#I am a little miffed that the only written work about her wasn’t written BY her

[mycological-mariner]

Hannah Snell, my hero

[nightshade-minho]

-Embers- (2)

warnings: heavy-ish suggestiveness, future smut, themes of heartbreak and pain, mentioned parent death, jealousy, angry fathers.

wc: 5.7k

Heartbreak.

It's something you've thought about, in theory. You've wondered how it feels to be heartbroken, especially when you were younger, when almost everything was of interest to your curious brain. Could a heart break? What exactly did that mean? 

Mr Yang's novels were your first introduction to characters who'd gone through that pain. His books had described it as a perpetual feeling of hurt, one which a person would never get over. You wondered if it was even possible to experience pain like that. Pain so bad you felt your heart shattering.

You still remembered that day you thought about it properly for the first time.

***

You shut your book and looked over at Minho, who had been cloudgazing as he waited for you to finish it. Days like this were common. Minho would get you a new book every week, and the two of you would go to the lake and laze around in the sun. You often worried that Minho would find it boring to sit next to you while you read, having nothing to do. On the contrary, he was quite content with the way things were. He liked how warm the grass felt against his skin, and how calming the sounds of rippling water were as he rested his head against Aeracus’s side.

"Wow. That definitely didn't end on a good note." You shook your head, letting out a sigh and laying back.

Minho glanced up at you, sitting up slightly. "You finished it? So soon?"

"Mhm. I got a little too invested in the story."

"Ah. If I'd known you would read it this fast, I would have borrowed more than one from him."

"It's okay, I can wait a few days.' You say, your tone reassuring as you placed Mr Yang's precious book next to you on the grass, carefully. The man put great care into binding and writing his books, all by hand with no one to assist him. You didn’t want to be the one to soil his hard work.

"Good, cause I'm not going back there so soon. There's three girls who have basically set up camp outside Mr Yang's to catch a glimpse of me."

You rolled your eyes, playfully shoving him. "You act like you're a celebrity or something. We get it, you have a lot of fangirls."

"And fanboys. Some of them are quite cute actually. Just last week a dude proposed to me."

"No way. He proposed?"

"Yeah." He let out a low chuckle. "I think I recognized him from the docks. Seen him once or twice, but I've never said a word to him. I felt bad though, he was actually pretty."

"You should have said yes." You pouted, holding back a giggle. "I've always wanted to be maid of honor at a wedding."

Minho shook his head, sitting up and scooting over. Grabbing your waist, he pulled you into him, so that the both of you were curled up against his sleeping dragon.

"Maid of honor?"

"Yeah! I mean, what's the point of having a best friend if you don't get to play that crucial role in their wedding?"

Minho sighed, looking over at you with a fond smile as he bit his cheek. "Oh Y/n, what am I going to do with you? Maid of honor." He chuckled again at the exaggerated pout you flashed him, poking his side. “What’s so funny?”

There was silence for a few minutes as he looked up at the sky, eyes running over a cloud that looked a little like a five-pointed star. Humming, he leaned in a little.

A short inhale before he whispered into your ear, lips brushing against the shell of it and making your hairs stand on end.

"I hate to break it to you Y/n, but you'll never be maid of honor at my wedding." He mumbled softly, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"Cause you'll be the bride."

For a minute, a stunned look passed over your face as you comprehended his words. It took a whole 60 seconds for you to process, but soon you swatted at his hand, descending into a fit of hopeless giggles at his cheesy line. "Shut up!"

"Hey! I was being serious." he had an offended look on his face as he held your chin, making you face him again.

You looked at his expression and stopped, your cheeks flushing as you realized he meant it. Your heart was racing, your eyes blinking rapidly as your mushy mess of a brain tried to figure out what an appropriate, mature response would be.

Quickly you pushed him off you, stumbling to your feet and beginning to run. So much for being mature.

"Race you home!"

Minho watched you run, shaking his head and sighing to himself as he slowly picked himself up. If only you knew how sincere he was.

If only he knew your heart hadn't stopped pounding for the rest of the night.

Mr Yang's books had been the main contribution to your adolescent fantasies, to be honest. As the local librarian, he supplied you with a regular supply of books, but none were as satisfying as the ones he wrote himself. His writing was descriptive on another level, and pulled you in like no other author could. He was your greatest inspiration, which was why his description of heartbreak had been the one to stick with you the most, all the way to adulthood.

It was described as a lingering emotion in the back of your head, staying with you your whole life to remind you of what could have been. It was nauseating, painful and everlasting. He'd written about the emotion so intensively, that at the time you almost felt like you did truly know how it felt.

You were wrong.

Heartbreak, real heartbreak, was a lot less pain and a lot more emptiness. Yes, it did feel like all those things mentioned before- but there was more to it than that. Your heart, which had been brimming with excitement and happiness not too long ago, felt void. Dark, lifeless. It had been so sudden, so out of the blue that your emotions were a confused jumble.

Of course, there was pain too- agony, more like. Ripping through your entire being as you watched him kiss her cheek yet again. It was so all consuming, so terrifyingly excruciating.

You were across the dinner table by your father's side, the spoon in your hand held in a tight grip as you tried your best to avert your eyes from the sight. After all, you were currently sat at the table with three other chiefs and their families, as well as a few advisors and high ranking guards. You had to look refined and elegant, a person befitting the title of Ember’s heir- not a gawking, bitter girl staring at your once lover canoodling with his fiancée.

Finally managing to tear your eyes away, you let your eyes run over the guests that would be staying with you for the next few weeks. You reminded yourself that you were in no position to be a dejected, woeful and pathetic individual in front of all these important people. Appearances had to be kept up, or you would face dire consequences. Your father’s pride was hurt enough as it is, what with his daughter being the only one who couldn’t participate in the championships. You didn’t want to give him any more reasons to hate you.

Next to your father was the Aqua chief, his wife and their daughter- Minho’s fiancée. They were dressed in blue silks, dripping with sapphires and lapides lazuli. The royal blue draped around them was deep, the fabric clearly expensive and not too unlike the dress you were wearing currently. 

The Aqua heiress was the spitting image of her mother, both their faces round and their features pretty. She was dressed similarly to her parents, with a tiny diadem upon her brown locks, her gown objectively fancier than yours. She continued talking to Minho, the plate of food in front of her untouched.

Minho.

You hated how beautiful he looked, dressed in white and grey. His uniform was simple, all clean lines and crisp edges. It suited him perfectly, like it was made for him. Which it probably was. 

The two of them seemed to be in their own little world as Minho whispered something into her ear, making her giggle yet again. Your throat felt clogged. Blinking, you quickly looked away from them, your eyes landing on Minho’s father. He looked the same as he always did, except now slightly frailer. He was wearing the same uniform as his son, although he didn’t quite fill it out the same way. You chewed on your lip, glancing at him one last time before turning to the Terra family. 

The Terra chief was a rotund, pot-bellied man who had his attention completely focused on his plate, not contributing much to the conversation the three other chiefs were having. You couldn’t blame him, really- the maids had cooked up a delightful feast. You were sure you’d have devoured your entire plate by now if circumstances had been different. The empty feeling in your stomach was making it hard to savour the roast beef, which you reluctantly ate. 

He and his wife were both dressed in earthly, neutral tones combined with deep greens- and positively covered in every kind of jewel found under the Earth. The rubies on your dress looked like chili flakes in comparison to the twinkling emeralds and gems on the Terra family.

Their son, the Terra heir, looked just as miffed as you, to be honest. He wasn’t as bejewelled as his parents, wearing a shade of green that provided you comfort as you looked at him. It reminded you of the grass near the lake you and Minho once frequented.

He caught your gaze suddenly. Smiling, his heart-shaped lips curving upwards. He shot a glance towards Minho and his girl, and then back at you, raising an eyebrow.

You tried your best to smile back, or give him a knowing wink, or something. But all you could do was stare blankly, your emotions having been sucked out of you. You still failed to comprehend what had happened, your brain seemingly giving up on you and leaving you alone with nothing but your broken heart for company.

Soon enough, the smile melted away from the man's face, and he looked back down at his plate, a little dejected. You felt a flash of regret, fleeting however as you suddenly felt a sharp voice whispering in your ear.

You looked up in confusion at your father, who had previously been immersed in a conversation with Minho’s father and the Aqua chief. Now his face was right by your ear.

"Number one, stop staring. You’re lucky I’m the only one who noticed. Number two, stop by my office before you go to sleep tonight, okay? It’s important." He said, voice stern.

Gulping and nodding, you watched as he turned away, diving right back into the conversation he was having. What did he possibly want to talk about? You rarely talked to your father these days, unless arguments could be counted.

You spent the rest of the meal in contemplation, staring down at your plate. Your hand moved methodically, shoving food into your mouth without actually tasting anything; All you could taste was regret.

It hurt. It hurt so fucking bad. Despite not looking up, her giggle still pierced your ears from time to time, stabbing you deep in the heart. You'd seen it...the way Minho had been looking at her. He'd once reserved such looks for you and you only. Turns out, every meaningful word he'd said back then were lies. Every promise of forever had been empty.

A small part of you reminded yourself that it wasn't his fault he was kicked out from your village. He’d thought you didn’t oppose your father, and simply watched as he and his father was humiliated. Were you being irrational in expecting him to have stayed single until he came back to you? Hell, was it stupid to think he could even bear to glance at you after what your father had did?

Life was unpredictable, nothing was written in stone. How could he even have known he'd ever be in the same room as you again?

No. Y/n, don't do this. Don't force yourself to make up excuses for him. The man had barely cast a glance at you since he arrived. His eyes had been cold and stony the only time you'd made eye contact. 

Besides, if he really knew you, he would have known you wouldn’t betray him like that. And if he really loved you, he would have waited. He wouldn’t have moved on so easily. 

It was still fresh in your mind, despite having happened a few hours ago, now. The way you’d felt your hopes and dreams shattering to the ground in a million pieces, all in a span of a few seconds. Your heart, vibrating so fast it was almost going to implode.

As you continued drowning in your emotions, reliving the pain you'd felt, you suddenly felt a pair of eyes burning into you, sharply. Confused, you looked up, expecting the Terra heir to be the one looking back at you.

It wasn't him.

Minho quickly looked away before you could react, going back to talking to the heiress. It had only been for a second, but you’d caught him.

He’d been staring. At you. For a second, the tiniest flash of hope lit up your heart. But it was gone quickly, as the Aqua chief started laughing boisterously at a question the Terra chief's wife had asked.

"Yes, Jisu and Minho are deeply in love, Calandra. Honestly. Why would they be getting married otherwise?" He smiled, looking over at the two who had stopped talking to listen.

"This one-" He ruffled his daughter's head, chuckling. "She was so smitten. Kept sneaking out past the border to meet him. Of course when I found out, I was more than happy to let them join hands. I couldn’t imagine a son better than Minho to marry my little girl."

"That's sweet." You glanced up at your father as he said the words. He seemed to be gritting his teeth in slight vexation, the annoyance on his face clear. At least, to you it was.

"The wedding will take place a month after the championships." Minho's father said suddenly, smiling proudly as he grabbed a glass of wine. "You're all invited, of course. It will take place at my village. Now, raise a glass for the happy couple!"

A few claps sounded as everyone at the table raised their glasses. You carefully avoided Jisu's shy smile and Minho's confident smirk, his arm wrapped around her shoulder firmly. As if she would break into a million pieces if he let go.

You hated that you knew exactly how he behaved when he was in love. And now you weren’t on the receiving end of his adoration. 

You weren’t used to this. 

Yes, you’d lived your life as normally as you could without him for the past few years...but this was different. He was right there, and yet he wasn’t yours. So close, but you couldn’t touch him. Couldn’t feel him. Couldn’t kiss his lips and tell him how much he meant to you.

Your eyes darted about as they tried to find an appropriate thing to focus your gaze on. You raised your glass like everyone else, downed the amber liquid a little faster than the rest. You refused to let yourself look at the two.

Your eyes landed on the Terra heir after a few seconds. You weren't completely sure what his name was, but you have a vague recollection of your father telling you everyone’s names. Of course, at the time you’d been too overcome with excitement to digest the information.

Felix? Yes, that was it.

He seemed sweet. Friendly, even. His smile was a little sympathetic as he looked back at you, and that threw you off. You decided to put a smile on your face immediately, trying to conceal the pain that you’d hoped wasn’t evident.

Your mind flitted back and forth as everyone’s plates gradually cleared up. What were you going to do after this? 

Originally, you'd been planning to go to Minho's room tonight. Fuck, you’d dreamed of how tonight would go for months now, ever since your father had told you the news. But how could you now? 

Everything was fucking disintegrating.

***

You walked down the hallway to your father's office, your heels clicking against the stone slabs. Your dress was starting to feel itchy, and you couldn’t wait to take it off. You resentfully recalled how excited you’d felt when your maids had helped you into it. How all you could think about was Minho seeing you in it. You’d never expected him to barely acknowledge you.

Sighing, you passed through the hallway, stopping when you heard a high-pitched giggle come out of nowhere.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you glanced around you in confusion. 

Another laugh, this one deeper, followed by what seemed like a...moan?

The pain came back full force, hurtling through you and overtaking you completely. As you walked, the sounds started to feel closer. You wished you could cover your ears to block them out, but at the same time you were consumed with curiosity. Was it what you think it was?

Suddenly, you heard another sound. Now, it was clear where they were coming from.

The sounds were from beyond the door that led to your father's old bedroom, the one he used to share with your mother before she died. You frowned, puzzled as you walked closer to the door.

Had he really given away that room to Minho and his fiancée? It hadn't been used in years, and had always been covered up and inaccessible. Even the maids weren’t allowed to clean in there. It was the biggest bedroom in the house, and the thought of it occupied by them was causing fresh tears to prick at your eyes. 

You felt the lump in your throat make itself more prominent, blinking rapidly as your heart pounded. Suddenly, your legs started moving of their own accord.

Before you knew it, you were stood in front of the large door, your hand raised and knocking firmly on the gilded wood as you swallowed.

There was complete silence for a second or two, but then there were scrambling noises, along with the sound of rustling bedsheets. You tried to calm the beating of your heart, as you waited for the door to open.

When it finally did, you felt like your heart was almost about to burst out of your chest.

She was the one who opened it. She was clearly half naked, having pulled on a blue robe hastily. Running a hand through her hair, she greeted you, her voice a little shaky.

"Oh- um, hello…” She pressed her lips together, glancing behind her for a second. You followed her gaze, to Minho on the bed.

He was shirtless, his hair messed up and his eyes carefully trained on the wall beside him, away from you. You swallowed again, tears threatening to spill past your eyes as you quickly tried to turn your attention back to the woman in front of you.

Too late. She'd noticed. She frowned at you, subtly moving to the side a little to cover Minho from your view.

"I know we haven't formally met yet. I'm Choi Jisu, the Aqua heiress. I’m sure you know." She smiled, albeit a little forced. "And I did want to thank you for letting us stay-"

There was an impatient grunt from behind her, and she looked behind back briefly before turning to you once more.

"Um, I don’t know if you noticed, but I was kind of in the middle of something. Sorry." She tried her best to hide her smile, her voice heavily insincere. “Let’s talk later, Y/n. And maybe next time you won’t be interrupting anything.” She smiled, beginning to close the door.

"Later." 

You just stood there dumbfounded, not knowing how to reply. Your face was passive but your brain was overrun with thoughts. The tears would spill any minute now. 

She frowned at your reaction, tilting her head before gently shutting the door in your face.

You just stood there for a moment. You could hear Minho's voice, muffled as he said something to her.

A part of you wanted to press your ear to the door and listen, but you already looked pathetic enough to the guards standing in the hallway, one of them already having flashed you a sympathetic look. You were really having enough of all this fucking sympathy.

Sighing, you dragged your feet away, trying to push everything down, but to no avail. There were too many enotions, and they were too heavy to even let you think. 

You thought back to her behaviour. You'd definitely picked up on her attitude, which had soured after she’d caught you looking at her fiancé. Jisu wasn’t a fan of you, that much was clear. And neither was the person who’d once declared himself your biggest fan. Ironic, really.

***

“Who was at the door?” Minho asked carefully, although he’d already seen you. Standing there, looking at him. 

You’d looked smaller, vulnerable. So, so different. Almost alarmingly so.

He tried to best to keep his tone even, eyes trained on Jisu as she slunk back to the bed, having shut the door.

“The Ember heiress.” She said, a slight sting to her tone. “Why do you think she came?” She asked, raising an eyebrow as she sat on the edge of the bed.

“I...don’t know.” Minho muttered, staring at the bedsheets. His heart was clenching, hands starting to shake a little. 

No. Not in front of Jisu.

“Weren’t you two ‘best friends’ once?” She asked carefully, having picked up on his icy behavior. Jisu knew, of course. Despite Minho and you trying to keep it a secret, at one point the entire village came to know the two of you were in love. The information had even spread across the village, to others. 

Of course, the chiefs were the only ones who’d been clueless, only finding out after they’d been separated.

Minho scoffed, shaking his head. He gestured to her, hooking his fingers under his boxers to pull them down. “Forget that. Come back here, baby.”

Jisu raised an eyebrow, looking like she wanted to say more. However, Minho’s almost naked body was difficult to resist.

Shrugging, she slid her robe off, letting the silk fall to the floor as she straddled him. His hands ran up her hips, watching her, feeling her. 

His brain, however, felt like it was a million miles away.

***

The tears ran down your face. You were no longer able to hold them back. Realizing you were probably about to break down in the middle of the hallway, you walked faster towards the office- 

Until you bumped into someone on the way, almost knocking them over.

“Woah, woah, slow down.” Felix chuckled, holding onto your arms to keep you on your feet.

You looked up at him, blinking as you registered what you’d just done. “Fuck- I’m so sorry-”

“No, it’s okay.” He smiled, realizing his hands were still on you. He quickly took them away, tucking them into his pockets. His cheeks were dusted a light pink as he cleared his throat, looking at you in concern.

You quickly wiped away your tears, but Felix had unfortunately already noticed.

“Hey, are you okay? I noticed... I noticed you didn’t seem so happy at the dinner.” He said softly, looking down at you. 

You remained silent, staring at the floor as you wondered how to reply. You didn’t want to seem any more pitiable than you already were.

“Uh, it’s okay if you don’t want to say anything. I’m sorry if I overstepped.” He shook his head, stepping back slightly. His voice was almost more nervous than yours. “Um, I’ll leave you be now. Sorry-”

You looked up, sighing. “Wait…” 

Felix looked back, an expectant, almost hopeful look on his face. You didn’t want to let him down, you really didn’t...but it was difficult to pretend like you were okay. You were shivering, biting on your lip. You already felt humiliated enough.

“Sorry. I...I need to go, I’m sorry.” You mumbled, quickly walking away from a bewildered Felix. As soon as you turned the corner, you breathed a sigh of relief, leaning against the wall as your body shuddered. 

You’d never cried like this, not even when Caeli had died. Not even when Minho had left, because back then you’d still possessed some kind of hope. Hope that just wasn’t there anymore.

Rubbing your cheeks, you managed to get rid of the tear stains. You hoped your eyes weren’t too red- you weren’t ready for any comments from your father today. Breathing in, you continued walking, still massaging your eyes in a desperate bid to get them dry.

You groaned as you noticed you’d reached your father’s office quicker than you thought you would. Inhaling deeply, you tried to pull yourself together. You really didn’t like showing weakness in front of him, but lately that was all you did.

You knocked on the door carefully, waiting for him to open the door.

“Door’s open, come in.”

You pushed open the heavy oak door, stepping in.

"Y/n. Finally. Where have you been?"

"Nowhere important." You said quickly, clearing your throat. "Um... you said you wanted to see me, dad?"

He cleared his throat. "Yes." He rearranged the files on his desk quickly, standing and coming over to lean on the front of his desk. He sighed, screwing his face up in thought as he wondered where to start.

"I can’t believe Lee really scored a marriage for his son. Do you know what this means? A heir marrying an heiress? They'll possess power we can’t even begin to imagine." He paced back and forth, clenching his fists in barely concealed anger. You rolled your eyes slightly. Of course your father thought it was a ploy to gain power. He’d never believed in love, and most probably never will.

“So?” 

"So? So?!” He shook his head. “See, this is exactly why the villagers think you’re too incompetent.” He glared, making you cower. Your heart pounded quicker, your lips pressing together. No more tears, you had to control them.

“Look, Y/n...I’ll put it plain and simple. Ember has been the most powerful for centuries. We’ve always had the strongest dragons, and the sturdiest men. Our village is the largest in the country, and all eyes are on us.”

He pinched his forehead. “Do you know how embarrassing it is that Ember’s heiress, the one who should be the most powerful of all, is nothing but a lovesick, pathetic little girl who doesn’t even have a fucking dragon to compete with?!”

You blinked, sniffing as you stared at the floor. You could always count on your father to reinforce negative emotions. His eyes burning into you, chest heaving in anger. 

He sighed, watching as your shoulders shook slightly. Softening a little, he inhaled. It always went that way. He’d blow up at you, and subsequently regret it. He couldn’t take back anything he said, though.

“Sorry, child.” You remained silent, looking up a little. His face seemed sincere enough.

“Hm. I have an idea..." He mumbled, placing a finger on his chin. You could almost see the cogs and gears turning in his brain.

"What did you think of Felix? Nice boy, isn't he?"

You frowned at your father's words, his expression seeming innocent...but his intentions clearly weren't.

"The Terra heir?" You asked, sighing. "He seems nice. Why are you asking?"

"No reason." He shrugged, fiddling with the Ember figurine on his desk.

You groaned, rubbing your forehead. "Dad...don't tell me you want to marry me off to him."

"What?? No!" Your father shook his head vehemently, still playing with the figurine and avoiding your eyes. "I was just thinking. Uh-"

He looked back at you and sighed. "Okay, I'm sorry. But...just consider it, okay? An arranged marriage...an alliance between Ember and Terra could be phenomenal."

You pursed your lips, flashes of Minho and Jisu running through your head as you thought it over. Fuck it, why not? It wasn’t like you had any reason to oppose him. "Fine, dad. I’ll think about it, but I’m not promising anything. Besides, I don’t even know if he’s interested in me."

"I saw the way he was looking at you from across the table, child. He definitely has some curiosity, at the very least.” He hummed. “Anyway, that's actually not why I called you here."

You raised an eyebrow, confused as he went back to his seat, sitting down and pulling up a large, dusty book.

"Look...I'm worried. There's something ominous about this. Their marriage...it poses too many conveniences and benefits for both the chiefs to be a mere coincidence.”

You frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

He looked to be deep in thought. When he heard you speak, he snapped back to attention, shaking his head. "I’m not sure yet. Now, even if I managed to convince Farran to get his child married to you, it still doesn’t provide us power directly. Without a dragon, it’s likely they’ll make you reside in the Terra village once this is all over.” He hummed, looking like he was talking to himself rather than addressing you. “No...we need a reason to make you stay here. You’re an Ember heiress, the future chief of this legendary village. However, you definitely need to look the part. You need to prove to everyone that you’re powerful, Y/n. Shatter their expectations...and mine.” He smiled, gesturing for you to come closer.

