#I finally stopped mid chapter in the last book in a part that's less of a cliffhanger than elsewhere

[ladylynse]

Gravity falls and star vs the forces of evil

Dipper x janna

Word magic

Okay. I misread this in my email. I got the GF/SvtFoE part. And I almost got the ship. But somehow I got 'Evil!Dipper' instead of just 'Dipper' and I wrote that before re-reading this so uh. Bonus three sentences under the cut, I guess?

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Sometimes, Dipper still couldn’t believe it had started as simply as it had—“You shouldn’t be able to do that,” she’d said from the shadows, nearly causing him to jump out of his skin and successfully causing him to flub the fire spell he’d been trying out on his would-be campfire, leaving his fingertips coated with ashes instead of sparks—but Janna….

Janna hadn’t laughed at him for believing what he did, hadn’t tried to explain it away, and hadn’t run when she’d realized it was truly magic he wielded and not magic tricks; she’d grinned and asked him to teach her.

She was better at it than he was, and she would rub in that little fact at every opportunity and then some, but the friendly competition helped him improve more than his studying alone ever had, and she…she made him better in a different way, too, and not just when it came to research—even if that’s all he told Mabel the two of them were doing, though he was well aware from her flat look that she didn’t buy it for a second.

-|-

see more fics | crossovers 

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Bonus: Janna/Evil!Dipper

Janna wasn’t fooling herself; she knew about the part of Dipper that he tried to keep hidden from her and her friends, the part that had Tom frowning at him behind his back, Jackie raising her eyebrows at Janna whenever Dipper wasn’t looking, Marco acting even more protective of everyone than usual, and Star hesitating a split second before offering a smile after a not-quite-joking remark on Dipper’s part.

That part, however well or poorly hidden, connected to Dipper’s past—though all Janna had managed to ferret out so far was that he had a sister he teasingly called Shooting Star—but it was also, unquestioningly, related to magic.

Dipper, despite what Star had done, could still do magic, still had a functioning spell book, or a least a journal with spells in it that seemed more reliable than Star’s spells had ever been, and maybe Janna just found the allure of magic intoxicating, maybe she was drawn to him because he was wielding a power no one else could, maybe she had kissed him that first time simply to get a closer look at the book he’d tried to hide from her when she’d walked in on him without knocking—but the thrill of this, whatever this was, had her seeking more, and he hadn’t turned her away yet.

[whilereadingandwalking]

The Makioka Sisters by Jun'ichirō Tanizaki, translated by Edward G. Seidensticker, can be a bit of a slog. At 562 pages, this book tells the story of four sisters of an old, noble Osaka family. The main plot is Austen-esque: trying to get the 3rd sister, quiet Yukiko, married despite the high, almost snobbish standards of the old Makioka family, so that poor, modern, outgoing Taeko (affectionately called "Koi-san") can marry her long-time lover. As marriage negotiations continue to fall through for Yukiko, Taeko gets increasingly impatient, and older sister Sachiko worries that her behavior will bring ruin to the family name. I first, fittingly, began reading this book on the train from Osaka to Tokyo. It was covered by a flowery book cover I bought from a children's library on Nakanoshima island. Despite my best efforts, it took me more than a weekend to get through the hefty paperback.

Making Sachiko our central protagonist gives us an unreliable narrator in an intriguing way: her sensitive, traditional mindset leaves the reader both nostalgic and frustrated in turns. The book's biggest weakness was long, hefty paragraphs that could be repetitive from other sections. I suspect this comes from it being serialized and published in parts. I think the book would have benefited from multiple point-of-views. Sachiko is the perfect representative of the old family, but her actions were often snobbish and cold, and it would have been interesting to have her unreliability interrogated by having Taeko's point of view as well, here and there. Its biggest strength is to be read between the lines. Over the events of this book, which seem so couched in dated tradition and formality, loom hints of austerity measures and rumors that mark the impending shoe drop of Japan entering World War II. There's a sense (reinforced by the book's Japanese title, "lightly falling snow," which can refer to the falling cherry blossoms, a season of beauty short-lived and always destined to end each year) of impermanence around the entire book. This is a way of life about to be obliterated by world events. It's worth noting that the government actually stopped the publication of this book in 1943 because “The novel goes on and on detailing the very thing we are most supposed to be on our guard against during this period of wartime emergency: the soft, effeminate, and grossly individualistic lives of women.” All of this gives the novel a very specific wash as a frozen moment in time destined to be swept away. Its ending carries a sort of sadness to it: without spoilers, Sachiko feels confident that the future is set, but World War II is about to change everything for her family and country.

Even in the book itself, many holidays, festivals, and traditional arts and celebrations are being reeled back in light of the Second Sino-Japanese War. All of the book's readers during and after World War II would have recognized this acutely, and I suspect that feeling of loss and nostalgia for a traditional Japan (in all its good and bad) was a huge contributor to making this book a classic. As for the ending, the book's pacing was steady throughout, less like a flight (with a take-off, stabilization, and descent) and more like a train ride, straight across with a few interesting stops. The ending felt like getting off one stop before the train's final destination. Unceremonious, and it feels like the story keeps going straight ahead, but you're hurried off the train anyway. The events of the last three pages were large compared to a lot of others in the book that got entire chapters, and yet Tanizaki breezes over them and leaves us, it almost feels, mid-paragraph. I did like the bittersweetness he tries to leave us with, but the final sentence felt very low-energy for being the final words of a 500+ page book. Content warnings for misogyny, ableism, classism, mental illness.

[optimistic-dinosaur-nacho]

𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 & 𝐿𝒾𝑒𝓈

Chapter III

Warnings: Language, Adult Themes, War, Fantasy Tropes Summary: Two kingdoms on the urge of bringing peace between their lands. A benevolent princess who finds music as a fun hobby and invests herself in books. And a belligerent prince who takes whatever he claims his and will soon be crowned for king. Relationship: Prince!Ransom/Princess!Reader

Prologue Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III

Huge thanks to @captain-a-rogerss to the edit of Prince!Ransom. Give her some love as always!

I don’t consent to have my work hosted on any second party, app, or site. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but tumblr, it’s been reposted without my permission.

Author’s Note:  Sorry for delay, I wanted to make this chapter extra special and I also had to gather information I forgot after a year so the plot and character don’t ruin themselves by my absence

The rest of the night felt like a total nightmare. The Thrombey’s and Drysdale’s completely forgot about the recent comments that you spoke lastly. You were lucky for most of the parts that they never mentioned anything else about you, but the feeling of having Linda’s son sending you a death look.  Not a single second made you think less of him. You were considered a better Royal than him. 

Without a significant other, you could handle a kingdom on your own.

Perhaps you didn’t want to take your father’s throne. If James was able to skip his coronation, could you do the same? Skip the princes and do something better than just sit on the chair and hear about the village's life problems when you could do something huge outside your home. Build homes for those who sit out in the cold. 

Royals always thought less for the poor. If Ransom couldn’t help, you were the generation to do it yourself. He would just have to stay out of your way.

You hear a faint knock on your door and the door creaks open. “Good morning, Y/N,” Brodie says, you turn away from your window, wearing your silky blue gown, giving your dear friend a smile. “Good morning, Brodie. What’s the occasion?”

She grins, “Your mother has insisted on having you downstairs. She would like to speak with you.” You fully turned and nodded. You were the first to leave your room, Brodie following behind. If your mother speaks about dinner last night, you would have to reason with her. And you know how much she loved the family. You felt like you were the bad person in the room when they came. But the real answer was the family. 

Even your town was afraid of them.

Your mother never knew about the incident of punching Ransom. If you did, she may lock you up in a tower. Your father had kept the incident from her because he knew her more than you did. She didn’t know the full reason why he sent you to that Manor. Your mother only agreed to it with no questions. You could hear your mother chatting to one of the maids as she sat at the long table. 

“Morning, Ma cherie. Je vous en prie, asseyez-vous,” Your mother says, you listen and take a seat right next to her. Her gentle eyes scanning the letter, she hums, “How was your ball, yesterday?” You peer up at her, finally grinning. “It was wonderful. I’m sure Angelica would have one for her sixteenth?”

Your mother nods, “Yes, of course. We would’ve done that for yours, but sadly your father sent you off to that manor,” She shook her head while you drew your eyes away, sheepishly. “Also, your father and I were talking about your betrothal. I’m sure that’ll come in a few months, don’t you think, ma cherie-?”

You reach for your face and sighed, “Mother, please, can we-” Her hand lifts up to stop you mid-sentence, “Ah-ah. Miss Brodie, darling, can you excuse us for a moment?” She asks. Brodie’s face beams up, bowing her head, “Yes, Your Grace.” Seconds later, you’re left with your mother in the large room. She taps your forearm, “Don’t touch your face, darling. Hands down.” You sigh, turning to her. “I can’t do marriage. I’m not ready-”

“Och. Darling, your brother was to be crowned 10 years ago and he chose to be with a poor lovely woman, your sister wants to be the fairest of them all and you… you don’t want this?”

