hogwarts. He wouldn't thank him in words, though. How could he explain how much it meant to him to have someone come to his defence? How could anyone understand? But he would thank him with his actions. He would find a way; the debt could not remain unpaid. A quiet knock sounded at his bedroom door at last, and he jumped down from the windowsill, running to open it. He eased the door open so it wouldn't make a sound and ushered his brother inside. They both stayed silent until he had closed the door with a quiet click. 'I'm sorry for taking so long, Siri. I needed to wait until Mother and Father were asleep, and they stayed up late tonight,' Regulus said. 'Don't worry about it. You're risking a lot doing this, but hand it over already. I'm starving,' Sirius said, grabbing the tray from his brother and lifting the lid. He leant over the plate and inhaled, taking in the delectable scent of the roast beef and potatoes before sitting down at his desk to devour his dinner. 'I can't believe it's been a week,' Regulus said, watching his older brother wolf down the food. 'Do you think they know?' 'Know what?' Sirius asked in-between mouthfuls. 'About me bringing you food.' Sirius stopped eating and stared at his brother, rolling his eyes. 'No, Reg. If they did, they'd stop you. They'll feed me soon. They just want me to suffer first.' His tone of voice suggested he didn't care. But he did. It hurt that his parents couldn't love him for him. It hurt that they insisted on trying to change him. 'Maybe you should just apologise.' 'Apologise for what? Telling the truth? I don't see what's so wrong with saying I don't want to be in Slytherin.' Regulus sighed. 'All right. Have you finished? I need to put it back before I go to bed.' 'Yeah, thanks for doing this. You know I'd do it for you too. If you ever got in trouble.' 'I know,' Regulus said. 'Goodnight.' He embraced his little brother for a moment before Regulus picked up the tray and left. He wasn't worried about him being caught. Reg would say the food belonged to him, and their parents would accept it. He wasn't the heir, so they didn't care what he did, meaning he got away with anything. He kicked the end of his bed in frustration. Why did he have to be born first? It wasn't fair. He flopped down on his bed without bothering to undress or pull back the covers and, with his belly finally full, he fell asleep. Mother released him from his confinement the next day. First informing him she was hosting yet another party for important members of society. The only reason she let him out was that the heir of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black needed to be present. She told him it was an opportunity to prove he wasn't a complete disappointment. He cringed. He hated these society parties; they bored him, and the guest list always contained the most awful people. He obediently made himself presentable though, dressing in his most expensive formal robes before checking his appearance in the bedroom mirror. He was a good-looking boy. That wasn't being vain. All the Blacks were attractive people, and he was no exception. He wore his silky black hair long, as was customary for pure-bloods, and it fell in waves down to his shoulders, framing his aristocratic facial features. His eyes were a smoky grey, and they sparkled with the mischief that continuously got him punished. The expensive robes he wore had been tailor-made for him, and they hung from his frame in perfect folds. He winced at how well he passed for an arrogant Slytherin pureblood. He needed to do something about that. A knock came from the door, and Reg called through to say he should hurry. The guests were arriving, and their mother was angry that the heir was not there to greet them. 'I'll be down in a second. I'm almost ready,' he said, scrambling through his desk drawers in search of something. At last, he found what he sought, shoved it in his pocket and headed downstairs to greet the guests at his mother's party. 'Ah, Abraxas, so glad you could make it. I hope you're well?' Mrs Black said, greeting the silver-haired man and offering her powdered cheek for a kiss. 'I am in perfect health, Walburga. Thank you for asking, and yourself?' Mr Malfoy said after kissing the proffered cheek. 'I am very well indeed, thank you, and your wife? I heard she was ill?' Her face showed an expression of concern that Sirius had never seen directed his way. He groaned softly. All the chit chat bored him to tears, and this was the nineteenth introduction they had subjected him to. Yes, he was counting. Abraxas peered down at him and smirked. 'Ah, Walburga, I believe the young ones tire of this bothersome adult conversation. Perhaps we should proceed to the introductions, so they can retire to a more entertaining location?' he said. Walburga nodded, quick to agree with her guest's suggestion, but when Abraxas turned to beckon his son, she glared at Sirius. He valiantly resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at her in response. Walburga placed a firm hand on Sirius' shoulder, digging her nails into his skin, and moved him forward. He would have bruises in the morning. 'Allow me to introduce the heir to The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Mr Malfoy. My son. Sirius Black.' Abraxas' son stepped forward and held out his hand to Sirius. 'It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Master Black. May the friendship between our houses be long and fruitful,' he said. Knowing what his mother expected of him as the heir, Sirius did not take the man's hand but stared at Abraxas, awaiting an introduction. Abraxas obliged. 'The heir to House Malfoy. My son. Master Lucius Malfoy,' he said with a bow. That provided Sirius' cue, and he dutifully shook hands with the tall, white-haired young man. 'The pleasure is mine, Master Malfoy. Would you care to join me in the library for a drink?' he said, his stomach rolling at the pretence of it all. 'That would be delightful, thank you, Master Black.' Lucius turned to the adults and continued, 'Please excuse us,' bowing to them both before joining Sirius to head to the library. Once they'd escaped from the adults, they both dropped the act. Sirius flopped down into one of the uncomfortable chairs in the library while Lucius perched on the edge of another. 'Salazar's teeth, I detest these parties, don't you?' Lucius said, grimacing. 'So very, very much,' Sirius said with a groan. His mother's parties were a real strain on his nerves. Asking him to rein in his near-constant impulses for several hours was like asking a dog not to bark at a squirrel. He couldn't afford to make a single mistake while he was in such influential company. His mother watched his every move, and if he put a toe out of place, uttered a single wrong syllable, his punishment would be swift and brutal. It was exhausting. 'Thank Merlin I'll be back at Hogwarts tomorrow. You'll be starting in September, won't you? I'll be a seventh-year prefect. Feel free to come and find me if you need assistance,' Lucius said. 'Thank you, I'll do that,' Sirius said with a nod. Although he didn't think he would. He was rather hoping not to be in Slytherin. Thinking of being at Hogwarts at all though caused a grin he couldn't suppress no matter how much he tried. He twisted around on the chair so he could lounge back with his legs dangling over the arm. 'I can't wait to get out of here.' 'I'm sure. I expect you have to put up with a lot more of this nonsense than I do.' 'Without a doubt.' Sirius said. 'Is there a reason your family is suddenly on my mother's invitation list?' 'There is indeed,' he said with a sigh. 'I was recently betrothed to your cousin Narcissa.' Sirius snorted. 'I can understand why you don't appear thrilled about it. She's a bit frosty.' 'That she is, but one must do as one is told.' Lucius scowled at his own statement. He clearly didn't want to marry the girl his parents had chosen for him, but he would be a good little heir and marry her anyway. Sometimes Sirius wished he was capable of behaving the same way, but then again, maybe not. He considered the item he'd secreted in his pocket at the start of the evening. 'Hey, how do you fancy livening this party up a little?' he said, pulling the dungbomb from his robes. 'Ah, the mischievousness of youth,' Lucius said, laughing. 'Yes, why not? I should get one more evening of frivolity before I'm beset with the mundanity of married life.' Sirius and his new co-conspirator snuck out of the library and down the hall to the ballroom. The music drifted out, lilting gently over the hum of conversation. The noise worked wonderfully as a cover for their whispered consultation on how best to carry out the task. After a fevered discussion, they decided on levitation as the most appropriate means of transportation, and the chandelier in the middle of the room as the optimum location for maximum dispersal of the dungbomb's toxic gases. Lucius carried out the task, as Sirius had yet to even set foot inside Hogwarts. He made a wonderful look-out, however, and no one in the room noticed a thing. Once the dungbomb was suitably positioned, Lucius shot a stunner in its direction to make it explode, and they ran. When the cries of anguish came from the ballroom, they could barely contain their laughter imagining the disgusted expressions on the faces of the rich and powerful guests. But by the time Walburga arrived, Sirius and Lucius were once again ensconced in the library, sitting in their uncomfortable chairs and conversing quietly. They appeared to be the picture of pureblood dignity. 'Is there a problem, Mother?' Sirius asked, keeping his expression smooth and emotionless, just the way she taught him. 'No, nothing, I was looking for your father,' she lied. 'Have you seen him?' 'Not since we came to the library,' Sirius said, giving Walburga no choice but to leave. She held no proof Sirius was behind the dungbomb, and as Lucius pointed out once she was out of hearing range, no one would suspect Lucius Malfoy of being involved, and if the two of them were together all evening, it obviously couldn't have been Sirius either.

-o-o-o-o-

The next day, back in Devon, Remus felt rough. It was the night of the full moon, and it was going to be a bad one. He could tell. The pain had begun before he even woke that morning, a dull ache in his bones that rarely started until midday. It was moons like this one that made him wonder if it was all worth it. Wouldn't it be easier to down an infusion of wolfsbane and silver and be done with it all? He spent the day in bed feeling sorry for himself, knowing the pain would continue to get worse throughout the day. When his mum came to investigate, he told her he was too sick to get up, and she brought him food, but he had no appetite for it. He tried to get some sleep and dozed, on and off, for a few hours, but the pain intensified and sleep became impossible. An hour before moonrise, his mum came to lock him in, wishing him a 'good' night, like that could ever happen. The transformation began, and he went through his usual routine of trying to suppress the screams so he wouldn't upset his mum. He wished she would agree to silence his room instead of the whole house, but she insisted that she would be with him in that way if she could not be with him in any other. She would bear witness to his suffering, so he was not alone in it. The pain quickly became too much, and he gave in to the urge to scream. Halfway through the transformation, he examined himself and could tell something was different. The wolf's form appeared bigger than it used to, the muscles bulkier. His room would no longer contain this beast. He tried to call out a warning, but his voice box changed, and only a howl emerged. With his last conscious thought, he prayed to Merlin, Godric and Salazar that his parents escaped in time and he wouldn't wake up the next morning an orphan.

Chapter 2

[artgurusauce]

Oh hey what’s this an AU without Haudion in it? What sorcery is this, Saucy?

Yes yes, another AU spreadsheet. Twist this time: The prompt ain’t for shipping. I’ve been playing with this specific idea in my head for a while now and after rewatching an old playthrough of God of War 4, I got a tad inspired.

Without further ado, let us begin.

Context: As you can probably already tell, the prompt here was “What if Gladion was much younger when he joined Team Skull?” The question of how young I’m afraid I can’t put into precise numbers buuut, about the age he was in the anime when Lillie was attacked by that Nihilego. I’m assuming he was around 7 at that time but that’s just an estimate. Anyways, he runs away from home after stealing a Pokeball containing a Type:Null from his mother. Unfortunately, he grabbed a rather aggressive Type:Null that is poorly trained. It doesn’t kill him, but it often lashed out at Gladion and attacks him, scratching and headbutting him. One day, in the pouring rain, Guzma finds this crying boy sniveling and covered in all manner of bruises and cuts. Taking pity upon him, he decides to take him in.

1.) New Clothes

Since Gladion’s old clothes while expensive and cozy were absolutely ruined, they had to be replaced. Not only were they soaked, but they were terribly scratched up and beyond repair thanks to Null. Luckily, one of the grunts happens to be an expert in sewing clothes and makes up just the cutest little getup for him. However, she makes the sleeves just a tad too long. Guzma also gives Gladion an old pair of sneakers he used to wear when he was about his age.

2.) Roughhousing

Gladion, even as an older more mature boy is quite the emotional one. Often times he’ll lash out quite easily and it’s not hard to get under his skin. Imagine if you were to upset an even younger Gladion with far less experience, poise and who’s freshly emotionally damaged by his mother’s neglectful behavior, not to mention his frustration with trying to train Type:Null. So it’s not hard to imagine that Gladion still wouldn’t get along with the grunts. In fact, they pick on him even more since he’s so tiny and pathetic and gets far more attention from Guzma seeing as he’s the youngest one and needs more care. Usually it would lead to a grunt stepping out of line, saying something like, “Why don’t you go back home cryin’ to your daddy?” or “I’ll bet your ugly little pet would make a better jacket than a Pokemon.” This would obviously lead little Glad to attempt to beat up the older kids, biting and scratching and kicking them. And of course, Guzma would have to break it up and drag Gladion off to give him a stern talking-to, man to boy. Just what on Earth was Guzma going to do about all this pent up aggression he had?

3.) The Little Moments

Of course eventually after a while it should come as no surprise: The little brat is startin’ to grow on big ol’ bad Guzma. Even for the spoiled rotten, picky, ungrateful rugmuncher he can be sometimes, he’s not quite that bad of a kid. After all, Guzma actually somewhat admires his spunk. It’s not hard for him to see himself in this kid. He knew how scary it was being away from home at such a young age, and especially with such a goliath under his belt with no experience what-so-ever. This illustration is one of a few wholesome little instances you could probably imagine. Poor little Glad got tired from training and fell asleep while listening to one of Guzma’s post-battle lectures. It’s almost kind of cute.

4.) Motherly Advice

Oh but of course, Guzma isn’t the boy’s only parental figure. Plumeria, more docile and passive aggressive in nature is sure to give little Glad any advice he needs. While it is important he learns to toughen up, he’s not a brick wall. She’s there to talk to him whenever he needs it. While at first he’s not privy to talking to her as putting up with Guzma is enough of a challenge in and of itself, eventually, he warms up to her offers to listen when the grunts’ verbal jabs begin to wear down his self-confidence. She also is prone to helping Gladion understand Guzma’s rules and why he’s so hard on the poor little fella. They weren’t so different, even if it didn’t seem that way. “Might be tough for you to believe it, but everybody here has had it rough, even me.” Gladion definitely takes all her advice to heart, frankly just appreciating that someone would just talk to him like...a mother would.

5.) Tough Love

And now we get right back to Gladion’s biggest conundrum: Type:Null. I headcanon pretty much in any AU that there are 3 Type:Nulls in existence: A docile one, an aggressive one, and a pack leader. Gladion this time around ends up taking the aggressive one, not knowing the difference between the Beast Killers. While under Guzma’s wing, Type:Null and Gladion both endure intense and rough training that while unconventional is actually quite necessary. Guzma knows how to handle a bulky mass of rage after all. So first thing’s first, he uses his Golisopod to battle Type:Null in order to help it get out all that pent up aggression and channel it in a productive manner. The more it associated it’s power and ability with Pokemon battle rather than throwing temper tantrums, the better. Golisopod is more than happy to help, which creates a tense rivalry between the two. Often times they will even spar without either of their Trainer’s request. In a similar fashion that Guzma is a mentor to Gladion, Golisopod becomes somewhat of a mentor to Type:Null. Then of course, there’s the trust-building lessons to help Gladion and Type:Null establish a Trainer-Pokemon relationship rather than a Master-Prisoner mentality. It doesn’t quite understand that Gladion is it’s ally, it only knows that it is free from the tazing devices and cold, claustrophobic cages that prevented it from ripping anyone that crossed it to shreds. It had to understand that the boy was it’s friend, not it’s foe. Leading that, Gladion himself would learn how to battle using his Pokemon. A process that requires surprisingly a lot more paper than hands-on studying. After all, he has to memorize all the moves and rules if he’s to become a proper Trainer for that powerhouse.

6.) Am I Supposed To Apologize?