 “I was wondering...do you want to participate in the championships?"

Your eyes widened impossibly, your words stuttering as you moved forward. You couldn’t believe your ears, not one bit. It sounded too good to be true.

“Wait- really?”

“Yes.”

“But...but I don’t have a drag-”

“You can participate with Aeracus.”

No. No way. For the first time since the welcoming, you felt true happiness overtake you. Jumping, you squealed in delight, barely able to hide your glee. “Oh my god, thank you, dad! Thank you so so much.”

He chuckled as he watched you, flipping a page. “This has never been done before, so expect some backlash. I’m sure once they see the bond you have with Aeracus though, they’ll change their minds.”

You couldn’t believe it. Your father, the most skeptical dragon purist the world had ever seen, was acknowledging your bond.

“But...what about Minho?”

“Aeracus is no longer his dragon, Y/n. He has a new one.” Of course, you’d noticed. The huge black dragons he and his father had been riding. You felt a sensation of unease drift through you as you thought about the creatures, the likes of which you’d never seen before. 

New lover, new dragon. He’d really left this place behind.

“Something’s off about those dragons.” He voiced the exact same concern you had. “They’re up to something. I just don’t know what.” He turned back to his book, taking his quill back up. “I’ll find out, though. Somehow. Now, go to sleep, kid. You have a big day tomorrow, now that you’re actually participating.”

You nodded, excitement coursing through your veins. “Sure, dad. Have a good night.” You bowed and turned around, your steps a lot lighter as you headed to your room, which was close by.

Reaching your room, you pushed open the door, smiling as you noticed Sylvia fast asleep at your dressing table. Moving slightly closer, you gently nudged her awake.

“Wha- I-” She shot up, mouth open as she bowed to you. “I’m so sorry, ma’am, I was just arranging and-I’ll help you out of your dress, now-”

“Sh, it’s okay. Tonight’s been tiring. You deserve the rest.” You said sadly, patting her shoulder as a yawn left your mouth. “Go to sleep, and don’t come by tomorrow. I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself. I want you to relax, okay? Head to the docks, or buy yourself some bread in the square.” You opened a tiny drawer and handed a few coins to her, enough to get some sweetbread from the bakery.

She nodded thankfully. “You’re the best, ma’am.” She giggled, accepting the coins from you. 

“What have I told you about calling me ma’am? We’re the same age, Sylvia, it makes me uncomfortable. It’s Y/n to you.”

“Fine. Y/n.” She smiles, heading to the door. “Good night, Y/n.”

You grinned widely at that. You loved how easygoing she was, unlike Ann, your head maid. You weren’t royalty, and hated being treated as such. A friend was all you needed, to be honest. And Sylvia managed to fill the best friend sized hole Minho had left behind, somewhat. 

She closed the door behind her, and you sighed, flopping down onto your soft bed and beginning to slip off your heels and the heavy dress, carefully placing it on a rack. The moon shone extra bright today, and you noticed the streets outside were still lit up with lanterns. Soon, they’d be turned off, and the streets would be quiet once more, except for a few drunken stragglers that didn’t want to stop celebrating.

And you would be left alone with your thoughts.

You slid yourself underneath your covers, sighing as you stared at the moon. In the distance, you could see a few dragons and their riders, flying through the air. They were quite far away, possibly near the outskirts. 

Tomorrow, you’d be able to ride Aeracus like that, after so many years. Every time Minho had let you climb atop his dragon, it had just felt like it was meant to be. Deep down, you felt bad, though...for Caeli, for Minho. However, it was just the plain truth.

You smiled as you decided to buy Aeracus a bunch of treats tomorrow. Ostrich eggs, phoenix meat- you were planning to go all out. He deserved it, after all.

In a way, tonight had possibly been the worst night of your life, and simultaneously the best. Your heart felt pulled in two, as you closed your eyes and willed yourself to sleep.

You had a big day tomorrow.

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

Fine Line | Jurdan Quarantine AU

Written for Jurdan Week 2020, hosted by @jurdannet​ | Day 4- Song Crossover (Adore You by Harry Styles requested by @mysweetvilllain​ )

Chapter Rating: M

CW: mature themes, explicit descriptions, vulgar language, eventual explicit content.

Summary: Two vindictive assholes. One shitty apartment. And a vow to get under each other’s skin. Stuck in hate together twenty-four-seven, this can only end in a crime of passion.

Next Chapter    |    Fine Line Masterlist    |    Masterlist    |    AO3 

Chapter 1- Adore You (Verse 1)

[Cardan POV]

The minute I walk into the kitchen, I know I’m fucked.

She’s sitting there on one of my bar stools, at my island counter, eating my strawberries straight out of the plastic container. I say “my” because I’m still in denial that I have to share this shit-hole with anyone. Especially her.

When I put the ad up online, I was skint and desperate. I would’ve taken anyone short of a serial killer, really, but I was hoping for normal. Or at the very least, boring. It’s just my luck that the only person who responded to the ad was someone so insufferable.

We were civil with each other for all of a day. Three weeks had me almost driven to moving out. Me. Moving out of my own damn apartment because even that is easier than living with Jude Duarte. 

That’s when corona hit, so I guess I’m stuck.

It’s been a fortnight of isolation. Putting up with her unmitigated bullshit. Her ceaseless presence and mulish disposition. Our constant butting heads. 

On a good day, I give myself over to the ashen taste of resignation. On the bad ones, I want to throw myself down the stairs just so I can spend the night in hospital. 

Anyways, I’m fucked because my wretched flatmate is sitting there in her baggy black sweatpants and oversized hoodie. Her knees are tucked up to her chest, giving me a plain view of those stupid rainbow socks she’s always wearing. Her hair is a mess on top of her head. Everything about her sets off a tick in my jaw.

Except the way she eats strawberries.

Her full pink lips wrap around one now and—fucking hell. I swear my cock twitches. When she sinks her teeth in, those lips come away red-stained and glistening. A line of juice dribbles down her chin as she chews. Then, she pops the stem into her mouth and eats that, too.

I find myself imagining her on her knees, strawberry lips wrapped around something else of mine. The way the back of her throat would feel as I ram into her mouth—

I blink. My lip curls. I need coffee, and maybe a cold shower.

The former is closest, so I stop standing in the doorway like the twat that I am, and walk into the kitchen. Thankfully, she’s got earphones in and is so immersed in whatever the fuck she does on her laptop all day that she hasn’t noticed my blatant ogling.

If she notices me at all, she doesn’t acknowledge it.

Good. It’s better this way. The less we talk the less we end up screaming at each other. It’s only happened twice. The neighbors came round both times.

I pull a mug and the instant coffee down from a shelf.

It irks me. Just last night, I was standing in this very spot, doing everything in my power not to lose my shit after finding a pile of her dirty dishes in the sink. For the third time this week. She always says “they’re soaking”, and I always end up doing them later anyway, because I can’t stand the mess.

She does things like that a lot. Dishes and crumbs and wrappers. Stealing my food. A week ago I found a pizza crust jammed in between the cushions of the sofa. She denies all accountability, of course.

Not to mention, she sets her alarms for the ass crack of dawn. She’s such a heavy sleeper that I’m invariably wide awake well before she is, listening to the incessant shrill of her phone through the walls as she hits snooze, over and over.

I’m certainly not without my faults, of course. I know she hates me just as much as I hate her. She’s told me as much. Which is why I’m miffed that suddenly, without any warning, I want to fuck her into the kitchen counter.

There’s a spoon in the drying rack and I use it to stir my coffee. 

Nicasia hated me, I think to myself. She loved me once, but she hated me for a while before she did anything about it. Then, I stop. Because I don’t want to uncork that bottle today. Point is, maybe it’s not completely out of left field. To want someone right when they’re giving you the very least of their attention.

I tap the spoon against the lip of my mug. Usually, I’d retreat back to my bedroom at this point. Instead, I throw the spoon in the sink and turn around to lean against the counter.

She’s still sitting at the island, honed in on her computer. I can hear the thin, metallic wail of a guitar coming from her earphones. She bobs her head slightly to the beat.

It’s not as if she isn’t attractive. In her own, unique way.

She’s strong. If I didn’t hear her pummeling that blasted punching bag she’s got hanging in her room every night, I’d have known she boxed just by the way she looks. She’s got a fighter’s build about her. It lives in her shoulders, in the barrel of her chest. As if every line of her was made bold and unyielding. With intention. 

Again, I have to stop my own wandering thoughts. I’m starting to wonder if maybe my dead end job that has me editing bad romance novels for a living is starting to go to my head. 

It pays the bills until it doesn’t. And then it rots my brain. Maybe I should quit.

Still, I tell myself it’s the quarantine talking. That if I wasn’t trapped in here with her, I wouldn’t find anything about her attractive. That I’d probably be willing to whore myself out for one cigarette right about now. And I don’t even smoke.

But then she looks up at me, mid-bite. Those honey-brown eyes are wild. They threaten to cut straight through me. She squints, accusatory. Chews her bite, slow. Swallows.

My mouth goes dry as the fucking Sahara.

“What are you staring at?” she demands, glare blazing.

Apparently, I’m in the mood to walk that fire, because I take a sip of my coffee and say, smug as I can, “You.”

Sometimes, it’s better to be completely honest with Jude. The truth always seems to appall her far more than any lie ever could. As if she expects everyone to be deceiving. Or maybe it’s just that my truths are so outrageous to her that she doesn’t believe them.

I wouldn’t blame her there. I can hardly admit to this truth, myself. Whether she believes me or not, though, it gets under her skin.

“Right,” she scoffs. “Is it because I’m pretty? Is it because you like me so much?” She bats her lashes at me, mocking. I am stunned by the fact that, for a moment, I wish it was real. That I’d gladly lose myself in that look if it came from her eyes in earnest.

Then I shake my head. I sound like the biggest shit-for-brains. It’ll take more than a few eyelash flutters to make me surrender.

“Oh, no,” I say, trying to match her taunting tone, “I don’t like you. I adore you.”

That makes Jude roll her eyes. “Please,” she says. “You’re probably plotting ways to stick me in my sleep or something. Fucking psychopath.”

It’s that last part that makes me take a step toward the island, lean forward to rest my elbows on the counter so I’m nearly in her space. She doesn’t draw back. Just gives me a scathing look from over the top of her screen.

“If I’m ever depraved enough to stick you,” I tell her, smirking, “I guarantee you won’t be sleeping, love.” Which may come off as anything from perverted to downright murderous, but I don’t care. The face she makes is worth it.

It’s all jaw dropped, vicious gaze, blush creeping into her cheeks like red smoke. I’ve never challenged her before. It makes her look at me like she despises me. Like the only thing she’ll ever do is despise me. I don’t know why that eggs me on, but it does.

“Would you look at that,” I hum, “You’ve got the face about right, too.”

Her nostrils flare. Jaw sets. There’s a lovely shade of puce coming up on her already heated cheeks. She’s absolutely livid, and I can taste it in the air between us. It’s like static on my tongue.

That’s when something cold and slimy hits me dead between the eyes. Jude’s half-eaten strawberry plops to the counter. I’m so surprised I almost laugh.

“You’re disgusting,” she says with as much derision as I feel coursing through me.

Part of me wants to give into that anger. Sling a string of curses at her. Throw the strawberry right back in her face. Those things won’t annoy her half as much as what I actually do.

Keeping an unbothered expression, I pluck the strawberry off the countertop and pop it right into my mouth. Stem and all. I lick my fingers for good measure. All while keeping direct eye contact with the little menace sitting across from me. Her gaze flits to my lips. So I swipe my tongue over them. She blinks.

“Delicious,” I say.

She looks just the right amount of scandalised for me to straighten, take my coffee back up in one hand, and saunter out of the kitchen. I don’t say anything about the strawberries. Or how stealing isn’t a very good exercise in courtesy.

We’ve never been courteous with one another, anyway.

When I’m back in my room I lean against the closed door and scrub a hand over my face. My heartbeat is raging since I did not.

Sometimes, I think the irritating things she does are all on purpose. Just to get under my skin. I rarely give her the satisfaction of knowing it works, but I don’t like letting her trample all over me, either. It gives me an oily feeling. Like I’m back to being under someone else’s thumb, and I hate it.

But that—whatever that was—felt more like fighting back than I ever thought I’d have the balls to do. I feel more alive now than I’ve felt in months.

Maybe that makes me a bastard. C’est la fucking vie.

I start shucking off my clothes, throwing them into the hamper in the corner, one by one. My bedroom is mercifully en suite. If I wanted to, I could live in here for days at a time without leaving.

I don’t know why I ever bother.

I go into the bathroom and turn on the shower. As I stand there under the cold stream, I think about how dangerous it is, this game I’ve entered. Flirting with Jude to get a rise out of her is one thing. That’s clear cut. A direct retaliation.

It’s another thing entirely if part of why I’m doing it is to take the edge off of my own perversions. I mean, what kind of sick fuck has sex fantasies about someone they hate? Someone they’re stuck in isolation with, twenty-four-seven, for the foreseeable future? Someone who hates their guts, too, and could probably easily take them out if it came to physical blows?

I guess that sick fuck would be me.

It’s a fine line to walk but there’s no turning back. I’ve already begun.

☽☽☽☽☽

AN: So I guess I’m hopping on the quarantine fic bandwagon 😅 this is definitely not what I expected to come out of this song crossover prompt, but I kind of like it? It’s (very loosely) based off of Adore You by Harry Styles- the threads are there if you look for them 😉

I’m planning on making this a 12 part series (one chapter for each song on Fine Line) so if you’d like to be added to the tag list for this, or to my Jurdan Forever tag list, let me know in the comments/my messages/inbox and I’d be happy to add you! 

-Em 🖤💫

Title Inspo: Fine Line (album) by Harry Styles, Adore You (song) by Harry Styles

Tag List: @velarhysismine​ @knifewifejude​ @the-mithridatism-of-jude-duarte​ @clockworkgraystairs​ @thesirenwashere​ @judexcardanxgreenbriar​ @nite0wl29​ @aelin-queen-of-terrasen​ @whocares-idont​ @babycardan @mysweetvilllain​ @aesthetics-11​ @storiesandschemes​ @jurdanhell​ @poeticbrownmermaid @thechainofiron​ @random-llama-socks​ @villanellevi​ @lady-thea-of-narnia​ @b00kworm​ @flowersinvegas​ @vanessa172003​ @cardanstrickytail​ @queen-of-glass​ @doingmyrainbow​

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[voiceless-terror]

all those sleep prompts are so killer and such big jon vibes!!! i would love to read anything on "- a character who refuses to share a sleeping space with anyone else, and it’s because he doesn’t want to disturb others/doesn’t want pity/is ashamed of his nightmares" with jon. bonus points if tim is involved and extra bonus points if tim also has experience with insomnia/nightmares, either himself or used to taking care of someone in his life with those issues...

Hey there! Here I am, finally writing the promised Jon/Tim that I should have written ages ago. Feels good to be on this train! I’ve placed this in pre-canon, when Jon and Tim are researchers and have just started dating. Hope you like!

“That was...really nice, Tim. Thank you.”

“Thank you? Jon, we split the check,” Tim throws an arm around his shoulder and it’s heavy and warm in all the right ways. “You know my policy on that. The person who asks you out pays the bill! Ergo, me.”

“I know, I know,” Jon relents under the pressure and burrows into Tim’s side. The wine’s gone to his head, he’s sure of it. Shouldn’t have had those three glasses. But the waiter was so attentive and Tim’s smile was infectious so he couldn’t help but say yes, of course, thank you, to every pour. “I just...I really enjoyed myself, is all.”

“I did too,” Tim’s voice goes to that soft, fond register he’s only just started using with Jon. Before it had been all gregarious charm, winks and nudges that he used interchangeably with friends and acquaintances alike. When Tim first asked him out, Jon thought he was joking; he rolled his eyes and went back to work, ignoring Tim’s look of hurt. Jon was used to practical jokes of this nature- he’s not exactly an attractive prospective partner, and several people have implied he was more trouble than he was worth. But a week later, on their usual coffee run, Tim offered to buy him dinner, his voice serious and shy and utterly unlike him. The look in his eyes was genuine and Jon had to say yes; who could refuse him, in the face of such sincerity?

It’s been a month and they’ve fallen into a sort of routine. Every week is a new spot- Tim’s a bit of a foodie, and he overheard him making a list of places with Sasha. It took up an entire page in his notebook, and Jon wonders if Tim will get sick of him before they finish it.

He stumbles on the sidewalk and Tim catches him with a steady hand on his waist. The cold air should be bracing but it is not; his dizziness increases two times over and it’s a long journey home. Tim knows this, which must lead to his next suggestion.

“You can spend the night at mine,” he says, voice purposefully light. Jon freezes. They hadn’t broached the topic yet, but he thinks Tim has some sort of idea. Rumors abound in research, after all. Tim must notice his nervousness because he stops walking, turning to face Jon with that same unbearable sincerity. 

“Nothing untoward, I promise,” Tim says, and Jon believes him. Tim hasn’t lied to him yet. “I just don’t feel comfortable putting you on the tube, and you’re a long way from home while I’m right around the corner.” Jon still doesn’t respond, so Tim continues. “No pressure, honestly. I could call you a cab, it’s not a big deal-”

“No, that’s-that’s too expensive.” Living in London is hard enough, especially on a researcher’s salary. But to spend the night at Tim’s, as innocent as it may be, fills him with dread. There’s a reason he lives alone. There’s a reason it took him almost a year before he stayed the night at Georgie’s.

Sleep has never been kind to him.

Jon has nightmares. Terrible, horrifying visions of make-believe that leave him screaming and crying and choking on his breath. Georgie had been about ready to call an ambulance the first time she witnessed it, but Jon was able to talk her down.

“These happen every night?” she’d asked, her face a mix of pity and concern. 

“Not every night,” he insisted. It was true. If he stayed up late, working himself to exhaustion, he could usually manage a dreamless sleep of at least five hours. But that came with its own difficulties; crankiness, irritability. It put a strain on most of his relationships. 

Tim, though- Tim is kind and understanding. Beneath the mask of sociability and flirtation lies a serious, determined person. Compassionate, loving, but in a quiet way and with small gestures. He makes lists. He puts in time. He asks Jon what he wants when they go out to eat and he doesn’t laugh or roll his eyes when Jon carries on for too long. 

“We can go to your place,” he whispers. “I-I think I’d like that.” Tim smiles and hooks an arm through his and Jon knows he’s made the right decision. Maybe tonight will be different. Maybe the wine will dull the terror that rules most of his life. The night is dark and Jon’s flat is cold and lonely. 

Tim’s flat, on the other hand, is warm and cozy. It’s neat and organized, but cluttered enough to give it personality and charm. There’s a couch calling his name and he answers it, practically collapsing in the cushions as Tim lets out a little laugh.

“No going to sleep yet,” he instructs and Jon can’t help but let out a groan. The warmth and safety of the spot and the closeness of Tim has suddenly made him comfortably tired, and he’d like to slip off to sleep in this pleasant haze. “Not until you’ve had some food and water. I’ve even got those crusty little granola bars you like so much.”

“They’re not crusty,” he grumbles, his voice stifled by a pillow. But he’s not in a fighting mood and his mind’s currently swimming with the fact that Tim stocked his favorite snack. 

“Very crusty, indeed,” Tim’s nudging him up into a sitting position and forcing water into his hands. “Drink up!”

“You’re very irritating, I hope you know,” Jon says as he leans his head onto Tim’s shoulder. Tim makes for a comfortable pillow. 

“Aw, you love it.” 

Maybe he does.

By the time he’s choked down the last of the bar, his eyes are fluttering and he can’t keep in his yawns. Tim puts a warm hand on his arm and it burns pleasantly as he pulls him up. “Time for bed, I think.”

The words startle Jon out of his haze and he blinks his eyes open, focusing on Tim’s gentle smile. “Er, I think-” he doesn’t want to disappoint the man, but he would rather be as cautious as possible. “I think it would be best if I slept out here.”

“On the couch?” Tim asks, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Oh- would you rather sleep alone?” Tim doesn’t seem too miffed about it, just confused, so Jon answers as honestly as he can.

“Yes.” He doesn’t want to, not really. But he needs to.

“Alright,” Tim agrees easily enough. “But you should take the bed, then. The sofa’s comfy but I know you have a bad back-”

“It’s fine for one night,” Jon responds. Forcing Tim to sleep on the sofa in his own flat seems terribly selfish.

“If you’re sure…”

“I am,” Jon assures, trying to convey his affection in a gentle smile. Tim returns it.

“I’ll just get you some sheets, then. Change of clothes, too.”

By the time Jon’s head hits the pillow, comfortably attired in Tim’s old joggers and t-shirt, he’s already half asleep. He thinks Tim’s already left the room but then he feels the warm pressure of a kiss to his forehead.

Perhaps he dreamed that, though.

__________

There’s a thread and it’s pulling Jon forward.

It’s not comfortable. Jon would rather stay here, in the library, surrounded by books and dim lights and knowledge he has control over. But there are whispers in the hallway, and someone’s telling him to go, go, go. 

And go he does. Down stairs, so many stairs, more stairs than the institute ought to have. There is something watching and something pulling; Jon is being split in two and somehow this is worse than actually seeing the spiders and the eyes that have haunted him all these years. This, he feels in his soul. Something is at stake.

There’s a door. This is how it always ends, you see- with a door. And Jon’s fist, small and childish and grubby, raises to knock against the wood. It echoes too many times as Jon tries to step back, get off this porch and out of this nightmare but it is too late, the deed is done and the door is opening and a single, spindly black leg creeps out of the door hello, Mr. Spider-

“Jon!”

There are limbs holding him but it’s not the many-legged creature of his nightmares- they’re familiar and strong even as he thrashes against them but someone is screaming and the sound is haunting and painful-

And it’s him. Jon wrenches his eyes open to find himself safe and sound, held in place by Tim’s arms. His heart continues to stutter and he wheezes- Tim’s got a hand on his back and a soothing murmur going.

“You’ve got to breathe, Jon. Slow.” Tim takes his shaking hand and puts it to his own chest. “Like this. In and out. There you go. Nice and slow.” The words are calm and practiced; Tim’s done this before, with someone else. As his heartbeat resumes a normal rhythm, he wonders who. 

There’s a hand on Jon’s face, gently wiping away tears he wasn’t aware he shed. Tim’s eyes are far-away, sort of, like he’s just going through the motions, slow and loving. “There we are,” he says as he finally meets Jon’s eyes. “Better now?”

“Y-Yes,” he croaks back. His hand is still gripping at Tim’s shirt but he doesn’t let go until the reality of the situation sets in. “Oh God- I’m- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you-”

“Is that why you slept out here?” Tim asks, his voice patient. “Does this happen a lot?”