“What I don’t want is having to submit to someone. Yes, I wanted to be queen alone, but I found something else-” You drop your shoulders, helplessly, taking your mother’s hand in yours to have her understand. It only made her shake her head, “This is what has to happen.” You lowered your head and shook it.

You hear your mother click her tongue, taking your chin, “The only reason we do this...is to have those who we trust to take our place. And you can’t do that alone. No one could,” She lifts your chin up to look up at her. She grins, “We’ll talk more later on. Go on.” You lifted yourself from your seat and left the room. You figured Brodie was somewhere else, so you headed to the stables just outside. Slowly meeting up with your shire horse, Oliver.

“Morning, Oliver,” You say, rubbing your hand down your horse’s back. Oliver sputters towards you as you add the saddle and situated it before getting on. You pat her side, “Let’s go down the river for a bit, okay?” You take the shank in hand and gently guide yourself down the small trail. Your horse takes you down the trail through the woods with flowers and bright green grass.

So much hadn’t changed since, the creek you remembered when you skipped rocks and dropped flowers, watching them glide down the ripples. 

The amount of bunnies you had in the forest. Your mother gave you a pet bunny once. You weren’t sure how the poor thing got away. Your horse sputters softly and you hear rustling in the brush. Your horse comes to a stop for you to look around. The sound of galloping horses filled your ears and people were shouting. 

Your horse lifts up its front hooves causing you to scream in fright as three men are chasing a couple deer down the trails. You couldn’t help but scowl. “Excuse me!” You call out, one of them comes to a stop while the other two continue to chase the deer. “Yes, milady?” He asked, his familiar uniform gave you the hint of a guard. 

The similar Lion button was on the front of his horse's chest and his sword was gold and the handle was a leather brown for grip. You hear another pair of horse’s hooves. “Head on, Francis. I didn’t tell you to stop, did I?” 

“No, Your Highness,” You hear him say, turning his horse’s head to hunt down the deer. You turn and see Ransom on his dark horse. He ogled yours with disgust, “You know they do have smaller horses for your size. There’s no need to show your pride with that.” You roll your eyes and your horses circled around on the trail. “You know you’re hunting,” You say.

Ransom looks out to the forest and nods, smugly, “Yeah, it’s the season. I have a bigger family than yours, so I’m in charge of hunting.”

You scoff with a grin, “I know you wouldn’t hunt just for food. For your family, you’d call it a sport.” Ransom chuckles at that, lowering his head, looking at the back of his horse’s neck. The ways Ransom had when it comes to hunting, you’ve seen him do it in person. He disgusted you in a way. “And you’re on my land, I suggest you leave.”

Ransom lifts his head up, “Your land?” He asks, “Pardon me, but I don’t think after a day of being welcomed back, you don’t get to command another Royal to leave when you don’t have the upper crown.” You lifted a brow up, cockily, “Ask your men for their sword, I’ll show you.” Ransom’s gaze seemed to darken the second you said that. It didn’t change yours either. Your horses’ continue to circle and you look over to the field. 

“My grandfather always told me how much you beat him at Go. He said you had a lot of strategy. Takes years to master.”

“Why, didn’t you?” You asked, chin lifted up like you had the upper hand of being the tougher one here. Ransom halts his horse and so does yours. Your horses’ noses pointing opposite directions, you and Ransom made eye contact. His dark grin grew, “Even if I told you, I wouldn’t try it with you.”

“I know that’s your way of knowing I would beat you,” You replied. Ransom wasn’t always good at anything he did with you. Except that when you two first had your duel, he only became more of an imbecile. Translation: An Asshole. That day, returning after your incident with Ransom who’s probably feeding his family with Blood Elk they find in the Evergreen Mountain. Blood Elks are the rarest animals in the mountain, their red antlers are wide and tough that stories were told to scare children from running up there. 

Your father was a hunter when he was young, there was never a time where he didn’t have a hunting story to tell. The time he got bit by one of the most strongest bears in the country or the time he shot an arrow at an eagle flying in the sky. He initially taught your brother, James to hunt and eventually James learned how to skin animals and turn them into rugs or just even small things. James had a weird little thing for the anatomy of animals that he became very smart and learned the anatomy of humans, knowing the weak spots and fatal parts of the body. That’s why he joined a sport down in town facing mercenaries or other men who challenge on a horse and a spear. Jousting was his favorite hobby of all and he won every championship. Training his way into this championship in Winter, he is always out in the fields taking down sandbags in armor off a friendly horse chasing towards him while an instructor assists. 

“Darling.”

“Yes, mother?” You asked.

Your mother lifts her head up and smiles, “You're going down to the library in town, are you?” You look down at the book in your hands and close the book, knowing you could read another book. “I might.” Your mother puts her hands on her lap, “I wanted you to go talk to the florist, Miss Nora, she has these flowers from the Spain land, Chocolate Cosmos, so beautiful. You should grab some on your way back.” You then thought now you had to go, you can never refuse a Queen’s request. “Of course— AH!” A large thud hits the table and you look up to see a dead deer. You stand up, startled before you collapse into the arms of the same man you met, the boy’s face drowns with worry. “Are you alright, Your Majesty?” You glance at the deer and turn away disgusted that the deer's mouth was open not to your liking.

Ransom peered over the boy’s shoulder and grabbed him, “Let her go,” He growled at his Gillie and the boy helped you back on your feet and let go of you. Your mother and father were more impressed than uncomfortable. Ransom switches his tone, “Good afternoon, Your Majesty.”

“Ransom, I didn’t know you were still in the Kingdom,” Your mother says, your father grins and raises his palm. “I allowed him to do a little hunting for my men. They’re so slow when it comes to hunting deer,” Your father scoffed. You gag and the *Gillie boy turns to you. “Well, thank you, Ransom, this is the nicest thing you could do for us. Should we offer you a room? You look tired.” You shake your head, holding your hand to your mouth. “No, thank you, I have somewhere else to go for the evening.” Your father waves him off, “Thank you, Ransom, you’re welcome to take the deer to our butcher, he shall butcher it for dinner tonight.” Ransom bows a couple inches and turns.  *Gillie or ghillie is an ancient Gaelic term for a person who acts as a servant or attendant on a fishing, hunting.

The Gillie boy mutters to you, “You alright?”

“I’m okay–”

“Ben!” Ransom shouts, the boy flinches and gently rubs your shoulder before picking up the deer and struggles to carry it behind Ransom to the Butcher. You looked towards your parents and saw yourself out the door. You had your gown in your fists, angrily making your way through the hall. You hear large footsteps behind and you gasp the second you’re pushed against the wall. Ransom towers over you and grabs your chin with his thumb. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to see your face.”

“What do you mean,” You grit, trying to pull away from him. Ransom grins and looks down at your gown. “All these colors aren’t going to cover up your secrets, Y/N.” His blue eyes look deep into yours. “What are you?” He asked, your eyes glare at him, bringing up the similar voice into your head when you were little. 

“What. Are. You?” 

You don’t answer that and it makes him smirk, “The thing about deer is that their hearts aren’t close to their chest, it’s more halfway down above their stomach and below their lungs…” Ransom puts his finger on your stomach but you could barely feel it through your corset. “You either take the arrow and fire there–” He gently jabs your stomach, “–Or you take the arrow and strike it to the neck of its arteries.” He points to your neck and lightly pokes it. Stepping away, he smirks and watches you leave, lifting your gown to remove yourself from that hall. Ransom grins and turns down the other way.

 The next day, Brodie got you ready in a relaxed gown to go out into town, and two soldiers chaperoned you to the library on your father’s behalf. Brodie tagged along to help you find the flowers when you stop at the florist. If you were to throw yourself off a course of task, it’s a rule that your parents should know you went to another place. Which you wanted to visit the bakery. You skipped the library causing Brodie and the soldiers to stop, “Your Majesty, the library.”

You wave your hand, “I know, I want to do the florist first.” Brodie sighs and follows along with the soldiers who held their swords hilts in their sheaths. You could barely see their eyes but you can tell their lower faces were a curiosity of how handsome their faces were. You walked up to the small flower shop and saw an old woman fixing some flowers on the display. “Miss Nora.”

“Ah, Your Majesty,” She grins, “I know what you’re here for, the Queen asked for a couple dozen of Chocolate Cosmos, my son, Frances traveled to Spain and found these. I always thought your mother was more fond of blue but she has a unique taste.” You chuckled and paid the woman a couple coins, she was in complete awe. “Your Majesty, I can’t–”

“It’s between us,” You winked, the currency you owned was one of the richest gold. Carved in the coin was one of the first Kings of Saphir. The old lady thanked you so kindly, bowing and blessing you with a couple more flowers. Brodie helped you carry some of the flowers gathered in a basket and you made your way over to the library. The castle had a library of its own but there was more of history than there was of nonfiction. You learned to read French by your mother and there were common French books to read, especially Latin. Latin and French are not very distinct from each other but you wanted to learn Latin and many more languages.