After a long, long, looonnnggg time of building trust and coming to see Guzma like a second father, Gladion finally spills the beans about his mother’s cruelty and his father’s tragic death. Surprisingly, rather than Plumeria, it is Guzma he confides in. He breaks down, confessing every little horrific detail. How his father died in a horrible research accident. How his mother shut them out emotionally after the funeral. How she forced him and his sister to dress perfectly proper in almost all white. How she ridiculed and belittled and shamed them just to make them complicit. How she locked him and Lillie in their rooms for hours on end for simply wearing the wrong shoes. How she took away their Pokemon, saying they weren’t worthy enough children to be Trainers. How she began to pretend as if Gladion didn’t even exist anymore and gave all the attention to his sister just to spite him. All they were to her were ugly, useless children. She didn’t love them anymore, and they didn’t understand. He didn’t understand. He didn’t know what to do. All he wanted to do was run away. But he also wanted to piss her off, give her something to really be upset about. At least then she would give him attention. At least then she would acknowledge him, wouldn’t she? She had to! But she hadn’t even bothered to look for him, she didn’t care about him. She never would. Why did she act like this? Did he do something wrong? Was he supposed to apologize? Why did she hate him so much? Guzma is obviously taken aback by all this and takes pity on the poor boy again, letting him cry out all of his frustrations and woes. Nothing is more painful for Guzma than hearing the things some of these kids he takes in have gone through, but coming from the mouth of someone so young, it also boils his blood. Lusamine will surely regret what she has wrought upon this boy...

7.) Po Town Raid

So I came up with an interesting plot idea, perhaps a sort of climax to this story. Team Skull is still very much a group of criminals. They steal, vandalize, and sometimes even shake down young Trial-Goers who were unfortunate enough to run into one of Guzma’s lackeys. Up to now, nobody really knew where they were hiding out. However, the police somehow found a lead, and raid the entirety of Po Town to arrest and detain everyone. Guzma knows there’s not enough time to save everyone, and decides to make a split second decision as the police come dangerously close to knocking down the door to the mansion. He calls out his Golisopod, ordering Gladion to hide under him and not to come out no matter what he hears. Of course, Gladion is terrified and objects to this, but Guzma manages to convince him that he can handle himself. Begrudgingly, Gladion hides in Golisopod’s grip as it curls up into a ball, shuffling itself under some floor boards beneath a rug on the floor. With bated breath and tears trickling down his face, Gladion is forced to listen quietly as his father figure is arrested and escorted out of the building, insisting there’s no one else left to detain. Golisopod is just as saddened as the boy, hesitant to sit back while it’s Trainer is being hauled off, but obedient enough to keep the boy safe as ordered. After a few hours of complete silence, Gladion and Golisopod finally emerge from their hiding spot, wrought with grief and panic to find Po Town was completely empty and devoid of any other humans or even Pokemon. Everyone was gone.

Sooo another plot twist, I may consider actually writing a fic for this one but obviously not right now. Or I could just keep posting about it here, lol. Honestly I really like this one so I’m definitely gonna continue it regardless. But lemme know what y’all think. 

[crowkingwrites]

Ducky

Pairing: Ramsay Bolton x Reader // Words:1663 // Ao3 Link

Ramsay arrived home with the highest honors, more than three job offers, and his father’s approval. Military academy made him into a better man. Not in the sense where a man stopped his terrible behaviors, but better at hiding them. A particular professor almost kicked him out due to his bladed threat, but what could Ramsay do? The professor was a dick. He deserved it.

Bethany Ryswell, the closest thing Ramsay had to a mother, had planned a welcome home dinner party for her favorite boy. She welcomed him home with a warm hug and a kiss on his forehead. He may be in his early twenties, but he was still her little boy. 

Ramsay looked to his childhood friends and studied their faces. Some had grown to be tall, others fat and round. Some had noble coats and others had the same military coats Ramsay worn. None of his friends were married, in love, or even had a chance for a lady’s hand.

“I see Paris has been good to you,” Ben said. He ran a hand through his growing hair. “Roose has been talking about you all day like you battled the filthy rebels themselves.”

“Fucking peasants,” Ramsay shook his head. “If it were me, I would blast them all.”

“With cannons?” Alyn said. “You’d be considered mad.”

“I don’t think it would matter if I delivered results. The sooner the drunks stop filling the streets with their garbage, the sooner our lives will go back to normal. And what’s this I hear of your family immigrating to America? Is your family mad?” Ramsay responded. Damon handed him a glass of a sweet red wine. Ramsay’s lips touched the rim of the glass, tasting the sweet nectar.

Then he saw her. Someone who looked too familiar.

“My family is not like yours, Ramsay. You and your father come from a long line of assholes. Your father is an asshole. Your grandfather was an asshole. Your great-grandfather would have killed you by now if he had known you existed. My family is filled with a bunch of sugar-boned, fat pockets, drunk artists who can’t punch for shit,” Damon laughed out loud.

Ramsay’s eyes followed her across the ballroom. She was more beautiful than all of the girls in the room. Her makeup glowed. Her dress was pink and red, his family’s colors. Who was she? Why did Ramsay have the feeling he knew her?

“My father is begging us all to go. It’s gotten bad for the lower nobles, you know,” Damon finished his wine. “Rotten. This is all so—

“Shut up,” Ramsay rolled his eyes. “Who is that?” He pointed in her direction. Ben made an interesting sound. “Oh, you don’t remember, do you?” Ben smiled. “You’ve missed so much.” The boys started laughing. Ramsay rolled his eyes and took his glass with him. He knew this girl from somewhere. It itched the back of his brain. She was speaking with friends until they noticed Ramsay behind her.

Once she turned around, Ramsay knew exactly who it was.

“Y/N?” Ramsay studied her face over and over again. The last time he saw her, they were children. Ugly was a kind word for her. She often played with Ramsay and his friends despite them not wanting her around. Ramsay called her ‘Ducky’. Short for Ugly Duckling.

“Welcome home,” her voice was warm and inviting. Unlike her shrill voice as a child. “I heard you earned high honors, Mr. Bolton.” She played with the pink ribbons on the front of her dress. Ramsay’s eyes floated down to her chest. He didn’t remember her having such a voluptuous bosom or at least she never dressed this way.

“Y-yes I have. You know of my activities during our time apart. What of you? What have you been up to exactly?” Ramsay’s eyes flitted back and forth from her face to her other body parts.

“Finishing school,” Y/N answered. “After the mess I made with you and your friends, my Lord father wanted me to be a proper lady.”

“Proper?” Ramsay swallowed. How was she this pretty to look at? Her curls looked soft to the touch. He inhaled the air around her. He caught heavy hints of perfume. Her makeup brightened her eyes. Her nails looked perfect.

“Oh yes, you couldn’t have expected me to stay a tomboy with you forever, could you?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Are you alright?” Y/N asked. Her smile hid something sinister underneath. Was she aware of the power she had?

“What?” Ramsay reacted.

“As I remember, you always had something awful to say to me.”

“You didn’t look like this when we were younger.”

Y/N laughed and it sounded like a song. Ramsay felt his cheeks warm up and he took a few steps back. Y/N reached out for his hand, but she caught his military sword instead. Both of their faces were inches from each other. Ramsay’s red cheeks warmed to her touch. She caressed his smooth face.

“Oh dear,” she giggled. “I suppose we have a lot of catching up to do, don’t we?” Y/N whisked Ramsay away from everyone else. They sped through the hallways and ducked under servants. Ramsay’s fingers itched to touch her more. His mind wandered back to when they were children.

How was she this attractive? It didn’t make sense. Covered in dirt, scratches on her arms and legs, her shrill voice still burned at the back of his mind. The girl he knew then and the young woman whose fingers brushed over his crotch could not be the same person.

“What happened to you?” he chuckled, trying to figure her out as if she was some puzzle.

“I like to imagine I grew up. Why? Did something happen to your eyes?” Y/N’s fingers pressed him against a wall. “Do you think you’re going blind?”

“No, I think I’m falling in love,” Ramsay laughed. He shook his head. Why would he say something like that? Men like him didn’t fall for anything. Y/N pushed them both into a bedroom. Her hands already exposed his chest.

“Is this your first time?”

Ramsay stood silent. He would certainly not admit that this was his first time. Not to her. His back became stiff like a board. Her lips brushed against his, and moved them along with hers but nothing warm was there. Her hand tucked into his pants and she grabbed him.

“Oh, you don’t like me,” she frowned.

“No! No. It’s-it’s not that,” Ramsay continued to kiss her face. His hands buried themselves in her curls. He pulled out pins and the pretty ribbons in her hair. He smelled the strong perfume and wanted to bury himself in her chest. He pushed her body into the bed while his mouth left trails of kisses that led to her corset. He pulled violently at the ribbons. It tightened and loosened her clothes and she laughed.

“This is your first time—

“No!” Ramsay yelled. “I’ve done this before!”

“Have you now?” she said as she helped loosen her corset. Ramsay’s mouth pleasured her nipples first. He sucked at them needlessly. Soon, Ramsay caught sight of his new military jacket, shirt, and shoes all over the ground. He smiled and felt her hands bring his face back to hers. He kissed her and she tasted like the peaches he always craved at the military academy.

His felt his member getting harder. He wanted more. He took one look down at her messy clothing and felt his throat tightening. Ramsay didn’t know where to put it.

She lifted her skirts and revealed the treasure between her legs. His blue eyes studied her parts and he remembered only one passing conversation about it.

“I kissed her down there,” Ramsay remembered Jon Snow told his brother. “I didn’t know why. I just wanted to. She really, really liked it.”

To cover up his ignorance, Ramsay’s tongue went to town on her parts. She moaned and cried out his name a few times. His tongue penetrated her folds and sucked at whatever skin his lips touched. She was drenched when he finally slipped himself inside. Her folds were soaking for him and he obliged her.

His cock slid in and out of her body and he never felt something so good before. His eyes rolled into the back of his head. Ramsay’s face buried into her neck once again. She felt so damn soft. His hands intertwined with hers as he increased his speed.

“Ramsay,” she breathed.

Oh, it was his turn now. He had power over her. He got high off the dominance he had in the military academy. He loved undermining his professors and captains. He enjoyed watching their faces fall whenever he would have a better strategy or a better idea. But this? His dick was inside of a childhood friend. This was a different kind of power.

Every time he would fuck her deeper, she would sweetly respond with her nectar-like voice. It made him grow bigger and tighter inside of her. Her walls closed in, grabbing onto his member. He brought his face to hers once more. He let her kiss him deeply. Before he could tell her that he was about to finish, Y/N pulled his ear close to her mouth.

“I want you inside of me. I want your seed,” she breathed. Shocked, Ramsay came inside of her. He filled her holes with a flood of his cum. His seed leaked out of her and Ramsay marveled at the sight of what he had done.

Y/N laid there with a sinister smile on her face. She was also proud of what they had done. Her form rose to meet Ramsay’s. Her chest was still bare. Her hair was in wonderful tangles. Her hands moved across Ramsay’s slowing chest.

“Am I wrong to assume that a new friendship has started here?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ramsay said, kissing her forehead. “You’re still Ducky to me.”

Ultimate Tag List (People who wished to be tagged in EVERY work I post.)

@angelicshinigami @sugarwastaken @carilov09 @i-theredqueen@sleepylunarwolf@loki-0fasgard  @parkerplexed

Game of Thrones Tag List (People who wish to be tagged in everything GoT related)

@boltonblade  @why-so-red @sj-thefan@sunshinesydney-blog@drunkenpoets@antiscocialfanwarrior@fraueninflammen@fnnexua @wanna-plan-world-domination@bravado07@k-macncheese@lokimysunandstars@theladyofrice @tyri-yawn@kcd15@theocatkov  @oberyners@ragnarssonsbitch @storytellersun@ren-ni @beautifuldisaster2000

Get on the Taglist Here

[rowleing]

about.

FULL NAME:

Rowle, Sebastian — his parents always appreciated concision, which is a mindset he always tries to put into writing

FACE CLAIM:

Timothée Chalamet

AGE:

23 years old

GENDER & PRONOUNS:

He would certainly like to be vague about such details, not only to be interesting, but to avoid such harsh sentences, but he dances to whatever tune the society is humming, out of inertia. The norm goes — it doesn’t concern him anyway. It’s a shrugged he/him/his.

SECOND PREFERENCE:

Rita Skeeter, maybe? Though I’d really like to write an application if it comes to rejection, because otherwise I wouldn’t get to know the character before playing them.

OCCUPATION:

Unemployed; when he doesn’t write, he pretends to listen to the many people he insists to surround himself with. Money doesn’t represent an issue for his family, therefore he wouldn’t want to waste any time doing some half-hearted internship, pretending to care about becoming a journalist only because the job uses words too. It isn’t a sign of slacking off, rather than concealing energy for the pleasant and the necessary, which, for him, is (despite the term being scoffed at) art.

SEXUALITY:

He loves love. Cliches are only cliches when half-hearted, insincere and shallow. When the depth beats the popularity of a concept, it’s a classic. So it would be unnatural to write without loving love. He falls in love obsessively with concepts. History pages don’t speak about a young, beautiful, romanticized Tom Riddle, but his imagination made him up almost entirely from scratch. He seeks authenticity, tragedy, maybe even the syrup no one else can stand. An idealist’s sighs meet a rationalist’s stubborn mind, and everyone who is poetry enough steals his heart for at least a second. He pretends to fall in love because of these glimpses of beautiful sincerity in certain people. He pretends it so genuinely that it becomes true. Like a Romeo to a thousands of Juliets a day, albeit gluing his soles to the ground enough not to go insane.

AMORTENTIA:

It would firstly and most importantly be the freshly cut grass — the first sensation he could feel deeply in his lungs, the chlorine of a deep blue, endless swimming pool where he wastes his time in the best ways during summertime and the way a random room would smell when his mother painted indoors. It would change too often, adding certain perfumes, certain ways a book can smell in, but these three remain as key stimuli that make him fall in love, firstly and lastly, with life.

BOGGART:

He refuses to see one. From the shielded, privileged, cozy position he is in, it looks like he doesn’t need to ever face fear. Back in the third year, an old, ugly woman — almost the fairy tale archetype — threatened him, teeth rotten and nose crooked. Today, it would perhaps turn into something less ugly, and more dangerous, like a very close to him snake with the eyes of his father.

CURRENT POLITICAL POSITION:

There is no secret to the fact that the name Rowle still echoes like a mistake in the Wizarding World. The Azkaban that holds his father captive is a reminder that broken reputations don’t heal overnight. Yet, they’re not pariahs because Mrs. Rowle knows the art of charm like she knows her maiden name — more and more relevant every day. She likes society, a solar figure that smiles just like her son, and she never stopped inviting everyone she liked to tea. Meaningless connections she didn’t bother to keep once her husband became a stain unlike paint. But the few figures she was intrigued by, she insisted on keeping close. At first a handful of people, in ‘98. Today, an entire sitting room filled with open minds looking at this woman past a questionable reputation.

Still, Sebastian doesn’t fear the label hanging over his head like a sword. He doesn’t try to prove anyone how kind-hearted he is, how much he believes in equality and how much he hates his father. If anything, he is unsure of his feelings towards the man, but never resentful. He doesn’t mean to follow his footsteps; it’s just that someone talked about redemption and nothing sounded more beautiful. He follows out of poetic curiousness. Tomorrow, he could change sides if someone held a good enough aesthetic argument. His personal beliefs don’t rely on morality. In fact, nothing but art should ever rely on morality, according to him.