“M-More than I care to admit.” Jon feels a sudden need to explain himself, to let Tim know he tries to keep it under control as best he can. “I’ve tried everything- tea, therapy, p-pills- it doesn’t work.” A note of frustration creeps into his voice. “Something doesn’t want me to sleep, I guess.”

“Just thought you were a workaholic, to be honest,” Tim pulls him into his side and Jon melts, the tension slowly leaving his body. “Should’ve known better. We work at the Magnus Institute, after all.” The laugh that comes from both of them is bitter. “D’you want to sleep in my bed, maybe? Just- just for company. I’ve been told that helps.”

“I-I don’t want to wake you.” The argument is weak and the both of them know it.

“You already have, love.” The endearment slips out unnoticed by Tim, but Jon hears it. “You’ll wake me either way, but I’d rather you didn’t wake up alone.”

“O-Oh.” There’s a lot of care in those words. Jon doesn’t know what to do with it, except agree. “Yes, I’ll- if, if you don’t mind-”

“Wouldn’t offer if I did.” He wouldn’t, Jon knows. Tim always means what he says when it comes to him.

So they curl up in his bed, an arm slung across Jon’s waist, his back to Tim’s chest. There are no spiders here, not in this bed that smells of dryer sheets and detergent and Tim. He’s almost asleep when the arm around his waist tightens suddenly.

“My brother always said the pressure helped. When he had bad dreams.” Jon opens his eyes.

Tim never mentioned a brother; it never came up in any of their conversations. Tim knows Jon is an only child, that he was brought up by his grandmother and had a lonely childhood. He didn’t realize, in all of their time together, that he knew so little of Tim’s own background, besides his publishing career.

Nobody liked to talk about what brought them to the Magnus Institute. It was like some unspoken rule, some shared trauma that somehow kept them all silent and apart.

“Your brother?” he whispers, turning over to see Tim’s face. Its dark, but he thinks he can see a brightness in Tim’s eyes like unshed tears. 

“Danny.” Tim says the name like he’s asking for forgiveness that Jon can’t give. He sees a tear drip down the man’s face and he reaches for it, just like Tim did before. “He was...he was my little brother. And he was so, so good.” Tim’s voice breaks and something in Jon breaks too. “And something took him from me.” His expression is hard but his hand reaches out to lovingly trace Jon’s face, as if trying to memorize its shape.

“I’m sorry,” Jon knows his apology is not enough, that it will never fill the gap in Tim’s heart. Instead, he finds words spilling from his lips, as if sharing his own pain will help too. “I-I saw someone get taken, once. I didn’t- I didn’t love them, but- but it was because of me.” Tim’s hand is in his hair, tucking a curl behind his ear as his voice wobbles. “It should’ve been me.” 

Tim draws him close and squeezes; Jon buries his face in the crook of his neck and inhales. “I’m glad it wasn’t you, Jon,” Tim whispers as he runs a hand down his back. “I’m glad it wasn’t you.” Jon isn’t Danny and Tim isn’t offering him absolution but it’s fine, for tonight.

Jon doesn’t dream.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27494077

[bisexual-inuyasha]

Xingese Gold

Prompts: pining/hands/nature. “Please just hate me already.”

Wrap your arms and hold me still

I don't wanna think about what I will

Speak in tones that I can't hear

And tell me how no one knows anything in here

-- Jade Bird “What Am I Here For”

A young boy with black hair and dark eyes sat in his mother’s field. His face was serious, mouth twisted into a frown. He was a very stern child, hair pulled severely back into a bun.

For most kids his age, the object of their concentration would be something colorful and loud. Or maybe even ants crawling along the dirt or the dried out carcass of a worm. For this child, scrawny and tired, it was the flowers. His fingers--nimble, gentle, fleeting like tiny birds--brushed over the golden strands. Petals remained safely caged behind spindly stamen. His pants were soaked at the knees, his bare feet covered in broken grass and mud. 

His mother had taught him about these flowers. It couldn’t have been more than a month ago, after a similar heavy bout of rains. The lesson came after the worst news in his young life. She had died only a few days later, protecting him from one of his brothers from another clan. Forty one siblings would be easier to kill than forty two. He’d written the name down in a book, tucked that book into his shirt, and watched his mother be buried in the only silk his clan could muster. It had not been a good season.

She had called these flowers Xingese gold. According to her, they were the only flowers of their kind in all the world. Other places had yellow, red and white. But only the Yao clan from Xing had golden spider lilies. They were proof, she’d said, that he was meant to ascend to the throne. Only the Emperor could wear gold, after all.

He glanced around the field and  rocked back on the balls of his feet to get a better look. When he was sure the coast was clear, he plucked a flower and tucked it into the middle pages.

The list of the names in the book grew longer as more and more clans fell to assassination attempts. His mother’s children, his half-siblings, resented and revered him as their downfall and their only possible salvation. For many years, he had no true friends.

And then Lan Fan found him, visiting the now overgrown field, plucking Xingese gold. And she swore, for the price of a single flower, she would protect him. Her hands were clean and her clothes neat when he took him to the humble house she lived in. Her grandfather’s face was hard. His lessons were harder. But his kindness reminded Ling of a childhood wrapped and buried in silk. And with the old man’s guidance, and Lan Fan’s friendship, Ling’s body hardened into a weapon.

His personality sharpened like a knife, quick and cutting and so unassuming.

But it was his instincts that set him apart. He lived with his finger on the pulse, twisting around the existence of others like a hesitant snake. Curious and fleeting, never lingering long, taking only what he needed.

And this is how Ling Yao became a teenager who crossed the desert, determined to find the key to immortality. 

**Amestris, before the end of the world.**

Ling lay on hot tiles, tapping his toes against the burning roof. He was waiting for the right time to drop through the open window. This golden haired alchemist was well known around this country for his search for the philosopher’s stone. The philosopher’s stone was well known for being the only alchemical way to achieve immortality. If Ling believed in fate, he’d almost think they were meant to find each other. 

That wouldn’t do right now.

Ed had all the cards. Every scrap of information Ling wanted existed behind those golden eyes. Whatever Ed didn’t know about the philosopher’s stone, he knew how to find. Ling sensed that maybe, this stone and Ed’s life, were intrinsically linked. Linked in a way far more certain than fate.

Al left the room. The metal man had taken to leaving when he could tell Ed needed to rest. It was less lonely for him to spend those hours exploring the city. Or at least that was the reason Al gave. But it didn’t take the dragon’s pulse to see that Edward Elric was thinning out.

Not physically. His body was fit as ever, though no taller for having increased his intake. But Edward himself seemed more and more distant. Al may be afraid of disappearing inside his armor, but Ed was disappearing into himself. The golden hair alchemist was becoming lost in a maze of problems and responsibilities that seemed to grow new walls and corridors every day. Ling had his own knots to untangle. He couldn’t help lead Edward out of his.

“I wasn’t sure I’d get the chance to talk with you.” Ling slid through the window, grinning. 

“You don’t have to do that, you know.” Ed’s metal arm was over his eyes. Ling had noticed he did this when he was too warm. The metal had to be cool against his skin.

“Do what? You can’t even see me.” Ling sidled down onto the couch. Ed’s bed was clear across the room. He could have sworn the set up was different when the boys had first settled into this room, but he wouldn’t complain. “Lan Fan and Fu want me to stay hidden for a couple of days, until Bradley loses interest.”

“What, did you get bored?” Ed snickered. “Or did they just run out of food?”

Ling patted his tummy forlornly. “Do you mean to say you have food? I do feel a little faint, now that you mention it.” He went limp, feigning unconsciousness. His stomach growled for good effect.

 Ed’s footsteps padded on the hardwood floors. The metal clunk of his foot was muffled by the sock he wore over it, but it was still an unusual gait. Distinct, and comforting. It had been a signal to Ling that he was safe, since Gluttony. Since he’d listened for those footsteps in the dark, and the blood. Ling opened his eyes and stared at the moonlit ceiling. Just the thought of Gluttony made him feel slimy. Filled his nose with the scent of blood. Suddenly his appetite was gone.

He still accepted the bowl of scallion chicken soup when Ed handed it to him and took a large spoonful. “Cold.”

“Yeah, well, that is what an icebox does.” Ed pulled his hand through his hair. “Still good though.” 

Ling took another large spoonful. His stomach clenched. He put the food down. He tried not to look revolted but Ed was watching him all the same. “Good, but maybe not what I’m hungry for tonight.” 

“Hm.” Ed tapped his fingers against his chair. His mouth was tense, body full of restless energy. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “Do you ever think about how we’re just… kids?”

Ling waited for the horror to cross Ed’s face at what would usually be a difficult confession, but tonight seemed to be a night of honesty. 

“I haven’t been a kid since before I met Lan Fan. I don’t contemplate those kinds of things much any more.” Ling leaned forward to rest his chin on his hand. Ed was still in his black tanktop and work pants. He’d taken to sleeping in them more often than not. “What makes your mind so heavy today?”

Ed didn’t answer for a long moment. Outside, Ling could hear the never sleeping cars of Amestris trotting along the cobble streets. Ling followed the line where Ed’s hair met his jawline. It looked so different outside of the braid.

“I saw Al’s body. It’s just. So young.” Ed stood, pacing. Ling listened to the pad-thunk-scrape-pad-thunk of Ed’s steps. “We’re all so young. I can see it in the Colonel’s eyes when he gives me orders. I can feel it when Riza talks to me and there’s all this… this sorrow. Like she’s stealing something from me. Something I’ll never get back. And some part of me knows she’s right.”

Ling could taste the metallic stain of blood on his tongue. His fingernails still had some of Gluttony stuck in the beds. When he closed his eyes, he could still see Envy’s souls calling out to him, begging him to free them. “I’m tired, Ed. Have you been sleeping?” 

Ed’s eyes narrowed. His arms crossed. In a small, miffed voice he admitted that no, he hadn’t really been sleeping. “Don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“You’re too young to be contemplating loss of youth.” Ling grinned. It was full of too many teeth. “Come on, lighten up Ed. You probably just need a nap.”

“I don’t want to nap. I just. Want to feel like I’m going somewhere.” Ed flopped back into his seat. Ling’s response seemed to have deflated him. “I’m just trying to get back to where I was before I lost Al’s body. But what do I do then? Most people spend this time figuring that out, but I’ve just determined I don’t want to stay a State Alchemist.”

“That’s a good start.” Link chuckled, and despite his best effort, it was not as lighthearted as he usually managed. “Being able to decide you don’t want to do something is a luxury some of us don’t have.”

This was an unusual visit. Since Ling and Ed’s day spent in the belly of Gluttony, Ling had gone to see Ed whenever the sun went down and the smell of blood filled his nose. Usually, Ed gave away his leftovers and they snarked back and forth at each other until Ling fell asleep on the couch. The next morning, Ling would sneak away through the window he snuck in from.

Ling’s chest felt tight. The room was too hot. He didn’t want to think about lost childhood, lost time. He didn’t want to think about fate and choosing his destiny. Ed’s problems weren’t his problems. Ed was upset he hadn’t been utilizing his time choosing what to do after he inevitably succeeded in his goal of finding Al’s body.

If Ling didn’t succeed in becoming emperor, all of his clan's people would die. And whoever became emperor could kill a lot more than that. His success depended on a goal so outlandish that most people dismissed it as a childish fantasy. Success meant a long life of being more responsible for more people than he could count in ten lifetimes. 

A heavy touch landed on his shoulder. Ed must have been talking to him, but he hadn’t heard anything at all. 

“Are you ok, Ling?” Ed’s earlier anxiety was replaced by worry. Now that Ling had been pulled out from his thoughts, he could feel Ed’s other hand on his knee. Anchors to the present. 

Ling smiled. He opened his mouth to assure Ed he was fine and maybe he’d take a nap since Ed wouldn’t, but Ed was already shaking his head.

“You don’t have to do that.” Ed let go of Ling’s shoulder and leaned back against the couch. He laid his head back, staring up at the window Ling came in. “I don’t have anyone I can actually talk to either, you know. Everyone expects something of me.”

“I expect something from you, too.” Ling leaned back beside Ed. Their shoulders bumped into each other on the couch, skin against skin. The smell of blood receded. Ling’s stomach growled again.

“No, you want something from me. That’s not the same as expecting something of me.”

Ling turned to look at the alchemist, surprised. “Explain.”

“Winry expects me to keep her and Al safe, to keep all my promises and then return home. Al, of course, expects me to get his body back. And I will. I want to. He should expect it of me. The Colonel and Hawkeye expect me to be an amazing alchemist, but they also expect me to be ok. Compared to all of that…” Ed sighed. “Compared to that, telling you about the philosopher’s stone is just a conversation. Just me telling you about Alchemy and my research.”

“So you’re saying you would have told me about the philosopher’s stone without me blowing up Gluttony’s head?”

Ed scoffed. “Don’t pretend you didn’t feel like a badass.”

“I was terrified. I'd like to see you stick your whole arm in that thing’s mouth.” They both laughed. Though truly, Ling was terrified of Gluttony. And Envy. All of the Homunculi who had too many souls. He thought Ed probably was, too.

“Well, you certainly looked confident. And fast, too. You’ll have to teach me some moves. Maybe I'll finally beat Al in a fight.”

They didn’t talk for so long that Ling drifted into sleep. His side pressed against Ed’s. Their legs touched hip to knee. Ling could feel the jutting edge of the automail through Ed’s jeans.  To his surprise, Ed’s head leaned into his, stirring him. Ling turned to see if Ed was asleep and was greeted with a face full of golden hair.

Ling moved carefully. Ed was fast asleep. He didn’t even seem to notice Ling’s arm move to circle around his shoulders. 

The memory of the dark, and the blood, and the souls crying out dimmed. Quieter, until Ling could almost convince himself those monsters had just been a bad dream. He ran his fingers through Ed’s hair and considered.

They’d grown closer, since their run in with Gluttony and the desperate run from Father’s base below Central. Since his introduction to Ling, both Envy and Wrath had been relentless in hunting him down. And still, he came here. Still, he waited out the nights with an anchor that told him the darkness was safe.

“You know, I’m going to use that stone eventually.” Ling kept his voice low. He didn’t actually want to confess anything to Ed. Not while the shorter man was sleeping so soundly. “No matter how it was made, I can’t let all my people die.”

Ed didn’t stir. Ling hummed. A thought twisted through his chest. “It would probably be better if you hated me now instead of later. But I just can’t bring myself to warn you. I’m a selfish, selfish man.”

Ling drifted off again eventually. It was hard to sleep on the couch without ending up awkwardly wrapped around Ed or falling off onto the hard wood.

When he woke in the morning, he was surprised to find Ed still leaning on his shoulder, fast asleep. The sun flooded the window and suddenly Ling was back in Xing, in his mother’s field. Strands of gold spilled between his fingertips.

“Xingese gold…” Ling murmured.

“What?” Ed yawned and sat up. “God, your breath stinks.”

Ling snorted. “You’re one to talk.”

Ling’s face burned. Every time he’d done this before, Ed had slept in his own bed. They’d come dangerously close to cuddling. With Ling’s increasing dependency on his visits with Ed, he wasn’t sure how to interpret the new developments. 

“What’s Xingese gold?” Ed stood and stretched. 

Ling smiled, remembering his mother sitting among the flowers. He pulled his book from his pocket. “I’ll show you.” 

The flower was faded and fragile. Ling didn’t dare move the flower off the paper. “Only my clan in Xing can grow this specific shade. My mother called it Xingese gold.”

“That’s… random.” Ed shrugged. 

“Just a dream, that’s all.” Ling stretched his grin wide again. “Though, your hair is the exact same shade.”

Ed’s cheeks tinged pink. “Hey, about last night…”

“No one has to know Edward Elric thought I looked cool when I fought the homunculus.” Ling patted Ed’s head, a motion he knew the short alchemist would hate. Ed fumed, but didn’t shout like Ling expected.

“Just so you know, Ling. If you accept that stone, I’ll fight it out of you.” Ed turned, picking up a new set of clothes for the day. “And if it kills you, it won’t make it to Xing to rule with your body.”

The anxiety in Ling’s chest burst. Fear, anger, worry splashed around his insides, coating his thoughts with an existential dread. Ed had heard him last night. Had heard him and rejected hating him.

Ling climbed into the window. 

Edward didn’t look back to see him leave.

Besides, no matter how Ling felt about what Ed had said, they both knew he’d be back when the darkness came.

[fanficshiddles]

Zigzag, Chapter 8

Tom squeezed harder, his leather covered hands wrapped tightly around her neck. Her hands were bound above her, she was unable to escape him as she struggled for breath, eyes wide.

‘This is what you wanted, wasn’t it?’ He growled, snapping his hips against her.

Grace came hard on his cock, clamping down around him as she came. Tom faltered in his movements, his grip around her neck lessened in time to allow her to breathe again. He moaned and kept grinding as deep as he could within her before cumming himself.

He collapsed next to her, smoothing her hair back from her forehead as her eyes fluttered and she turned her head towards him.

‘I… didn’t go too far, did I?’ Tom panted.

Grace had been begging him practically all day to tie her up and choke her during sex. He eventually relented and gave in to her wishes, secretly delighted to be doing so.

‘No… that was… incredible.’ Grace grinned and closed her eyes.

Tom remembered she was still bound, so he quickly untied her and kissed her inner wrists softly. ‘Not sore?’

She shook her head with a smile as she lay her head on his chest. Tom put his arm around her and started stroking her back softly.

‘Can I take the gloves off now?’ Tom chuckled.

‘If you must.’ Grace smirked.

-

It had been a few days since Grace had her run in with Zigzag. He was constantly on her mind, she was ashamed to say. She even wrote about her experience with him in her article, getting a lot of good feedback from not only her boss but other newspapers too, offering her a job with them instead.

But she declined, she was happy where she was.

One day she got home, Tom was still at work so she decided to just go watch a film. But as she picked up the mail and skimmed through it all, one letter caught her eye. It didn’t look like bills or anything similar.

It was addressed to her. She put the rest of the mail down and opened it up, her eyes widened as she read the typed-out letter, heart beating like mad.

Dear, Grace.

It was lovely to meet you the other night, I hope you got home safely afterwards. Well… I know you did. I read your article about our little meeting. Quite the journalist you are, I’ve read all your works and I’m very impressed.

Though I must say, I was rather miffed at first with your name for me. How dare you decide on my name, one that everyone will remember me by for years to come… But then I realised, it’s not so bad actually. I’ve grown rather fond of it, luckily for you.

I thought I would let you in on a little secret that you can share with the world, if you’d like to.

My first kill, Mr Shawman. Was, believe it or not, an accident. I know the police are yet to get a suspect, and it is not connected to my other work. You see, I panicked and ran after I stabbed him. I had just been SO angry with what he was doing, I saw red. But afterwards, I realised what a rush it was to have taken someone’s life, to have removed him from society.

Where is the knife now, you may wonder? Well, the best place to hide something like that is in plain sight. Me and my partner use that knife on occasion in the kitchen. It’s sliced through many meat, not only human flesh.

What you do with this information is entirely up to you. It may help further your career, if you so wish it to.

Or it could be our little secret.

Yours truly,

Zigzag

Grace had to sit down, she couldn’t quite believe that Zigzag had actually reached out to her. Her hands were shaking as she read it again and again, taking everything in.

Her blood had run cold at first when she read the part about him not being happy with his nickname, but she was relieved beyond belief when he seemed ok with it now.

To her slight embarrassment, she realised she was a tiny bit aroused at having a letter from Zigzag… She knew that was wrong, but she couldn’t help it.

Taking deep breaths, she put the letter down and went to get a drink of water. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do. Should she tell the police? Should she write about it in her column?

She had to tell Tom, that was for sure. She wouldn’t keep anything from him.

-

Tom came home a few hours later and he found Grace cooking in the kitchen. She was slicing through some chicken with a large kitchen knife when Tom approached her and kissed her on the lips as he slid his arm around her.

‘Hello, love. Good day?’ He hummed, kissing her shoulder as he then looked at the knife in her hands, a slight smirk on his lips hidden against her shoulder.

‘You wouldn’t believe the kind of day I’ve had… Look at the letter on the table.’ Grace motioned with her head.

‘Oh?’ Tom wandered over and picked it up to read.

His eyes widened in amazement yet also confusion and a little fear too.

‘Grace… You need to give this to the police!’ He said as he rushed over to her, holding the note.

‘I… I don’t know what I will do with it yet, Tom. I mean, I know that’s a confession. But…’

‘But, what?’ Tom frowned.

‘I… I don’t know.’ She sighed and put the knife down as she leaned against the counter for support. ‘Is it mad that I kind… am honoured that he’s got in touch with me? I mean, he saved me and now has written to me.’ She said sheepishly.

‘Grace. This isn’t good. A serial killer has our address. He knows where you live. And he has taken an interest in you! We have to go to the police with this.’ Tom frowned, so concerned.

She ran her hands down her face and sighed. ‘Ok… ok. You’re right. And it needs to get out there, that he killed Mr Shawman.’

After dinner, Tom and Grace went down to the police station to hand in the letter.

‘Have you touched this letter without gloves?’ The policeman asked Grace.

‘I have.’ She nodded. ‘And so has Tom.’ She motioned to Tom next to her.

‘Alright, I’ll need both your fingerprints to put on file, so we can rule you both out when we’re checking it.’ He said as he slipped the letter into a clear bag and then took off his rubber gloves.

‘Sure, no problem.’ Tom smiled and put his arm around Grace. ‘You did the right thing, love.’ He said to her and kissed the top of her head.

‘I know… I know.’ She nodded and smiled up at him.

[aggresivelyfriendly]

Tis the Damn Season

Chapter Five- Santa Baby

Hello, I took a couple weeks, because life can be busy, and mine is changing, but here is a little 🎁!

Thanks to @dirtystyles, she’s the real gift!

"What are you wearing?"

"I'm sorry, but what?"

 It was all she could think to say. Emma hadn't heard from Harry in months. In August he had sent her a random picture of him in a collar with long hair. She knew he had chopped his hair months ago, it had caused an internet flurry and was one of the few times he'd emerged from hibernation. She might be miffed that his year-off apparently didn't include visiting her. Not that she had asked him to.

She'd never ask.

Emma might also be incredibly miffed that he had cut off his glorious hair. She'd rocked herself to sleep many a night thinking of the way it felt trailing ver her chest, then stomach, in the crevice of her thigh. The crunch and silk of it between her fingers when she got it between her fingers at the end of that path or when he was rocking her to sleep.

Thinking about his hair usually made her hot for him, and thinking of it gone made her nostalgic, and a little mad. And that was when the memory was fresh and jot months old.

In any case, she wasn't feeling very soft for him, and that was a sexy question. She definitely wasn't feeling wet for him.