“This book, here… Romeo–”

“Read that, already,” You spoke, searching through the books. Brodie steps over to another spine of a book. “Spy of the Stars?” Brodie asked, you looked over and shook your head. “Oh!” You peep, reaching into the shelf to pull out a book with a lack of writing and over worn. “Game Without Glory.” You began to read the first chapter and you began to feel already pulled into it. You and Brodie walk out with a couple other books and the soldiers stiffen themselves up when you turn to them, “Bakery, next.”

“Your Highness, we were ordered to take you back after your visit with the florist and library–”

You sigh and begin to walk towards the Bakery, “I’ll be quick, besides, I think my father would enjoy a tarte framboise.” Brodie tags along and without argument the soldiers follow beside her. The welcoming sign of the Bakery and the smell of French bread and sourdough filled the air when you walked in. “Stop eating those, they’re not for you! You’re lucky I’m making extra.”

“So I can have some–”

“Stop it, James!” The red haired young girl slapped the hand of the Prince. “Are you harassing her in her own bakery?” James turns still leaned on the counter with a grin. “Of course I am not! I’m just eating her delicious tart…” He slips another tart into his mouth slowly. Quinn rolls her eyes and pulls the pan of tarts away from him. James lifts himself off the counter and turns around, “What are you doing out here?” He notices the soldiers outside of the Bakery. “Ah, mom.”

“She wanted me to stop for some flowers but I wanted to stop for something nice.”

Quinn comes back out and brushes off her gown, “Would you like to take a couple rolls I made? It’s a new recipe I made.” You beam at her with delight, “Of course, I would love to try some!” Quinn smiles and leaves to go grab the basket. “Would you like me to take you back?” James asked, “I don’t like that they’re sending you off with soldiers everyday."

All you could ever do was smile, "I don’t mind them, they’re like friends.” James gives you a blank look and then nods, “Alright, then. Be safe back home.” Quinn came back with a basket of rolls and added some fruits on the side. “Oh, this is wonderful, Quinn, thank you so much.” Quinn grins and bows a little bit. “Of course, I hope you’ll like them and your parents, too.” 

You chuckle, “I hope not, I don’t want my father to make you into our bakery or something.” Quinn laughs and lightly touches James' shoulder. “I wouldn’t let him,” James added. Brodie picks up the basket of rolls and you sigh, “Alright I’m off, thank you again. I’ll see you another day!”

“Bye, Y/N!” 

When  you walk out, the soldiers close in to your side as you step down the stairs. On the way back was a chatty walk, you and Brodie were making plans for the day to check on your horse and as well the garden. When you got home, a maid rushed her way down the stairs, almost out of fear. “Your Highness!” She calls, she stops in front of you and bows. “The King has requested to see you immediately.” You asked Brodie and the maid to take care of the baskets and made your way to the Great Hall where your father and mother sat at, they were talking to a woman in a red dress and another man standing beside her and a smaller one just a few inches shorter beside them with his hand behind his back and the other in front of him.

You slowly walk up, brushing your hair off your face and fixing your dress. “Ma cherie,” Your mother touches your father’s hand and he looks. “Ah, look who showed up.”

“Hello, father.”

“You’ve met the Royals of Romania?” You turn and notice the similar faces from your ball, including their handsome son named Rafael. His mother grins, “We’ve been allies for many generations and I’ve come to an agreement that something should be requested and decided before next fall.”

Your father slightly leans to the side, “That’s a long wait, you sure you don’t want a decision immediately?” The Queen steps up once, “I know after the princess’ return every princess is jealous and every prince wants to take her hand and bear their child but I’m letting–” She glances at you, “–the princess decide what she wants.” You picked at your hands and saw Rafael glance at you with a small grin. “Very well–” Your father said, “I will give you a letter if there has been any changes or requests for this matter. There’s no other Royal Family I will allow my daughter to marry, but it is her decision.” You wanted to say no, but you were worried about the consequences of the arranged marriage. 

You don’t want to get married. Being sent off to a manor that is filled with more women you can imagine that are put through to behave and learn the way of how women should act. But it was different. You got the reality that there can be a change. You hate men. How disgusting and horrible they are, but there was a source of hope that one could come. But you don’t know if Rafael or Samuels are one of those men.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” The Queen bows, “Bringing our Kingdoms together can break the ideal of war between the others.” The King nods and waves them off, the King and Queen of Romania leave but the son stays and turns to you. He takes your hand gently by giving you a look of consent and you allow him to take your hand and kiss your knuckles softly, still looking into your eyes with gleam. “Do think about it,” His accent was so smooth it had you struck with thought when he walked away with his parents. Your father’s strong gaze ripped you out of the trance. 

“Father, I don’t know if you’ve heard but I don’t want to get–”

“I know you don’t want to, but this is the choice of life or death,” He stands up, “I don’t know if you’ve heard recently there’s a Royal who’s trying to get the throne. They call him the Royal of War. His whole Kingdom was destroyed into ruins by every Kingdom because their generations are considered the weak Royals, but now his last generation is him and he will do anything to get to us.” 

You realize, now. Marrying can stop war, your biggest fear was being in a war. The blood and the dead bodies have been haunting you ever since you heard stories about the Saphir Wars many decades ago. Your ideal of a world was peace. You didn’t argue back and nod once with a bow. “I’ll think about it.” Your father nods with great content and waves you off. 

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[someonelookingpraediti]

Currently Reading...

A Little Life - Hanya Yanagihara

I honestly didn't know anything about this book before buying it, except that I'd seen people all over tumblr crying over it, calling it "heartbreaking", "brutal", "traumatic". Great, I thought, just my kind of thing!

It's a pretty intimidating book, and probably would have sat on my shelf, collecting dust, languishing in my TBR for years, if Henry hadn't bought us tickets to see the play.

"Have you read A Little Life?" "No, but it's on my TBR!" "Do you want to see the play? It's in May." "Sure, I'll definitely have read it by then!"

And suddenly it was mid-April and, much like in my school days, I had not done the reading.

No worries, I re-bought it on kindle, because that's the way I read quickest, and did some quick calculations. In order to get done before the show, I would need to read 7% of the book per day - not including Sundays, because I know what I'm like. Doable... probably. I'll admit, I was a bit worried.

Henry also warned me that I might need to take breaks and read other things, or I might find it "too much". The word "brutal" came up again. I don't normally read two books at once, I tend to end up neglecting whichever I'm less keen on. But I took his point - getting emotionally drained by a book wouldn't make me read it any faster. So I decided to make this my "take to work" book, and while at home, read some "light" books.

I finished a week ahead of schedule, and didn't really get a lot of other reading done - I managed one children's book.

There are some books you just start reading, and you know. This is one of those.

I was 3% in, and I knew. It's so beautifully written, and long before anything even happened, I was hooked.

At 14%, I cried for the first time.

This book is told in snippets and snapshots, moving back and forth through time, and from so many different perspectives. The book is one of JB's art shows. I want to stop, at 25%, when Jude is stupidly, blissfully happy, when everything is going well for him and he's loved and in love, finally, finally happy. I don't want another 75% of things going wrong.

31%, and happiness is not for Jude. But it's for you, Willem.

At 43% it got bad. At 45%, it got really bad. People kept using the word "brutal", but at first it was almost uplifting. I almost began to think I was reading the wrong book, the sheer tenderness between these boys, the love shared in every interaction, was charming and hopeful. And then, in the space of about a chapter, it all went wrong, and I spent the rest of the evening feeling like someone had kicked me in the sternum.

But it got better, it got better. There were The Happy Years. A subheading that was so positive that at first I couldn't take it at face value. But they really were the happy years.

85%, and I'm crying from sheer happiness.

86%, and the breath is knocked from me in one sentence. I spend the rest of the book crying, and by the end I'm wailing; big, ugly, noisy, gulping, gasping sobs. I'm crying my heart out.

But the thing is. This is a happy book. Yes, it has a sad ending, but many books do. Other than that one particular stretch (43%, remember, and for only 10% of the book) it wasn't brutal. Most of the horrific, terrible things that happen to him are in the past, they've already happened, before the book even starts. Even before the story opens, they are done, past, immutable, unchangeable. They can't be unwritten. The last 15%, the sad 15%, is awful to read - but it doesn't erase the rest of his life - the happy part of his life. It doesn't erase the 35 or so years he and Willem had together. And as the end of the book shows, people die in their forties and fifties and sixties as often as they live to old age. Lives cut short - but not that short. Not tragically short, not unusually short. But unusually happy, at least for a little while.