REASON FOR REDEMPTION:

Listen, he might want to have something to have to seek redemption for. It’s a noble purpose, makes for good literature and never stopped being a deep and relevant subject. Yet, he might be too capricious to ever see a fault in his own actions. On a surface level, he wants to feel that cathartic regret, that desperation to get better, but, deep down, it’s impossible for his brain to process that he might have ever done something even remotely wrong.

PERSONALITY TRAITS: (+,-)

( - ) Capricious, easily bored, moody, in need of constant change, Sebastian remains the spoiled boy from a good family, blinded by the shiny light of gold and unable to understand there are worse sights to gaze at. He can’t function in any other way, and he doesn’t want to, because he thinks there is no greater value in the world than his time. He has none of it to waste, already running against the countdown, so he becomes careless about what stops interesting him even for a minute.

( - ) When it comes to justice, he is blinded by how boring he thinks it must be to think morally. It isn’t that he is malicious, rather than lacking a filter when it comes to compassion. He has it — any person with the slightest perspective on art has compassion — but it’s isolated in fiction most of the times. When people manage to bring it out in reality, he pretends it’s yet another good book and relies on loving those people for a little bit. But he doesn’t know sorrow himself, so he doesn’t know how to separate the good from the bad. It all comes down to artistically relevant and uninteresting.

( - ) As deep as he becomes in the ways he is authentic in, he has a certain air of shallowness which could ultimately make him despise himself — aesthetically, of course. He is too vain to see fault in his own mindset, even though he doesn’t hold back when admitting to be wrong (never really believing that one). He appears to be open-minded (and there are ways in which he certainly is), but what appears is debatable when it comes to his name.

( + ) Blunt, without a censor, he genuinely thinks there is no one more sincere than him. He expresses opinions, words, moods with ease and Apollonian inner power. In certain ways, Sebastian even glows, out of this confidence that a good childhood inspired in him. He is half as genuine as he believes himself to be, which is still a virtue.

( + ) Imaginative, naturally gifted, the epitome of Romanticism ages later, Sebastian may struggle with authenticity (despite not wanting to), but he never struggles with words. It’s his first nature. Eloquence, grace, honesty all mix into the letters he pronounces, either on paper or out loud. He has the gift of thinking beautifully, even when he is utterly wrong — and perhaps that’s what everything is about.

( + ) Every bit of his personally naturally equals in charm — but it isn’t quite the schoolboy heartthrob magnetism, rather than the same effect of a prettily finished painting. He becomes inspiring, he provokes reactions in people, he always comes up with a new perspective, which is more often than not, fresh and interesting.

HEADCANONS:

I think I sprinkled plenty of details in the other sections of the application, but the best would be to elaborate, in case I wasn’t very clear.

His father, Throfinn Rowle, went to Azkaban following the Second Wizarding War. His father had rough edges, but never so sharp that Sebastian got cut in them. His father loved him, believed that he was doing the best for his family and for helping conserve the traditions of purity which are the very identity of his family, in his opinion. Sebastian doesn’t insist on talking too nicely about his father — in fact, he doesn’t speak at all about him. It’s not shame, it’s not censor, rather than an inner feeling of not needing to elaborate the rose light in which he still sees his own father. If addressed properly, he wouldn’t have any problems elaborating that out loud. He’s a pretty free-spirited, open-minded person.

His mother, Germaine Rowle, comes from a pureblooded family as well, yet her education exceeds purist norms. She studied muggle art and passed on the affinity for it to her only son as well. She is a painter and an odd creature overall. She brought color to her son’s childhood always inventing bedtime stories that would end unconventionally, yet beautifully.

He doesn’t smoke, as smoking would be the most obvious thing expected from a nature like his own. He defeats stereotypes, hating the fact that he is aware of it, therefore turning the process into a conscious, annoying vice. He speaks fluent French and hates every comma of it, although it did help, studying at Beauxbatons and having access to the paradox that is the French culture. He only drinks light drinks, like champagne or whatever is bubbly and pleasantly colored. He adopted his mother’s habit of hosting events, enjoying nothing more than a good party. He writes best in daylight, especially outside. He likes pets, but keeps losing them because he cannot really take care of them for longer than a couple of months. His mother can’t either. They’re somewhat absent-minded and would be lost if it weren’t for the two house elves keeping the manor clean and taken care of. He published a volume of poetry, “The language of peaches” and a novel, “Magenta”, out of which the latter made an impact.

[lashtoncurls]

Hungry Eyes(AI)

Summary: Ashton is the new performing arts instructor at the country club Izzy and her family attend every year during summer. And the unexpected happens when they fall in love while he teaches her to play drums and dance.

Words: 2K

Warnings: curse words, other parts will contain smut

A/N: @myloverboyash and I talk a lot about how Ash looks a lot like Johnny Castle and when it was suggested that I do an AU, I couldn’t say no. This will be a mini series, three parts most. Hope y’all like it.

It was finally summer break, and the Sanders family was getting ready to take the yearly trip down to the country club in New Jersey. They looked forward to it most of the time, and this year she was excited because she would finally be away from college and all that it brought. Her intentions were good when she thought she could take summer courses her freshman year, but learned that a little time away from it all was good.

“I’m so glad you decided to come with us, sweetheart.” Her dad hugged her as she climbed into the back of the range rover with her sister.

“Me too, daddy.” She smiled at him as he noticed from the rearview mirror. The drive was long, so she immersed herself in the world of Elizabeth and Mr Darcy. She wondered what it was like to have someone so fascinated with you that they would act that way. She agreed that Mr Darcy was an asshole, but he loved her. And she somehow understood that.

The car came to a halt as she got off and stretched, the fresh air hitting her face and a smile on her lips as she recalled all the past summers she had spent here.

“Last one to the lake is a rotten egg!” Lily yelled as they both sped down the trail, ignoring their parents pleads about their bags. But as they reached the lake, Izzy heard loud music and what seemed like someone singing. She walked slowly towards the cabin where it came from, remembering that that was the performing arts room. The window gave view inside, a young man with red hair sitting on a drum kit as he hit the drums and moved his body to the beat. There were three other men in the room with him, playing instruments as well. She watched for a couple minutes, entranced in the one behind he drums. She had never seen someone put so much passion into what they were doing, even though her father was a very dedicated surgeon he wasn't that passionate.

“Hey, what are you looking at?” Lily asked as she went back to find her sister stuck to the window.

“Uh, nothing.” She turned around and pushed lily towards the lake again, making jokes. They stayed at the lake until the sun began to set and they had to go meet their parents for dinner.

“Are you really going to wear that? It’s so ugly.” She shrugged her shoulders as she slipped on her shoes and examined herself in the mirror one more time. The outfit wasn't bad, it was just a little more old school than her sister would ever wear.

“I like it.” They looked at each other before they all walked down to the restaurant. The sun had now set, but the afterglow gave the clouds a pink and purple hue. It was beautiful, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the head of red hair that she noticed. He was sitting on the bridge as he too looked out at the water where the sun set. There was something about him, but she couldn’t quite tell what it was, it wasn't just his passion for drumming and his stunning looks.

“Come on!” Her sister pulled her away towards the dining hall and to their table with their parents.

Dinner was uneventful, her parents only asking about school and how they were excited be spending the next two months with her. She was gushing about her classes when she heard a voice coming from the stage at the front.

“Hey everybody, we’re 5 Seconds of Summer. We’ll be your entertainment for the evening and part of the summer. So hope you like us!” It was the blonde who spoke, she had noticed him playing the guitar earlier by the lake. He too was pretty, but not like the drummer. She noticed him as he began to play. They had some pretty good music and she could tell they were having fun as they played.

“They’re pretty good, huh?” She asked with a smile.

“I’ve heard better.” Her dad shrugged her off and pulled his phone out, not being able to leave his work fully. She watched until they ended their set and the restaurant began to clear.

It was now midnight and she couldn’t fall asleep, her school routine catching up to her. She would usually study until two or three in the morning. She groaned and watched her sister peacefully sleep before she got up and slipped out the door, lightly closing it as she saw her parents door was closed. She walked down to the performing arts room she had seen earlier, hoping that they would be there still, but much to her disappointment the room was empty and dark.

As she walked back to her cabin, she heard the music amongst the night and noticed a light further into the forest. She followed the sound and was met with a bond fire, all the people there she recognized as the ones that she had seen as waiters at the restaurant and some others by the lake. They were the people that worked here, and they all looked to be around her age. They chatted as the blonde boy sat by the fire with a guitar in his hands, the other two also with their instruments. She leaned on the tree and watched as they sang and drank. She’d never had many friends and wasn’t used to these settings, but she now she wanted to.

“Hey loner, don’t just stand there. Come on.” The blonde approached her and pulled her towards the people there, handing her a beer.

“Oh, I-I don’t drink.” She returned the beer and shook her head.

“Of course she doesn’t.” There was a scoff from next to her, the boy with the red hair laughed and walked away from them as he chugged his own beer.

“I’m Luke. That’s Ashton, he’s bit of an asshole.” “Izzy.” She nodded and looked away as he plugged his phone into a speaker, the music coming loudly from them. Luke pushed her further into the people, introducing her to the ones that were his friends.

“Guys this is Izzy.” She smiled as they went around and said their names.

“Calum.” His hair was silver, something that she’d seen only on women or older men before, but he managed to make it look good. The smile that adorned his lips showed off his slight dimples and she could tell that he was nice.

“Michael.” The colored hair seemed like a trend in this friend group, she noticed. But this boys hair was only blonde. The scruff that covered his face made him look very manly, and she noticed how pretty his eyes were.

“Ash.” Ashton spoke as he reached them, his tone uninterested. She noticed the color of his eyes and was taken back by the features of his face. His jaw structure was something she’d only seen on sculptures. The man that stood before was the most handsome one she’d ever seen. They went into conversation as she watched them, her eyes never leaving Ashton. She liked the red hair, even though she couldn’t help but wonder what his natural hair color was. She liked the way the one small strand of hair would fall into his forehead, and the clothes he wore, it was as if he’d come out of an 80’s romantic novel. He wore a black tee with the sleeves rolled up and black skinny jeans with black Doc Martens.

“Show off!” Someone yelled as he began to dance, pulling a girl up from where she sat. Luke had changed the music to a song that she’d never heard before. It was in Spanish from what she could tell, and the moves he was doing were something she’d never seen before. His hips moved in sync with the music as his hands were on the girls waist and she moved with him. Their bodies molding togethers while one of her legs was between his.

“He’s the performing arts instructor for the summer. A fucking show off if you ask me, but he’s good at what he does.” Luke said softly and laughed as he watched her watch Ash dance.

“What are ya looking at?! Fucking dance!” Ashton laughed as he made everyone move from their spots and move to the music, the girl leaving his arms and pulling Luke with her. Izzy found herself leaning against a tree again, the fire roaring in the middle of her and Ashton as he grabbed another drink and looked straight at her. He had been watching her since he noticed her staring through the window earlier. The way her eyes lit up with excitement as she watched them perform both times was something he had not seen in a long time. She was interested in their craft, and that made him interested in her. Besides the fact that she was pretty, he liked the way she dressed and the innocence in her stare. He had many women before, but they weren’t what he was looking for.

“Dance with me.” He made his way to her and grabbed her hand, pulling her in his arms. Her hands landed on his chest as she looked up and he began to move, the music still unknown to her.

“Let loose, and move your hips a little more. Like this, see?” He removed one hand from her waist as he moved his hips in circles and his feet followed. A low laugh escaped his lips as she tried but tripped on her own two feet, her cheeks blushing deeply.

“You’ll get the hang of it. Watch me.” Ashton continued his movements until loud yelling interrupted him and he ran towards the commotion. A circle of people had formed where Calum and someone else were fighting on the ground, punches being thrown at each other.

“Get off him, you fucking moron!” Ashton yelled as he pulled the other guy off Calum “He’s a guest!” But before they let go of each other, Calum punched the other boy in the face, a loud cracking noise making them cringe.

“My hand! My fucking hand!” Calum pushed Ashton off him and walked towards the rocks to sit with his right cradled to his chest. “I think it’s broken.” A small tear escaped as Izzy ran to sit by him, pulling his hand from his chest to examine it.

“I can have my daddy look at it, he’s a doctor.” She looked at the boy as his face scrunched up in pain while he nodded.

“Of course, she would be the one to offer fucking help right away. Her rich doctor daddy to the rescue.” Ashton sarcastically laughed as he looked at both of them and groaned. “Better get back to your cabins and make sure your hand is better for the competition or I’ll fucking kill you, Hood.”

Izzy helped him get up and walked with him, as he explained that he was a guest and he had become friends with Ashton last summer.

“He doesn’t look that old.” Izzy mused as they walked.

“He’s not. He’s only a couple years older than me. But he’s had much more exposure to music than I’ve had so he’s pretty fucking talented.” Calum stopped walking when they reached his cabin.

“I’ll go get my dad, don’t wanna let it sit too long.” He nodded as she went and woke up her dad, making up an excuse. He fixed up Calum’s hand and told him to be careful, confirming that his index and middle fingers were broken at the knuckles.

“You’ll need to go down to the hospital so they can take an x-ray and put a cast on.” Calum nodded and thanked him before they walked away.

“I hope you’re not associating yourself with delinquents. His hand was broken because of a fight, not a slip.” Her father dropped his bag on the table as he went to sleep and left her alone to her thoughts.

Tags: @slimthicccal @haveiquitefinished @lashtonchesthair @myloverboyash @dweebluke @calumhampton @24kcalum @angelbbycal @heaven-high-water @toofadedtofight @irwinkitten @calthesensation @lukesflaredpants @uncrownedqueeen

[ohmytheon]

Karma in Retrograde (6)

title: Karma in Retrograde

summary: When Dabi is struck by a de-aging quirk that regresses him to the most important part of his life, he finds himself turned back to a sixteen year-old U.A. General Studies student with a lot of self-esteem issues, parent problems, a destructive quirk that he can’t manage, and no memory of the five years that he’s lost - not the mention the fact that his little brother is now the same age as him and one of the top students in the U.A. hero course. In U.A.’s attempt to make up for what they missed and help the Dabi of the past, present, and future, he is placed with the only students that know him and have yet to find out what truly makes the difference between a hero and a villain. There, they must face the question of whether he can change or if his destiny is already set in stone.

– Chapter 6: Ryouta confronts Endeavor, his father. It gets ugly.

Lanni notes: I can say with full confidence that all of your comments have us LIVING and keep us inspired to write more, so thank you for everything. This chapter is an emotional tour de france and I enjoyed the hell out of writing it. One thing that should be said: As much as I don't like Endeavor, he's not strictly evil or bad, no matter how Ryouta views him. It's all about context, yo, and how you remember things. The song used for this chapter is "Wolf in Sheep's Clothing" by Set It Off.

Tell me how you're sleeping easy How you're only thinking of yourself Show me how you justify

Four years had passed for his father since they’d seen each other, while it had only been a few weeks for Ryouta. The distance between them didn’t hide the few obvious signs that Endeavor had grown older, but the flames he used for his pro hero costume hid them well. It was a different costume, too. He must have updated it after becoming the number one hero. His changed ranking still confused Ryouta. No one had told him what had happened to All Might.

Ryouta started shrinking into himself before he could stop it. He loathed the way his father’s mere presence could make him feel like he was mud under someone’s boot, too small to do anything. Fuyumi and Natsuo had inherited their mother’s quirk. Before Shouto’s quirk had manifested, Ryouta had been the only one with their father’s quirk and he had pushed him past his limit often. When it turned out that he was even more of a failed concept than anticipated, Endeavor had discarded him like trash.