She had just walked out of class on a freezing cold day before she was ready for it to be this chilly, and she had to ride her bike. Her class was on individual contribution to global crises. Emma was the first to point out that individuals were not the true climate change culprits, but every bit helped. She just wished she'd ridden one of the clean energy buses today. Today sucked.

"Your teeth are chattering Emma, you outside?" she made an affirmative sound and he wisely knew better than to wait for an answer after that. He'd set up this mood, after all. "Sorry, came out wrong, it was meant to be funny." Harry had an apology in his voice. It was like the first knead of a dough, but he had a long way to go. "Anyway, what I meant is, I'm Christmas shopping, and I was thinking about what you might like, was gonna get you a jumper, and I think I have an idea of your style, but wanted a little guidance, I'd hate to buy you something and have you hate it—"

"Harry, take a breath!" She could feel that smile he had a way of bringing to her lips, despite herself. She really wanted to be upset with him, but seemed he'd proved himself, or distracted her at least.

Emma can't quite get a full grasp on why she's irritated with the phone call with him.  She's not sure what she expected. They never had a conversation about it, about how they are just a little holiday fling. She's never even had a summer fling, so she doesn't know the rules but she assumes that they are not supposed to repeat year on year. Least not without some progress or a defining conversation where they decided on not a relationship. He was confusing. He'd been so happy to have a bit of extra time with her, she'd thought he might be in touch more, with his seemingly abundant free time. She's wanted him to be in touch more. But he hadn't.

She'd heard from him less than ever.

And now he was buying her gifts and making her smile. Damn him.

"I'm breathing, promise." He sighed. "I just could tell I'd pissed you off, and I don't want to. I've been thinking about Christmas, and well, I'm excited."

"I'm excited too. Holidays are exciting." Emma is not going to read into that. He's excited to be with his family. He's Christmas shopping for everyone. This is not about her, them.

There is no them.

There is no them, except between Christmas Eve and New Years. And that is purely physical.

These are the things she repeated to herself when she was sad, waiting for him to call or text. Sad from how he dragged himself from their pub bed saying he'd miss her and be in touch and then wasn't. His sweet nothings were like when people signed your yearbook K.I.T. She knew you weren't supposed to take those yearbook signings seriously, but he'd said it, not written it below some picture of him. That counted more, right? Than a picture? Those were cheap, especially of him; there were pictures of him everywhere, Emma was also upset that none of them looked like the real life him. Just a shade of his actual beauty.

She wanted to see him now. She missed him though she shouldn't.

Just over a month now until Christmas. And a busy one at that. She had so much data to sift through from the summer and a presentation she was basing on it was her culminating project. It would also make an early start on her field work come summer. Those things, academic, important things were her focused her life's work. Not delicious Harry Styles and his sweet holiday nothings.

"Yes, especially when I get my favorite for Christmas." Harry said bringing her back to the call they were on.

The meaning behind those words were a bit harder to ignore. All she could get out was "Oh?" Then she rolled her eyes at herself and cleared her throat and said, "Your mum's Christmas cake?"

He chuckled. "I am fond of that cake, I think I put on two stone last year from how much I ate. And she sent me home with one!"

Emma almost called bullshit on that. He'd expended all those calories, she'd been the apparatus.

She took a breath to speak, and he cut her off. "I don't mean the cake, anyway, I mean you: you're my favorite thing to have at Christmas. The best gift."

What was she supposed to say to that? Another eloquent oh? Instead she said, "Your favorite thing?" Playful offense on the word thing.

"Oh hush." He laughed. "You're my favorite, Emma. In case you want to be obtuse and miss my point. I'm very excited to see you."

She breathed in. All she could manage to reply with was "Me too."

She meant it, but as they got off the phone after setting up their usual tryst and a special meeting before the party to exchange gifts, she couldn't help but wonder if he did. If what he said was true, why the radio silence?

The gift on her lap on the train was large and ostentatious. She didn't have a ton of money for the it, student life, but her recipient was a millionaire, so she'd gone all out on the wrapping paper.

It was a frog in a Christmas hat, the motif on the paper. Emma remembered when she and Gemma had called Harry "frog boy" and he'd been mortified. But it had also found its way into their private rooms. Not when he was inside her, that would be weird, but when he looked up at her and grinned, all dimples and no teeth from where he likes to make her stomach a pillow.

How "Froggy" had become a term of endearment, she didn't know. The moment she'd seen the cute froggy in his holiday rig on the overpriced paper, she had stopped what she was doing, parked her bike with no lock, and popped in the shop.

She then had to find something to put in the paper. He'd been shopping for her this year, in October, and he'd said he was at the shop and she'd seen pictures of him hauling bags out of Gucci. That was not intimidating at all.

They had exchanged small things in years past. Harry had started it, he'd given a cookbook a friend recommended the year she went vegan. Then the next year he'd donated in her name to a clean air initiative. She'd just picked up odds and ends she thought he'd like, like a 100% recycled journal one year and a glass bottle set for his gym runs the next.

This year, she'd racked her brain, but she'd eventually found the perfect gift to fill her frog paper. She was getting better at this. He was entirely too good at it, and he was a quick learner. She'd been underwhelmed with the flowers he sent the first year and had explained that cut flowers made her sad. It seemed a waste to kill something for its fleeting beauty. Harry had nodded thoughtfully.

The next flower he sent was a gorgeous orchid, it arrived once she was back in Amsterdam and came with instructions. That first orchid had started a trend and between his gifts and her own new interest, her flat was looking very jungle esque.

Emma was always very excited to see him, but this year, after his call, there was more anticipation and preparation. If he was going to be ready for her, she would be ready for him.

She got a fresh haircut and trimmed her bush. The thrift store was kind to her, and her new Christmas jumper was perhaps less ugly than flattering, but that was ok with her. She particularly liked the way it lay over the skirt she'd planned to wear to the Twist's annual todo.

Her flights had been uneventful and her mother was elated and doting. Emma found it much more tolerable this year. Maybe she was just in the spirit, or maybe she'd been away from the village and her family long enough to actually miss them.

She definitely missed Harry.

He, predictably, had texted that his flight was delayed and he was trying to make arrangements, but he might not even make it in time for the party.

"I'm doing everything in my power to get there tonight. If I can't make my mother's party, but arrive tonight, can we meet? I'll call the inn."

"Yes." Was all she texted back. She found she was mourning their kiss beneath the mistletoe, and that he might miss her outfit. But Harry's power was considerable, and she had no doubt he would be at the Boar's Head in time to see what she planned to wear under the sweater.

Those pieces, she felt a twinge guilty about. They were pricey and definitely not second hand. Used pants were where she drew the line.

People, not Emma, bemoaned Harry's absence when those who still lived local or were able to travel home gathered for toast. Emma knew she wasn't the only one who came home partially to see Harry. It was why she was able to fly under Gem's radar, hopefully.

Gemma's only comment was, "He'll be here when he can." When Eloise asked where Harry was. She asked every year, it annoyed Gem, and took some of the heat off Emma. Eloise was so obvious, Gemma could direct some of her protective big sister vibes that way.

The night was winding down and Emma's third glass of champagne could use topping up. She'd just sidled into the kitchen to pop another bottle when a pair of arms came around her from behind.

She'd have dropped the bottle too if Harry had not pulled the most uncharacteristicly smooth and agile catch he'd ever made, whilst dipping her for a swoon worthy kiss.

"Harry!" Emma gasped, "What are you doing?" Her Hand went to find his hair, and she was sad to find it until she found his sharp, bare jaw instead. It cut through her nostalgia and she was able to appreciate his face on a new way. His lips.

"Getting my midnight kiss!"

"It's not New Year's." It was better, like new year's and her birthday combined, that kiss.

"Not yet!" He righted her but stayed wrapped around her while she popped the bottle. She poured him a glass too and had to refrain from holding his hand when she pulled him into the living room after they toasted.

He stole a kiss before they went to join the others.

It looked like his arrival was going to renew the party spirit, but he begged off as tired, and disappeared to his room by 1:30.

Emma wasn't sure what to do, or where to go, so she just slipped out the back at 2:00 when a car nearly gave her heart palpitations by pulling up right in front of her. The door popped open and Harry stuck his head out. "Cmon, it's our getaway car!"

She couldn't help but shake her head. "You disappeared and I didn't know what you wanted to do."

"Well, you obviously!" He giggled, high off the champagne and his conniving. "C'mon! We don't have that long. I wanna do Christmas morning with you!"

"It's still nighttime." Emma pointed out.

"Don't worry, we'll find something to do until the sun comes up." He looked up at her through his lashes and she couldn't help but bite her lips.

"What's the rush, Styles?" Emma asked as she climbed into the car. The driver seemed unconcerned and headed down the familiar lanes of a familiar place.

"No rush, I'm just excited and have to be back so I can sneak in for Christmas brunch."

"Oh." She knew that, it wasn't the first time.

"Not 'oh,' I want to give you your gifts on actual Christmas."

"Are you Santa Claus?" She teased as he pulled her into his chest.

"If that's what you're into? I'll be whoever you want me to be."

"Then just be you." She said with painful earnestness before she could stop herself.

Harry looked down at her in the cradle of his armpit and put his forehead to hers and gave her an Eskimo kiss. "As long as you're you."

Emma melted and if she hadn't been so tired and a little too drunk on bubbly she wouldn't have fallen asleep on the way to the Boar's Head.

"Baby," Harry whispered into her hair. "Wake up, we're here."

"I can't believe I fell asleep that fast."

"It's my voice, I've been told it has a sedative power."

"Sleepy is not usually how your voice makes me feel." What truth serum had she taken tonight?

"Well, I'll have to talk a lot to keep you up then. Hope you're refreshed after your little nap."

She was, and he kept her up but by 5:00, even his deep voice and other powers of persuasion couldn't keep her leaden lids open.

"Baby! Emma." Harry was kissing her awake and holding out a shirt for her slip on while slipping socks up her calves. "Present time."

"Ok, Santa baby." She yawned and let him drag her into the room where she had completely missed the tiny Charlie Brown tree in the corner. "Oh! You went all out." She looked at him in awe when she noticed the multicolored packages under the tree. "I only got you one thing," she was rubbing sleep out of her eyes and too tired to bullshit. "I'm feeling inadequate."

"Nah, I've heard it's better to give than receive."

"That's not what you said a couple hours ago."

"I'll give gifts if you give head." They both scrunched their brows. "Scratch the part where I made it sound like you were my sugar baby."

"Or a prostitute."She raised an arch brow.

"Nah, I couldn't afford you." He didn't even smirk.

So she responded, "I think you think that's a compliment."

He snort laughed and she couldn't help but smile with him. "I mean, you do it well enough to be paid for it, but by the face you're making I better quit talking and get to the spoiling to get myself out of trouble. Go on, open a present."

"Any order you envisioned."

"Um? No, the one where order matters I have a plan for."

"This isn't all?"

"This is most." He nodded and she felt a warm place under her breast that only ignited when he was being domestic.

Back in her old room in her childhood home, or in her flat in Amsterdam, she'd occasionally puzzle over these moments. They felt nothing short of boyfriendy, and she loved it. When she thought back on them, especially in the cold January days, they kept her warm and made her feel special. She hadn't ever felt that warm flush in her chest with anybody but Harry. She'd kind of avoided the feeling, usually.

By July, after long periods of silence where he was running around the world while she endeavored to save it, the glow of those days paled in the midnight sun. When he acted like a boyfriend, like they were more than a hookup and then ignored her, it hurt. When she was well into her yearly drought, and all she had were those shooting stars to wish upon, the sweeter he was, the more rich the ache, the aftertaste saccharine.

Emma could tell, his gifts and the joy he seemed to take in giving them would warm her to the backbone through January, and make her teeth hurt by July.

And still she couldn't convince herself to stop, to ask, to protect herself. She couldn't even detach a little, she was so excited about the little stuffed animal she had for him in return.

"Harry, this is beautiful!" She unfolded a gorgeous sweater dress of a fine wool knit that screamed warm.

"Yeah?" He smiled, pleaded with the praise and himself. "I was at Gucci, and I was gonna get you some stuff there, but they just didn't feel like you, so I started doing some research on sustainable brands and I found this one, and another. This one is good for day to day, it's called Ever Lane, and the next, Bode, it's great for retro pieces. Open the next one."

She'd been staring at him. He was going to buy her Gucci? This was better, but that seemed like a pretty penny to spend on your holiday hook up. She knew money wasn't really an object for him. He always paid for the hotel on their rendezvous and she never brought it up. It was always just taken care of. She wasn't a starving student, but she also wasn't an international pop star. These gifts felt big, bigger than what they were.

He liked to be generous. But, it felt like these gifts, the 5 packages and one coming later were a statement in a language she didn't understand.

"Harry, this is too much." Was all she could say. He didn't respond with words, just gave her a look and shrugged his shoulders like, 'what else am I supposed to do with it'.

Emma knew from Gemma that Harry took care of them, their vehicles and his mum's house and whatever they mentioned they wanted or he thought they'd like.

Gemma had said last year, when she was thrilling over her Christmas gifts, "It's the one time of year I let him get away with it. The rest of the time I've gotten to where I don't mention things I like or want, because they show up on my doorstep, you know?"

Emma had nodded even though she didn't know, but she did now. He was so thoughtful it hurt, but the implications troubled her.

"Open the next one. I'm really excited for it."

It was a beautiful jacket, mustard, her favorite color, and matching mittens.

"For when you want to ride your bike, but it's chilly. They're very warm." He remembered she was cold on her bike that day.

Emma knew he remembered her text after the 'what are you wearing' conversation about being grumpy because she had chosen to ride her bike but it was too cold. His big beating heart could melt snow.

She swallowed down the sentiments clogging her throat along with her worries. Should she ask? She'd have too, eventually. This was feeling more serious than it should be, like he wanted to call her babe for more than a weekend, like he wanted her to stay, with him.

It's what she wanted, in some part of her, but was completely out of the question. He had a big international life, and she had her own global ambition.

The rest was wrapped donation cards to causes she'd worked for or even mentioned. The last gift was a small box, and when she opened it, she cried, then laughed and handed him his box.

"What?" He said, "I can't tell if you're happy or sad about that gift?" He worries his bottom lip.

It was another frog, just like the one she'd picked as the tangible gift when she'd made the donation in his name.

Emma just shrugged and wiped her eyes. "Open it."

His bursting balloon laugh inflated her merry heart. "Did we really do the exact same thing?" His face had an odd look she could only call tender.

"Same wavelength, me and you." He was misty like she had been a moment ago. He leaned forward and kissed her. Then picked up their stuffed frogs and made them kiss like he was a small child playing dolls. "I almost don't want to separate them."

"Are we still talking about the frogs?" She laughed, because she had a feeling they weren't.

He shrugged and his phone began to buzz. "Can I take a rain check on answering that question? If I don't leave right now, they will know I stayed out all night on Christmas Eve, and there will be questions. I don't think we are quite ready to explain what we are." He chose that moment to yawn like a lion in the late afternoon after a long day of lounging and got up to leave.

Emma still had questions.He'd said not quite ready to explain what they were doing. Emma wasn't even sure what they were doing. Were they going to tell people, tell Gemma? Tell them what? That they were together? Wanted to be together? Belonged together. The frogs too, did the frogs belong together?

He was dressed by the time she was done freaking out. He looked tired, but exhilarated, like he'd spent a night getting everything he wanted and a few things he didn't know he needed. "Bye doll," he kissed her, right on the mouth, affectionately and with only a trace of the heat the December air lacked. "I'll see you tomorrow night. Merry Christmas! I wanna see you in the sweater," he was walking through the door. "Oh, and the other thing?"

"Other thing?" She looked at him confused.

He pointed underneath the tree. "Have another look."

Emma blushed when she opened the lingerie. She wondered if he'd had to check her pants and bras for sizes or if he just knew the shape of her well enough that he'd guessed accurately.

They looked really good.

She needed to be getting home as well. There would be no getting out of it, she needed an excuse for rolling in just in time for Christmas brunch, her parents were notorious early risers, as was she. Her plan was to tell them she'd just made too merry the night before and slept on the couch at the Twist's. It was truth adjacent. It was the best she could come up with, her head was full of Harry and she couldn't think.

Her Christmas passed in a blur of food and wine and wrapping paper. Harry had sent her a picture of him with a bow on his head and asked her if she felt spoiled enough or needed him to wear the bow the next day.

She'd told him to wear it. And only it.

She'd not expected him to follow directions both precisely and with some creative license.

"Do you really think your cock is a gift?" She tried to mock him, while he stood proudly, hips first in their room at the Boat's Head.

"Well, I intend to give it to you!" He raised his eyebrows and stalked toward her. "I like the sweater. Looks amazing, but? Probably better here." He swept it over her head and deposited it on the floor.

"That was atrocious!" She giggled, but felt no anxiety unlike the last day or so.

"Yeah, maybe, but I needed to see if you'd worn my other gift."

"I thought it was my gift."

"For both of us, I'd argue." He winked.

"You wink like a drunk pirate." She couldn't help but smile at him. His silly banter had completely removed the nerves she should be feeling, standing in front of him in a Santa red bra, panties, garter belt, and stockings. She'd sourced the Santa hat herself and the black heels were hers.

"I'm feeling drunk seeing you in this." His hands were running over the satin on her hips and the lace at her waist, then the bare flesh of her ass. "I think I even lied to myself. This was definitely my present." The last word was said against her lips and his big hands slid down the globes of her backside to between her thighs, hoisting her onto his hips. The trail his thumbs left had her shivering.

The bed rose up to meet her. Harry hovered over her before standing and staring.

"Are we on pause?" She was panting and really hoping they were not stopping let alone slowing.

He opened his hands like a director, "I'm just trying to remember this to keep me warm all year." He ran his hands from her toes to her curled hair, she'd gone all out, then back down. His face was full of anticipation and a hesitation she'd never seen when she was this bare, not even the first time when he was flush on bravado and international acclaim.

"What is it?" She started to sit up.

He groaned. "Wow, that move did great things for your chest."

Emma could only laugh. He was acting like he'd never seen a naked woman, when he'd probably seen more than his fair share, and had definitely seen her before.

"You're acting like you've never seen me before."

"It's always like the first time. You're overwhelming."

"I'm overwhelming?" She wanted to laugh, she saw him as Harry, at first her friend's brother, then the cute boy with the big career she'd hooked up with, then her favorite holiday surprise, and now she couldn't define exactly what he was to her, mostly Harry? Who she missed all year and cherished for a week at a time in person, a deeply in her heart the rest of the time. She remained aware, however, of who he was, at large.

"Absolutely, I can barely take you. Can't believe I get to have you." What did she say to that? She only nodded, it was mutual. "Listen," he continued, "Can I take a picture of you. I'll keep your face out of it."

She thought for a moment, thrilled that he wanted to save this memory, to relive this moment until they met again. She didn't have any pictures of him, and thought there were so many online, none of them were really of him. "Yeah, go on Harry."

Maybe she should take one back. Save the neck down one place and the neck up as her wallpaper, she could get away with it. She saw classmates with him as their Home Screen. Her plans kept the nerves at bay while he got his set up ready.

He posed a leg, had her lay back, and then sit up. He took about 5 pictures on his phone, then three Polaroids, and by then she was getting into it. She was moving in ways that made her feel sexy and he was getting antsy.

"I'll show you, so you can approve, after." He discarded the phone and pulled his jumper over his head before crawling up the bed and over her.

"I trust you Harry. It's fine."

She wasn't sure what it was about those words, but he grew, thicker between her thighs and larger in her presence before he was kissing her bra off and asking if he could leave the stockings and shoes on.

"'Mmmhmmm." Emma moaned from her perch on the pillows looking down watching him pull her panties free and reattaching her stockings. "Damn." He kissed both places and flipped her over to skate his lips up her thighs and ass and back. Her hair was over her face while he kissed her neck and rutted into her with his jeans still on. She grabbed a handful of his glorious hair and kissed him over her shoulder. "Like this?" She asked.

"Mmhmmm." He echoed and she felt him kicking his jeggings free and sliding on the condom. She was flat on the mattress and unsure if he wanted her to push back on her knees. She didn't need to think about it long, he hoisted her up, and pressed a gentle hand between her shoulder blades so her body arched like a slide. His fingers climbed up to cascade down her backbone in an echo of the ride he was about to take down. He was right there, hovering, and Emma pushed back, but the whine in her voice was the more obvious tell.

"Baby, I need you."

"I need you, so much. Miss you when I'm gone."

She missed him when she was gone too. He slid his head in and waited. Emma wasn't really in control of the clenching this caused and it made Harry lose his grip on his. The smack of his hips against her thighs reverberated off the borrowed walls they considered their own.

He stroked her inside out and commented on the grip of her onto his dick. "It's like you don't want to let me go," he whispered into her ear.

Emma turned her head and breathed, "I don't want to." The kiss broke his rhythm and lingered until her clenching started over, again. How was she so close so soon?

"No, no, no." She whined when he pulled out.

"Shhhh, I've got you." He knew she was onto something, they'd become practiced hands at each other's pleasure.

He flipped her over and smoothed her hair back, bracketing her face between his hands like an aside he needed to voice right at that moment. "I just want to see you."

He went back in with ease, and with anybody else she might be ashamed for how embarrassingly wet she was, for the squelch. "God! Harry!" Her thighs came up to his hips and he hitched one over his elbow and open, then lay a good portion of his weight onto her. It was just the right side of too much. Just like all of him.

"Let me find it again, that high you were chasing?"

She was nodding, babbling. He picked up the rhythm from before and added a tiny rut at the end to the swelling of her clit. She was back on the trail to the summit quickly. It had been good, if fumbling, from night one. By this gift season, it was like he had installed all of her buttons personally and could push her to the edge at will. Her eyes were closed and she was concentrating hard on the oasis just beyond her horizon.

"Baby," he whispered, his breath soft and scented like her lip balm. "Open your eyes." He was just over her and he wrapped her open thigh back and around his knee. "Watch me," he made a c with his body so she could watch the goings on and feel them too.

"Oh, fuck."

"I love your filthy mouth. When you get going. Demure driven Emma on the brink has a dirty dirty mouth."

She'd narrow her eyes at him if she could bear to look away from his cock.

"Baby!" She gasped.

"Hold it, stay, just a little longer." He kissed her and then compelled her eyes to his. "I'll come with you."

His nose touched hers at just the tip and he rocked her and watched as she trembled and held off and pleaded. "Now, now, come now." He grit his teeth in preparation, but he needn't have worried, the minute he commanded it, she obeyed and the body roll of sensation ran from the roots of her hair to the bends of her knees.

He seized and his head fell back, but as soon as he was in command of himself again, his eyes were back on hers. "I love...," he gasped and her mind raced over what the hell he might say. What she wanted to gasp back. It was a bit of a comedown as opposed to a denouement when he filled in, "...having you for Christmas."

He buried his face in her neck and breathed into the nooks and crannies she thought she had kept safe from him.

Which was why it hurt so much when she had to tell him no.

His final gift, complete with an aching grin, had been an open ended ticket. "So you can come to me, with me, on tour."