I don't know if I could bear to read this book again, and I don't know that I could recommend it - at least not to any of the people I know. But I smiled more than I cried.

[yoonjinkooked]

Our Story | Act I - The Future (knj)

Our Story - Act I, Part 5, The Future

Pairing: Namjoon x (f) reader

Genre: Fluff, smut, angst

AU: strangers to friends to lovers and much more than that which I cannot spoil just yet.

Synopsis: The story of you and Kim Namjoon, and the change he brought into your life. It’s fun, it’s exciting, it’s hopeful, and it’s also exactly the opposite.

Warnings for this chapter: cursing, softness all around, smut: oral, (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), not too explicit

WC: 5.2 k

Series Masterlist

Act I Playlist

Banner: @joyfulhopelox

Day 200

You should have asked for help when you had a chance but no, of course not, you wanted to surprise him all by yourself, to make sure that no one is around when you do so. You’re an idiot, plain and simple. Your stupid desire to make this a grand surprise is the reason why you are struggling even to push the box towards the door of his bookstore, much less carry it in your hands. People look at you like you’re an idiot, and you can only be glad that you waited for closing time to surprise him, and not do this mid-day. 

 Somehow, you manage to reach the door, opening it with your elbow and back, as you continue to struggle with the box. 

 “Sorry, we’re closing in a few!” Namjoon pipes up from inside the store, likely rushing to reach the door and stop the customer. 

 “Not for me you’re not,” you joke. As soon as he hears your voice, you see him popping up from behind the register, smiling brightly at you. “I need help here, Joon,” you point out when he doesn’t move, and that’s when he realizes that you’re carrying something. He rushes towards the door, giving you a quick peck when he reaches you and before you can try to stop him, he tries to lift up the box, immediately cursing and letting go of it when he realized how heavy it is. 

 “What in the world are you carrying?!” 

 “Oh shush, help me push it inside; it’ll be easier if we just push,” you instruct him, and somehow, with enough effort from the both of you, you manage to get the box over the threshold; you proceed to push it through the bookstore, avoiding shelves and tables as you do, while Namjoon closes and locks the door, even turning the CLOSED sign to face the street. You push the box until it’s right in front of the register, which is when you turn to face him, smiling brightly as you point at the box. “Come on, open it!” 

 With a suspicious look, he starts opening the box. Unfortunately, given its weight, you didn’t really have a chance to pack it like an actual present, but it’s what’s inside that matters; you are all but bouncing in place as you wait for him to open it and once he finally does, you’re not surprised at all with his reaction; he freezes, staring at it in awe. His mouth is hanging open, a sight that makes you laugh, hard; it worked. If this is how he reacts to your gift, it worked. The surprise factor was worth the physical effort it took to get the box to him. 

 “What do you think?” you probe him, eager to hear his opinion. You were ready for stunned silence, but you never expected it to last this long - long enough to make you wonder whether it’s a positive or a negative silence. “I designed it myself, but I didn’t get to make it on my own; I’m okay with woodwork, but some of the details really needed a professional hand. If you really get close to it or run your fingers against it, you can feel the curve of each page,” you continue, talking fast as the nerves overwhelm you. Yes, you did expect silence but not one that’ll last this long, not given what you’ve prepared for him. 

 It’s a table - simple as that. But it’s all handmade from the highest quality wood, and the one leg that balances the top part is formed like a stack of books; each one of them a bit different in size, a bit turned to the side, with a spine and complex carving that make it look like the books have actual pages in it. It was super easy to design and incredibly difficult to make; you had to call in favors from two frequent collaborators of yours to make it happen. And you did - because way back when, you promised Namjoon that he will have a Y/N original design in his bookstore, and once this idea came to you, you knew that you had to make it happen. 

 It just… screams Namjoon. You can’t imagine a better piece for him, nor could you ever imagine someone else owning something like this. 

 “Y/N,” he finally speaks up, only to stutter immediately. As impatient as you are, you try not to show it, try to give him time to take it in and decide if he even likes it. “Y/N, this is… I’m out of words, honestly,” he stops, looking at you in bewilderment. 

 “Okay, step by step,” you chuckle nervously, not nearly as confident as you were while pushing the damn box to him. “Do you like it, at least?” 

 “Y/N, it’s beautiful,” he shakes his head, looking away from you to stare at the table in awe; crouching next to it, he runs his hand against the spine of the wooden books. “I don’t know what to say… I love it, I absolutely love it but isn’t it too much?” 

 “Why would it be?” you shrug, much more relaxed now that you know he actually likes it. “I think that it can make a good centerpiece for the store; a platform for you to exhibit the newest arrivals. It’s black walnut, so it’s pretty durable and the color of it suits the floors and shelves; it took me a bit of time to find the perfect shade. I don’t know how the hell I managed to bring a small block of wood and compare it to the shelves without you noticing,” you admit, remembering how you pretended to be looking through the back sections, when in fact you were hoping that he wouldn’t catch you fishing out blocks out of your bag, as you placed them right next to the shelf, then text your friends to inform them whether the shade works or if you have to dig up some more options. 

 “This took so much time,” Namjoon shakes his head, still running his fingers against the wood. “You’ve put me in a corner, Y/N. A simple ‘thank you’ can’t do this justice; how the hell am I supposed to match this, ever?” he wonders. 

 “Joon, I didn’t make this to start a competition for us,” you point out, although you feel touched that his initial reaction is how to match what you just did. “I did it because I wanted you to have it; I wanted to create something for you. You make me happy and that’s more than enough, more than I ever could have asked for. So just… you know… roll with it.” 

 It’s not difficult to understand his point of you, as you would likely react in a similar way if you were in his place. But, you’re not. And you’re more than fine with simply doing something nice without expecting anything else in return. The world would be a better place if more people did that, every now and then. 

 “Roll with it?” Joon chuckles in disbelief, shaking his head at you. You can see gratitude in his eyes, it’s evident that you’ve touched him with this gesture. Before you can pout and rush to reassure him that it was your pleasure, he is pulling you in for a hug. It’s one of those hugs that last long, that are used instead of words. In his arms, in the way he holds you, you can feel all the emotions transferring to you, everything that he may not trust his vocabulary to express. He is as warm as he always is, his embrace comforting you like nothing else ever could. You snuggle closer to him, resting your head against his chest. 

 “My love, you are the sunshine on the rainiest of days.” 

 He does this often. For a man who claims that he doesn’t have a way with words, he will say something so beautiful and genuine, with no preparation whatsoever - and it leaves you speechless every time. You only wish that he could realize and remember that words like these mean more to you than any gifts ever could. 

 “I love you,” you mumble in response, as unlike him, you truly aren’t good with words. Whatever you could compare him to wouldn’t do him justice; no celestial body or natural miracle can stand next to him. In your eyes, he is so much more, so much bigger than anyone and anything else. You’re not putting him on a pedestal, at least you hope you’re not; but you also can’t be in denial about how honest, genuine and kind this man is. And how lucky you are to have stumbled upon him when you least expected. 

 “I love you too, baby,” he replies, gently swaying your body side to side as you hug, likely not even realizing that he’s doing that. “So, so much. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you have to be the best thing that has ever happened to me.” 

 “It’s just a table, Joon, you can chill,” you joke his confession away, smiling when he starts laughing, his chest shaking from beneath your cheek. 

 “It’s just a table, she says,” he scoffs, proceeding to plant a kiss on the top of your head. “We’ve been together way too long for you to shy away from my compliments and expressions of love; if you aren’t used to it, you’d better get used to it soon.” 

 “Get used to you?” you chuckle, moving from his embrace to look up at him. If you weren’t already melting because of his words, his expression would have a similar effect. He just looks so happy, and it’s a sight that you could spend your days staring at. “I’ll never get used to you, or anything that you bring as a packaged deal. It’s entirely way too good to stop appreciating it on a daily basis.” 

 “See? You’re better with words than you think,” he argues, but you shake your head, dismissing it with ease. You’ve read a little bit of his writing, and the sentences you utter in the heat of the moment can’t be compared to his, not in any way. “Thank you, baby. It’s the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received.” 

 “Thus far,” you remind him, giving him a knowing and threatening look. “I know I’m the one that said we’re not going to make this a competition, but I have big shoes to fill, even if they’re my own.” 

 “You already win - don’t bother,” he concludes, and through laughter, he places his lips on yours, giving you a gentle, long kiss. One that you wished could never end. 

Day 232

Waking up is never a particularly enjoyable thing, not when you could throw it all away and simply announce that you’ll spend the rest of the day in bed. It’s not fun, not even when you feel like you’ve rested both your mind and body enough and that you are ready for the day to start. Easier it may be, especially compared to an early start after a long night, but it’s not fun. 