After Shouto’s quirk had manifested, things had only gone downhill. Ryouta had been left scrambling for any scraps that resembled approval or lashing out in defiance. They weren’t his brightest moments.

The others finally noticed that Ryouta and Shouto had come to a halt and stopped walking as well, looking at them curiously. Iida even asked, “Are you okay?” when Endeavor’s eyes fell on Ryouta and he stopped as if he’d crashed into a wall.

If a glare could kill a man, Ryouta was certain that he would’ve been roasted alive on the spot. He had seen a lot of awful things in his father’s eyes before - disgust, disappointment, indifference, anger - but none of them could compare to the pure hellfire of rage and loathing that burned in Endeavor’s bright blue eyes now. They were the same eyes that Ryouta had. It was like nothing he’d ever seen before. He hadn’t thought it capable of a person to look so furious before, but the flames on Endeavor’s pro hero costume rose higher and he clenched his hands into large fists as he snarled, “You.”

Oh, Ryouta knew what that stance meant.

There were a lot of things that he should’ve said - a lot of things he should have done - but a rock dropped into the pit of his stomach, the acids boiling so hotly that he felt sick, and his heart leapt into his throat. He’d done plenty of things to piss his father off, some of them on purpose and some of them out of his control (It’s not my fault, I was born with this quirk, I didn’t ask for this, please, wait, come back, I can do better, I’ll be stronger-), but becoming a villain had to be the worst slap to the face that he could’ve given to Endeavor and he couldn’t even fucking remember it.

All he could remember was a phone call that had taken place five years ago (I don’t want your weakness rubbing off on Shouto) and the mixed bag of emotions that had smothered him like a tsunami. The fury that he had felt towards the man for controlling his little brother’s life, the hurt that came from being not only abandoned, but smeared in mud, the disgusting need to be accepted by a man who didn’t deserve his respect; yet Ryouta would have given it anyways if he was just proud of him once.

Instead, he’d become a villain, the very thing his father loathed more than anything. He wasn’t one now and yet he was and Endeavor knew that. He could see it in the pro hero’s eyes. Ryouta wasn’t the sixteen-year-old boy that had run off to U.A. to do his own thing, a failure of a child with a destructive quirk that didn’t even fit his body.

So Ryouta countered the only way he knew, knowing exactly what Endeavor thought of him now. The rules for villains had been drilled into his head and could not be clearer. If he was going to be a villain to his father, then so fucking be it. He wasn’t going to be afraid anymore. That was for damn sure.

With a cold glare burning in his eyes, Ryouta tried to force an expression of disinterest, shoved his hands in his pockets, and drawled in his dryest tone, “Oh, hey, Dad.”

It was the wrong thing to say.

Endeavor snapped, storming towards him like a furious tornado of fire, rage radiating off of him so strongly that the others around him took a step back, making him feel alone. It didn’t matter. He didn’t need them to have his back. He’d dealt with this all his life. His mother had fluttered between trying to shield him and turning away and pretending nothing was happening. Fuyumi and Natsuo hadn’t understood, their lack of a fire-related quirk cutting them off from Endeavor’s focus.

Only Shouto stood his ground, as if he too had grown defiant of Endeavor’s ways, but he hadn’t been like that the last time Ryouta remembered him. He had still been young. Ryouta reacted to Endeavor bearing down on him with fiery intent in such a visceral way that he didn’t even realize what he was doing. He pulled his hands out of his pockets, his left forming a fist while he threw the other out to his right, his palm connecting with Shouto’s chest, and shoved his little brother out of the way of Endeavor’s coming attack.

It was what Ryouta used to do back when they were kids and he still lived at home. When Endeavor’s training got too harsh for Shouto and their mother couldn’t do anything, he would physically throw himself in the way. It was done more out of instinct now than anything else. That desperate need to protect, even more so now because he knew that he’d failed to do so.

Caught off guard, Shouto stumbled away, his eyes wide with surprise. He reached out with his right hand as if he meant to grab hold of Ryouta’s wrist to stop him from using his quirk, but he snatched his hand away and did no such thing. Even though his heart was pounding in his chest and he felt terror flickering like a light in his mind, he forced his quirk to stay down.

As soon as Endeavor was on him, he snatched Ryouta by the front of his shirt and pulled him up roughly so that only the tips of his shoes were scraping the ground. Ryouta reached to grab Endeavor’s massive metal wrist braces to steady himself, his palms warming immediately. Endeavor was tall and muscular whereas Ryouta was still growing, making the action seem almost effortless. While he might’ve looked like his father, he was thin and lanky like his mother. Judging by that photo he’d seen of Dabi, he’d never grown out of that body. It was just another thing that would’ve disappointed Endeavor no doubt.

“You disgusting piece of villain trash,” Endeavor spat. His flames were hot and Ryouta had to fight the urge to flinch away from them. It would only further prove to Endeavor that Ryouta was weak, but he was beginning to sweat and felt like he was standing too close to a bonfire. “You have no right to be here. You should be rotting in jail for your crimes.”

“Funny,” Ryouta shot back viciously, “so should you.” A smirk twitched onto his face, despite the fact that it felt out of place and he knew it was a terrible idea. “Oh, I heard you’re the number one hero now. Congratulations.”

The words were spilling out of him faster than he could think them through. It was always like this for him when Endeavor was furious with him. He would say the first things that popped into his head that he knew would make his father even angrier. It had helped when he had started Shouto’s quirk training. If nothing else, Ryouta was talented at pissing his father off and redirecting his temper from a scared boy who was just learning his quirk to a temperamental preteen who couldn’t control his own.

“Quit acting like you don’t know,” Endeavor snapped. “You can trick them, but you won’t fool me again. I should have known you were rotten to your core.”

“Like father, like son, right?” Ryouta retorted.

Endeavor’s flames burned brighter. “You are not my son.”

“I fucking wish,” Ryouta ground out. He tried to pull his father’s hands off of him, but his arms got too close to the fire of Endeavor’s hero costume. His arm stung with pain when the fire singed the sleeve of his school uniform and he jerked back as a hiss slipped through his teeth.

“I won’t have you tainting Shouto,” Endeavor swore, jerking him away from Shouto and the other U.A. students. “He’s going to become the number one hero after me while you suffer the consequences for your crimes.”

“I know that!” Ryouta burst like an explosion, unable to hold it in any longer. “I know he’s better than me -- that he’s better than you! I’m glad he is! I’m relieved!”

He shoved harder and kicked at Endeavor’s shins. It didn’t hurt Endeavor nearly enough to make him let go, but he seemed to be done with hi, and practically tossed him to the ground. It never took Endeavor long to tire of him. He was too unimportant to be dealt with for long. Ryouta landed on his feet too awkwardly to stay standing and tripped backwards onto his ass. It was humiliating and he hated it more than anything, but he didn’t scramble to his feet. He stayed on the ground, huffing irately as Endeavor looked down on him with disgust.

Off to the side, Shouto stood with his arms slightly raised and his feet in a stance like he might fight. It was partly why Ryouta stayed on the ground. For once, as much as he hated the feeling, it was better to be vulnerable. To be honest, if he tried to fight back, he was unsure whether Shouto would attack Endeavor or him and he wasn’t eager to find out. After all, for however much of a bastard he was, Endeavor was the hero and Ryouta was a villain -  or at least would be one again when the de-aging quirk wore off.

“I don’t know why I did the things that I did,” Ryouta said, forcing the words out of his mouth. He hated it. This weakness, this admittance of how pathetic he was, of how far he’d fallen, especially in front of Endeavor. After all the pain he’d suffered through, after all his attempts to prove the man wrong and make something of himself, he had, just not in the way any of them had expected. “I’ve only got myself to blame in the end, but I didn’t have anyone to taint me either.” He dragged himself to his feet, keeping his arms limp at his sides as he stood up straight so that everyone would know he wasn’t going to fight. “I only had you.”

Endeavor’s eyes widened in what he thought was shock before he narrowed them. No, it couldn’t have been shock. Then again, this wasn’t an average day for them. It wasn’t like any other fight or argument that they’d had before. Endeavor hadn’t seen him for four years and Ryouta was positive that whatever their last encounter had been like, it hadn’t been pleasant. If he’d had encounters with Dabi, it made things even worse.

“Don’t you dare put this on me,” Endeavor told him in a low growl. “It’s a choice to become a villain, one that you have to pay the price for. You became one of your own accord.”

“I don’t want to become a villain!” Ryouta shouted, digging his blunt fingernails into his calloused palms so hard that they nearly broke the skin. His quirk was threatening to come out. He could feel it in his chest, the need to explode making his heart thump wildly, and his palms heating up, like his quirk was desperate to let loose. Instead, he closed his eyes, willing it to go away. Calm down. He had to breathe. “I don’t know--” He had to fucking breathe . “I don’t know why I did it and I can tell myself that I wouldn’t make the same mistakes now that I know what happens, but I can’t. I’m going to go back to being a villain. I did those things. I can’t take them back.”

And it scares me.

No, he wasn’t going to admit that, but the words hung there, out in the open anyways. He almost growled over it, furious with himself for letting his anxiety get the best of him. Endeavor had that effect on him though - always had ever since his quirk had manifested early when he was three.

It didn’t matter though. None of his words did. Once a villain, always a villain. There was no such thing as redemption, only retribution. As far as Endeavor was concerned, the only bed Ryouta should’ve been sleeping on was in a jail cell, not a high school dorm. Maybe he was right. Maybe this whole thing was a mistake. Aizawa had said that he would pull him out if he didn’t feel comfortable with the situation.

With a gaze that spoke of no pity and certainly no love, Endeavor took a step forward, as if meaning to grab him again and drag him away, and Ryouta instinctively slid his foot back into a defensive stance. Endeavor stopped, his eyes flickering down to Ryouta’s feet and back up to his face, which had a determined expression on it now. “Are you really planning on fighting me?” He sounded incredulous and angry at the same time, like he couldn’t believe that he would even try. After all, how many times had Endeavor kicked his ass in training over the years? “You aren’t worth the trouble.”

Ryouta loosened his body. He could feel his quirk dying down, the fire inside of him disappearing as if his father’s words had blown it out. “I never was.” He stood up straight. “Too many flaws, right? No sense in working with a failed product when you finally managed to create the perfect one.”

It wasn’t a jab at Shouto. Hopefully, he knew that. Fuyumi and Natsuo had been pushed to the side and ignored like Ryouta had been, but neither of them had experienced being discarded like he had. Up until Shouto’s quirk had finally manifested, their father had trained him. It had been a brutal experience, especially since his quirk didn’t fit his body. That hadn’t mattered. He’d been forced to push through it anyway. In a way though, he had craved that attention, thinking he could be strong like his father wanted him to be, and when it was suddenly taken away and he was tossed to the side like his other siblings…

“I should’ve seen the villain in you,” Endeavor said.

“But you didn’t.” And neither had Ryouta. He didn’t understand it. “Bet that stings, doesn’t it?”

Endeavor’s flames grew over his wrists and Ryouta prepared for the worst, but then someone shouted, “Endeavor!” and he caught sight of Aizawa meandering towards them. There was a bored expression on his face, his hands were in his pockets, and he wasn’t walking fast by any means, but his eyes were sharper than ever. Despite calling for the pro hero, he was staring at Ryouta, that unreadable gaze of his unsettling. “You left before we could finish explaining the situation.”

“There’s no need,” Endeavor declared, half-turning to face Aizawa but still keeping an eye on Ryouta. “None of that matters. I’m taking him in.”

Aizawa stopped in front of the number one hero and replied with a single, “No.”

This time, the shocked look on Endeavor’s face was unmistakable. Even Ryouta flinched and Shouto froze completely. No ? Was Aizawa aware who he was speaking with? People didn’t just tell Endeavor “no” and get away with it. Ryouta had spent more than half his life trying to do that. Their mother had. Shouto had. It had never worked and always ended painfully. In the end, Endeavor got what he demanded.

“He’s a villain that kidnapped a student, attacked my son, and was involved in a pro hero’s murder,” Endeavor declared. “Who knows what other crimes he committed? I’m taking him in.”

The flat look on Aizawa’s face didn’t change whatsoever. “No, you’re not. If you had stayed to finish the discussion, you would be aware of the circumstances.”

Endeavor’s flames flared up for a second. He looked like he was about to have a conniption. “What circumstances? He’s Dabi, a known member of the League of Villains. He should be in prison.”

“He isn’t Dabi now,” Aizawa pointed out. There was a hard edge to his tone, one that made Ryouta nervous. No one talked to Endeavor like this. The fact that he hadn’t gone off on him yet was astounding, but then, they couldn’t just get into a fight in public, especially on campus. “The quirk turned him completely back to his time when he was a sixteen-year-old boy.”

“Oh, so you’re just going to let him walk?” Endeavor accused.

“He’s not going anywhere, least of all out of our sight,” Aizawa said. He wasn’t scared in the slightest. Many pro heroes weren’t, of course, but a lot of them were intimidated at least. If anything, the closest emotion Ryouta could figure that Aizawa was feeling right now was anger. “U.A., along with the authorities, has decided to house him here while he’s under the effects of the quirk.”

“So you can attempt to rehabilitate him?” A snarl worked its way onto Endeavor’s face. “If you’re going to be idiotic and treat him as a minor for now, then that’s not your decision to make. It’s mine.”

“I thought I wasn’t your son,” Ryouta interjected.

Endeavor turned back on him quickly, his eyes no less fiery, but this time, Ryouta didn’t take a step back. “You’re my responsibility. A hero has to accept that.”

“I’m your consequence,” Ryouta shot back. “Fucking accept that.”

Aizawa folded his arms across his chest, thoroughly unbothered by the whole thing. “I’m done talking about the matter of a U.A. student in public. If you wish to discuss this in detail, we can do it inside with Nezu.” He left absolutely no room to move, his intent to turn on his heels and walk away any second now apparent. Hell, Aizawa must have had nerves of steel to be able to handle this without reacting at all. Either that or he was genuinely undisturbed by Endeavor’s presence and behavior and didn’t care.

Even the others had begun to react. Shouto had stepped closer so that he was almost at Ryouta’s side again. On their left, Ryouta could see out of the corner of his eyes that Midoriya had separated himself from the group, fists clenched at his side, like he could do anything. Uraraka and Iida still hung back, probably at least a little confused about what was going on since they lacked any context to what growing up as a Todoroki had been like.

“I’m washing my hands of this,” Endeavor declared. He turned his back to Ryouta, facing Aizawa again. “Don’t come to me when this bites you in the ass. He decided to become a villain; he’ll do it again, regardless of when he turns back to his actual age. I’ll keep my eyes out for when it happens so I can do your job for you.” Once a villain, always a villain. There was nothing more to it. “If you think you can save him, you’re wrong. He was corrupted from the start. I should’ve done away with him then.”

Like he was trash. It only stung Ryouta a little. The fact that it did angered him more than the words themselves. He had known how Endeavor would react to the truth, however strange it was in his own head. Endeavor not physically dragging him to prison was the shocker at this point.

“Perhaps if you had been more aware as a father, we wouldn’t be here attempting to clean up your mess,” Aizawa said, an obvious sharp edge in his voice this time.