She knew her brow knotted up like a bundle of discarded yarn. That wasn't the agreement. And she couldn't, couldn't even allow herself to want it. She had her PhD program looming. There was no time to go anywhere this fall.

"Harry, you know I can't."

He looked crestfallen, like this was new information and not why they only got these stolen snowbound days once a year. "Can't or won't?" He was verging on angry and it would piss her off if her heart wasn't so close to fissuring.

Honesty was her only policy, "Both." She handed the ticket back to him.

It ruined their night, the movie they tried to distract themselves with, the goodbye sex they didn't have.

He wasn't even there when she woke up the next morning.

But the tickets were on his pillow with a small note, "Change your mind, please. I'll be seeing you. H."

[captainillogical]

Home Ch.4

The domesticity of living with an alien who hasn’t quite had the chance at a normal life.

Distant Lands sequel.

Spinel/Reader

collab with my lovely wife @firstofficertightpants​

Today is another hot, bright day outside, and you have not had enough coffee to deal with it. Or any at all, actually.

Currently it's about an hour before your first lesson, and you're at Kiki's place - sitting on the toilet inside her bathroom in particular - trying to not panic.

"-and then! I told her if she wants to keep borrowing my jacket, the least she can do is NOT get mustard all over it! Can you believe her?!" Kiki huffs out next to your ear, dabbing more pigmented cover-up against your collarbone.

"Why the hell do you buy clothes that you know she'll keep stealing? You know she's not going to stop since you basically wear the same size." You reply, leaning into her brush. It tickles your skin, and you feel yourself almost sneezing.

"Because they're cuuuuuute, okay?" She whines, twisting her face in concentration as she smears makeup on a particular spot on your neck. "Wow she really did a number on you here.. are these teeth marks?"

"Pretend you didn't see them, just cover them up as best as you can," You plead, giving her The Face you know she can't resist. She rolls her eyes. "I just wanna look professional, you know?"

"They're gems, Y/N." She makes a point to jab you particularly hard on the side of your neck with her brush. "You seriously think they're going to care? Or notice?"

"Well, apparently a few humans signed up too, and I really would prefer to not get any more looks, er - more than the usual, anyway." You feel your phone vibrate in hand, and look down to see Steven giving you several thumbs up to your earlier text. 

"Why are humans signing up?" She asks, pausing momentarily.

"Not sure? But I'm blaming Steven on that." You reply, remembering to shoot Garnet a message as well about having her attend just in case you make a fool out of yourself in front of a crowd.

"Maybe they saw you with Spinel, and thought, hey, maybe the rest of us could-" 

A door slams against a wall, and you hear a resounding 'HEYYYYYYYY' from the hallway in a very familiar voice. Several pairs of footsteps are walking towards the bathroom the two of you are in.

Oh god, you need to go. You attempt to stand up from sitting on the toilet, and Kiki forces a hand on your shoulder with an "I'm not done!"

"Kiki!" Jenny pops her face into the bathroom doorway with an infectious smile. "What are you dooooooooo- whoa, Y/N?!" 

If you could clap your hands and disappear, you would.

"Heyyyyy Jenny," You greet her as flatly as you can, and then Lars also pops his head into the doorway. Oh. Great. "Lars. What are you guys doing here?"

Lars gasps dramatically, pointing to your neck. "YOOOOOOOUUUUUU-"

Kiki silences him with her palm over his mouth. "Dude I already told you, why are you being so dramatic right now,"

"You TOLD him?!" You screech, feeling completely betrayed.

"Well, YEAH, clearly you were going to just internalize it and dance around the subject!" She places her hands on her hips, makeup brush still in her fist. "I'm just expediting the process!"

"Tell him what!?" Jenny pipes in, completely engrossed.

"That Y/N's dating Spinel!" Kiki huffs out, like this is obvious information, and Jenny gasps.

“I wasn’t going to dance around the subject!! I just haven’t had the chance to shoot him a text yet..” You mumble, trailing off sheepishly. Okay, so, you know you should’ve told Lars already! It’s just.. Ugh. Talking about your feelings is hard. The face Jenny’s making is making you wish you could flush yourself down the toilet.

“You dumbass, were you seeing how long you could hide this from me?! After all I did for you.” Lars crosses his arms over his chest, miffed. “It’s whatever, I knew that was going to happen sooner rather than later, anyway. I was expecting like, two days, tops - with how you had talked about her.”

“Am I that obvious?” You ask flatly.

“Uh, yeah.” Jenny gives you a look. “Girl, you avoided me for an entire year after I asked you out, and then acted like nothing ever happened. I probably would have recovered my ego a lot faster if I knew your type was Gems.”

“My type isn’t GEMS,” You sputter, utterly amazed at the audacity of the three of them.

“Yeah but your neck says otherwise,” Lars teases, and you groan, covering your face as the other two howl in laughter.

“Remind me why I’m friends with any of you?” You say, muffled behind your hands.

“Um, because you have no other options?” Kiki grins, and you put your hands down just to lightly kick her on the shins, and she chokes out a snort.

“So, what’s the occasion? Why are you dolling up Y/N?” Jenny peers over at you, taking in the new.. upgrades to your appearance.

“She’s got some lessons today, and wanted to look more professional,” Kiki rolls her eyes, like somehow you wanting to not talk to a class looking like you got half-mauled by a sea lion is ridiculous. “Speaking of, did you want me to cover the scar on your face?”

“Ehhh, leave it. I don’t really care about that.” You look at the time on your phone, knowing you need to leave soon. Spinel has texted you a few words of encouragement coupled with quite a pile of heart emojis, and you have to school your face into not smiling at it like some sort of cheese ball.

"I think you look cooler with it anyway," Jenny tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, her gold earrings shining in the light of the bathroom. "Makes you look like you won't take shit from anyone."

"What about my scar?" Lars asks. "Is my face scar not cool??"

"Yours looks more like you fought a raccoon in a dumpster." Jenny grins, and you can't help the laugh that comes out of your mouth as Lars sputters at her response.

The four of you chat for a little while longer while you finish up with Kiki, Jenny asking way too many questions about your personal life - but this time, you don't feel uneasy at all about sharing some of the details with her. 

-

You're standing in the middle of Little Homeworld near the town center, coffee in hand - surveying the area as people and gems hustle around you. You probably should've also grabbed something to eat, but it's kind of too late now. Steven's bringing you lunch after this anyway.

It's twenty minutes until your first lesson, and you're starting to see a few gems show up early. They had to relocate where you'd be having the class - originally they had given you a decent spot under some coverage, but because the attendance got so high they moved you to the literal town center for the space. There's a lot of gems (and some humans) around, and most of them are either working on small construction or going about doing their other jobs. You watch three Amethysts a few yards away struggle to lift a large sheet of glass for what looks like a new cafe. Huh. The gems are really trying for inclusivity here. 

You turn around to look at your chalkboard that Garnet placed here for you, and write out a giant welcome sign on it, along with the class title and your name. You could've probably written it a little more eloquently.. eh. The gems aren't going to care. There's some sudden yelling coming from around you, so you turn to look - one of the Amethysts nearly dropped her side of the glass because someone bumped her — aaaand it's Spinel, with Bismuth next to her, who are reading over some blueprints.

You stand there, hoping Spinel hasn't seen you. She doesn't know your class got moved, but you're positive she was supposed to be working with not Bismuth today. Great. You don't need a reason to be any more anxious about this than you are, even if seeing her pink hair kind of sets you also at ease. 

More people and gems walk by loudly, and you start to wonder if you're going to need a megaphone. You grab your stack of papers, and go over your notes on your bench while you bide your time until it's noon.

About five minutes pass, and someone sits next to you on your bench. 

"Heyyyy." A familiar voice speaks, and you look up - you're greeted with the smiling face of that rose quartz you've bumped into twice. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Oh, it's you," You reply, a bit off-guard. You weren't expecting anyone to sit and chat with you, nonetheless the very specific gem you keep randomly meeting. 

"Saw you sitting here, and wanted to say hello before I went to this class I signed up for," She holds out her hand, her bright smile not making you feel as uneasy as it did the previous day. "I realized I never introduced myself. You can call me Rosie, if you want. The other quartzes have taken a liking to it."

"Rosie, huh.. that's actually a nice name. Mine's Y/N." You return her smile, and shake her hand.. which is strangely soft.

"Are you here for the lesson too? I'm pretty excited about this one, this has to be the most interesting class they've got on the current schedule right now." She leans in, putting an arm up on the bench back for support. More gems have started to gather in the centre now. 

"I am, but I'm actually the one teaching it.." You reply almost sheepishly, and her eyes widen in response.

"You're teaching it?!" She lights up immediately. "I thought it was just gonna be one of the other gems! No wonder so many came here from Homeworld for this!"

"... you're pulling my leg, right? How would any of them have heard of this? We only posted this class within the last week, and just on the singular board." You feel the bubbles of dread in your stomach. Or maybe that's just the excessive caffeine.

"I heard a couple talking about fliers over there, I'm not sure, but they were so excited." She takes a second to look around, and lowers her voice briefly. "I heard that one of the Diamonds wanted to attend, even."

WHAT. Your brain cannot deal with this information.

"B-but they're not, right?" You hear your voice waver, and you push your creeping anxiety down. "I don't think I can deal with a Diamond here, today."

She laughs, and it's not mockingly. It's almost sweet, actually.

"That would be something, wouldn't it?" She winks at you, a light smile on her face. "But no. I don't see their gaudy ships, so I think you can rest easy."

“Phewwwww,” You dramatically wipe your hands down your face, and let out a groan. “I was so worried there for a sec. What would the Diamonds care about interacting with humans, anyway? So absurd.”

“I have no idea,” She giggles at your antics. “Your guess would be about as good as mine.”

You see Spinel staring in your general direction, and your heart rate speeds up when you see her eyes connect with yours. Her face lights up like you’re the best thing she’s ever seen in her life, and you can’t stop the goofy smile that breaks out on your face. You wave at her, and she nearly drops the box she’s holding to enthusiastically wave back.

“Who’s that?” Rosie asks, face turned to peer at Spinel way over there.

“My girlfriend.” Is what comes out of your mouth automatically, and she whips her head back to stare at you with a strange face.

“You’re dating a gem?!” She hisses out, clearly shocked as her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline.

“Yes - jeez, why does everyone always react this way - and it’s not THAT weird, before you ask,” You say, feeling your face heat up in embarrassment.

“And a Spinel, of all gems? No offense.” She looks back over to stare at said pink-haired gem, before turning back to you. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You give her a look, taking immediate offense to her statement. She brings her hands up in defense.

“I didn’t mean it like - It’s just, Spinels seemed to always be designed for friendship; not romance. I’ve physically witnessed three dating catastrophes between them and other gems, in my time.”

“Well, my Spinel is perfectly fine.” You say, and it comes out a little more aggressively than you had wanted, and she recoils a bit. “But thanks for your concern.”

“I'm sorry, it wasn’t my intention to offend you.” She at least has the decency to look apologetic. “How long have you two been dating?”

“We just started this week..” You answer.

“New relationship, huh.” She looks like she’s studying your face, and you’re not sure how you feel about it. “I do wish you two the best,”- There’s a sudden low murmur in the group of gems nearby you, and you look over to see what they’re mumbling about.

Fucking hell.

Jasper, yeah THAT Jasper, is standing over in the now pretty fucking large crowd of gems that’s gathered to attend your class, and you don’t know whether to laugh or scream. 

“Whoa, she’s huge.” Rosie does a double-take at said gem, eyes widening hilariously.

“Yeah, a huge bitch. Jasper fucking hates humans, why the hell is she even here?” You groan, hoping that maybe she’ll just sit quietly and not make any remarks or heckle the other students.

"You know her?" She asks, amused by your response.

"Unfortunately, thanks to Steven." 

"That kid is some kind of magnet for problems of all shapes and sizes." She laughs, shaking her head.

"You don't even know the half of it.." You give her a tired look, and she laughs even more. She asks you a few more questions about Steven and your life, and you answer them truthfully while attempting to distract your anxiety.

-

A hundred gems is your turnout. A bit over, actually, and a handful of humans too.

You maybe feel just a little in over your head with this, but, well.. it's too late now. You spot quite a few gems you've seen before in the crowd, as well as Onion of course, and your neighbor George. You even spot Buck sitting in the middle of a group of Lapis who look like they're discussing heavy gossip with him, and he's actually engaged. Interesting.

There are.. so many eyes peering at you. You've never talked to a crowd this big in your entire life, and public speaking has never been your strong suit. But these gems came here for a specific reason, and goddammit, the thought of Pearl or Sour Cream teaching this instead in your place just doesn't sit right with you at this point.

You greet the class once the volume dies down enough, and a wave of enthusiastic greetings come back at you. You see Garnet in the corner and she gives you a thumbs up, and honestly it makes you feel a lot better that she's here.

You start off with your orientation notes, and talk generally about the basics, mainly about the similarities between gems and humans as common ground. Literally only about three minutes into this class, and a quartz that is most likely from Homeworld raises her hand. You call on her.

"Is it true that humans eat their younglings?" She shouts out from the middle of the crowd, her vibrant purple hair half covering one of her eyes. 

"Er," You stumble on your words, a little perturbed that that's the first question you get. "No, humans don't eat their young at all, you're probably confusing us with some other species."

She nods, like that sounds like the right answer, and then about twenty more hands shoot up.

"Let's save the questions until I at least get through this pile of papers, guys," You insist, and a noise of disapproval comes from near the front left side of the group. You turn your head, and.. it's fucking Jasper. Does she know that you'd throw hands with her if it were not for the fact that you're trying to be professional? 

You completely ignore her, and continue on with what you were previously talking about.

A good 20-25 minutes pass, and you're now in a good place to stop so people can ask their questions. A few humans you don't recognize ask you about how you know so much, and you answer truthfully. You briefly talk about living with Steven and the Crystal Gems, and how easy it was to co-exist. 

A LOT more hands pop up after that. 

"This might sound strange, but how do you ask a human to be friends?" The Lapis you call on asks. 

"You can just ask. Humans do it too. Sometimes people prefer to form them naturally though, but if you guys are already talking then it's a good sign." 

"But what about if they scream at you?" Another gem blurts out, and you curb the bark of laughter that wants to escape from your mouth.

"Generally speaking, what do you do if a gem screams at you? Same principle. Guys, humans and gems are way more similar than you think, and communication is key in this." At least your voice is steady, and you don't really feel as anxious as you were before, since the class seems to actually be going smoother than you had thought.

The giant hand of the Morganite in the middle of the crowd waves frantically, and you call on her with amusement. It's kind of cute how excited and interested a lot of the gems are. "You seem to have a ton of gem friends, and I have no human friends! Could you be my first?" She yells at you.

"Oh, I don't see why not," You answer truthfully, feeling a bit sheepish and taken aback by her request. Once those words leave your lips though, half the crowd starts shouting - ME! ME TOO! COULD YOU BE MY FRIEND?? - and you can't help feeling a little flustered as you try to calm the class down, taking a few more regular questions to keep it going.

You don't even realize through the noise of the center of little Homeworld when you spot a camera crew at the edge of your crowd, setting something up. It's the fucking local news station, what the FUUUUUUUUCK. You try not to outwardly display your internal panic and it's proving to be one of the hardest things you've ever done.

"When did you get that scar?" Jasper stares at you from her seat, pointing to your face.

You freeze momentarily at the lack of tact in that question, and that's when you spot Spinel off to the side of the class, at the edge of the crowd of students. Your brain stutters.

"U-um. It was during an accident with my girlfriend." You blurt out quickly, and instantly regret those words. You should've fucking lied or something because you can see Rosie narrowing her eyes at you in the front.

"Is that why you look like that now?" Jasper grunts out, crossing her arms. If you could throttle her you would in a heartbeat.

"Yes." You state firmly, meeting her gaze. She looks a little surprised at your answers. "Anyway, moving on." You hear a few murmurs in the crowd after that, opting to ignore how anxious it makes you.

You answer a few more questions, and try to not look at Spinel who keeps raising her hand with the rest of the gems. Shouldn't she be working?! Oh god, of course the camera crew is actually filming something - you can barely offhandedly hear the reporter spouting off something about little Homeworld into the camera as it pans around him. 

Your heartbeats are hammering in your chest, but you move onto more questions and try to keep your cool. Eventually you can't ignore how obnoxiously your girlfriend is raising and waving her hand trying to get your attention - several gems around her keep pointing at her so you'll give her a chance.

Oh, little do they know.

You sigh, resigning to letting her ask a question.

"Spinel." You call on her with a pointer finger as neutrally as possible, which is way harder than you had thought.

"Finally!" She cries with a fist pump, and a few people around her chuckle. "I just wanted ‘ta ask, is it possible for a gem and a human to fuse?”

You feel yourself freeze on the spot, taken completely by surprise. There’s a couple murmurs among the crowd.

Why the fuck is she asking that.

“U-um, no, unfortunately there’s no way to do that because of the differences in our biological make-up,” You say, feeling your face heat up in embarrassment - there are so many eyes staring at you.

“Well that sucks!” A random gem in the crowd shouts, and quite a few gems erupt in laughter. 

You try your best to wind them down and finish with their many, many questions.

It isn’t long until the class is over - you had only taken up hour sessions, and you’re so thankful for it. The class went over well, and many gems walk up to you to chat and shake your hand, and the local news station seems to be interviewing a couple gems on what went on - you guess there’s some sort or segment they’re doing on Little Homeworld, and today just happens to be the day they chose to do that.

You avoid the camera crew as much as possible as you tidy up your belongings, and Spinel walks up to you as you gather your papers in your arms.

“That went pretty good!” She beams at you, looking proud. You squash your feelings of affection that overwhelm you - you wish you could kiss her if you were not in public.

“Yeah, and if you ever ask me a question like that in my classes again, I’m actually going to ban you. I’ll even put up a photo of your face so the other’s know to barr you from the class.” You scoff at her, and she completely disregards it, getting a little closer to you to give you a look that you recognise as her challenging you.

“That wouldn’t work on me anyway,” She grins, hand raising up to tuck the stray hair that just flew into your face - she looks to the side of you briefly as you hear footsteps and speaking - 

FUCKKK, THE REPORTER IS WALKING RIGHT OVER HERE.

Your eyes dart back to Spinel, body posed to leave. “U-Um, I gotta-”

“Ma’am! Maaaaa’am!” You hear the reporter shout at you. 

Cool cool, keep it cool. Just breathe. You want to vomit.

"You two look pretty close." He remarks as he jogs up to you, slightly out of breath. The cameraman follows him, and if you could run you would. But you'd rather not be turned into a local meme, so your feet are firmly planted in the spot. "I wanted to catch you before you left, Miss Teacher!" He smiles brightly at you - that you know is just for the camera. 

"I was just finishing up." You smile politely. 

"I wanted to ask you a few questions regarding the class you just held if that's alright with you?" He asks, adjusting the small mic on his collar. He also holds up the microphone that the logo of the local news station is emblazoned on.

"Sure." You feel your nerves go haywire. This is way, waaaay too much pressure for you, you feel like you're going to faint, the fucking cameraman just winked at you.

"What's your name, firstly." 

"Y/N." You answer him with just your first name, and he gives you a look. 

"Last name? You gotta have a last name." He insists. 

You tell him your last name, and his eyebrows furrow before they shoot up into his hairline.

"Last name, last name?" He implores, holding the microphone closer to your face.  "Like, -last name- the lawyer working on that Gem case in Empire city, -last name-!?"

Oh. You forgot about your father. 

"Y-yes," You stutter out in a panic, and instantly regret waking up this morning.

God fucking dammit.

[geeks-universe]

Veritas Vos Liberabit V

The truth will set you free.

Previous Part

Next Part

Tag List: @the-british-koala @ilearnedthatfromethepizzaman @shadowalley 

“You’re not fooling anyone,” John muttered, watching his friend from the doorway.

He’d been standing there for the past few minutes, waiting for Sherlock to acknowledge him. It really didn’t come as a surprise when he didn’t, but John figured he’d take the opportunity to study Sherlock.

The good doctor certainly wasn’t as perceptive as Sherlock. He would never claim to be. He did, however, believe himself to be rather smart, especially on the subject of human feelings. Now, John was not an idiot when it came to Sherlock, and he could tell that his best friend was very much becoming obsessive in his effort to solve whatever mystery he seemed to think revolved around you.

There were certainly some things that made you special, but you were rather open about your past and your own thoughts. It was actually a bit frustrating to John that Sherlock was so concerned about learning everything there was to know about you, yet he hadn’t just asked you. Mycroft had been a bit miffed about his interaction with you the day before, and had been around first thing in the morning to complain about it.

John found it rather funny how put out the elder Holmes brother had been, but he noticed the telltale glint in his eyes. As much as he wanted to deny it, he knew that Mycroft had fallen victim to your charms just as every other person he’d encountered had.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Sherlock huffed, slipping his coat on while he stared out of the window.

John blew a sigh from his lips, wondering how somebody so incredibly smart could be so blind to their own emotions at the same time.

“Why don’t you ask her on a date, Sherlock?”

He’d never seen Sherlock’s head whip around so quickly. The man looked terrified, which, to be fair, wasn’t far off the mark. Sherlock’s heart pounded against his ribs, a strange reaction to such a mundane suggestion, to be sure. He sputtered for a moment, unsure if he should be angry or appalled.

He settled for some weird combination of the two.

“I don’t date, John,” he spat rather forcefully, “Especially not-”

“John!” You called in greeting, taking the stairs two at a time.

The smile on your face was radiant, and Sherlock glared down at his own chest when the rhythmic beating of his heart only seemed to speed up. You were holding your phone to your ear still, a muffled voice talking from the other end. 

“Sherlock,” you greeted, “Hi.”

He pulled his lips into a smile, but continued to study your every move.

“Yes, yes,” you replied to whoever was on the other end of the phone, “I’m perfectl-”

You frowned at the phone briefly, before a rather embarrassed, yet fond, smile replaced it.

“Dad, stop worrying so much,” you breathed out a laugh. “I have to go.”

There was more talking on the other end, which you were incapable of stopping, before you finally hurried out an, “I love you too,” and hung up.

“Sorry, he worries too much,” you explained to your friends, slipping your phone into your back pocket as you approached John.

There was no hesitation as the two of you embraced in a brief hug. Sherlock found himself pouting- no, not pouting, he doesn’t do that- at the apparent familiarity between you and John. Obviously, you were both comfortable with one another. He squinted his eyes, trying to decipher if it was a friendly comfort or a romantic one.

“Maybe he should,” John teased with a smile, “You did walk towards the man with the gun, rather than away.”

The two of you shared a little laugh, amplifying Sherlock’s sudden uneasiness at the thought of there being some sort of romantic involvement written between the lines of your exchanges.

But why would John suggest that he ask you on a date if he was interested?