 Waking up in Namjoon’s bed, however, always feels better than waking up in your own bed, if only just a little. You’ve gotten used to it by now; your side of the bed, the firmness of both the pillow and mattress, the signature scent of him on the sheets, and the feeling of soft cotton under your fingertips. Of course, your bed has all of that, too - except his scent. No matter how many times he spends the night in it with you, the scent somehow never sticks and before you know it, it’s laundry day. 

 You wanted to ask; more than once, you’ve stopped yourself from asking the question that lingered on the very tip of your tongue. You wanted to ask him to stay, a little longer, perhaps even for good. Why be apart when you can be together? Countless times, the question was there and it always ended being unspoken, a feeling in your gut telling you that it’s too soon. You, the type to roll your eyes at norms like these, know that in theory, the two of you haven’t been together long enough to take the next step. It annoyed you, the question of ‘who cares’ and how it felt right regardless. You didn’t want to be a slave to idiotic unspoken rules everyone seems to follow, but despite your desire to ignore it all and just roll with it, your gut stopped you every time. Too soon, it would say, your overthinking mind taking it to heart. 

 It didn’t make you unhappy, though. Or doubtful of anything. You are happy with where you are and it’s easy to appreciate the little moments that you get regardless - like turning around in the bed, moving a little bit to his side of the best, and resting your head on his pillow. It’s the next best thing to hugging him. As much as you’d like to let the sheets swallow you whole and spend the day cuddling with a pillow, the day waits for you, and more importantly, so does Namjoon. 

 Throwing on his shirt from the day before, you don’t bother with any other clothes as you make your way through his apartment, knowing the most likely place you will find him in is the kitchen. Lo and behold, he’s there - holding a frying pan and spatula while his nose is so close to the cookbook, it’s practically touching it. The one recipe he has managed to master in the time you’ve been together is pancakes and even for that, he insists on a cookbook. You admire his persistence, perhaps even envy it a bit as you lack it, but there’s not a softer sight in the world than him trying to cook something and the pride that radiates off him when it’s successful. It’s the little things. Something so characteristically him and yours. 

 You stay silent for a while, leaning on the door as you watch him. He isn’t startled when he notices you, having already gotten used to these little morning routines - he always wakes up before you and he always makes breakfast, even if it’s just cereal. 

 “Morning, love,” he greets you, smiling quickly before returning his attention to the pancake he is currently making. “Blueberry and maple syrup?” he checks. 

 “You know me so well,” you reply, excited to eat your favorite. You walk to him, wrapping your arms around his middle and planting a quick kiss on his cheek before you make your way to the bar, taking your designated place and continuing to watch him cook. It was almost done by the time you woke up, so he serves the food and joins you soon enough. 

 It’s delicious, the taste of bitter coffee he had made you contrasting the sweetness of the maple syrup and blueberries - the perfect combo. Namjoon does most of the talking, focusing on your plans for the day, and you mostly just mumble in agreement, too focused on your food. Besides, he always makes the most interesting weekend plans for you - not a Saturday passes without a gallery, museum, or a book promotion waiting for you. Namjoon has that energy about him, the willingness to explore and dislike of staying in one place for too long. You’re the exact opposite, often preferring lazy days over ones full of activity, but it was easy to hop on board and adapt to his lifestyle. Unlike your previous regular days, they are never boring; he always finds a way to make his weekends fun. You are yet to regret the change, especially when it guarantees you will spend more time with him. 

 “I figure we’ll be done with the exhibit in about two hours - is there a specific place you want to have dinner at?” he asks. 

 “Um, there’s this new Japanese restaurant I want to try,” you suggest, remembering the recommendation your co-worker had given you earlier this week. “I’m craving udon. But, let’s face it - when the hell am I not craving udon?” 

 “You do love your carbs,” Namjoon jokes and you nearly choke on your pancake. He’s right - all of your favorite foods are carb-heavy and you couldn’t care less about it. “That sounds good. And after that, we come back to my place and satisfy my craving?” he suggests in a knowing tone, something that makes you look at him, impressed. 

 “Kim Namjoon, are you suggesting that I’m your craving?” 

 “Love, you’re always my craving,” he responds, and although your tone was joking, his isn’t; it may have started out as a joke, but he is making it clear to you that he means what he’s saying. He is even looking at you in that way only he does; with nothing but adoration and happiness written all over his face. An image you want to look at, always. 

 “Don’t make me emotional over pancakes, Joon,” you warn him. 

 “We’ll be emotional later,” he winks at you, surprising you with the way he pushes the plates and cutlery to the side; you sit dumbly with a fork still in hand, before he takes that from you and places it to the side. You laugh, not sure of what the hell he’s doing, but when he gets up, grips you firmly around the waist, and casually lifts you up onto the bar, you know. 

“Are you seriously going to eat me out in the middle of breakfast, on the bar, no less?” you laugh in disbelief; Namjoon is a passionate man without a doubt, but he hasn’t struck you as particularly insatiable, at least not until this exact moment. You don’t mind it one bit; you also wouldn’t mind it if he let go like this more often, and you can’t help but wonder if the same thought plagues his mind when he smiles at you wickedly as he quickly spreads your legs. 

 “Damn right I’m going to eat you out,” he laughs, though he does a double-take when he looks down and notices that you aren’t wearing any underwear. You smirk, wondering if he’s going to make a comment or not. “Comando?” he asks, staying on brand. 

 “I like a good draft,” you joke, making him snort-laugh at your comment. “Besides, easy access. A little birdy told me this has been your favorite treat recently.” 

 “The birdy wasn’t wrong,” he deadpans. Before you can joke some more about it, he clearly decided that there has been enough of talking; he comes closer to you, placing his head between your legs, and without beating around the bush, immediately licks your center. Neither of you is surprised that you’re already somewhat wet; it seems like that is your permanent state of being whenever you’re around him. Besides, if there’s one thing you like as much as he likes giving head, it’s receiving had. In that aspect, you are a match made in heaven, as there’s no place Namjoon would rather be than with his head between your legs, and there’s no sight you’d rather see, daily, perhaps even more than once if he’s willing. 

 He shows you no mercy, deciding that today is not a day for him to hold back. He is relentless and given how he already knows your weak spots and key points, it’s oh so easy for him to rile you up in little to no time. You don’t have much of a choice; the only thing you can do is be vocal about how good he’s making you feel while gripping his hair as if you’re holding on for dear life. With his mouth around your clit and his fingers in your cunt, you were doomed from the very start. Despite referring to you, or your cunt, as his treat, you haven’t realized just how much he was eager, not until it started; he is like a man starving - like this is the last chance he will ever have to taste you and he wants his tastebuds to remember it. It’s thorough, it’s messy, and if he had pushed you just a little bit further, you have a sneaking suspicion that you would be coming all over the bar and not just his face. He knows it, too, and it’s shown clearly in the way he smiles when he pulls away, your arousal smeared all over his confident smirk. That’s it; it’s all he needs and all he wants, to give you some quick morning pleasure and move on with the day, knowing that you will replay this scene in your head all day long. 

 “Your turn?” you ask, you check, wondering if you can turn this into something more. You want him, no matter what you have, it’s never enough, not if you know that you can have more. Joon knows it, too, which is exactly why he smiles before placing a kiss on your thigh. 

 “Later tonight, hm?” he suggests. “I need to take a shower and you need to finish your breakfast.” 

 You laugh, dumbfounded, as he casually puts back the same plate he pushed away just minutes ago. With a quick peck to your lips, he leaves you to gather your senses and finish the food while he gets ready for the day. It takes you longer to pull yourself together than it does to finish eating. 

Yeah, you’ll be leaving that exhibit as fast as you possibly can, and you’re half-tempted to suggest skipping on the restaurant. You’ll see how the day goes. 

Day 294

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” you grimace as you rush towards the table where Joon and Hoseok are already waiting for you. “I extended my lunch break today because I had to go and buy a new suitcase, and then I had to stay longer,” you pause as you approach Namjoon, giving him a quick peck. “I’m so sorry guys, I’m glad you ordered without me,” you comment as you reach Hoseok, kissing his cheek quickly. As always, the man’s smile is as blinding as the sun itself, and out of all of Namjoon’s friends, he is your clear favorite. You don’t have any complaints about the others, either; they are all nice, smart, and friendly people, people you were happy to spend time with when the opportunity required it. But Hoseok? Hoseok is a gem, one that you were more than happy to adopt as your own friends once you met him. 

 “Did we need another suitcase?” Namjoon asks in confusion as you take a seat at the table, trying to catch your breath. “I thought that we were pretty much ready?” 

 “We are,” you agree, grimacing. “But before work today, I was trying out the handle of the bigger suitcase and it just seemed too fishy; if I ever saw something that was doomed to break, it was that handle. I figured it’s better to invest in a new one and I’d always rather be safe than sorry. What are you guys having? Pasta?” 

 “The pesto one is amazing,” Hoseok confirms. “The two of you are the only couple I know that buys suitcases two days before the trip. I admire your bravery.” 