Ryouta felt as if the air had been sucked right out of his lungs. Aizawa had been mostly polite or at least dismissive throughout the entire conversation, but if Endeavor was done with this moment, then Aizawa was past it even further. Endeavor’s nostrils flared, but he didn’t react at least. He must have actually started to work on his temper. The Endeavor that Ryouta knew would have either raged against Aizawa or chewed him out. Shouto’s eyes were wide and he was gaping. Maybe he’d grown rebellious in the past few years, but another pro hero talking to their father like this was unheard of.

Endeavor didn’t respond. Sensing that he was finished, he turned to Shouto. “Stay away from that disgrace.”

Shouto quickly replaced his stunned expression with a closed off one and responded, “That’s not your decision to make,” throwing their father’s words back at him.

There was a flash of indignation across Endeavor’s face, but then it was gone, hidden by his mask of flames. After shooting Ryouta one last glare, which he returned with just as much fire, he turned his back on them and began to stomp away. Every muscle in his body was tense, but he was clearly trying not to overreact.

Aizawa watched him go, mulling over something as he chewed the inside of his cheek, and then added, just loud enough for Endeavor to hear him, “And if you ever touch one of my students again, I’ll be forced to have you removed from campus.”

He didn’t have to say it - Ryouta didn’t expect him to call Endeavor out on his behavior, considering his status - and yet Aizawa did and it… Well, to be honest, he wasn’t sure what to think of it. He’d never had anyone stand up for him against his father. It had pretty much always been just him, even when he had been a kid. Fuyumi might have said something once or twice, but she was much more soft-spoken than him and hadn’t been much older either. Natsuo had been too young. It had been up to Ryouta to stick up for himself and he hadn’t started doing it until later on, after he had more or less been abandoned.

On the off days that his mother tried, they were half-hearted attempts. She was much more proactive in protecting Shouto, who was smaller and bore the brunt of most of Endeavor’s demands. There were even times when she had tried to comfort Ryouta, pulling him into her arms, smoothing his hair down, but there was that disconnect when he would look up at her and they’d connect eyes. He could see the way her eyes roved over his face, like she wasn’t seeing him, and then she’d begin to pull away from him. Before she could do so, he would pull away from her completely and leave the room.

It hurt less if he left first, or so he told himself.

As soon as Endeavor was gone from their sight, Ryouta’s shoulders dropped and his entire body fell into a slump. He was worn thin from hunger and tensing his muscles for so long. All he wanted to do was slink away and get out of everyone’s sight, but there was no way he could do that now. He could tell that everyone was watching him out of the corner of their eyes, trying to appear like they weren’t looking at him and failing spectacularly. These kids weren’t known for their subtlety, were they?

Surprisingly, Midoriya was the first one to react, maybe because Shouto was an intensely private person and this was not something he wanted to talk about in public. Still, Midoriya stepping forward and hesitantly saying, “Ryouta--” as he reached out like he meant to put a hand on Ryouta’s shoulder startled him into jerking away out of habit. Physical comfort was not something taught in the Todoroki household, at least not for him.

He cringed, opened his mouth to apologize, and then closed it, leaving them in an awkward and painful silence. There wasn’t really anything he could say and, if he was being honest, he didn’t want to say anything at all. This was beyond humiliating. Despite his stomach twisting in hunger pains, he thought he might be too nauseous and tired to eat anything.

“Ryouta, with me,” Aizawa ordered, though it came out more as an afterthought than a command.

Relief bloomed in Ryouta’s chest. He wasn’t sure if Aizawa really needed him or was giving him an out, but either way, he’d take getting scolded by a teacher over dealing with the others at this point. When his eyes roved over them, he had to look away quickly. Iida looked shocked while Uraraka wore an obviously worried expression. He wasn’t sure what to make of Midoriya, who looked torn between concern and determination. He waved at them offhandedly and then turned, connecting eyes with Shouto before turning his gaze to the ground and shuffling after Aizawa, who had already started to walk away.

Of course, any sense of relief faded away quickly. It didn’t take long before his mind strayed back to Endeavor and he found himself falling into that a familiar dark place that turned him ice cold and made him want to burn at the same time. He let out a quiet breath as they walked into the office building that Aizawa and Endeavor had come from. Maybe this whole thing was a mistake. Maybe he should go to jail after all.

Once they were inside Aizawa’s office, he said, “Sit,” and Ryouta robotically did what he was told without thinking. It came from years of conditioning with Endeavor. Every now and then, he would catch himself acting like that and get frustrated. He had to shake himself out of the habit. There wasn’t an underlying threat in Aizawa’s voice (there rarely was with the U.A. teachers), but it was like his brain heard it anyway and reacted.

Stuck in the middle of his typical teenage crisis, he was caught off guard by the carton dropped in his lap and just barely managed to catch it before it toppled onto the ground. When he opened up the top, he found it filled with food. So taken aback, he began to pick at it with his fingers and eat it right there. Only when he spotted Aizawa watching him from his seat behind the desk did Ryouta become self-conscious and close it back up.

“I didn’t eat lunch,” Ryouta said, not quite sure why he felt the need to explain himself.

“I know,” Aizawa replied. “You told Iida that you weren’t hungry. I heard.”

“Oh.” Ryouta set the carton down on the desk. “I thought you were asleep.”

Leaning back in his seat, Aizawa considered him with those droopy eyes that made him look like he was ready to pass out any second. It made Ryouta leery. “How was your first day?”

“Honestly?” Ryouta sighed and sunk in the seat. “It was...weird.” That was all he could think of. It felt as if he had tripped into an alternate reality. When Aizawa didn’t respond, he knew that he was meant to continue, but he didn’t know what he wanted. Half of him was worried that he’d say the wrong thing and Aizawa would take him out of U.A.; the other half thought that might not be such a bad idea. “I haven’t really had a chance to process it fully, I guess.”

“That makes sense,” Aizawa said. “You’ve been avoiding it.”

Ryouta couldn’t deny that and made no attempts to, seeing as how he knew that Aizawa would see right through it. He had a feeling that Aizawa could see through nearly everything. “I want to talk to Shouto, but…” He tilted his head back and looked up at the ceiling. “There isn’t really anything I can say. I can’t apologize for things I don’t remember or understand doing, but I know I did them.”

It didn’t make any sense. He could understand turning away from heroes and even U.A. on some level, but not from his family. He wasn’t as close to Fuyumi and Natsuo as he was Shouto and he and his mother couldn’t always connect, but he wouldn’t leave them to Endeavor. Would he? What had happened in the next year of his life that had convinced him to abandon all of his promises? Even more frightening, would it happen again? Despite U.A.’s intervention, would he follow the same path?

“All you can do is move forward,” Aizawa told him. “You can’t let the past - either of them - hold you back or you’ll only find yourself in the same position as before.”

Ryouta snorted. “That’s easier said than done. I don’t think anyone is going to let me forget.” Which was freaking ironic since he couldn’t remember. He highly doubted that Bakugou was going to sit back and let him live out the rest of this de-aging quirk peacefully. “And maybe…” He leaned forward and hung his head. “Maybe I don’t deserve to, you know? Maybe Endeavor is right.”

“Endeavor is a lot of things and he is the number one hero right now,” Aizawa said, “but right isn’t one of them.” All Ryouta could manage was a sullen gaze. He was exhausted, moody, and didn’t want to be around people, so all in all, it was damn near impossible to feel any other way. “I’m not going to pry into your childhood - it’s clear that you have no intention of talking about it - but if there is anything that might impede your time at U.A. that I should be aware of, you need to tell me.”

There was a lot of emotional baggage that, if opened, would take days to sort through, if not weeks. Aizawa was correct in assuming that he didn’t want to talk about what his home life or what his childhood growing up with Endeavor had been like. With just one interaction, Aizawa had probably seen and learned more about that than anyone else. Endeavor never acted like that with them in public, but seeing Ryouta and hearing the truth about Dabi’s identity must have shaken him on some level.

Of course, there were other things that Ryouta could tell Aizawa. He could talk about how his quirk sometimes felt like it was some sort of beast trying to claw its way out of him, how he could feel that fire rising up inside of him even before he activated it, how there were times when it was all he could do to squash the urge or shove it out of him when he called it up. He could talk about why his fire turned against him, why no one was safe (least of all himself), how he felt torn between putting a lid on it and just letting it take over. He could talk about his shame, his guilt, his rage, his despondency.

Instead, Ryouta tucked it all away in the back of his mind and said, “I’ll let you know.”

He knew that Aizawa would recognize it as bullshit and yet he met his stare and kept it. He’d spent years learning how to lie to Endeavor with a straight face and stick to his guns when he was called out; he could do the same now. Aizawa’s eyes narrowed briefly. Maybe.

“In the meantime, some funds have been allocated to an account to help you while you’re here,” Aizawa continued, moving past Ryouta’s bold-faced lie. It wasn’t that he was trying to be difficult, even though he knew that lying right off the bat would cause issues. It was just that some things had been buried for so long that he didn’t see the point in bringing them up. “We’ll figure out something more permanent later on.”

“I figured you’d just have me scrub Lunch Rush’s dishes in order to pay for my meals,” Ryouta quipped. Endeavor hated it whenever someone deflected with humor - he found it annoying and weak - so of course, Ryouta had made a habit of it starting when he was around ten.

“Don’t tempt me,” Aizawa responded without missing a beat. “I’ve heard manual labor builds character.”

Oh, damn. Ryouta raised his eyebrows. Aizawa was not here to play. He clearly wasn’t the new teacher anymore. It wasn’t going to be easy getting anything past him, not like his teachers before. They’d been good and excellent heroes in their own right, but they hadn’t been terribly observant when it came to students outside of the hero course. It wasn’t their fault. U.A. was built around being the top hero school in the world, not top gen ed school. It hadn’t been difficult to stay under the radar despite his quirk accidents.

He couldn’t do that now, seeing as how he was not only in the hero course, but would turn back into a killer. He wasn’t just on the radar now; he was the target. His best bet would be to get out of here so that he wouldn’t be under Aizawa’s scrutinization any longer than necessary.

Grabbing the carton of food off the desk, Ryouta asked, “Is there anything else you needed from me or…?”

“You’re free to leave,” Aizawa said, his attention already turning to the essays stacked on the left side of his desk.

“Right, cool then.” Ryouta nodded his head and stood up, holding the carton close to his chest. Free to leave. That was funny. He hadn’t been free since, well…  Since he’d been a villain. Strange to think that was the only time he had probably been free was when he had been a criminal.

“I’m serious when I say that you need to speak up if there’s something wrong,” Aizawa told him. Ryouta froze in the middle of turning to the door and glanced back at Aizawa. He hadn’t even bothered to look up from the papers that he was flipping through. “I can’t help you if you keep things from me.”

Ryouta forced an even expression onto his face. “I know.”

“I don’t care if it’s humiliating, shameful, or just plain annoying,” Aizawa continued, finally lifting his gaze. “U.A. is going out on a limb doing this for you.” Of course he knew that. He couldn’t forget it if he tried. “If you truly don’t want to repeat your future, you’ll work with us.”

“Understood, sir,” Ryouta said with as much deference he could muster. Hopefully, it was enough to appease Aizawa, but from what he’d heard about the hero course, the man probably had precognition about when his students were about to do something stupid.

After lifting the box for a moment to give his thanks, Ryouta all but booked it out of the office. All he wanted right now was some peace and quiet. He didn’t think for a second that he would be left completely alone, but there was a tree on the campus grounds that he liked to eat lunch sometimes when the grand mess hall felt too crowded. They would hopefully give him some space there before he made his way back to the dorms. He didn’t want to face the others just yet. He knew that they’d greet him with a mixture of wariness and concern. Mostly though, he wanted to figure out what to say to Shouto. It had to be done sooner or later.

Shouto had been waiting four years for an explanation for why Ryouta had left and he still couldn’t give it to him, if only because he didn’t know himself. Still, his little brother deserved something and it was a big brother’s responsibility to give him that.

@mistystarshine notes: I hope you like drama, because you just got bludgeoned by it! No apologies. Theoretically, the chapter could have been split up, but it flowed smoothly enough that we couldn’t find a nice stopping point and didn’t want to leave at one that felt unnatural or give you two cliffhangers in a row. (Plus I want to stick to my promise that the intentionally-planned cliffhangers will only get worse.) So a long chapter it is! It is the first and will not be the last. Personally, I’m excited to see what you think of it!

Endeavor. Is. An. Ass. However, while he has done horrible things, his actions are inexcusable, and I, personally, loathe him, we will be striving to remain in character, so you shouldn’t have to worry about excessive bashing. It is also worth noting that Ryouta is NOT a reliable narrator. (Ohmytheon: This directly affects the characters and how he perceives them, so if they seem a little off at times...) Do I mention this because it impacts Endeavor to some small degree? Other things? Who knows - I sure ain’t telling.

We also have a bit of trivia for you! Ohmytheon thought this one up and I fully support it. That thing Aizawa said about the school providing funding for Ryouta? A lie. He’s paying for him out of pocket. As a pro hero who lives the vagrant lifestyle, he can afford it. (Ohmytheon: Dadzawa back at it again.)

By the way, did you notice the chapter titles? We have a long playlist for this fic and have decided to slowly share it with you by using song lyrics as titles. Not only will they will generally tie into the chapter in question in some way, but some songs may be used as reoccurring themes (the benefit of using lyrics instead of the song titles themselves) or contain bits of foreshadowing, so it’s worth looking up the songs themselves.

Finally! The way the fic works is that Ohmytheon does the bulk of the writing (she writes chronologically), plots with me, entertains my rambles, and betas and fact checks with my writing - I plot with her, ramble about my ideas, beta, sometimes research and fact-check, and slowly write, chaotic, non-chronological fashion. Thus far, I’ve contributed a few pieces of dialogue, but the next chapter is actually going to be the first to contain prose written by me. It’s not a whole lot, but ya’ll are going to have to put up with it anyway. I had emotions that needed to be expressed.

[heaux-burrow]

I wanna hear about Shay!!!

hell yeah you do 

here’s the Shay tag on my personal blog 

Shay is honestly my favorite OMC I’ve ever created like. he’s such a mess and he’s awful and he’s my mf baby

full legal name: Seamus Kenny (Shay hates his father with a passion and refuses to use the man’s surname. The day he turned 18, he applied to legally change his last name and uses his mother’s maiden name ‘Mulroney’) hometown: Ann Arbor, Michigan zodiac chart: aries sun, leo moon, leo venus, virgo mercury  (I said what I said) best qualities: charming, funny, playful, charismatic, confident, fun, protective, loyal as fuck when he’s actually committedworst qualities: lazy af when it comes to anything but working out or hockey or sex,  volatile, horrible temper, not only will start a fight but will gladly finish it, workaholic (tends to work out or practice to the point of making himself sick because he can’t stop hearing his father’s voice in his head telling him over and over again how he’s not enough), an absolute douchebag to 99% of girls once he’s gotten what he’s wanted (though he never makes false promises either, typically if you’re let down or disappointed it’s because you projected your own expectations onto him which he never promised to live up to)bad habits: drinks too much, speeds around town way too fast in his big black dodge ram, sleeps around a whole heck of a lot, will stay up for three days straight and then sleep for a week good at: hockey, sex, video gamesage: I typically play Shay between 18-21 character influences: nathan scott of one tree hill; chuck of between backstory: Shay’s parents had a rocky marriage founded on shaky ground that ended rather abruptly when Shay was around three. Emotionally (and often physically) abusive, Arthur Kenny (Shay’s father) was never overly loving toward his first wife and resented having to marry her after she refused to get an abortion when pregnant with Shay. He held that against Shay as well, consistently holding the boy to an impossibly high standard of perfection that was absolutely unattainable and berating him from a young age when he inevitably failed to meet expectations. 