This, he acknowledged with some amount of annoyance, was the exact reason why he despised human connections. How was he expected to just read your intentions and John’s intentions and his own intentions?

“Hey, did you want something too?” You inquired, suddenly a lot closer to Sherlock than you’d been previously.

He blinked, caught off guard by your change in position. Clearly, he’d been inside his own head for too long again.

A few deductions paired with his piercing gaze was all it took for him to realize that you were referring to food.

“I’ll have whatever you have.”

John didn’t need to examine the scene any further to realize it was another one of Sherlock’s ploys to understand you better. Of course his friend wasn’t going to normalize his strategy. He wanted to solve you, like a puzzle.

John hid his flash of annoyance as he ordered the takeout, trying to discover another way for Sherlock to realize that you might actually be good for him. Now, John wasn’t much of a matchmaker, but he thought the two of you would go rather perfectly together, and Mrs. Hudson agreed.

He just needed Sherlock to see that.

And maybe you too, since you didn’t seem like the type to just swoon over someone.

“I’m going to pick it up,” John announced, surprising even himself at the sudden declaration.

You stood up, obviously ready to escort him, but John shook his head. 

“Keep Sherlock out of trouble,” John argued, nodding his direction to his flatmate. “I’ll be right back.”

There was a clear hesitation, like you didn’t think it was the courteous thing to do, but John brushed you off. He was going to make a stop to see Mrs. Hudson and have a quick chat about the two of you, the last thing he needed was you tagging along.

“Be safe!” You called out after him as he descended the stairs, waving a hand goodbye.

“Are you engaging in romantic affairs with John?” The question was fired in your direction the minute John was out of earshot.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, your head tilting to the side at the strange turn of events.

“I-what?” You fumbled for the correct words, giggling a little as you did so. “No, John is just a friend.”

Sherlock hummed, not entirely convinced as he looked you over. His mind was moving a mile a minute, categorizing each piece of information he could discern from your person. It wasn’t a lot, but it was helping to build a more sturdy profile of who you were.

“Sherlock,” you interrupted, pressing your hand to his cheek.

His mind stopped.

Billions of neurons ceased fire, a momentary blip in their ever progressing task. It wasn’t like a sudden braking, where the tires screeched against the ground and the force of motion pushed the passengers forward with a potency capable of snapping necks. No, this was a total pause of everything that made Sherlock, Sherlock.

For just a fraction of a fraction, all he knew was the world being born in the fire of your eyes, and the spark created from the gentle warmth of your touch.

And then, it began again.

The world was spinning once more, his brain working just as it had before, only, tucked in the very back of his mind was the feeling of your hand on his cheek.

“What do you see when you deduce me?”

Your question was barely a whisper in the charged air between the magnetism of his mind and your heart.

“Contradictions,” he answered, staring directly into your gaze as he did so.

There was an echo of a smile on your lips, a brief upturn as you imagined how that might look. It was impossible to perceive the world through his mind, but you tried nonetheless.

“I feel like that’s not a good thing,” you joked, pulling your hand from his cheek and your eyes to your lap.

A coolness replaced your warmth, and Sherlock frowned as he filed that bit of information away.

“It makes you more interesting than most people,” he admitted on a murmur, watching with a bit of concern as you rubbed just above your heart.

The expression on your face was one of discomfort.

“How’d you hurt it?” He nodded where you were still positioning your hand, an attempt to shield the area from further harm.

You leveled him with a stare, not missing a beat.

“Sex,” you replied. “Got a bit more rough than expected.”

“You’re lying,” he tried, narrowing his eyes as he stared at the spot you were injured in, like if he did so for long enough he might be able to actually figure it out.

“Am I?” Your face betrayed nothing, a faux innocence in your gaze.

“What was his name?” Sherlock challenged.

“Who said anything about a man?” You shot back, rising to the provocation he posed.

“How’d it happen?”

“You want all of the intimate details?” You tsked, running your tongue along your teeth. “Sherlock Holmes, you are a surprise.”

His lips turned up for a moment.

“You are an excellent liar.”

You maintained eye contact from beneath your lashes, shrugging your shoulders.

“I’m a bit more like my uncle than I like to give myself credit for.”

The rest of the wait for John was spent in silence as you continued to observe one another- you with an air of disinterest and Sherlock with an eagerness he could barely contain. It seemed the more he learned about you, the more questions he had.

John looked less than pleased when he entered the room to find you guys were not, in fact, making out on the couch like horny teenagers.

“John!” You perked up, breathing in the smell of warm takeout.

“You’re a life saver,” you moaned, causing Sherlock’s hand to twitch at the sinful noise.

The tips of John’s ears turned red, but he didn’t comment on it as he laid a spread of food on the table.

“I hope everyone’s hungry,” he said, gesturing to the food, “I ordered a bit too much.”

“I can’t believe I missed out on this for so long,” you commented, twirling a pile of steaming vegetable lo mein on your fork before you even sat down.

“Was your dad not a fan of it?” John asked, taking a seat by your side as he grabbed himself a plate.

Sherlock still hadn’t gotten up from his spot in his chair, but he was attentive to the conversation between John and you.

“Oh, uh, it wasn’t really something we did when I was younger,” you explained, not giving a lot of detail, but not outright lying either.

Sherlock frowned. You had never really told John a lie. Actually, you hadn’t really told anyone a lie, besides him, and even that was something you admitted to right away.

He hesitantly filed away the belief that you were an honest person in the special place reserved for facts about you as he stood up to join the two of you.

From there on, Sherlock was more of an active participant in the chatting, though he didn’t find it nearly as dreadful as he thought it would be. John was all too happy to have him joining in, still rather put out that his plan hadn’t panned out the way he was hoping.

Though, before he came back up the stairs with the food, Mrs. Hudson had assured him that there was no way that Sherlock Holmes and (Y/N) Morningstar wouldn’t inevitably gravitate towards one another.

And who could argue with Mrs. Hudson’s intuition?

[sadviper]

2020 Creator Wrap: Favorite Works

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (or so) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

Succumbing to peer pressure, haha, thank you @rain-hat, @smylealong, @ibelongtomousse, @macgyver-sheriff, @avauntus for tagging me~

It seems the common refrain is that this was the year everyone exploded into massive creative productivity after years of nothing, which is the exact same story for myself. I had read all the strategies of course: write 5 min a day, 1 sketch a day, don’t think about quality, do *something* just to keep the spark alive, etc etc, but it just got worse and worse. Honestly, I had been feeling so dire about it that I had made up my mind to stop trying anymore, because it was so depressing to try and fail so many times that it was much better to not hope at all.

Buuuuut.....then quarantine and telework happened, and woooah, guess what, all I needed was LOTS of time and space to myself where I’m not wasting it in an office checking emails and doing random training to fill all the downtime!!!

Much thanks to the serendipity that had me stumbling into @rain-hat , reading her early JY/KSR fics, and her encouraging me to go ahead and write that office yearly budget oneshot for TKEM (who writes BUDGET fics?? Who reads them???? lol). That’s not in my list here because it was very new and awkward, it was definitely the ball that got everything rolling.

Cut for super long-winded rambling:

1) Before There Was Zero (TKEM)

This was my first big fanfic in my life, and my most popular, and it absolutely gushed out of me in this massive torrent of *I MUST WRITE* where I would walk around at lunchtime giggling to myself, and type on my phone as I went, or wake up at 1am to scrawl something in a notebook in the dark because I couldn’t stop the words from coming. (How I miss that feeling now! ;__;) Actually, it also is the 2nd fully complete long-form story I had ever completed as well, so...lots of milestones here.

Looking back, it clearly was the product of my years of bottled up silence, where I stewed and dragged myself to the office every day wondering if I was going to calcify in a bureaucracy for the rest of my life (yes). But even as an office drone, I learned a lot of valuable lessons in how to manage, what leadership actually is at the worker bee level, the types of games white-collar workers play, and how to be a decent co-worker (and by extension, a decent human being--I don’t believe it’s possible to separate work life and private life. All your personas are you). It wasn’t all a waste after all!

Somehow I connected my day-to-day to the faceless, long-suffering Royal guardsmen in TKEM, headed by the utterly gorgeous, devastating, thoroughly underutilized, comedic prop military action star Jo Yeong, and thought--yeah! :D

2) Nil Desperandum (TKEM)

My biggest fic by far, full novel length at this point, massive in scope, I don’t even know how I came up with it based on the 10 collective seconds of screen time that Jeong Tae-ra and tyrant Jin got as a joke, but I was clearly still on that dam-gushing-pent-up-creative-high because this idea was fighting me when I was in the middle of writing “Before There Was Zero”.

I actually figured out the title while watching “Call the Midwives” where one of the peppy, indefatigable British nurses said to never despair, and I thought, yes, that’s it. All the horrible things I put my tyrantverse characters through, it was only so that when I save them at the end, it will be completely worth it. It’s a bit more violent (nothing beyond My Country levels tho) and quite emotionally dark, but I also tried to inject a lot of friendship, humor, and love into it as well, because there must always be hope.

For My Country fandom friends who didn’t realize, the tyrant!Yeong in this fic is essentially modernAU!Seon-ho, and I lifted Sung-rok entirely from My Country to be tyrant!Yeong’s second-in-command and loyal-superstar-extraordinaire. Writing them in this modern AU, and seeing the positive reception to Sung-rok’s grouchy, dogged devotion was the start of my love spiral for Sung-rok. <3 <3

3) The Veritable Records of King Taejo (My Country)

Going to cheat and lump 3 fics (soon to be 4) into one link. I rested a little bit after “Nil Desperandum” because I had completely emptied myself out at that point, just a husk of an author shell. Then I started poking out oneshots! Each one got progressively harder to write, lol, the creative gas tank was running out of juice, so I had to really start figuring out new strategies as a writer to keep going. One magic tool was coercing recruiting @rain-hat to beta for me, and WOW, THE BEST???? Who would’ve thought it’d be FUN to be edited!!! <3 Due to her efforts, I could avoid the “no beta we die like Liaodong” tag, hahaha.

I grew up watching cop shows, lawyer shows, monster-of-the-day shows, endless procedurals-- so I was super miffed that the drama would imply that Seon-ho spent YEARS just single-mindedly chasing private armies??! No! I want more family and friends development for this sad, dramatic whump child! I want him to be smarter than the show, inherently brilliant despite the stupid he descends into, and be recognized as such by the people who do recognize his value! And I want them all to be happy with no pointless death!

Also, the 4th WIP is now a Sung-rok lovefest written as an ode to his awesomeness, has stretched to 47K+ words, and is being an absolute royal pain to finish. ;__; All the ease and creative fervor from earlier? GONE. I’m a lone salmon flopping upstream on a ladder. I might get eaten before I finish laying my eggs. Any one have tips to get over this?

4) First Translation of Woo Do Hwan Japanese Interviews

More firsts! So much thanks to @ibelongtomousse to inspiring and encouraging me to do some real translating after talking to her about her sublime TKEM fics and translations thereof, and @staidwaters from emerging from the Internet depths to boost/correct my neophyte efforts! I’m now chomping at the bit to do more, even though I may ultimately discover that these interviews have absolutely nothing interesting to say, lol. But my first priority is simply to get better at the language, and 2nd priority is to soak in the words (and photos) of Woo Do Hwan, hahahah. Also, as far as I can tell, no one is filling this niche, so I guess I’ll keep going??

5) Fanart!

I started drawing again! As a procrastination tactic from writing oneshots, but it still was really nice to see that I hadn’t lost the touch entirely. I feel like I’ve mentioned this here and there, but writing wasn’t my first interest--drawing was. Animals first, then people once I discovered anime/manga. I went all into drawing comics, only to face the hard reality that I didn’t know how to tell a story end-to-end. Hence how I started trying to write. Along the way, things happened--I got RSI and had to stop drawing/writing for awhile. I discovered that pictures are NOT worth a thousand words, esp when it comes to long-form comics; my preferred tools of trade (dip pens) ended up exacerbating my RSI problems; then once I got a handle on my RSI, I found I could type faster than I can ever draw, and so here I am. I saw what @convenientalias was doing with their My Country werewolf fic though, so I am excited to try that for my Sung-rok WIP? :D

I think I’m the last hold out among artist/writer friends in answering this wrap-up, hope you enjoyed reading!

[nellie-elizabeth]

Doctor Who: Revolution of the Daleks (2021 New Years Special)

I honestly really loved that! Like, a lot!

Cons:

It wasn't perfect, however. Of course. A few little nitpicky things, and one or two bigger complaints:

So, the bad guy was a little too one-note evil capitalist/politician. Some of his lines made me roll my eyes, like "this is a PR nightmare" being his reaction when he learned that the Daleks were eating liquified humans. The irony of him suddenly being hailed as a hero worked okay, but he was maybe just a touch too cartoonish for my personal preference, in an episode that mostly managed to feel really grounded.

Sometimes the Dalek stories will touch on this "race purity" thing, and the Doctor will talk about how they are beings of hate, and it really feels like we're doing a Nazi allegory, but they don't quite... go somewhere with it? Like, we've got the Prime Minster character talking about protecting borders and increasing security, and then the Daleks who are trying to stamp out "impurities," right? And there's something there, it's not exactly the most subtle of story craft, I guess I just wish it felt more intentional. The Daleks have metaphorical resonance here, and I'm not sure it was totally utilized.

My biggest complaint is one that could have been fixed with an added line or two of dialogue. See, the Doctor drops her "fam" off, then immediately gets imprisoned and remains trapped for literal years, from her perspective. Jack shows up and saves her, and when they return back to Earth, ten months have passed for Graham, Ryan, and Yaz. And the fam, especially Yaz and Ryan, are pissed. They're livid with her for abandoning them, and it really made them think about their place in life, if they want to stay with the Doctor or not. That's all well and good, but there's not really a confrontation of the fact that the Doctor didn't abandon them because she was off on a lark... she was imprisoned. Alone, cut off, for years. I was really flummoxed by the lack of sympathy extended by the others. I know it's her "fault" or maybe the TARDIS' "fault" that she got back ten months later, but what about the years that she spent without them? In my opinion, there was a lack of balance in dealing with that aspect of things.

Pros:

So... if Yaz is not supposed to be in love with the Doctor, someone forgot to tell the actors. And writers. Because WOW. I'm kind of obsessed with the way Yaz was written here. When the Doctor is gone, both Graham and Ryan try and get on with their lives. But Yaz remains firmly focused on finding the Doctor. Of all three companions, Yaz is the one who gets a special moment with Jack, where they basically commiserate over what it's like to be in love with the Doctor and know you won't get to stay with her forever. And then Yaz decides to stay, while the other two leave the TARDIS. There is just so much material here, so much love and desperation from Yaz. There were ways to make this a lot more no-homo, and they didn't take it. For example, during the Jack and Yaz conversation, Jack starts off talking about all the amazing things he got to see with the Doctor, and how losing that was so hard. But Yaz doesn't frame it around her experiences in general, she frames it around the Doctor as a person - wishing she'd never met her so she wouldn't have to suffer knowing what she'd be losing. It's GAY, I tell you. GAY!

Just look at Yaz's arc in this episode. She's missing the Doctor, she's conflicted about staying with her because of the heartbreak awaiting her at the end, but she chooses, ultimately, to stay by her side. Honestly, Yaz is the first companion since... well... Rose, maybe, whose character arc is best served by staying with the Doctor forever. Because she loves her. Romantically. Other companions, notably Martha, Amy, Rory, and Bill, all had other shit going on, other things they had to learn through their adventures. A life to grow into. Yaz? Yaz's place is by the Doctor's side, and I for one am thrilled to see where they're going with this. Come on, BBC. Don't be cowards. Make it gay.

Having Jack back in this special was such a treat. He's an undeniably fun and hilarious character, but Barrowman grounds the performance and gives Jack some real weight. I kind of love the way Jack and this version of the Doctor interact, with this depth of history but also a certain frostiness. We must remember that the Doctor knows what happens to Jack, exactly how long he'll live and how his end will come, and this version of the Doctor, more than any of the other modern versions, has a bit of a wall up when it comes to revealing her inner self to the people around her. But they still love each other, and you can see that love shining through the performance. At first, I was kind of miffed that Jack basically made his exit offscreen, just a voiceover saying he was staying on Earth, a very casual goodbye... but then actually I ended up loving that choice. It's like the Doctor and Jack are two people who were once very close, and will always have that bond, but now they're kind of like time traveling coworkers, just flitting in and out of each others' orbits. The way Jack leaves, there's no reason why he might not come back another time. It's refreshing and fun.

And Jack gave himself a bit of a mentor role in this episode, coaching the others (especially Yaz) on what it is to be the Doctor's companions, on what it might mean. I loved the moment when the Doctor came up with a plan to defeat the Daleks, and while the others were all confused, Jack got exactly what she was doing and tried to talk her out of it right away. Then, when the ship needed to be destroyed, the Doctor assigned the task to Jack, knowing that he'd be happy to blow it up. That shared history really shined through for me!

And now let's talk about Ryan and Graham leaving the TARDIS to stay on earth. Earlier, I was talking about companions and how for the most part, the characters have a growth arc over their time with the Doctor. For Ryan and Graham, it was about healing their relationship, as they grieved for their shared loss. And they did that. They have purpose now, as we see them continuing their life and fighting to protect Earth in the Doctor's absence. I love the idea of having more companions around for the Doctor to interact with. This has never been an ensemble show (not since it rebooted anyway), and the gimmick works best by having the Doctor and one or a small number of companions along for the ride in the TARDIS. But imagine Ryan or Graham giving the Doctor a call someday, whether it be in this regeneration or the next, because they need help with a problem back on Earth. Or maybe the Doctor calls them up the next time she's in the neighborhood! It warms my heart to think about it!

I haven't talked much about the Daleks or, you know, the actual plot of this special, and that's because frankly I'm not sure that was where its strengths lie. And that's okay! I will say I liked that the focus remained on the characters and their relationships, but we also had some commentary about the growing prevalence of the police state in first-world western countries. And capitalism is always an easy motivator for a villain, and that was executed more or less well, barring the complaints I made above. It was a serviceable story that created a proper threat, while really only being there to serve as a backdrop for the human drama.

So that's it! I've seen some mixed responses to this one floating around, but I for one quite enjoyed myself, and I'm excited to meet this new companion coming in. As long as they don't try and make him a love interest for Yaz or the Doctor. These ladies are spoken for.

8/10

[marta-bee]

On Fanworks as Commodities

I've been thinking lately about commodification and how it applies to fandom.

 At the risk of giving an unhelpful circular explanation, commodification just means treating something like a commodity when it really isn't. And by commodity, I mean the kind of good or service that it's the kind of thing we can "reduce" to market terms. A loaf of bread is a commodity. So is a house or the services of an accountant- you're not losing anything or "debasing" anyone when you suggest these things can be bought and sold.

 But what about surrogacy pregnancy? This is the question Elizabeth Anderson asked in her philosophy paper, "Is Women's Labor a Commodity?" (This is where I first encountered the concept.) She asks what exactly is being sold when we pay a woman to go through a pregnancy and then give up the resulting child to someone else. Anderson said if it's the child that's being sold that seems obviously inappropriate- we rightly consider a human person as the kind of thing you can't just buy and sell- but she also argued even if the woman is just selling the use of her body for a period of time (say, implantation and surrogacy pregnancy of a fetus conceived through in vitro fertilization of the adults who will become the legal parents), there's still something lost. The argument is, pregnancy naturally (at least usually) forms a loving bond between mother and child, which a surrogate woman would wisely try to avoid; otherwise giving up the baby would be that much harder. In effect, it encourages her to alienate herself from the products of her pregnancy. It degrades the commercial surrogate, turns her into an emotionless, contextless factory. And it degrades women who might lovingly serve as surrogates (say, for a sister or friend) because it turns their gift into something indistinguishable from a market transaction.

 That's the argument, anyway. Once I found it convincing but these days, I have my doubts. For instance, I don't see any problem saying commercial surrogacy is a different kind of process than surrogacy offered as a gift to someone you know. Even if the result is the same, they seem like very different beasts. I'm also uncomfortable with this idea that certain kinds of work just can't be ethically paid for. Because this usually comes up with "caring" work, which is most often done by women even these days, it becomes too easy to not help bear the costs of that work. We can expect, say, a nurse to care about her patient even though she's paid a salary; is it so wrong if a child who quits her job to care for a sick parent to also be paid for her sacrifice?

 That's more a criticism of how the concept is applied, though. I think it's applied too quickly, and in ways that turn it into an either/or, where this doesn't need to be the case. I still think the basic idea has a lot going for it. We do give the market too much power to answer questions it really isn't well suited for. Healthcare, for instance; it needs to be paid for, but not in a way that keeps people from accessing it who need it, or even lets those who can pay get to it more quickly. And maybe market pressures can make it more efficient, to a point, but we really shouldn't reduce it to something that can be bought and sold and understand entirely on those terms.

So, what does all this have to do with fandom? Well, I'm of a different fannish generation than a lot of you young whippersnappers- I first got involved in fannish circles with the Lord of the Rings movies back in the original 2000s. This was pre-AO3 and pre-Tumblr, and only a few years after Anne Rice got ff.net to disallow all fanfic based on her novels. We posted our disclaimers about not owning the characters for a reason and professed our poverty because we believed (or feared at least) we could be sued by the canon's authors. I was mostly in the Tolkien fandom, and it was well known that the estate was never going to authorize fanfic, commercial or otherwise. They state as much on their website, though I can't remember how long that Q&A has existed in its current format.

 That gave us a lovely little commercial-free zone. If you couldn't sell your own work commercially, then you could give up all pretenses of success along the normal capitalistic lines and delve into areas that just would never have been very marketable in traditional publishing. Tolkien fandom itself was pretty conservative but I know other fandoms went much further in this regard, exploring genres that just would never be marketable especially before the niche and self-financed publishing the internet opened up for a lot of authors. If the law wouldn't let you do what you wanted to do anyway, why not become utterly ungovernable? So, fanfic became (for me at least) art about art rather than filthy lucre. We were doing what we did because we loved it, and as gifts for our friends, and as a way to be something that wasn't quite allowed in the "normal" culture for whatever reason- even just because we were women daring to make time for our weird little hobbies. It was glorious. And we worked hard enough in other areas of our life that we had the $$$ to indulge in this. We didn't need to be paid, and even if you offered to pay us for our works, we'd likely get a bit insulted and insist that wasn't what this was about at all.

I was told more than once by family that I was good enough to be a "real writer" and didn't I want to do my own thing. So yes, I did get a bit miffed and lean in to my identity of fanfic-writing as hobby not intended as a career.

 And I'll be honest: when I see people advertising for commissions or celebrating fan-authors going "professional" as if this is necessarily a step up from unpaid fannish work, I often have this old framework in the back of my head. And it's not really fair. For one thing, I was in college in the early 2000's and so even when we didn't have a lot of cash, we expected to soon get day jobs where we could afford to live comfortably and still afford our hobbies. The housing market crash and the Great Recession changed all of that, as did work opportunities like Instacart and Uber. For a lot of people even a few years younger than me, everything became a side-hustle and there just wasn't this expectation a hobby could be a hobby. I get that there's a lot of privilege entering into that.