 “Hey, it was a 911 situation,” both you and Namjoon laugh at his comment. “Everything else is ready and set. Namjoon has lists of places we need to go, he has all the tickets, all the plans, and ideas, and I’m the one who’s going to take care of clothing, finances and, you know, making sure he doesn’t forget to eat in-between two museum visits.” 

 “It’s Paris,” Namjoon laughs. “If it comes to museums versus food, in Paris, museums win.” 

 “The Louvre versus Coq Au Vin,” you pretend to ponder the choice. “Yeah, it’s not so much of a clear choice for me. But we’ll do both.” 

 The decision to travel together was a spontaneous one, born late one Friday night. The trip itself, however, was anything but. And you love that; you need that. Where you lack, Namjoon compensates, and vice versa. In the past, you were never the official trip organizer and if you were traveling alone, a lot of it was based on the ‘wing it’ method. Joon is the exact opposite, the compass that you need when it comes to traveling abroad. And you are the anchor that’ll keep him grounded; the one who will make you explore the cuisine, the streets that contain the life of a city and not just monuments, the little souvenir shops he would normally ignore. This may be your first trip together, but you have a feeling that you will truly make the perfect traveling duo. And if not… well, you can’t be perfect, can you? 

 “I envy you,” Hoseok sighs; he looks tired, despite the ever-present smile. “I wish I could take a vacation right now, but we’re going to be booked and busy the next couple of months. But as soon as it’s over, I’m out. Though I think I’ll pick a beach and not a city.” 

 “We were debating that, too,” Namjoon tells him. It didn’t take you long to decide, but you did wonder if you should go to the Maldives and just relax for a week since Paris will be everything but relaxing. But your desire to explore a new place combined with his love of art, so the choice was easy. “We’re bound to take a beach vacation somewhere along the line.” 

 “Definitely,” you confirm. “Sometimes you want to explore, other times you want nothing but warm weather and room service; next time, it’ll be the second option.” 

 Your conversation is paused when the waiter arrives to take your order, but as soon as you decide on what you want, you join the two of them. It’s so… comfortable. You can remember your earlier relationships, your former partners, and their friends. No matter if you were a new girlfriend or a long-term one, not once did you feel like you fit in. You were always on the sidelines, always just so-and-so’s girlfriend and not a part of the group. And that’s perfectly fine - hell, there were even cases when your friends did the same to your partners; sometimes, it just doesn’t fit. To you, it never did, not until you met Namjoon. While Hoseok is your clear favorite, not a single one of his friends, male or female, made you feel like you were a third or fifth wheel. 

 Time passes quickly, the conversation either focusing on your upcoming trips or your jobs; your new project, Hoseok’s work frustration, or a book promotion that Namjoon has scheduled as soon as you return from France. You’re all going to be extremely busy very soon, so this is a chance for you to catch up before you’re too busy for dinner with friends. Well, it’s more for Namjoon and Hoseok, but both of them wanted you here. 

 “I actually have something to tell you guys,” Namjoon takes advantage of the pause in the conversation; his tone makes you look up in anticipation, as you weren’t aware of any announcements or surprises. “I… I think that I’ve finished writing my book,” he talks slowly, but as soon as the words are out of him, he starts blurting out disclaimers. “I still have to let it rest and maybe I’ll want to edit it more, I’m sure it’s not completely over but I think it’s mostly over? I don’t know, I think it’s done. Yeah, I think it’s done,” he blabbers on, clearly nervous. You’re not surprised - his writing is not his favorite topic. As secure he is in other areas, he turns into a nervous mess when it comes to his work in progress of a novel. 

 “Bro, that’s amazing!” Hoseok booms, clapping Namjoon on the back. “Congrats, man!” 

 “Namjoon, that’s…” you’re at a loss for words. In the past months that you’ve been together, you had a front-row seat to observe his creative process. Countless nights, you’d hear him sneak out of bed, and by the time you were having your morning coffee, he was still behind the computer, still writing. Late nights, early mornings - it didn’t matter; if he had a way to write, if he had the time and inspiration to do so, he did it. It was easy to learn not to ask, as you never wanted to disrupt him in any way. He only ever shared bits and pieces, little hints and comments, and never the full plot, and you respected that. Now? Now that you know that it’s over and done with, that he did it, something he worked so hard on? Your heart wants to explode from all the happiness and pride you feel for him. “I’m… so proud of you.” 

 “Oh love, nothing to be proud of,” he laughs, shaking his head, but you notice the subtle color in his cheeks. “It’s not like I’m a published author. I just finished a piece of writing. Maybe,” he adds, almost as if he’s reminding himself that he may not be done with it after all. 

 “You’re not a published author yet,” you remind him. “You will be soon.” 

 Those are some heavy words to say, especially seeing as you’ve never read what he wrote, but you know him like the palm of your hand. You know the way he speaks, the words he uses, and how beautiful they are - there’s no doubt in your mind that they’re just as pretty on paper, if not even more. Even you write better than some current published authors, and you can’t write to save your life! It may seem like a distant dream to Namjoon, but it’s not difficult for you to see it as a reality he’ll be living soon enough. If he doubts himself, you’ll be there to pick him up and remind him how brilliant he is. It’s the least you can do. 

 “We need to order champagne,” Hoseok announces. “We need to celebrate this properly!” 

 “Guys, no,” Namjoon is laughing, now full-on blushing, looking for a way to change the topic but knowing it’s entirely way too late. “It’s just… one part of the process.” 

 “And you successfully finished it,” you point out. Looking on the bright side; one step down, several more to go, and it’s easy to see that this first step was definitely the hardest one. “I’m with Hoseok, it’s time for champagne.” 

 As you drink and toast, your mind goes over the ideas in which you can celebrate this; both tonight, just with Namjoon and behind the closed doors of your bedroom, and in Paris. It was supposed to just be your first trip, nothing more and nothing less, but now, you can squeeze in some time to celebrate there, too. It’ll be difficult not to, as you don’t see this feeling of elation simmering down anytime soon. God, you hope it doesn’t. You want to be this happy and proud of him, always. And fuck, you hope he knows it. You hope he feels it, too. 

[youarejesting]

Sly like a... ? Part 2

[Master list] [Sly Master List] Beta: n/a (at the moment) Rating: All Pairing: Hybrid!BTS x FailedHybrid!Reader Genre: Hybrid au, fluff, action, adventure, angst, drama, slice of life. Some marked chapters will contain mature/smut scenes, BUT they will not have plot in those scenes and are 100% skippable without losing your place in the story. Words: 2.1k

Summary: Human’s strive to be better, faster and stronger looking to animal DNA. Thus Hybrids are born. As the rise for designer and Pedigree Hybrids increase, so do the failed attempts. There is one species scientists are unsuccessful in creating, but, folklore says they have been here all along, hiding and blending in with the humans for many millennia. How clever they are.

[First] [Next]

It was your dream to convert a large warehouse on the outskirts of town into a home and education center for Hybrids. Somewhere they could learn to be self-sufficient. You would have professors and volunteers, teaching and fundraising, all for the day you could buy another warehouse on the other side of town. You wanted it to become the norm that these Hybrid facilities would build and grow in every city. Allowing the Hybrids to become an independent race no longer looked down upon by society.

You were on the last day of your heat and craving something savory. As it was late your best option was the convenience store that was always open late.

Things were falling into place as you received an email earlier that day confirming that all the items you had requested were acquired. That meant school books, equipment, and more. You were also granted the first loan for the Hybrids, a loan you would receive every term. The board wanted no less than five and no more than ten participants for an adequate examination of results.

You assumed for the program to be officially approved, you would have to show successful results from Hybrids with different backgrounds during this trial. That meant different ages and different upbringings. Wondering if it was worth visiting the adoption agency or perhaps a Hybrid store, it wouldn’t hurt for more variables.

Shaken from your thoughts by a shadowed figure rustling through the garbage, in a dark alley between the antiques and postal office. Your ears picked up the sound easily, feet scuffing to a halt on the pavement catching the Hybrid’s attention. Their eyes searched the dark for any sign of threat before falling upon you, a deep growl resonating on the wind. It was best to not get involved with stray Hybrids, they tended to be more violent. This is what you were doing the program for, to stop Hybrids from ending up homeless and on the streets. To prove that they aren’t dangerous and are capable of learning.

Struck by an idea, if you could get a Hybrid from the street to join the trial program, you could prove they weren’t violent and show that given the opportunity they could all learn and grow into members of society.

“Can I buy you dinner?” You called out, voice cracking from the cold. Your breath puffed out like smoke visible between you both. The night brought you more energy, it made you feel alive.