Just after his third birthday, Arthur left Karen for his mistress when the latter became pregnant. Because Karen was unemployed and Arthur was the successful (and very wealthy) owner of a local construction company, Arthur got full custody of his son easily. Though he was always clean, fed and well dressed, Shay grew up almost on the outside of a picture perfect family. Arthur was often doting and loving towards Delilah (his second wife) and spoiled Denver (their child together) rotten. 

Unable to really see the landscape of what was going on, Denver Kenny grew up wanting to love her older brother and be loved in return. Resenting the girl for having everything he never did, their relationship was always volatile at best (but under the anger, Shay would kill for her and all his friends know better than to try anything with the girl).

Pouring all of his anger into sports and school, Shay gets near perfect grades because he doesn’t have a choice (even though he learned fairly quickly in middle school that the smarter cute girls would let him copy their homework without much fuss). He captained his high school hockey team and led the school to three state championship rings (as well as one national). 

Though his ego doesn’t allow him to take any other position besides center forward, Shay is known as one of the dirtiest checking offensive players in the midwest. He gets kicked out of games on a semi-regular basis but his fearless, fiery defense of the team when anyone takes dirty shots at them inspires fierce loyalty from the rest of the boys, who would follow him into hell. Though Arthur has successfully convinced Shay he’s shit at most things, Shay knows he was born to play hockey. Though he struggles with personal relationships and focusing when it comes to studying, hockey is the one thing he knows no one can take away from him. He doesn’t believe in underdogs or Cinderella stories. His motto is ‘work hard, win hard, play hard’.

Handsome, talented and easily the richest kid in a town far too small for his ego (or his anger), Shay grew up taking his pent up emotions out in the form of bullying around school. Though most of that changed when he hit puberty in his mid-teens and started having sex. Known as a bit of a slut with the girls around town, Shay is somewhat shameless about ‘chasing skirts’. Though his ego and perfectionist streak made him learn to be really good in bed, he tends to be an asshole after. It’s rare that Shay steadily dates anyone (plenty of girls are in love with the idea of him but very few can actually handle the basket of daddy and mommy issues this kid comes with), and when he does things tend to fizzle out after just a couple of months. 

Earning a full scholarship to Michigan University, Shay finds a lot more happiness with the freedom of college. He is absolutely a 100% backwards baseball cap wearing, beer pong playing, hung over in his best friend’s bathtub, high at denny’s at 2am laughing about nothing, gets really needy for kisses and cuddles when he’s drunk frat boy. 

My headcanon for Shay is that eventually he gets signed by the Penguins and works through most of his anger and settles down with a girl who gets his issues and isn’t afraid of them (or his ugly, dark side) and yes I love Shay Mulroney with my whole heart.  

[dancerdiaries]

Review of my dance major experience

I graduated from college a couple weeks ago, so here I am, offering my opinions on the dance program at the school I chose. I’m choosing to keep the school anonymous. If you are a high school student looking for a school with a good dance program and you choose to take my review into account, feel free to message me and I’ll give you the name of the school so you can apply or avoid it as you choose. Also, I hope you find my comments useful.

Overall, I give my university’s BALLET area a 3/10. My explanation of that score is pretty lengthy, so I put it under a “read more” for tidiness’ sake.

This is a review of the ballet area only, since that was my emphasis. I didn’t interact much with the contemporary, folk, or ballroom areas, so I don’t have anything to say about them. Also, this is just from my personal experience and is in no way a completely accurate assessment. But I’m also not the only one from this school who has these opinions. Anyway, here goes.

GOOD POINTS:

It’s generally a positive atmosphere. The students and faculty are overall friendly and supportive (there were exceptions, of course). There isn’t an insanely competitive atmosphere, either--at least, not to the degree of other places I’ve heard stories about (razor blades in a rival’s pointe shoes...what kind of jerk does that?!?). No body shaming from the other students or from the teachers. That was pretty nice. No bullying, ever.

The education was pretty good. A lot of the students are brought up to a pre-professional, or even professional, technique level by the time they graduate. I’ve improved way more these past three years than I have in my whole life, probably.

The ballet area recently started giving students the chance to choreograph on one of their companies, complete with faculty feedback. The contemporary area did that ages ago, and I’m really glad the ballet area followed because the school really needed opportunities for ballet choreography. I’ve heard that a lot of dance programs don’t offer students opportunities to present their own work at all. I was pretty lucky.

BAD POINTS:

Oh, boy. I have a lot to say.

This university markets itself as an all-inclusive, positive, “we don’t give up on anyone,” “everyone belongs” kind of place. So I was a little disappointed when that wasn’t the case in the ballet area.

My biggest problem with the ballet area is that the favoritism is insane. The faculty pretends it doesn’t exist, but I always got the vibe from them that a student is only worth teaching if the student is already an amazing dancer. If you aren’t perfect, you aren’t worth their time. The top ballet level/company (same thing--the top level is their top company) gets all sorts of special privileges. First, the teachers help them reach a professional level and help them find jobs and stuff like that. They don’t do that for anyone else. Those that start the dance major in the lower levels don’t get the help they need to succeed. Which is stupid, because isn’t that the professor’s job? To help ALL of their students prepare for the professional world?

These top dancers also get probably 90% of all the performing opportunities the ballet area offers. They go on tour, they get their own on-campus show in the big, super-nice theater, they get to perform in the lower-level company’s show (like excuse you. This is our time to shine. You get plenty of times to shine of your own. Go away), they get to be in faculty works, dance films, photoshoots, promotional videos, etc. etc.

Guess what the other dancers get? Nothing. Nada. Unless you end up in a friend’s senior project. Or if you manage to get on the lower-level company, which is hard, as I’ll explain later.

These top dancers get to break the dress code!!! They’re that special!! (Well, ok, they don’t get to break it much. You can wear lower-than-usually-allowed backs, but heaven forbid your leotard straps are thinner than an inch.)

No wonder these dancers are snobs. The teachers spoil them rotten.

My second-biggest peeve is that it’s nearly impossible to get onto said top company. The top company tends to have the same members year after year. Seriously, the cast didn’t change much at all until this past year, and that was because a lot of people graduated. Basically, auditions for this company are just a formality. The directors already have their dancers picked. Why these dancers even show up to the audition is a mystery, because they’re already guaranteed a spot (I think. That’s what it seems like). Heck, this past year, they picked someone for the company who wasn’t even going to the school yet.

This means that each year, there are only four or five open slots. And generally, unless someone really good comes along, they tend to pick their new members exclusively from the lower company. Although I think they’re trying to get more freshmen into their ranks recently, which is nice. Unless you’re not a freshman or not on the lower-level company. Because then you have no chance at all.

The lower-level company is a bit better. Only about a third of the company is repeat members. But still, the directors really like to pick people they’ve worked with before.

So basically, fifty dancers show up to audition for maybe--maybe--fifteen available company spots, despite there being about 30-40-ish (depending on the repertoire) company spots that exist. This means many dancers get turned away every year they try out.

Which sucks if you consider the fact that you need to be on a performing company to graduate in the dance program. That’s what happened to me. I couldn’t get my performing credits until my last semester, when I finally got onto the lower-level company--which, BTW, only happened because only 13 people showed up to the audition (because this was the first time this company was available in the spring semester and no one knew about it), and so by default everyone got in.

(Well, senior projects and faculty works give you performing credits, too, but as I said, only the best dancers are picked for faculty works. So basically, you better hope you have friends who are seniors.)

I have a suspicion that the directors choose company members based on body type in addition to technique, despite claiming not to. All the top company members look the same: long limbs, skinny bodies, few or no curves. Again, the lower company is better--there’s a little more diversity in body types--but all of their repeat members I’ve known have ballet bodies. I don’t know if this is, in fact, from directors’ biases, or if that body type is a mechanical advantage that gives those dancers better technique.

Also, all the top-company dancers have prettier faces. Kind of a small detail, and could be a coincidence, but it’s a suspicious detail nonetheless.

That’s dangerous. That can be really dangerous, and I came to understand that firsthand. The last two times I auditioned before I finally was accepted onto a company, I was at the right technical level and was still rejected. I’d also failed big-time at a summer workshop and competition the summer before the second audition while all the thin, pretty girls in my study abroad group won scholarships. So after that second audition, I began to worry that I wasn’t being picked because I was fat, or ugly, or both. For the first time in my life, I started skipping meals and counting calories and wearing makeup. I’m not usually worried about my looks. And if I got super insecure about my body, then other girls who do care about how they look are at a much higher risk of eating disorders because of the ballet area’s biases. And that’s not the kind of problem I was expecting to see at an “all-inclusive, everyone belongs” type of school. I was disappointed, and angry. The school told me they were better than that.

So yeah, 3/10. The education is decent, but it’s even better if you’re a good dancer to begin with. It’s a better atmosphere than most schools, but it’s still pretty political. And I’m pretty ticked that the university lied to me about their values.

[unrequitedmime]