 On top of which, there's all kinds of gender issues: professional artists, predominantly men, have been painting and selling drawings of comic book characters for years. Star Trek and Star Wars affiliated novels, and Sherlock Holmes pastiches (as opposed to fanfic), again written primarily by men, are also very much a thing. Hell, so are Renaissance artists and the patron system that was built off of. And of course, just because you sometimes produce fanworks just to sell and still do the less commercial work just for yourself if you ever want to. There's no real conflict in that. And it's not like producing art to sell is at all wrong. But to me it does feel like that kind of art is different than what I fancy I do, back when I occasionally wrote. :-) And I probably am more aware of this than I should be, because my backdrop is different from a lot of fans younger than myself, and really do try not to let my situation turn into a blind spot.

 Even so, I worry and struggle to find the balance between letting art turn a profit and be reduced to a strictly commercial venture. It's never been anything I've been even remotely drawn to do, and human nature being what it is, I probably do think more highly of the kind of thing I'd choose to do. But I don't want to be unfair, and I don't want to think just because art is paid for and written/drawn to order, it's some sort of assembly-line output with no heart put into it by the writer and artist. Just like an artisan shoemaker might take great pride in his art and work his hardest on each shoe he crafts, even if he must sell it to make ends meet. Somehow, I suspect thinking about this in terms of commodification, the dangers of evaluating artistry using market standards and the ways in which it can still have a value beyond commodity even if it’s bought and sold, might help. But I've not quit worked out what insight that kind of thought would provide, if any.

Do you think there's a special value in fandom or art generally that's not made to be bought and sold? Or am I perhaps making too big a deal over nothing and revealing myself to be an old fuddy-duddy in the process. (It's always a possibility!) I'd be very interested to hear your thoughts if you have any to share.

[nightshade-minho]

-Nightmare- (4)

Warnings: Minho being a little bit of an asshole lol.

There she was, standing right in front of you. You gulped, trying not to look intimidated...but it was hard, considering the way she was looking you up and down.

Rina’s gaze travelled to your hand in Minho’s. She cocked her head to the side, pursing her lips.

“So...you’re dating your best friend.”

Minho nodded, and you looked up at him. He looked pretty confident and at ease, considering how nervous he’d been when the two of you left the apartment this morning.

“How did this happen, exactly?”

“It just...did.”

She skeptically raised an eyebrow. “So, you just woke up one morning and she was your girlfriend?”

Minho chuckled. “I don’t see why you want the details so bad. We’re together now, that’s what matters.”

Rina tapped her finger with her chin before shrugging, hoisting her purse over her shoulder as she smiled before walking away.

You felt Minho’s tight grip on your hand relax as she left. He looked at you, grinning. “That went pretty smoothly, didn’t it?”

“Uh huh. So does that mean we can stop this now?”

Minho shook his head incredulously. “Fuck no? If we break up right after, she’ll obviously understand it was a farce. No, we have to keep this going for a while...at least until the party.”

“Honestly...am I the only one who felt like she wasn’t completely convinced?”

“Yeah...I noticed that too. We have to step up our game.”

•••

The evening air was quite breezy, and you felt very calm as you sat on the balcony, your guitar on your lap as you strummed mindlessly, staring at the moon.

Your fingers automatically played a song you’d written a while ago, when you’d first realized you were in love with your best friend. It was a soft song, a sweet melody with melancholic undertones. You knew how hopeless this was.

Minho nudged the balcony door sideways as he stepped out, settling on the chair next to you with a cup of coffee in his hands.

You stopped playing, tucking your hair behind your ear. Minho frowned as he turned to look at you.

“Why’d you stop? That sounds beautiful.”

You smiled bashfully, looking away to hide your blush. “Eh, it’s just something I came up with one day.”

Minho scoffed. “Are you kidding? Y/n...you’re so talented. I really admire you. I wish I could be the same.”

It was your turn to scoff in disbelief as you turned your chair slightly so that you were facing him. “Have you seen yourself dance? You pour your emotion into every step. That’s admirable.”

Minho smiled softly as he gazed at you. He drummed his fingers on the side of the chair. “If you like my dancing, how come you never come to the studio to watch?”

You rolled your eyes. “Sorry Minho, but I’m not into the idea of someone mistaking me to be one of your gawking fangirls.”

His smile dropped. “What’s wrong with that?”

You shook your head, leaning back as you looked at the sky.

He paused for a moment, before nudging you slowly. You looked at him, breath hitching as your eyes met his beautiful, galaxy-filled ones.

“Play something for me.”

“Any particular song you’d like?”

“Nah. Just something you wrote. The first thing that comes to your mind.”

So you played the song you’d been playing when he interrupted you. Minho closed his eyes, letting himself get lost in your music.

“Is this a dream or a nightmare? Can’t bring myself to care.”

You sang softly under your breath, gaze flitting to the boy in front of you from time to time.

You ended the song with slight tears in your eyes.

“Cause I love you...it hurts, but I do.”

You quickly wiped your tears away as Minho’s eyes opened. He looked at you, mouth opening and closing as he tried to think of something to say. His heart was pounding, and he didn’t know why.

All he knew was that you looked ethereal with the moonlight washing over you, eyes shining as your fingers rested over the strings.

Minho felt suffocated. He was outraged at himself, his breath catching as he got up so suddenly that the chair fell over. He didn’t bother to say anything, walking back into the living room and going straight to his bed, locking it as he put his head in his hands.

What was that funny feeling residing in his chest and his stomach? Honestly...it always happened when you sang or played your guitar, but never in this intensity. He didn’t like it. He needed it to stop.

There was heavy knocking on the door. Minho collected himself, peering through his keyhole. You stood there with your hands on your hips, anger evident in your face.

“What the fuck? You’ve been doing this a lot lately. Tell me, what’s wrong?”

Minho breathed in. He told himself it was normal. Everything was normal...nothing had changed. He squashed the feelings deep down in his chest. He reminded himself of his top priority, telling himself that these were all merely side effects caused by the little project you both had going on.

He ignored you, plopping himself down on the bed and trying to block everything out.

•••

The next morning, Minho apologized to you as you served him breakfast, which happened to be pancakes.

“I was just thinking of how I’m still very nervous about the whole Rina situation. I’m terrified. Sorry I took it out on you. We need her to really be convinced...so how about we go on a date tomorrow?”

You were still a little miffed, but you brushed it aside. You were too tired to hold a grudge at this point. “A...date?”

“Yeah. Let’s go to the coffee shop that she’s always visiting. Mera told me that she’s always hanging out with her friends at The Little Leaf after classes. ”

You’d forgotten that Mera and Rina were best friends. You scrunched your face up, nodding. “Alright.”

“We’ll walk there together in the afternoon, and make sure there’s no doubts left in her brain.”

•••

You walked beside Minho. He seemed to be in more of a cheerful mood, swinging your intertwined hands as he hummed.

He looked really good in his camel-brown jacket and white shirt. He’d insisted that the two of you wear matching colours so that you could really drive the point home- which is why you were wearing a cream sweater and a tan pleated skirt, one which was way too short and had to be constantly pulled down.

“You look cute.” He said as the Little Leaf came into view.

You tried not to blush. “You look nice too.”

“Just nice?” He raised an eyebrow and you giggled.

“I mean, hot. Super hot. Rugged and handsome.” You said half-jokingly, watching as he wiggled his eyebrows and laughed.

Through the window, you could see Mera, and two other girls you didn’t know the names of. The fourth girl sitting in the corner was clearly recognizable by her fiery red hair.

Minho breathed in deeply. “You ready?”

“Uh huh.”

“Here we go.”

The door swung open, the little bells on top tinkling. Minho led you to the counter.

“I’ll have an americano, please. The lady will have a strawberry milkshake.” He looked to you with a crooked smile. “Isn’t that right?”

You nodded, smiling. “Oh, a blueberry cheesecake too, please.”

Both of you made your way to an empty table that happened to be right in front of the girls.

Mera was the first to notice, her eyes wide as she saw the two of you sitting down. She nudged Rina, pointing.

You saw this out of the corner of your eye, and you were satisfied. “They’re noticing,” you whispered. “Good.” Minho said.

“So. About yesterday. I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have stormed out on you like that.”

“It’s okay. I just...did I do something wrong?”

Minho shook his head. “No. Not at all. I was just really on edge.”

You nodded.

A waiter came, setting down your drinks and the cheesecake. You noticed that he was someone you’d worked with on a project once.

“Wait...Juyeon?”

Minho looked up, frowning.

Juyeon smiled. “Y/n! It’s nice seeing you here.” He gave Minho a cursory glance, before focusing his attention back on you.

“Likewise! I didn’t know you worked here! I’ll come by more often, then.”

“Do that. I’d even give you free cupcakes.” Juyeon winked at you, before turning to leave. Minho watched him go with an angry expression, before turning back to you.

“Uh, what the fuck?”

You took a sip of your milkshake before cocking your head to the side. “Huh?”

“You were flirting with that guy.”

“I wasn’t!” You said, glaring. “I was being nice. And need I remind you that you have no right to be jealous? We’re not actually dating.”

Minho scoffed. “Jealous? Don’t fucking flatter yourself. I am fully aware that this is all fake, trust me. However, you flirting with the waiter might give people the wrong impression, especially because the whole reason we came here is to convince Rina that we’re dating.” He snorted. “Jealous. That’s rich.”

You pursed your lips, saying nothing. Taking a fork, you took a piece of the cheesecake and shoved it in your mouth.

Minho sighed. “I’m sorry.”

You swallowed. “Minho...sorry doesn’t cut it anymore.” You said sadly.

He stared at you, before shaking his head sadly. Nodding, he took his drink and lifted it to his lips. “This is the most awkward date ever. Rina’s never gonna believe this. Our body language gives it all away.”

You shrugged. “Well, what do you propose?”

Minho paused, before laughing loudly, turning his head slightly to see if the girls noticed. You rolled your eyes.

“What a dork.” You said fondly. He put his hand on top of yours. Rina and Mera were watching, and he needed to give them a show. He took a fork of his own and dug it into the cake, lifting it to your mouth.

“Say aaah, baby.”

You giggled before opening your mouth, letting him feed you. Minho’s smile was intoxicating. You felt the butterflies in your stomach run amok as you stared into his eyes.

Minho felt it too. As he spooned the cake into your mouth, he felt his heart flutter. Babying you was actually quite enjoyable. ‘I should do it more often,’ he thought.

He watched as you munched, your cheeks so full that you looked like a hamster. It was an endearing habit, one that made him want to kiss your face all over.

Wait, what?

Minho slammed the spoon down on the table all of a sudden. You looked up at him, confused. “I need to go.” He stammered, standing up and walking to the door as fast as he could.

You sat in your chair, eyes wide, before looking down. Why was he doing this? You were doing nothing but help him...yet he kept storming out randomly with no explanation, whatsoever.

It took a while for you to realize that someone was standing in front of you. When they cleared their throat, you looked up.

Rina smiled sympathetically.

“He’s a pain, isn’t he? From what I’ve seen, he doesn’t treat you very well.”

The girls standing next to her nodded. Rina stared at her nails. “Don’t you feel tired of being his girlfriend, especially when you know what he’s like?”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You know. He’s just a fuckboy without any substance. Come on...I know you’d like some revenge too. Help us give him what he deserves.”

You chuckle humorlessly. “That’s real funny. Fuck off.”

You got up, brushing your skirt. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go find my boyfriend.”

You pushed past them, running out of the shop and down the street. It took you a while to finally find him. He walked languidly, hands in his pockets.

You ran until you’re standing right in front of him. He stopped in his tracks, raising an eyebrow. “What the fuck do you want?”

You sighed, reaching for his hand. “Minho, you have to tell me why you’re acting like this. Besides...something happened back there that I think you should know-“

Minho shook your hand off roughly. “Y/n. I’ll say this once. Fuck off. Go home.”

You push him angrily. “You dickhead, we live in the same place. And I did nothing to deserve this.” You said, reaching for his hand again.

“Touch me again, and I swear to God...look, I’m not coming home. I might be there by evening. Just give me space.”

You tried not to look hurt. Suddenly, out of the corner of your eye you saw Rina and her friends standing near her car. They’d clearly already seen half of what was going on. Fuck, you had to salvage the situation.

You grabbed Minho’s cheeks and pressed your lips to his hurriedly, electricity jolting through you as you realized what you’d just done.

Minho made a shocked sound. He felt his heart run berserk, unaware that you were feeling the very same thing. You wanted to cry. This was not how you’d imagined your first kiss with Minho would go. It was a rough, insincere kiss, one with no feelings behind it whatsoever...or so you thought.

You opened your eyes slightly and saw that the girls had already left. You let Minho push you away.

He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, looking at you in disgust.

“Why the fuck did you do that? No kisses was a part of the agreement, and there’s no one around.”

You wiped your wet eyes, tears threatening to spill. “Rina was standing there the whole time. She saw our fight. Back in the cafe, she also told me to join forces with her. Just thought you should know that she’s still looking for revenge.”

You turned around, half-running as you got away from him, the tears flowing freely. He watched you leave, his face blank, as he processed the information you’d spewed at him.

You felt your heart harden. You’d been thinking about it for a while...but you were sure of it now. Minho didn’t deserve your love.

[miss-tc-nova]

Unwarranted or Not - Roxas x Fem!Reader x Ventus Pt 1

I’m stuck in that stage again where Jesse McCartney songs just scream Roxas or Ven for me. So I’ve been listening to his music again. I honestly don’t know where this series is going but here we go. 

This part was written while listening to the Turtle’s song “Jealous” from season 3 of The Masked Singer. 

Part 1: Jealous

                Giggling, I push the hair from my face. “Geeze, you’re a dork.”

                The blonde frowns. “Come on! How was I supposed to know that Terra was about to run around the corner?!”

                “I bet you he was thrilled to be covered in strawberry filling.”

                He sighs, letting his face fall into his palms. “No, not really. But I was way more scared of Aqua when she found out I stole and then ruined her dessert.”

                “Oh ho, I bet she was furious.”

                His hands drag down his face. “Her glare is far worse than any spell she could’ve used on me.”

                Today is Kairi’s birthday so everyone has gathered to celebrate. I’m only the newest addition to the party, having been introduced through my boyfriend. Apparently, everyone here is connected through some big event that I haven’t learned about yet, but that’s not important. I did learn about other worlds though and, boy, did I have a heart attack the first time I left my home world; he still complains that I almost crushed his ribs. Regardless, I’m part of the friend group now and they’re all great. I was accepted like I’d been friends with them forever.

                For a while, the boy, Ventus, threw me off. He looks so much like my boyfriend that I could only stare for a moment. Once I got over the initial shock, the differences between them rang out clear as day. Down to their very presence, I could find all the differences in the world. I’m also very acutely aware that there’s a mild bitterness towards this blonde. However, while Ven isn’t exactly my type, that doesn’t mean he’s not a good friend.

                I set my water bottle in the sand. “I’m impressed she had the self-control not to beat you.”

                “That could partially be because Terra chased me all the way across the castle grounds by the time she found out.” I cackle at his torture. “So hey, I never got to ask, how did you and Roxas meet?”

                The grin already on my lips widens. “It’s actually kinda funny. I was-”

                “Hey, ______.” I look towards the group of others where Roxas is waving me closer.

                “Just a minute,” I call back, before returning my attention to Ven. “Sorry. Anyway, I needed to-”

                “______!” I look again. He’s wearing a frown as he waves me on again.

                Miffed, I shout back, “Hold on! I’m telling a story!”

                Ven laughs. “Maybe you should go see what he wants. You can tell me later.”

                I sigh. “Sorry. I’ll be back.” I dust the sand from my shorts and wander over. I’m a bit perturbed when the rest of them start heading down the beach. “What’s up?”

                “We’re gonna start some games. Come on.”

                I don’t follow and he stops to look back. “I don’t feel like playing games right now. I’m just gonna talk to Ven and maybe bother Namine and Aqua.” I lean in to kiss his cheek. “But you have fun, ‘kay.”

                His frown doesn’t go unnoticed but I am my own person; I can choose not to do something. When I settle back onto my towel, I see him still watching me, so I give a smile and wave. His glower doesn’t change but he does join the others in their games.

                I chat with the friends that come to join me at various times, but Ven stays nearly the whole time so he’s my main conversation partner and a goofball at that. It’s still worth noting that Roxas frequently glances towards me with a glare that I’m sure I’ll have to answer to later.

                “No way! Then what?” Ven chuckles.

                I wipe a tear from my eye, hardly able to keep from giggling. “Well, Hayner’s freaking out trying to figure out where the voice is coming from and I’m on the floor, laughing so hard I’m crying ‘cause I can’t keep a straight face to save my life. And then Pence-”

                Without warning, a hand wraps around my arm and pulls me to my feet. Roxas looks thoroughly annoyed.

                “Ah! Hey!”

                “I need you to come with me,” he says firmly.

                “Uh, can it wait two seconds?” I manage to get out.

                “Nope” and he pulls me away towards the shack leading up to the bridge. I look back at my friend who shares my shock but does nothing.

                “Rox? Roxas, where are we going?” He doesn’t answer, just drags me along. “Hey, what’s going on? Roxas!” In the dimly lit wooden structure, he forcefully closes the door and we stand in silence. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

                “Nothing’s wrong,” he retorts. I raise a brow at him. “What?!”

                “We’re standing in a dark, little shack when we’re supposed to be celebrating a friend’s birthday with our other friends.” The blue eyes avoid me, turning a glare on the darkness. I chuckle a little and rest a hand against his chest. “Come on. Tell me what’s bothering you.” When his eyes instead move to the ceiling, I slip my arms around his neck. My mischievous side leaks through as I lean closer to lowly threaten, “Don’t make me force an answer out of you.” I ever-so-lightly brush my nose along his jaw. “Though I wouldn’t mind another chance at marking that pretty skin of yours.” I know it’s working when goose bumps bloom across his skin and his inhale comes with a shudder. “That sounds like a yes to me.”

                “It’s Ven,” he quickly utters.

                I reign in my antics. “Ven? What about him?” His annoyance is replaced with the look a child would wear having been caught in the cookie jar. “Come on. Keep talking.”

                “I don’t like that you’re hanging out with him so much,” he mumbles.

                Ah. Jealousy. “Oh babe,” I soothe. “You don’t have to worry about him.” I walk my fingers along his shirt. “You know I’m crazy about you. I didn’t even push you off the clock tower when I thought you were nuts, spouting off about other worlds.”

                “You were gonna push me off the clock tower?!”

                “No. I did consider a couple psychiatrists though.” I pinch his cheek. “I’m so smitten I was willing to help you through whatever psychosis you had.”

                Roxas shakes me off. “Bet you feel like a fool now.”

                I shrug. “Point is, I love you, Roxas. And no one’s going to get in the way of that, especially Ven.”

                A glint of something dark sparks in his eyes. “You know we’re practically the same person, right?”

                “Pfft!” It takes a huge amount of effort to not break down laughing.

                Roxas looks as if I’ve just insulted him; granted maybe I have. “What?!” he demands indignantly.

                “I’m sorry, but you and Ven are nothing alike,” I reply, straightening up.“

                “That doesn’t sound very comforting.”

                “And why not?” He hesitates. “Sure, he warms up to people easily and he’s a bit more outgoing and social than you, but the fact that you’re more choose-y with your friends makes them all the more important. Besides, you know you’re smarter than he is, right?” A brow rises at me. “Look, he’s a great friend and all, but when you spend five minutes pulling on a door that says push, you’re not the brightest cookie.” Finally, Roxas breaks and smiles at my joke. “And honestly, you are way hotter than he is.”

                “How-”

                I tap a finger against his nose. “I just can. It’s really not that hard. You are two completely different people and you’re the one I love. So stop being jealous.”

                He heaves a sigh, but his arms finally slip around my waist. “I don’t know about that.” The butterflies flutter when he leans in. “I’m not exactly worried about you being attracted to Ven.”

                I can’t help the grin. “You think Ven’s attracted to me?” I laugh.

                He’s turned my earlier mischief on me, lips grazing my ear. “I’d be surprised if he wasn’t. You’re too beautiful for your own good.” The heat races along my spine when his teeth tug at the skin. A squeak escapes me. “Mmm, but maybe I’ll just take your idea and let everyone know you’re taken.”

                “Rox-” I can’t finish his name before his mouth is at my neck, pulling a soft moan from me. In response, the boy forcefully puts my back to the wall, successfully putting me under his spell.

                Roxas, while less outgoing than Ventus, has a sort of hidden side. He’s more reserved and can sometimes come off as cold, but the moment you become a friend, it’s as if a switch has been flipped. He can be quick to anger or blissfully happy and is rather outspoken. So it goes without saying that dating him means seeing even more of that; seeing the desperation and desire—the things he displays only in these private moments.

                “Ow!” I hiss.

                He finally breaks his hold, but lingers a moment to soothe the sting with his tongue. A shudder ripples through me when he trails up my neck. The fingers at my hips tighten their grip, signaling that he’s not done. The next thing I know, his mouth is at mine, demanding everything: my attention, my consent, my love. Of course, he has it all; not that the flustered mess he’s turned me into could really argue with him. His kisses have always been messy and greedy; like he’s a dying man and this is his cure. It always makes me weak knowing that his feelings are true, that this is how he really feels. That and the show of dominance is kind of hot.

                When he retreats, his eyes look me over. I’m flushed and gasping and quite frankly I’m prepared to die of suffocation as long as I can keep kissing him. A smirk appears on his lips.

                “You really are beautiful, you know that?”

                “I think you’re a little biased,” I breathe.

                “So?” he hums, forehead resting against mine. “You’re mine. Does it matter what anyone else thinks?”

                “I suppose not,” I laugh. “Are you gonna stop being jealous now?”

                “Not even a little.”

[holdyourfire]

taylir gar Tracyn

hold your Fire (Mando’a)

A/N: This is a fic based around a pre-TFA Poe. He’s been assigned to a mission with someone he doesn’t really like by Leia. This has been sitting in my head since January, and I’ve finallyyy written it out. It’s a long one, multi-chaptered of course. It’s not a Poe x Reader fic though I know that’s more popular than Poe x OC. Also it’s written from Poe’s POV.

Rating: Pretty much General for the first part but heads into a mature range in later chapters.

Tags: Poe x OFC, hurt/comfort, angst, massive slow burn, pining, eventual fluff, Mandalorians, enemies to friends to...,

Warnings: mild sexual content, panic attacks, minor character death.

Extra note: I suggest watching The Mandalorian if you’re interested by this fic. It does contain spoilers for the show.

Chapter 1 - Fire

1.5k words

      ***

      Poe, smeared in grease and covered in sweat, was fiddling with his X-Wing’s engine, as he usually would in his rare periods of free time.