Cars passed, their headlights illuminating the entire alleyway and reflecting in his eyes a blood-red. He stalked forward, his body moving gracefully but you could see he was hurt, his shirt ripped and there was a strong scent of blood in the breeze. That was a downside to having heightened senses. You tried to control the disgusted look on your face, “I will pay and there is nothing else to it, just sit and have dinner with me, so I don’t look like a woman in her mid to late twenties eating alone at a convenience store”

He looked you up and down, it was then you noticed his features, he was a feline, not a common house cat. No, he was a big predator.

“Do I look like some charity case? Some pathetic creature who needs help from a human?” His words rumbled from his chest in a growl. You wanted to correct him that you weren’t exactly human yourself but decided against it. Stuck somewhere between Hybrid and human you didn’t fit in either category.

“What’s it to you? My reason is my reason, just take the free meal. Hell! Exploit me for a free meal, anything you want, go crazy.” You shrugged, trying desperately to charm him. He seemed to contemplate his choices for a moment before turning to walk away. You scrambled for your wallet and grabbed out twenty dollars, holding it out to him.

“Wait! At least take this; if you don’t want to eat with me, get something warm, and here is my card if ever you need help.”

He eyed the money but didn’t move to take it. Hoping he wouldn’t rip your arm off, you grabbed his hand. You knew it was risky. His fingers were cold, but you didn’t want to linger and make him mad, quickly placing the money on his palm with your business card.

“Have a good night, mister,” He nodded confused about the whole encounter, before shoving his hands in his pockets and leaving. It seemed even if you tried your best, it wouldn’t be enough to persuade him. He was too defensive, the best you could hope for was that he would stay safe in the cold.

What trials and tribulations must you go through to have these Hybrids trust and confide in you? Hopefully, it wouldn’t be this hard to get through to the group of Hybrids you were soon to obtain.

This was going to be a rather difficult experiment and you weren’t sure if it was going to go well but you hoped with every fiber of your being that you would see this through for the sake of the Hybrids.

That night you dreamed about the group of participants being hostile and unresponsive to the program, it did little to soothe your nerves the next morning. When you received an email about the new house. Jimin would have the key and would meet you outside later that day with the other Hybrids. No matter who they were, you were going to make sure they were achieving the best result they could.

The government had registered two Hybrids in your name, their files attached to the confirmation email. The two participants were so contrasting, Hoseok was a deer Hybrid, from a small farming family. The other was a Lion Hybrid by the name of Namjoon. He was from New Zealand and had participated in another government program regarding genius Hybrids.

Altogether, there were four: Namjoon the genius, Hoseok the country bumpkin, Taehyung, and Jimin. You decided to look for possible participants within the Hybrid store, and rehoming center. That would give you a wide variety of variables for the experiment; each would have a different background and would require different tools to help them.

You started at the nearest Hybrid shop. There were several rooms each with an observation window, a photo card, and a brief description of the Hybrid sitting, reading or playing video games inside. It was such a small space, how could they live in these tiny rooms every day until someone adopted them. Reading their descriptions by the windows you analyzed each of them, your attention caught by one playing video games. He had dark ears that stuck out from his dark hair. He seemed fun and you thought it would be easy to connect with him.

Hello, My name is Jungkook, I am twenty-three and I am a fully vaccinated Melanistic Jaguar.

You didn’t bother reading the rest, thinking you would like to learn about him properly, “Sir, I would like to adopt this Hybrid,” You declared, whilst walking towards the counter to begin the paperwork. Once everything was signed the young Jaguar boy was led from his small room. He looked nervous holding a small store backpack filled with all his essential items.

On the drive to the next location, you were the one doing most of the talking, receiving quiet one-word answers and small fidgets. He seemed excited when you finally parked the car, you guessed he was eager to see his new home.

However, as you walked towards the menacing rehoming center, he grew quieter and quieter, slowing to a stop before the entrance. Looking at his feet crying profusely, you realized how this must look. He must have thought he had done something wrong, how could he think you would buy him and rehome him on the same day.

“Jungkook, I am not abandoning you, I am picking up a brother for you to play with.” It took a few moments to console the young man. Wiping his tears and giving him a few pats on the head careful of his ears.

Deciding anyone younger than Jungkook would be too much to handle. “You have to help me find a big brother, someone you think will be really nice and that you like to play with, what do you think? Can you do that for me?”

Jungkook nodded, sniffing and wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “Okay, I can do that,”

The inside of the rehoming center smelt like disinfectant, you explained you were looking for another Hybrid and were led to a large room. There were Hybrids of all ages all playing and entertaining themselves with different activities.

It was overwhelming even for you, so you grasped Jungkook’s hand and encouraged him to look around, “Hey, what about ping pong?” You grinned at Jungkook who smiled playing a few rounds with you, the two of you giggling.

“Have I told you I am the ping pong master,” an older Hybrid grinned, he had a striped tail. You handed over the paddle and stood near Jungkook. “Do you want to play a game?”

Jungkook nodded, was this boy unable to say no. Either way, the two were getting along quickly, the older Hybrid was very playful and funny, even as he lost you were holding your sides from the laughter and Jungkook seemed to grow really comfortable with him.

Talking to one of the volunteers she explained that Seokjin was a raccoon hybrid and the oldest in the center. She explained that he often took the younger hybrids under his wing. It was an easy decision to adopt him. While you were filling out the paperwork, Jungkook was telling you all about his match with Seokjin.

“And I got the winning shot,” He grinned, swinging his arm like he was hitting an invisible ping pong ball.

“He seems really fun, would he make a good big brother?” It was cute how he nodded wholeheartedly. “Jungkook why don’t you go tell him that he is coming home with us?”

He grew embarrassed again, his dark ears twitching but followed the volunteer nonetheless. You were quick to finish up the last of the paperwork before the two came back laughing volunteer in tow.

“Unbelie-Bubble” Seokjin said before squeaking in laughter. He had all of his things and like Jungkook was nervous, but he showed it through talking.

You felt good with your selection, there was a Hybrid for every walk of life and socio-economic background. This would be perfect for the trial. They all seemed like lovely young Hybrids and you could already see them forming friendships.

It was on your way out that you saw a familiar face struggling against Hybrid control. “This is your last time, you know what happens to strays.”

“Wait!” You shouted, everyone in the lobby froze turning to look at you, the cold room felt quite warm with all of the attention “He is mine”

They froze looking between you and the hybrid before letting him go curiously. The injured Hybrid staggered over to you, knowing this was his best chance at survival, “why didn’t you tell them my name?” you asked him curiously but he kept his head down.

“This white tiger Hybrid is yours?” The handler spoke in disbelief, practically accusing you of lying. “why is he not microchipped, or registered in our system?”

“I was supposed to register him last week when I got him but I had been busy with work, I would like to properly register him under my name today,” You didn’t break under this man's pressure, you could notice the more he held eye contact the more he seemed to falter himself. “so that you will stop taking him in when he is harmlessly walking the streets”

The man opened his mouth to argue but you blinked up at him, watching him lower his hand.

“I am so sorry miss, we didn't mean to cause you trouble?” It wasn’t exactly odd behavior, you often found your arguments nullifying this way. You liked to think that your self-confident stare was what made people give in.

“Miss we have just noticed some suspicious activity in your account it says you have adopted four Hybrids today,” The woman behind the desk said, “We are legally required to ask your intentions or we can detain the Hybrids from you”

Almost questioning her, you remembered the government was placing two Hybrids in your name; they would be arriving today as well. With a smile you removed a folder from your bag, “I have a grant from the government.” You said brandishing the signed document, “I will be placing these Hybrids in my care”

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[enha-woodzies]

➸ CHAPTER 5 | " ILLICIT AFFAIRS "

starring: enhypen ft. i-land daniel

pairing: jungwon x fem!reader x sunghoon

genres: royal au, romance, angst, slowburn, 18th century setting

word count: 1.8k

taglist: @serendipitysung @angeljungwon @en-sun @affectionaterainoflove @renkiv @softforjungwoo @jislix @fluffi @gyeraniee @stxrryemxlys

[ PREV. CHAPTER ] | [ M. LIST ] | [ NEXT CHAPTER ]

“The morning sun has come, and the evening moon is gone. Dearlings, I am elated to apprise you of the events at the debutantes’ ball that occurred as of late, and must I warn you, they're not for the feeble spirits!

The ton is abuzz with the most beefy tale as Northumberland’s jewel among the lovely rocks, Miss Y//n Park, has earned herself a ticket to glory! She danced with the most favored noblemen in the ton and surely, she went home with a hearty grace as she'll most likely expect an abundant roster of suitors in the following days.

Not only was she offered a dance by our dear second-born, Lord Yang, but she also had the privilege and pleasure to be twirled around the court by the most charming, Lord Lee, and the ever coveted nobleman among the ton, Lord Park, the next-in-line Duke of Northumberland!

Where's the beef you might ask? Well, it seems to me that these men are blindfoldedly playing fire with each other.