I dream of green eyes. Quick flashes of images flicker through my mind. A honey laugh, rough and low and real. A beautiful smile almost blocked by the intensity of the sun's rays. Gold-brown hair. A low voice murmuring my name. The sound of my name on that stranger's lips is like a warm hand caressing my skin, and it seeps through my body and settles in my very bones. As overlapping memories of the man saying my name dance through my mind, I feel every single syllable sink bone deep until I am a skeleton of that voice and that voice only. I see other things. Other people. Flashes of blooming roses and flushed cheeks, the night sky, joined hands, fluttering eyelashes, a wolf with a beautiful brown coat, crunching snow, a snapping snarl, high cheekbones, unruly curls, drifting mist. And then those green eyes again. And his voice. I wake with a start, gasping as I shoot up from the dirty ground beneath me. As soon as I come to, the pain and aches of my body shoot through me. I groan involuntarily as the pounding of my head finds me in my consciousness, and the entire left side of my face throbs and twitches. My hands touch my forehead and they come back soaked with my blood. I blink around the large, underground dungeon, trying to orientate myself with my new surroundings. I was taken. I jolt as the memory hits me. A hit to my head. A  heavy strangling sensation in my throat, in my chest, where my power resides. Time stopping. Those heavy chains around my wrists, bounding my body and my very soul. Jeremy's face when he burst into the tent, the slow drift of his striking shadows. His eyes shining with terror and his mouth open in a scream. And then there was black. "You always dream of him," A quiet and distance voice drifts across the air of the giant cell, and I jolt. I spin, almost fainting as the world shakes around me. I find him a few metres away, resting gently against a steel wall. His strawberry blonde hair is dirty, and a cut lines his cheekbone. His blue eyes are still blank. "Raf," I breathe, stepping forward only slightly before nausea sweeps me up into it's grasp. My trembling fingers find the wall beside me, and I slowly lean against it to stable myself. Everything hurts. I can feel the blood trickling down my face. And I feel no power within me. Nothing at all. No stirring, no whisper, no spark, not even an ember. My chest feels empty, and I feel naked without the heat of that magic within me. The blank void within me triggers a tsunami of panic, and I slide to the floor as my hands clutch my chest. "What happened?" I breathe heavily, fighting my hysteria. He stares blankly at me for a few moments before answering, "You should pretend to be unconscious," Is all he says, "When they realise you are awake they'll take you, too." I stare, frozen, "Too?" I whisper, voice hardening, "Who else did they take?" He only blinks, "Although that'll be no use, either. They probably have a tether to you so they know when you are awake." He looks up at the ceiling absently, "They'll be here in a few moments." A metre rests between us, and my hand shoots through the space to grab his. He startles when I squeeze tight enough to break bones. "Raf," I breathe, dread beginning to bleed through me, "How many hostages did they take?" He stares. "We're not hostages, Lila." I try not to hiss through my teeth. I know that Rafael cannot be rushed or panicked. "What are we, then?" Down the corridor outside our giant cell, footsteps sound as someone strides towards us. Rafael was right. They know I'm awake. He waits a few moments before answering. Until the boots stop outside our cell. I do not look at the women outside the bars as Rafeal finally replies. "We're weapons," He whispers. My blood runs cold. A rattle of the cage. I only barely manage to drag my gaze from Rafael's blank eyes. Outside our cell stands a short but muscled woman with chiselled features overlapping stretching shadows and dusty blonde hair. It hangs in a tired and dead braid down the back of her silver plaited armour. Her eyes are dark and beady. Disgust curls her lips when I meet her cruel gaze. I know that my face is a mess of blood and gore, but my eyes are more cold than the Frozen Mountains. I do nothing but blink. "I didn't order room service," I call. She makes a noise that sounds like a snarl, and I know immediately that she is a woman that dreams of murder. One that will beat me if I utter one word wrong. I doubt she has the authority to do so. "Get up," She growls, her hand resting against a plate in the bars for a moment before the cell unlocks. I stand as the door swings open, muscles tense and ready for a fight. Before I can even move, a purple energy knocks into me and pushes me back against the wall behind me. I gasp as it glides through my airways, soundlessly choking me and blocking my desperate breaths. I try to move, to yell, to curse, to breathe, but I cannot. The glimmering force keeps me trapped as the woman slowly strides to me with an ugly smirk. She stops right in front of me, studying me like a human studies a bug. I want to rip her face off, but all that I can do is focus on staying conscious. "They said you're a pretty little thing," Her smile is evil, jealous, foul. "I don't quite see it, though." She releases the purple power and I drop to my knees. I try to strike out with a punch to her kneecap, but before I can make contact, glowing blue chains appear out of no where and wrap around my wrists. I yelp as the cursed metal drags my hands behind my back and bands them together. The chain simmers with power, heavy and cruel and unforgiving. I try to wriggle free, but a searing pain burns up my wrist and I hiss. My glare snaps up to the woman as she watches the magic of the chain bound me useless. Her smirk makes my stomach roll. I finally still, breathing heavy and angry gasps. I do not look away from her. "Well," I sigh, chest heaving, "You didn't strike me as a girl into bondage." The burn shoots up my arms again as her brows furrow, and I wince at the pain. "Shut up," She says blankly, "Your cockiness is disgusting." "The lack of consent is disgusting," I reply, voice low as I growl up at her.   The sword appears from no where, and before I can even blink the hilt of it whips across my face. I refuse to cry out in pain, but my head snaps to the side with a sharp jolt. For a moment, the world blinks in and out of darkness. Blood begins to drip from my bruised lip. I glance up at Rafael. He watches me carefully, eyes dark for once. "Ow," I murmur as I spit my blood onto the ground, "You're a bitch." She stares blankly down at me, the hatred icy in her black eyes. The chains at my back tug sharply, and I am pulled to my feet by the drag of their power. I stumble in the haste but right myself just before the chains push me forward. I walk without my control, pushed and pulled by the power of my bound wrists. "Where are you taking me?"  "To the King." My stomach drops. "What?" I whisper, shock like electricity in my veins, "Why?" She turns, snarling, "Apparently, Lilanna Greevery, you have caught his interest," There is an ugly jealousy in her words. I don't even want to think about the fact that she knows my name. "He wants to meet the girl that blocked his attack on the water camp." "And kill me?" I assume with a cold voice, the fear slowly breaking apart like ice and drifting through the ocean within me. She looks me up and down, very slowly, "I hope so." I am hauled from the darkness of the dungeon before I can fight, and my head whips back to stare at Rafael, all alone. He stares back, expression blank but not distant. He knows he cannot fight these people. They have taken almost all of his power, too. "Don't say a word to them," I command, my voice almost trembling, "Stay silent, and stay alive." He does not reply. A deeper part of me knows that he did not hear my words. He has disappeared into his head. "Rafael," I beg, voice shrill as I am shoved down the hallway, "Stay in your head! Don't leave it!" The guard grabs me by the neck and forces me forward. I have no choice but to move with her. I fight every step, the terror washing through me now and roaring loud, but it is no use. The chains shove me forward, and despite the fact that I trip and scrabble and stumble, the magic does not slow. It only ceases when I am surrounded by the gold of the Kidna palace. When I am standing in the centre of the grand throne room, decorated in lush gold and royal red and the luxury of wealth. I force my gaze up to meet the King's, lounging on the throne. I will not be afraid. Cold blue eyes stare back at me, and when they catch sight of my defiance even in death, they light up in delighted surprise. I have never seen a gaze as chilly as his. When Damion told me of the King of Kidna, I had assumed it was an old and rotten man. But the man in front of me, stretched across the throne in a leisurely manner, is something different. He is beautiful. A cold and still sort of beautiful, with deathly pale skin and silky raven hair and high cheekbones. A delicate and cruel sort of pretty. I fight the urge to tremble before him. I will not tremble. "Lilanna Greevery," My name rolls across his tongue in a sharp accent as he unfolds himself from the surface of the golden throne. He stands upon the dais, watching me for a few moments before silently descending. His body is long and lean, and he strolls as if every movement was designed perfectly by the Gods he believes in. A panther. He stops in front of me, and I do not back down from his ravenous stare. He smiles, long and slow. I feel the frost in it freeze my flowing blood. "You," He croons, "Have caused me quite some strife." --------------------------------------------- The General Commander enters the tent with a swift and angry stride, a boy of shadows in his wake. Jeremy is an insufferable man. One of disgusting grins and cocky words and a sunlight that irritates my eyes. He is brightness on dark days, and I have never seen people smile at any NightBringer the way they smile at Jeremy. The grins are ones of safety, trust, adoration. Jeremy is a beacon of sunlight. But today... Today the shadows roll from his skin like a cloud surrounding him. They move like ink seeping through water. Bruises rest beneath his eyes, and on his cheeks. His lower lip has a deep gash in it. I frown as I study him. He has engaged in fights. His eyes meet mine, and in them I find nothing but blackness and midnight skies. An unfathomable storm wages within him. He drowns in it. "Anything?" Damion demands, voice rougher than I have ever heard it. I study him for a few moments, noting the bags under his eyes and the exhaustion in his gaze. He has not slept in the eight hours since the kidnapping. He has only paced and shouted and argued with every soul that dare speak to him. The stress seems to be drowning him, too. Or perhaps it is fear. Fear for Lila and Rafael. Fear for Lila. Because we know. Though no one says the words, we know that Lila was the most powerful of us sisters. The one with the most control. She was personally retrieved by the King of Kidna. He does not want her dead. He wants her to be his. If we do not find the taken soon, Lila will be lost. She will shift into something unrecognisable, and we will lose this war when she is turned against us. "Not one word," I reply smoothly, eyes flicking back to the restrained girl in the centre of this black tent. Jeremy's tent of interrogation. Black fabric that blocks all outside light, and white lamps that shine bright enough in the strange girl's face to make her wince. Her eyes are downcast, slumped over in her chains of darkness. She looks like a grieving soul. Jeremy does not look at her. Damion releases a small growl before striding towards her. Sitting in front of the girl is an empty chair. Damion grabs it and turns it so that he can sit backwards. His forearms rest against the back of it as he leans forwards, studying the broken prisoner. "A Dream Idal, huh?" He muses quietly, shifting into the hardness of the General Commander so swiftly that I blink. This man has just had ten hostages taken from his camp. He does not have time to flirt or mock. He wants his people back. His people. I wonder if Lila considers herself to be that. I wonder what heritage Lila acknowledges. She knows that I would rather die before I consider myself Pondanian, and that Elana has no thoughts for the people of this magic-less nation. I wonder if she cares of our opinions. I would like her back simply to ask her. "Where are they?" Damion demands, voice hard, and I snort. Does he not think I have asked that? Does he think me stupid? He doesn't glance back at me, but the muscles in his shredded shoulders tense in frustration. The girl does not even look up. Seeing her weak and miserable silence begins to wear on my patience, and I step forward. "Dreamer," I snarl with more energy than I have shown her in the last seven hours, "Tell us one thing. You have ignored our questions for hours. Tell us one thing, one fact, and we will give you food and water." I can feel her hunger radiating off her. If she does not have water soon, she will pass out. I feel her freeze at my words, at the value of them. She does not want to die. She has no interest in dying for her silence. "One thing?" She asks finally, voice hoarse and jagged as she stares at the ground.  In the corner of my eye, I see Jeremy involuntarily step back at the sound of her voice. The breath escapes him in a whoosh. I ignore it. I ignore the emotion in that sigh. "One thing," I agree. She forces her gaze up to meet mine. I stare back blankly. "You are never going to get them back," She whispers, "So don't bother trying." ------------------------------------------- THREE YEARS EARLIER.   "Jeremy," She hisses my name in annoyance. I glance across the pristine lab and meet her gaze. Her green eyes are light and lovely. The anger in them shines as clear as the fear. I am breaking protocol. We are not to tell prisoner's our name. I glance down at the little boy that sits on the lab bed in front of me. I couldn't help it. His hazel eyes burnt with a terror so intense that I felt the flutters of his nightmares in my gut. I can sense fear more than other NightBringer Idal's, and I almost stumbled when the screams of his terror hit me when I first entered this room. I couldn't let the fear drown him. I kneel in front of him now, eye to eye with a boy of doe eyes and flushed chubby cheeks. Seven. This prisoner is seven years old. "Don't be afraid," I whisper to him as my hands steady and prep the needle. His little eyes dart to it, and the hiccuping sobs come back immediately. The panic claws through his face, but I place the needle back on the table. Within a heartbeat, my fingers are holding his soft cheeks, wiping away his tears. He does not pull away from me, only stays frozen as he stares at the blood in the needle. My heart hurts. It trembles. "Jeremy," Annais hisses again, shocked. We are not to touch prisoner's either. We are not to comfort them. "What is that?" The little boy whispers to me, words stuttering and tripping over one another. I wonder how powerful he is, how powerful his parents were before Herome killed them. "It's just a little medicine," I whisper, smiling a smile of safety and comfort, "It won't hurt." Lie. "Where's my mum and dad?" He whimpers, "I want my mama and papa." Mama and Papa. That's what Kasie and I used to call our parents. Something within me begins to crumble looking into this little boy's eyes. The light colour is no where near the same as Kasie's chocolate depths, but the fear in them brings forth memories of my little sister in those last moments. The last time I saw her. "They're in another room," I school my face into a mask of causality, easiness, as I shrug. "They're getting the same medicine as you, buddy." "They were hurt," He whispers, "You hurt them." "I didn't hurt them," At least my words now are honest, "I promise I did not hurt your mama and papa." He stares at me for a long time, and I do not look away. Annais stands frozen behind him, watching me with a gaze so intense that I can feel it burning through me. Breaking these rules, talking to this boy, touching him, puts my life at risk. If anyone were to walk in and catch my soft words, Kasie and I would be slaughtered. Annais is terrified. Whether of my behaviour or for it, I do not know. I only wipe the tears from the little boy's face. "What's your name?" I know that this question is the worst of them all. It is the most forbidden one. Never, they say, EVER, ask for a prisoner's name. Name's create connections. I cannot bring myself to take it back, though. "My name-" His voice trembles slightly, but he fights it, "My name is Loen." The word bounces through my body with a harsh blow on every bone. Loen. This little boys' name is Loen. "My sister's name is Lorry," He blurts, as if he cannot stop himself. Both Annais and I stop breathing. We both stare at him. "Your sister?" I say oh-so-carefully. Loen looks into my eyes, and I know that despite his fear, my comfort has soothed him. I realise he trusts me. He does not think I will hurt him. And with that realisation comes another. I cannot kill this boy. "Mama and Papa wanted us to have similar names," He whispers, "So they named her Lorry, and then when I was born they named me Loen." "And how old is your sister?" I whisper. He blinks, unsure if he should reply for a moment. I summon another soothing smile, and he finally speaks, "17. She lives across the sea, in Idal," He glances nervously at the needle, "She is gonna be a doctor, too," He breathes, looking at me now, "Just like you." I cannot breathe. I cannot breathe. "Another sibling?" Annais squeaks, voice trembling, "We didn't know there was another sibling. Jeremy, this changes everything. We have- we have to tell Herome-" "No," My voice is hard as steel as I glance up at the girl I love. She blinks at me, shocked by the assertiveness of my tone. And then her face clears. "Jer," She breathes, "We cannot keep information. You know the consequences for secrets-" "I said no, Annais," I almost growl my words. She stills when I speak her name aloud. When I accidentally give it to the little boy's mind. Anger flashes in her green depths. No names. Names create connections. "You know the rules," She forces out through clenched teeth, "You know what they will do to Kasie if you break them." The name is a low blow, and she knows it. She is correct, but it doesn't give her the damned right to shove that grief back down my throat. My glare is seething, and she has the good sense to bite her lip in regret. I glance back at Loen. His chestnut hair hangs in a messy fringe upon his pale forehead. I stare into his eyes. "I have a sister too," I whisper to him after an eternity, when I have calmed my jagged anger to softness, "She's lovely. Very smart." "Where is she?" Loen breathes. I think he hears the grief in my voice. "She-" My voice cracks, "She was taken from me. I don't know where she is, or what she looks like now. I don't even know if she's still alive." "Jeremy," Annais breathes, "Of course she is. She has to be-" "She's the reason I'm here," I continue, cutting off my girlfriend with sharper words than needed, "She's the reason I have to be a doctor." His eyes widen in understanding, "Blackmail," He whispers. His parents taught him well. Taught him of evil at a young age. I nod, "Blackmail," I agree, voice trembling, "I haven't seen her in three years. They tell me she is alive so I do my job, but deep down, I do not know," I am quiet for a long time as I fight to swallow back the lump in my throat, "I miss her. Do you miss your sister?" He nods without words. Annais shifts only slightly, but I know that she has swiped up the needle from the table. My entire body freezes. "Where is your sister?" I ask softly, "Where in Idal?" "Jeremy," Annais warns, fear clear in her voice. I ignore her, watching as Leon trembles, "I don't remember," He whispers. "Think," I suggest lightly, "Think hard. Try and remember where she is." He closes his eyes, searching his mind for the memories of his sister. When his eyes are closed, my own flicker to Annais, to the girl I love. She stands behind the bed, face pale with fear and shock. She knows why I'm asking. She also knows the consequences of that reason. "Don't," She breathes, voice trembling, "Please, god, don't." I stare at her for a long time as Leon thinks. A tear escapes her green gaze, and it slides ever so slowly down her cheek. "Don't you dare," She whispers again, voice harder. "Don't you fucking dare-" "The capitol," Leon's eyes shoot open as he remembers, "Lorry is in the capitol!" His grin is instinctive and pure, proud of himself for remembering. I nod once, smiling at him as I clench my teeth. My hands shake. Annais moves within a heartbeat, but I am ready for it. I swipe Leon up into my arms and step away from her, spinning so that she falls through empty air when she leaps for the boy. She lands on the bed with a gasp, staring up at me as I step away again. Leon clings to me. "Jeremy," She gasps in panic, knowing what is about to happen, "Stop! Think! They will hurt Kasie-" "Don't let them," I whisper to her. She freezes, "Jer," She chokes, "You know I can't. Don't do this." "I'll be back," I breathe, "I will be back for you and Kasie." "Kasie will be dead by the time you're back!" She sobs in desperation. "Then lie," My voice is steady as I summon my power, "Find a story and spread it. One that keeps my sister and I alive while I'm gone." Her face scrunches in anger, "You can't ask me to do that!" She growls. "I'd do it for you," I snap, stepping back once more, "You know I'd do it for you, Annais." She stills, her face falling. She knows I'd do it for her. "Jeremy," She pleads, stepping forward, "He's just one boy-" "I love you," My voice is strong and hard, "I love you, Annais." Her expression shatters. "Jeremy," She whispers, broken, "You're breaking the rules."   I do not look away from her terrified face as I shift away, Leon in my arms. And when we arrive in Idal, when I find solid ground in a soft and growing garden, I realise that she did not say it back. --------------------------------------------------- The chains have made my hands numb. "Here is the Dining Room," The King smiles at me as he gestures to the grand room, "You'll be eating in your room most nights, so don't bother memorising it." He turns and continues his stride through the halls of the golden Kidna palace, not glancing back to check if I am following. We both know I am. In the past hour, I have fought and clawed and thrashed, but the chains have not once faltered in their steady shove and tug of my body. I have fought the claim of this magic so often that the burn  doesn't my arms anymore. It only sears deeper when I fight. The King seems to find my thrashing and swearing amusing. He has only struck me once since meeting me, back in the throne room when I told him that the last Queen of Kidna was worthless. His eyes hardened when I spat those words, and his hand had whipped my head back so far that I saw stars. "You will NEVER speak that way about my mother," He growled, evil incarnate. His voice was living snow, frost, ice. "You, Lilanna, do not speak of things you know nothing about." I had been too busy fighting the blackness at the edges of my vision to reply. "You will spend most of your time on this floor of the castle," He announces as he strides up the grand palace steps. I try to still my feet with a grunt, but the chains do not hesitate before dragging my body up those stairs. I study my surroundings, memorising everything. Every detail will help when I escape and kill the king. As we arrive on the landing, my legs trip into action and I am forced to follow the King as he strolls to the other end of the long hallway. At last, I break my hour long silence. "Don't you have more important things to do than give your hostages a tour of your castle?" I drawl. He chuckles, and the sound slices across the cool air of the empty hall, "Oh, Lilanna, darling. YOU are my top priority right now. Showing my newest 'hostage', as you call it, around the castle is very important. Hospitality is key." I growl to his back. He does not even react. I am a prisoner in this castle, but I am not to be kept in the dungeons. He told me. Told me what he plans. I am to be a weapon. One that will be trained, honed, and sharpened. I fought for Ponda and Idal in this war, but soon enough, he said, I will become his. I did not know if that meant his soldier or his play toy. I had to fight the nausea when I realised he meant both. "I am not even important in this war," I call to his back, analysing every nook and cranny of this hallway as my feet are dragged along, "I do not know why you are going to all of this effort." "We both know that you are the key to Ponda's success in this war," Impatience with my denial turns his voice into something quiet and deadly. I do not respond. We reach the end of the grand hallway. To the right is a small nook of rooms, and I blink when I realise that this grand hallway is actually a hidden L shaped space.   "That's your room," The King nods to a door in that branch of space before glancing at another one across from it, "And that," He drawls, "Is hers." Hers. Someone else. "Who's?" I ask, voice rough. He glances back at me, icy eyes blank, "You'll see in a second." He turns back around to stare at the black door in front of him. "This is your training room," He announces airily, "This is where you will be wielded and reshaped." "I beg your pardon?" I glare at his back, confusion rippling through me. Wielded and reshaped? Prick. Absolute prick. He ignores my tone, "You'll train here everyday with her. Both of you will work with each other's MAGNIFICENT powers until you are nothing but sharp weapons ready for my use." The ownership in his words makes disgust roll through me and I recoil from him. Weapons. Ready for my use. This King truly does believe he is entitled to owning people. Real people, treated as objects. He was truly raised to think he has a right to this world. "Who else?" I demand instead, ignoring him. If he has taken one of the Idal's... He very slowly turns to face me. He smirks, something like hungry desire ravaging through his eyes as he studies my body. I try not to flinch away from him. "Why," He breathes, "The Oxy of course." My head whips up to stare at him as the shock barrels through me. The Oxy... He channeled the Oxy's power into a person. A girl. Fear like nothing I have ever felt before slowly seeps through my blood stream. He reshaped the most ancient power in the entire world and trapped it inside of a girl's body. He can wield is freely now. He has more control than any of us thought he could ever get. "You cannot do that," I whisper, voice trembling, "That is not possible." He shrugs, "I am a man of many wonders, Lilanna. You'll come to realise that when I summon you to my sheets later tonight." I fight the urge to be sick. I try very, very hard. And I realise that he if he is sharing this with me, if he is sharing the biggest secret of this war, then he is not afraid of it getting out. He tells me these secrets because I will never tell anyone. Because I will never escape. The lump in my throat is so big I can barely swallow it back, and my lungs stop working for a moment. I fight the fear within. I fight back the frustration and the terror and the hatred. Fuck him. I will escape. I will find my way back. I will send the kidnapped Idal's home. I will go home. The door opens behind him, and I see nothing but deep brown hair before he steps closer to me and blocks my view of the girl. "Lilanna," He purrs my name so sensually that I cannot fight the shudder of disgust, "I would like you meet the girl that holds the power of The Oxy within her." He steps to the side, and I stare. In front of me is young teenage girl, perhaps 14 years old, with chocolate hair and pale skin and deep brown eyes. She looks more exhausted than I have ever seen anyone look. Bruises line her jaw, and her body is all sharp edges and shadows. She is being starved, and beaten, and tortured. "It's- It's nice to meet you," She forces out, her soft voice almost choking on her words, "I'm Kasie."

unrequited 

[lubdubsworld]

VERITAS( jungkook x OC)

Chapter 3

July 13, 2011. Busan

So, you’re just going to abandon your family, your studies and your whole damn life and follow that no good bastard to hell? Is that what you’re telling me So Eun?” My father shouted, his lips parted in rage, face florid and hands clenched.