Snap was across the path on the other side of the landing area, working on his own ship.

BB-8 was whirring around the two starfighters, assisting when needed. 

      He was so focused in the task at hand, that when his little droid purposely crashed into his leg, Poe turned on him in a fury, prepared to scold.

      But, anything he’d been about to say was interrupted by the droid swivelling his body sideways to point out a figure heading towards them.

       “Dameron!”

      It was Kaydel Connix.

As she jogged towards him, she tripped over a stray wire trailing from a power-unit.

Poe struggled to fight back a smile as he heard Snap snort behind him.

      ‘Collected-Kaydel’, not so collected after all, huh? Poe thought, a grin finally escaping him.

Kaydel scowled, seeing him watching her approach. “The General sent me to come and find you,” she snapped. “Apparently, you’re forgetting something?”

      His grin disappeared.

      Shit.

      “Did you really forget another meeting?” Snap called from across the path.

      Damn it, that man’s ears are too sharp. Poe shot an annoyed look at his friend.

      “They really should demote you,” Snap continued, blind to Poe's obvious irritation.

      “Well,” Poe yelled back, “at least I’ve never sh-”

      “Quit it you two,” Kaydel said, disrupting whatever dirt Poe had been about to spill. “You need to be at the General’s workstation twenty minutes ago.”

      She turned away dismissively, heading back to where she’d appeared from.

      “Yeah! Get moving nerve-burner,” Snap sneered, clearly delighted with the situation.

      Poe just flipped him off as he desperately shed his bulky tool belt onto the gravel under him. BB-8 trilled questioningly as Poe began to run towards the underground admin sector.

      “No buddy, you stay here with Snap. I’ll see you after dinner!” he called over his shoulder.

      He frantically made his way to General Organa’s workstation, dodging people, stumbling down stairs and hurdling the occasional crate, swearing under his breath the whole time.

      By the time he reached, he was out of breath. He burst into the workstation with a jumble of excuses. 

      “Sorry General! I forgot about this, I was with Snap- I mean Temmin, it’s really kinda his fault I’m late, he’s very, uh...” 

      Poe trailed off as he took in his general’s exasperated but entertained expression, before noticing another figure in the room. He shuffled his feet, frowning, suddenly self-conscious of his sweaty, grease-stained appearance.

      “Commander Dameron, I’m sure your friends have told you that you’re not a good liar?” 

      Not waiting for the indignant response that was about to come, she continued.

      “This is Commander Avara Deccol,” she said, gesturing to the unknown figure. 

      Poe shifted his focus to the newcomer.

      “She has recently joined the Resistance as a weapons expert and spy.”

      Deccol nodded curtly and Poe returned the gesture stiffly. 

       Sharp eyes, dark-ish skin. Her short, curly hair was flat against her head as if she’d been wearing a cap or helmet. It reminded him of his own hair whenever he pulled off his own flight helmet.

He had to admit to himself, she was pretty cute.

She was wearing a scuffed piece of armour with some symbol carved in the metal, on her right shoulder. 

      Deccol was observing him as carefully as he was her. Her face was expressionless as she watched him. Posture was perfect, almost like a soldier standing at attention. Poe got the impression that’s how she always held herself. Her hand rested on her hip- no, not her hip.

      It was rested on an empty holster, where a blaster would be.

      Is that a habit... or is she trying to be intimidating? he wondered. At least she’s shorter than me, way shorter. The top of her head would have barely reached his chin. Thank the Maker.

      This was a sore point for him, due to his squadron’s incessant teasing. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his dirty orange flight-suit and pursed his lips very slightly, trying to appear unbothered as he held Deccol's unflinching gaze.

       As he continued to scrutinise the new commander with his keen eyes, General Organa had turned to address Deccol. “Commander Dameron here is my best pilot. That’s why I picked him as your partner for the mission.”

      “Mission?” Poe asked, focus instantly shifting to Leia, bothered he didn’t know what was going on and that the newcomer clearly did. “What mission?”

      “Slow down, Poe. You’re needed for this mission because incredibly swift piloting will be required. Avara, you have been picked because I trust Maz Katana’s instincts. If Maz believes that a person is right for a specific job, then they are. Plus, she said you were the best shot she had ever seen. Good marksmanship is always valued.”

      Poe’s brows furrowed. Best shot? 

      Beside him, the new commander ducked her head slightly at the praise.

      “Your mission,” Leia continued, “will consist of several tasks. I cannot stress how important they will be to the downfall of the First Order. These tasks will include intelligence collection and assassinations.” 

      “Avara, that’s where you come in.” 

      She’s an assassin? What the-

      “It’ll be mostly First Order officials, as many as our agents can locate. Poe, before you ask, yes, BB-8 may join you. It’ll be a long mission.”

      Poe smiled slightly.

Leia always knew what he was thinking. Whether it was because she was capable in the force, or just because he'd grown up knowing her, he didn't know.

      The general walked behind her desk, fetching something from a drawer. A holoprojector. She passed it to Deccol, who examined it, squinting closely, flipping it several times in her hands.

      “It’s been altered," the newbie said slowly. "For long-distance transmissions?” Deccol asked, holding it out to Poe without looking at him. 

      Oh, is she a holoprojector expert too? Within second Poe’s annoyance had elevated again.

He almost snatched it from her, fuming. I've barely known her a minute and she's already infuriating. Is that even possible?

      “Yes, and to be undetectable. This is how you two will be receiving your tasks. Only after you leave the base, will you get your first mission. This is, naturally, to preserve confidentiality.”

      Both commanders nodded seriously. This, they understood.

      “You two don’t know each other, but I expect you both to be smart enough to know you have to work together." Leia looked at Poe pointedly. "No petty squabbling or fighting.” 

      Poe internally rolled his eyes.

      “You two will be leaving tomorrow at sundown. Poe, as the pilot, you’ll be picking a ship suitable for you both, but most importantly, suitable for the mission.”

      Leia looked from Poe to Deccol, studying them for a second.

      “Commander Deccol, my assistant, Kaydel, will show you to the mess hall. It’s almost dinner,” Leia said. “You can go, I’ll meet you tomorrow.”

      Both commanders turned to the door.

      “Poe, wait. I want a word.”

      Poe waited until Deccol had disappeared from view, speaking quickly before Leia could. 

      “Am I really just going to be the pilot for this mission?”

      “Poe,” she sighed. “Listen. Deccol is new to the Resistance, whereas you are not. You know how we operate, I expect you to show her our way. However, you will be respectful.”

      So, the usual lecture then.

      “I know what you can be like if you’re not particularly keen on someone," she sighed, rubbing her forehead for a second.

"Unfortunately, I get the feeling Avara is like that too. She is prideful and definitely not the sort of person to ignore an insult,” she said, continuing to make her point. “You both are experts in your own fields and you will listen to each other. She’s a ‘Fire’ and instead of picking a ‘Water’ as her partner, I’m picking another ‘Fire’. I’m taking a risk picking you as her counterpart and I need to know you will not let me down. I’m trusting you, Poe.”

      Poe pursed his lips at the lecture, still miffed. 

      “I- I’ll try, bu-” he cut off, seeing Leia narrow her eyes. 

      He sighed, glaring at the ceiling for a second, resigned.

      “I won’t let you down, General,” he corrected. “I promise.”

      “Good,” she replied, turning back to her desk. “Now, go make a new friend,” Leia said teasingly over her shoulder.

      Poe huffed. “Why do you always talk to me like I’m still a kid?”

      “Well, you haven’t yet proved you’re one hundred per cent adult yet, Poe. After all, you ran in here half an hour late and the first thing you did was try to blame your delayed arrival on poor Wexley.”

      Why is she always right?

      "It wasn't half an hour, it was twenty minutes."

      "Twenty-five,” she countered, humouring him.

      Poe grinned. "A five-minute improvement from last time then," he said, turning for the door.

      Something smacked against the back of his head. He whipped around, to see Leia had her back turned to him. 

      “Did you just-” He paused. "Who's the kid now?"

      "Still you, Dameron."

      He left the room before he was subjected to any more scathing comments.

      How did she- her back was turned! he grumbled to himself as he left the building, trying to ignore the fondness creeping up as the bell for dinner chimed.

      Kriffing Force.

      ***

E/N: next chapter will be up in like a day :) glad to see someone made it to the bottom of the first chapter lol. I know my writing isn’t the best but it gets better, trust me.

Chapter 2 is up!

[axther]

🗨️ CountryOfWonderland said: Hello! My name is Karen. Yes I know it's ruined by Reddit. I am mindfully straight but also ace. I am known as the mom of the group by many. Supportive, wise in giving advice, yet I can't use those words to help myself. :'). I put others before me. Very empathetic, yet I'm not very easily angered. I am currently in college for the arts. I like correct anatomy, good concepts, ideas, and people in general. Mostly for what makes each person different, what makes them work. Even the simplistic things about them are what makes them best at what they are. Wordfully creative in poetry, compliments, and even pickup lines. Give me a word, and I'll be able to use it as a theme.  

Yikes I took WAY too damn long w this one, BUT I gotta say the whole thing is long af and really kicked my ass lmao. also tw for suicide mention and uhhh death mention that isn’t suicide? And spoilers for the Overhaul Arc

#1 is…Bakugou! 

AIGHT 

So y'all met at a training camp

Let's put aside the fact that we don't even know if Bakugou would ever want to go to a training camp ever again

But this one is for elite kids. 

The one's that could already be heroes, if given the traction and discipline 

And it's orientation day!! 

So

we all know that while Bakugou's all about physical prowess, he also recognises other people's talents 

Well this time he had trouble with it 

Namely, when he came across you, with a quirk he couldn't pin down. 

He's kinda miffed, ngl 

You keep to yourself, but you're not rude. 

You talk to people that approach you, speaking softly and sometimes writing in a small notepad for a second before talking again. 

Some of the younger kids are stuck to you like glue because you're just so soft.

And Bakugou can't figure out for the life of him what you can do, what you are. 

So as the camp progresses, he keeps you in peripheral. 

He's never pitted against you, and you guys don't have many interactions. 

So all he really knows is that you've made yourself camp mom, and everyone likes you. 

Except him 

Everyone's confused as to how he's just...neutral about you. 

So slowly, but inevitably, the rest of the camp decides to get you two to be in as many situations as possible 

At first, they started out small! 

No one wanted to share the canoe with Bakugou (though it was more for their safety than the Grand Plan™), so you agreed to 

And it's peaceful until one of the more prankish campers decides to flip your canoe, and Bakugou loses his mind on the kid. 

As more of these gentle nudges take place, you and Bakugou become little more than acquaintances.  

It's not going fast enough. 

For anyone. 

So one of the younger campers takes authoritative measures 

And locks y'all in a damn closet 

Neither you nor Bakugou wants to be responsible for property damage 

So you two decide to wait it out until someone comes to get something 

(and hope it doesn't get mistaken for anything else) 

There's a deafening silence 

You and Bakugou are glued to the opposite walls, not really talking

But then he notices that you're flipping through your little notebook, almost...in way that comforting. 

He tilts his head. 

"What're you doing?" 

You jump, and no, he doesn't think it's cute, not at all. 

And you glance to the side.

"I'm using my quirk." 

Bakugou's eyes just about burst out of his skull, because he's spent the whole camp trying to figure it out. 

"What is it?" 

"Fatewriter." You hesitate for a minute, before continuing. "I can see other people's fates." 

Again, Bakugou is floored, but he just stares. 

"If I get someone's name, their real name, I can see how they'll live, how they'll die. When. Where. I've gotten most people, here, but I never got the chance to go over them." 

Bakugou watches as you go back to reading the pages, in awe, before realisation settles over him. 

"But isn't it...scary?" 

"No." You glance up. "Just sad." 

There's silence again. 

"Is there anything...different?" Bakugou didn't think 'special' would really apply in the situation, so he tiptoed around his words 

Why, he wasn't sure 

But for just a moment, it was so intimate. 

There they were 

Halfway across the room from each other. 

Not even touching 

Not even making eye contact.

And somehow, it was as though they were meant to meet their entire lives.

 You nodded, and he realised he had been staring. 

"One of the kids... he's gonna be a villain." 

"What?!" Bakugou barked, rising up. "We need to stop him!" 

"We can't." 

"What the fuck? Why not?" 

"We don't know what we'd lose." You murmur, and there's sorrow in your voice, and if it were any other person, he would've absolutely lost his mind 

But you look up, and now your eyes are filled with something beyond sorrow-something so completely unfathomable that he's struck silent. 

"I once tried to save my family. My father, namely. He was a hero, and I saw that he was going to die. The day he was going to die, I begged him not to go. I was, what? Four?"

 You gave a humourless laugh.

"So when he saw his sobbing four-year-old daughter, he didn't go. That day, there was a villain attack. Thirty-eight people died. Everyone pinned the blame on my father, and he killed himself in shame." You looked back down. 

Bakugou lost all sense of feeling in his body, and he fell to the floor. 

He was closer to you than before, but he didn't even think about it. 

It was like all of his gusto from before had leaked out of his body 

And it was just him and you 

Two people 

Two kids 

Defenceless against the wills of the universe 

Locked in a closet. 

With all the time in the world, and at the same time, none at all. 

He noticed you stopped looking through the notepad 

You were slumped over, and you just looked so defeated. 

And slowly, quietly 

He pulls you in for a hug 

You're still

He's still

And suddenly, it's as though the universe wasn't so scary after all. 

#2 is…Iida! 

You and Tenya were peas in a pod, lemme tell you 

Y'all grew up together 

Your parents were heroes, life was nice, all that good stuff

(But as explained above happens, and…) 

You family has a fall from grace 

Your mother's in hysterics, mourning 

Any other family is trying to keep it all together

And then there's you 

And you're quiet. 

There's no crying, not in public at least. 

Tenya, who was just about as old as you, at the time, notices, but his parents told him not to interfere 

He wants to be there for you, as much as a five-year-old can, but…

You just shut down completely 

Your mother ends up breaking down and is taken to a mental institute 

There's talk about you potentially being arrested for indirectly killing thirty-nine people 

Everyone can't blame your father anymore, so they blame you 

And there you are, virtually alone.

When the Iidas pull through

They know what happened

They see the family name's been sullied

But goddammit, you're a child. 

So you're taken in by the Iidas. 

It's not quite adoption, and you're not their sister 

but you stay with them, and they take care of you. 

They don't ask anything in exchange, and you become a permanent guest at their house 

And so, you full-on grow up with the Iidas. 

You're there when Tenya gets admitted into U.A. 

(and notably, you don't, and the entire family knows why, but you don’t say anything) 

You're there when he goes through USJ, talking it out with him

You're there when Tensei gets hurt 

You're there when Bakugou gets taken 

And then entire time, you've become a pillar for him 

It's almost impossible, for him to imagine a world where you aren't there 

And it's the summer after the first semester of school.

Tenya's parents decide to try and get people to...approve of you

So they send you to a summer camp 

It's for kids with promising quirks, but maybe not the best handle on them or the best background 

So you're gone 

For two weeks 

And Tenya is absolutely fine. 

The first day, he writes you a letter, because he felt it would be more personal 

By the second day, he's gotten all his summer homework done 

By the third, he's written himself a brand new training regimen 

By the fourth...yeah, you get the idea 

He's bored and lonely 

Sure Tensei and his parents are there 

But, like…

His parents are busy, and Tensei can only do so much…

So while Tenya writes you a letter a day, he's slowly beginning to meditate on his friendship with you 

He never considered you as a sister, but more as a really, really, really close friend. 

But you're closer than most friends would be 

Sure, his friend circle at U.A. was great, and he had fun 

But he didn't really realise just how much he was missing until you left 

So two days into the second week, he's laying on his bedroom floor 

He's kinda blank, staring at the ceiling and watching the fan in his room spin 

And he's thinking about you 

You're beautiful, and you smile a lot, and you're matronly, which to anyone else, would've been an insult. Still, you're genuinely like a really young mother. 

A regal, young mother. 

You've helped him more times than he could count

And you do your best to not let people get to you 

You're just about the only person that he's cried in front of, besides his family 

And he has no idea just why you've become something so...present since you've been gone

And as he's thinking about you  and why in a way he hopes isn't creepy, Tensei peeks through the door

"... What'cha doing?" 

"Thinking about Kay." 

Tensei nods, clearly amused and a bit concerned. "Is something...wrong?" 

"No." Tenya shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. "Just thinking about her." 

"Looks like someone has a crush," Tensei teases, beginning to roll away when Tenya sits up at a ninety-degree angle 

And the look on his face could only be described as pure panic and realisation

Tensei stares back with wide eyes, blinking owlishly. 

"Oh my god," Tenya mutters before they speak in unison. 

"You have a crush." 

"I have a crush." 

There's silence, before Tenya skyrockets back up and begins going through his drawers furiously, pulling out paper and a pen.

Tensei pulls the door open a bit wider and wheels in, noting the picture of Tenya and you on the ground next to where Tenya was having his one-sixteenth life crisis. 

"What're you doing?" 

"I'm going to tell her in a letter! That's the responsible thing to do!" Tenya's got everything pulled out, but then freezes. 

"I can't tell her." 

Tensei pats Tenya's back, a small smirk on his face. 

"Ahh, young love…" 

(Tenya definitely did not spend the next several days lamenting how to tell you, or even if he should tell you.) 

(And he also definitely didn't pop your back with a bear hug when he saw you, and effectively set off the human bomb named Bakugou) 

#3 is...Mirio! 

Humans are fickle, fickle creatures 

Sometimes, they want you to do something 

Other times, they want the complete opposite. 

And in this case, humans were extremely fickle 

Not that you could blame this human in particular 

It was a several weeks after Sir Nighteye's death 

Though most of society knew you as a killer, Sir Nighteye looked past that 

Since your quirks were so similar

and he recognised that you were a child trying to save her father

So he did his best to help you, albeit discreetly. 

You knew when he was going to die

And he knew when you were going to die

But you never told the other, as part of a pact to not change fixed points in the future. 

It was a strange thing, in the end. 

To some extent, you two considered each other distant siblings

So, when he died, you attended his funeral 

Admittedly, you were the quietest of the lot.

There was no sobbing from you, just regretful sorrow. 

A young, blonde man wasn't hiding his grief, choking his sobs with his hand 

You glance at him, before looking away

After the service, you're the first to leave. 

You knew Nighteye wouldn't want you to linger on him, but to be the best person you can in your grief. 

But the young man catches you on the way out 

"You... you're Kay, right?" 

You hesitate. He continues. 

"I’m...I’m Mirio Togata. I...Sir…he talked about you. A lot. And he said…" 

"He mentioned that I knew when he was going to die?" You finished for him. 

Mirio freezes, then nods. 

"Why didn't you try to stop it?" He mutters, and you can feel worry bubble in your gut. 

"You could have saved him. Why didn't you?" 

You raise an eyebrow. 

You can tell he’s trying not to get angry, but his fists are clenched and his breathing is beginning to get heavy

But you can’t even feel angry

He’s right

You could’ve

But you look down, your back to him

“Nighteye and I had a deal. We wouldn’t tell the other when we die, and deal with it when it happens. He always told me that the future shouldn’t be changed.” You look forward, eyeballing the sky. 

“If I could’ve told him, without any worry of repercussions, I would. But time is not kind to us.” 

And with that, you walked away. 

Mirio can only watch, and the grief replaces his anger. 

Midoriya and All Might come over to him a minute later, pulling his thoughts away from you. 

But later that night, he looks you up. 

He doesn’t mean to be creepy

But when he sees the face of a little girl who was on the cusp of shattering, plastered all over the internet, he can’t help but feel justified pity. 

Of course, she wouldn’t interfere a second time. 

The first was traumatising enough. 

So, he become determined to befriend you

You were close to Nighteye, and while he never said much on his actual relationship with you, Mirio knew that he held you in dear regard. 

There were often times where he would mention something about you, and then Mirio and Midoriya were stuck trying to figure out if ‘Kay’ was his daughter, or what. 

So in the coming days, he found a new purpose. 

Between taking care of Eri and visiting his friends, he began trying to visit you. 

He popped by the Iida house, and knocked on the door. 

He expected to be greeted with a maid or something, with how elaborate the mansion was

But to his surprise, you opened the door. 

Tensei Iida (holy SHIT, goes Mirio’s mind) is behind you, but before Tensei can ask who’s at the door, or Mirio can ask why your eyes are red, you slam it shut with more force than you looked capable of. 

This becomes a recurring thing 

Until one day, Mirio manages to catch the Iidas while you’re out 

They invite him in, and they exchange pleasantries, until you come in from the rain

And you make eye contact with him 

And he makes eye contact with you

And you bolt up the stairs 

He goes running after you as politely as he can, apologising to the Iidas

(and noting Tenya’s mildly disgruntled face) 

And he catches you, just before you can shut the door to your room

And while he doesn’t try to burst in, he does manage to get a question out 

“Why are you avoiding me?” 

There’s a second, and two, and he knows the family’s listening from downstairs

And the door opens

And you look so hollow. 

And for a moment, Mirio wonders just how well you’re taking Nighteye’s death, before you step aside so he can come in. 

There’s silence as he takes in your room, and then turns to you. 

You’re wrapping your arms around yourself

And you’re not looking at him

You both are stock still, but then Mirio speaks again. 

“Did I do something?” 

There’s a noise from you, something between a choking sob and a swallow, before you shake your head. 

“No. It wasn’t...you.”

“Then what was it?” Then, he quickly adds, “I can leave, if I’m making you uncomfortable.”  

“You were right,” You’re whispering, so quietly that he could barely hear it. 

“Huh?” 

“I could’ve saved him. I should’ve saved him,” When you’re talking, it actually sounds like it pains you to speak.

It’s enough that he starts reaching out, but then you start again, and it completely unravels you. 

“He was someone so dear to me...I could’ve told him, hinted it, something. I think about it so much. He could still be here today, and it’s all my fault. And you knew, you called me out on it. I couldn’t handle it. I feel…” 

And you’re sobbing, genuinely sobbing, and it’s heartbreaking, as though the little girl from so long ago had come back to haunt the living. 

“I feel like I can’t say anything. I’m drowning in something, and it’s red, and it’s angry, and it’s choking me, but I can’t say a word! I keep all my emotions bottled up, and the bottle is so, so full! What can I do, when it bursts and all the glass kills me from the inside?” 

You’ve kneeled on the carpet

And Mirio’s kneeling, too, and he’s crying

You two have barely had any conversation besides at the funeral and here

And yet he’s knows that you two are on a different frequency 

Maybe it’s the shared grief of losing someone so dear 

Maybe it’s how you held yourself, like you were scared of finally letting go of your restraint 

Or maybe it was just how you cried together, arms on each other’s shoulders, free to just let go 

Mirio isn’t sure 

But when he looks up and sees the tears hanging off your eyelashes, he makes a promise to himself 

And in a way, Sir Nighteye, too

I’ll be there for you. Always.