“I’m transferring to Seoul, father…. I have a scholarship and they provide me with living quarters as well… I won’t be spending more money or…”

“this is not about the money! Why are you even considering this? The boy does not give two wons worth of shit about you and you damn well know it!”

“That’s not true…he cares for me, he just…”

“He was out dating the Lee girl , just last week. I saw him with her at the movies. I know you knew about that So Eun, I heard you crying about it to Minah over the phone!” My mother said then and I fought the tears, feeling humiliated and upset and mostly just plain miserable. I was a human being. Why didn’t they let me make my own decisions?

“You’re too young…”

“I’m fifteen!!”

“Still too young. And just think about it, what are you going to do there? He’ll be auditioning and training and he’s not going to have any time for you….”

“He needs me…” I whispered.

“No, you want him to need you. You’re afraid that if you don’t see him, he’s going to realize how useless you are to him and he’s going to abandon you…”

“Jung kook will never do that..he loves me…I know he does…”

“You’re a human being too, So Eun. You need a life of your own… Dreams of your own… Jung Kook is going to follow his dreams and one day he’s going to leave you behind… You’re going to lose everything then… please baby, understand that we only want what’s the best for you and…”

“He’s the dream, mother.”

“What?”

“My dream. It’s…him. He’s the only dream I want to follow.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

December 29, 2019. Seoul

“It’s not an idol party. It’s a private birthday party. So it’s unlikely you’re going to run into him.” Reina said softly, as I slipped on the pretty, floral gown. The form fitted bodice squeezed the air out of my lungs, and the flared skirt moved around my knees like water. I tied the small sash, just under the curve of my breasts, staring at myself in the mirror.

“I know. I asked the man again, twice. He told me it’s just him a two or three of his friends. ”

“Did you ask him if one of those friends was Jung Kook.”

I smiled guiltily.

“I did. Besides, I know for a fact that BTS is celebrating their signing in with a new agency tonight. It’s one of their members’ birthday as well so Jung Kook is going to be there.” I shrugged, grabbing some liner and tracing a line across my lid.

“You think he knows….?”

I hesitated, staring back at my face. I didn’t look like I was twenty three. There was a greyish tinge to my skin, a sick pallor that screamed exhaustion and the blue shadows beneath my eyes looked stark in the unflattering white light of the bathroom.

I looked old and ugly. Nothing at all like the blooming, fresh faced girl who had smiled her way through the worst days, secure in a foolish falsehood, holding on to a promise that had never existed, in love with a man who had never cared,

“Knows what? “ I said softly, momentarily distracted.

“That you’re alive.”

I hesitated.

“I don’t…know.”

“Don’t you want to meet him? At least once…before…”

“Before I die?” I said laughing without mirth. “ Not unless it’s to kill him.”

“That’s a lie. You’d never hurt him.” Reina sounded petulant, angry almost, the words dripping with venom. She wanted me to hate Jung Kook, more than I did at the moment. She didn’t think that the hatred I carried was sufficient.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t .” I admitted.

“Well, you’re an idiot.”

I finished the last touches to my makeup and turned to her.

“Come here.” I grabbed the belted waistline of her dress, yanking her close. She yelped, before reaching out and grabbing my shoulders for support. She smiled grudgingly as I brushed the bangs out of her eyes.

“You’re very pretty.” She said softly. I smiled, lifting a bit to slot my lips over hers, soft and careful.

“So are you. The prettiest. My angel.” I kissed the curve of her ear before stepping back.

“I love you, So Eunnie…” She whispered and I jolted, the unfamiliar name sounding wrong on her tongue. It tasted like ash on my tongue, like something dead and rotten. I swallowed. I hated that name. I hated that girl, the stupid foolish girl that I had once been.

So Eun had made wrong choices all her life. She had been blinded by love for a guy who hadn’t deserved it. She was the reason, I was here on the streets, spreading my legs for strangers. She was the reason my family abandoned me. The reason everyone on the street thought I was a disgusting stalker, an immoral vermin that had tried to hurt the golden boy of the country.

Kill yourself. Die. Die you stupid bitch. You whore.

Those phrases had haunted and terrified me for months. The sheer intensity of the hatred ripping my feet out from beneath me. I had been the target of a modern day witch hunt , a search to kill hurt and destroy me and the worst part of it was, it had been because of him.

The one man who was supposed to protect me, keep me safe , love me had been the instigator.

And he had got what he wanted, I thought bitterly.

So Eun was dead and I was glad that I had killed her. She didn’t exist. She didn’t deserve to exist, that stupid naïve fool. I was happier now. At least Milan knew how to protect herself. How to keep herself safe from men who looked like a dream but were actually, nothing more than a beautifully wrapped nightmare.

“Don’t call me that, again.” I said softly, before grabbing my purse.

She didn’t reply, just staring as I took one last look at the mirror before leaving.

~~~~~

The man was young, the same age as me and he was also handsome. He introduced himself as Kim Jae Hwan and I ducked my head in greeting. He was tall and his features were even and beautiful, well thought out and crafted to make him look like a perfect gentleman. A Disney prince in the making.

“You’re very beautiful, Milan ssi.” He said softly. I hesitated, feeling just a bit uneasy as I stepped into the car. I glanced around at the expensive leather seats, the muted interiors and the snazzy controls, the flashing display screen and the dim lights.

“You must be pretty rich.” I said softly.

He chuckled.

“But I’m not a lavish spender , I’m afraid. I’m a self made man. My parents were never well off and this is just a little extravagance to keep up appearances in my circle of friends. I don’t even like this car all that much. ” He winked .

I smiled evenly.

“No reason why you shouldn’t flaunt what you’ve earned. You’ve worked hard for it so you deserve to. ” I said with a shrug.

“You believe that? ” He looked surprised.

I chuckled.

“Why not? Everyone has to believe in something, right?”

“What else do you believe in?” He reached over, buckling the seat belt down on me and I caught a whiff of his perfume, a deep earthy scent that made my insides lurch in arousal.

I always had a thing for men who smelled like trouble.

“Power.” I said with a shrug.

“Power? I was sure you would say love.” He chuckled, gripping the steering wheel with nice long fingers, gaze on the road as he eased the car out of the road and out into the main traffic.

“Love is power, Jae Hwan ssi.”

He quirked his brow curiously, glancing over at me.

“it’s an exchange of power. You give someone the power to destroy you and then you trust them not to.” I stared out of the window, watching the flashing lights as we sped down the highway.

“that seems stupid.”

“It most certainly is.”

We laughed and I felt myself relaxing. It wasn’t often that men spoke to me like an equal. Not that it never happened but it was rare. And Jae Hwan was clearly intelligent, witty and with a nice sense of humor. As we drove closer to Gangnam, I found myself thoroughly enjoying myself.

Maybe the night wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

“Why did you not want to see jung kook?” He said suddenly, without warning. Parts of me went ice cold, the way they always did when I thought about jung kook.

“it’s…not something I’m comfortable discussing…” I said warily.

He hesitated.

“I… I don’t know how to say this but , I really like you Milan. I don’t want to deceive you. I only looked for you because of something a friend of jung kook’s said. His name is min Gyu. Do you know him?”

I stared straight ahead, my palms sweating and breath catching.

“You’re going to the party, aren’t we? Kim Taehyung’s birthday party?” I said emptily.

Jae Hwan sighed.

“I didn’t mean to deceive you. But, I overheard him talking about getting you to the party because Jung kook wanted to check if you were a girl he once knew….and well, I was looking for a date for the party and I’ve Never liked Min Gyu all that much… I just wanted to mess around with him a bit….but , you seem like a nice girl. “ He said awkwardly.

I swallowed. The fear was shimmering just beneath the surface. Jung kook knew about me. Or at least he suspected something. The thought made my heart pound. But I tamped down the feeling. I could freak out later, in the privacy of my room when I was alone and could think straight. But a part of me had known this would happen. The moment Min Gyu recognized Gureum, I’d known that I was going to get into trouble over this.

“Thank you for telling me.” I gripped my purse harder. “ But I can’t do this. I’m going to have to end it here. You don’t have to pay me for…”

“Can we go somewhere else, though?” He said softly.

I blinked, turning around to look at him.

“What?”

“My penthouse is in Gangnam . it’s just a half hour drive away. I want to take you there… I’ll… pay triple… “

I shook my head.

“That’s… you don’t have to .. I really don’t…”

“Please. I just… I think you’re a very special girl and I’ll hate myself forever , if I let it end like this.”

He looked so earnest that I caved momentarily. It was just a night.

“I … alright.” I said softly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Your house is beautiful.” I said, staring around at the luxurious flat with wide eyes. Jae hwan helped me out of my coat, hanging it on the closet before taking my hand and leading me to the couch.

“ Make yourself comfortable… I’ll pour us some drinks.” He smiled softly and I settled into the plush leather , relaxing a bit. The interiors were done in muted blue and grey-white. Elegant and masculine.

“Do you live here alone?” I said thoughtfully, staring at a small framed photograph on the wall. Jae hwan stood with his arms wrapped around a petite girl, his smile wide and happy.

“That’s my sister… She’s a lawyer in Ilsan.” He said, returning with two glasses of wine and handing me one. I took a sip of the liquid, relishing the expensive taste.

“This is good.” I said honestly and he grinned shyly.

“just trying to impress…” He said with a little grin and I laughed.

“I’m suitably impressed.” I said and he grinned wider.

“Do you like pasta? I’m not a chef or anything but I can whip up something for dinner? Unless you want to order take out?”

I stared at him.

“uh… You really don’t have to do all that.” I said uneasily. He flushed.

“Sorry… I’ve never done this before and I have no idea how…”

I threw back the wine in one gulp.

“Where’s your bedroom?” I said softly and he stared at me with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

“O..Over there.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

When I woke up in the morning, my body throbbing with the dull ache that came from good sex and my eyes heavy with sleep, I noticed that the bed was empty. I could hear Jae hwan in the kitchen, rattling pots and pans and the dull sound of the Television running. I was wearing his dress shirt, the ends brushing the top of my thighs as I climbed out of the bed and made my way to the bathroom.

I came out after washing my face and brushing my teeth, slipping on my panties and tiptoeing to the kitchen.

He really was unfairly good looking, I thought , staring at his shirtless form, clad only in boxers as he flipped pancakes and munched on an apple.

“hello there…” He said cheerfully , staring at me with a bright smile.

“hello.” I smiled a little. “ I can’t find my dress…” I began nervously and he hesitated, scratching the back of his head.

“I uh… had it sent to the Laundromat downstairs. I uh… accidentally spilled some wine on ti last night and… I can arrange for another dress for you…if you like..”

“that’s alright… I always carry spare clothes.”

“You do?”

I shrugged. Moving to the small hand bag that I carried and pulling out the thin white camisole and cut offs.

“I’ll be leaving now…” I said awkwardly and he lurched forward, eyes wide.

“So soon…i.. I mean… I made breakfast? For you.. For us… I… I’d like it if you stayed.”

I stared at him, the way he seemed so unnaturally flustered and nervous and I felt my hackles rise.

“This isn’t a date… You don’t have to put on an act over this. I’m used to having sex and leaving and you paid me for last night already. You don’t owe me any of this. ” I said softly and he went red again.

“i.. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.. I just, genuinely want to do this for you… Milan…” He looked apologetic and I sighed.

“Alright. Since you’ve already made it.” I gestured at the pancakes and the eggs and the rice and the side dishes.

Ten minutes later , we sat across from each other on the kitchen island and he told me that he had taken the day off because he was feeling exhausted.

“What do you do, anyway?” I said casually.

He hesitated.

“This and that… it’s not important. Do you like the food…?”

“Yes. Do you make breakfast for all your one night stands..” I reached for the eggs, sprinkling some pepper before taking a bite.

“You’re the first girl I’ve brought here .” He said softly.  

I dropped the fork, choking on my eggs and eyes watering in shock.

“oh God.. are you alright…?” He was reaching over the counter, patting my ehad and holding a glass of water to my lips and I took a gulp, staring in disbelief at him.

“Are you serious?” I said in disbelief and horror. “ you… what?!!”

He stared at me.

“Why is that so surprising? I told you I liked you.”

“Jae Hwan…”

“I was supposed to be at last night’s party … and well, after I met you I realized that more than the party I just…I wanted to be with you.”

I recoiled, surprised and scared.

“Jae Hwan…”

“I really like you Milan… I’m not joking..”

“This is insane.. You’re insane…”

“please…hear me out. I… I know this may sound insane but , last night was the best night of my life. I want to keep seeing you. Please, just…”

“I have to go…” I stumbled to my feet, tripping over my own two feet as I raced for the bedroom. I changed into my spare clothes quickly, heart pounding.

When I raced back out he was still standing there looking stricken.

“Milan…please…”

“You’re out of your damn mind!” I hissed. “I’m.. I’m a prostitute! Do you even know…what that means?!”

“Baby, please…”

“Don’t call me that!! Who told you, you could call me that?” I snapped, slipping on my shoes and regretting everything.

“I won’t stop asking.” He said suddenly, stepping in front of me and staring me down. “ I won’t stop asking till you say yes.”

“ Good bye, Jae Hwan.” I grabbed the door, wrenching it open and running out as fast as I could.

I didn’t stop till I reached the bus stop.