Not only does Lord Lee has women wrapped easily around his fingers, he has men too! With a sly steal of Miss Y/n’s hand from Lord Yang last night, he certainly left the chap earnestly plotting for a segue of intrusion- and Lord Yang intriguingly delivered!

With the timing in its most opportune, Lord Yang managed to finally dance with the young miss, in private! Ooh! This is new! My senses told me they spent their waltz in the Queen’s library, alone! How in the world did they let this happen to the ton’s jewel unchaperoned? That is something the Daily Tattle is unfortunately unable to unearth, but the mystery will continue to haunt us for long. Do take note: the more you hide in careful secret, the more people will know and hear about it.

What happened next will have you either boggled, or enchanted! The young lord abruptly rushed out the room before the music even ended! Should that be counted as a waltz at all? Before you ask about the enchanting part, Miss Y/n was seen dashing out the room moments later in tears and evident heartache. What do you think happened in the mere minutes of alone time in that large 4-cornered room?

But come now, enchanting stories aren't as they are without a knight in shining armor. In fact, in our young miss’ case, her knight wasn't clad in shining, silver sheath, but in magnificent and elegant, vintage red tailcoat draped over a loose white jabot shirt that’s cleanly tucked into the black, satin knee breeches, finished off with a pair of shiny Hessian boots. With skin as white almost akin to snow, it complemented perfectly with his ravishing fit. The beautiful marquess certainly dressed himself valiantly for the seasonal occasion. With that stunning presence, anyone would surely presume he went to the ball looking like a duke in careful search of a duchess.

Lord Park and Miss Y/n surprisingly became one of the ball’s highlights as they graced the Royal Court with the most heart-stopping, corset-itching, tantalizing waltz. All the while their faces are almost an inch apart from each other, a brooding identity was found hiding in the crowded corner of the hall! Under the bright gleam of the grand chandeliers, our dearest second-born, Lord Yang, was seen eyeing the two with such stare that even the buffy slice of vanilla cake on Lord Sunoo’s plate could almost melt in a blink of an eye!

Among the splendid tales told by yours truly, which tea do you think tastes like sweet ecstasy of oddity and fervor? It is the ton's tradition to portend the lady’s endgame by the person whom she had her last waltz with. From one man to another, should these prophecies dictate Miss Y/n Park’s fate?

Well, don't turn your heads away now! The story's just begun.”

The mid-morning sunrays peek through the large leaves and busty trunks of the hibernating redwood trees lining in disarray. Y/n is just about to plummet into her habitual readings in the Kielder forest and the autumnal breeze is keeping up with her bubbly morning approach, fortunately.

The sounds of the birds chirping and the dead leaves crunching under her shoes creep up through her puff sleeves making her tingle in giddiness and enthusiasm. She deeply inhales the aromatic forest and lets out a giggle in the process. With jumpy leaps and crispy leaves echoing in her every move, the young lady surely knows where she's going in this partly mysterious forest that is most often open only to men and men alone.

Somewhere deep in the evergreen woods, Y/n has built a fortress of her own for whenever she needs to run away from the seldom, mundane life in the manor. At the heart of Northumberland's famous Kielder Forest, lies a small, whimsical looking fort made up of translucent voile casually hanging on a tree branch. One of her lady maids helped her out with the fabric one time and it still stood prettily among the chaotic scenes that go around in the forest today.

She enters her slightly sheer fort and sits down on a pillow that she stole away from the comforts of her bedroom. Flipping the olden pages of the aged Jane Austen book she borrowed from a boy several years back, she heaves a sigh at the sight of a dead Catalpa flower resting on a particular page accompanied by a little, worn out parchment dating back to when she was a tiny ten-year-old lassie. She reads,

Her eyes drifted over the page to where the note and the old flower were situated. The pads of her fingers graze over the certain phrases that were underlined by the book's owner that says, “I cannot make speeches. If l loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am.一 You hear nothing but truth from me.一”

She suddenly feels a gush of nostalgia and loneliness upon muttering the words she had ultimately carved in her tongue way back; reciting each word with fervor while she bask herself under the brightly-lit moonlight in their garden. How can children of ten gobble up such emotions at once? So much for a pair of hopeless romantic hearts from the distant years of ten, screaming disagreements and would later huddle on a sprawled out table cloth on the flowery fields, exchanging sentimental poesies and stolen stares.

She relives the brief moments they both shared last night in the Queen’s library, and ponders on how one could be so adjacent to the changing of tides in the sea; promptly, and mostly without warning.

“Well, well, well. If it isn't the feelings I've been trying to avoid.” She whispers to the autumn air. Unfortunately, her pondering truncates as snaps of twigs and crisps off dried leaves echoes in her corner. She hastily crawls out her hand-made canopy and brushes away any pieces of tiny crumpled leaves off her dress.

“What are you doi-”

“Who are you?” She cuts off the startled chap cladded in ragged clothing, apparently embodying that of a mainland farm boy.

“Greetings, your ladyship. I come in peace and I am just here to fetch the chopped woods I’ve laboured a day prior for the farm.” The chap with a very odd accent replies with both hands hanging mid-air. “You are fully aware that you shouldn't be in this place, especially unchaperoned, right?” He continues.

“I am fully aware. But such matters shouldn't concern you.”

“Indeed, my apologies. Furthermore, I will respect your unspoken wishes if it is truly your desire to keep your whereabouts hidden from your townspeople. My lady.”

Y/n relaxes from her bold stance as she found a hint of kindness from the odd stranger. Surprisingly, she extends her hand out to the stranger for a greeting.

“Please. Call me Y/n instead.” The boy looks at her open palm for half a minute before shaking it, looking as equally surprised as the young miss with the sudden gesture.

“You live pretty far from the town, huh?”

“I do. Life's utterly chaotic over on your end?”

“Oh, you don't have the slightest idea.” They both share laughters and inside jokes of their own livelihood that made the young miss settle her shoulders down comfortably.

“I'm Jake Sim. Just Jake Sim. Apparently, my name was originally Jaeyun, but the farm folks got used with Jake and so did I. They said it sounds more Australian.”

“Why would they associate your name with something Australian?” Y/n grew more curious as it was, after all, the first time she's ever been with a person that's not of Northumberland's proper.

“I grew up in Australia.”

“That's curious. How did an Australian boy land among the ragged farms of Europe?”

“It's complicated. The story involves a lot of conspiracies so it's definitely not for your ears. Some other time, maybe?” Y/n smirks at the sudden brazenness from her newly found acquaintance.

“Is this an Australian thing where we shift from acquaintanceship to something more?” She teases.

“Certainly, if you're down to it on your next Kielder visit?”

“For sure. But as for now, I must take my leave. My presence is very much needed for the promenade scheduled for me today.” Y/n half-covers her mouth as if reaching out for a whisper, hissing the last sentence.

“Ah! Rich people things that I could never.” The chap could only roll his eyes at the fancy thought.

“See you soon, Just Jake Sim!”

“Where have you been, princess?” The young miss scoffs at the marquess upon arriving at the town’s park, with a hand immediately sliding through Lord Park’s arm.

“Down with the flirtatious remarks now, aren't we? I went to promenade with myself, Your ever handsome Grace.” Sunghoon smirks at her tiny, playful whispers against his shoulders. They go around and about, traipsing along the cemented pavements as they give away acknowledging nods and polite smiles to whomever wants their brief attention.

The ton is still in amazed shock at the possibility of these two ending up with a ring on a finger. Everyone was subtly betting for Jungwon but as a result of his loss, a much better gent carried his girl off the floor. Something he let himself do, out of cowardice perhaps, or out of pride.

“Remind me the point of all this?” Y/n carefully whispers to Sunghoon.

“To make your man jealous and spit out his genuine sentiments in the process, as well as an advantage for me as we get to keep the marriage-minded mothers of the ton at bay. Now, all we have to do is smile, nod, and appear madly in love with each other if this is to work. Is it clear enough for you?” He jerks a brow at her paired with the most charming smirk he could ever expose.

“Crystal.”

*send me an ask or a message if you wish to be added on this series' taglist!

ㅡ © ENHA-WOODZIES, 2021

[goldentournesol]

The Receptionist and The Profiler (Three)

Chapter Three: Minimal Loss

(Spencer Reid x f!Reader)

Series Masterlist

General Masterlist

A/N: as a heads up, a large part of this chapter is a flashback, separated by ~~~. angst of minimal loss, buckle up y’all it’s getting serious!

Some cases don’t require the whole team to go investigate. Sometimes a few members go out to consult on something and come right back. Apparently, a 911 call had been received from a 15 year old girl saying that a man was sexually assaulting her and other girls her age. The call came from inside a cult’s base and now Spencer and Emily were sent to the ranch to investigate the leader, Benjamin Cyrus. Y/N selfishly wanted to tell Hotch to send someone else in place of him, but she knew Spencer was the least intimidating of the bunch and so it made sense for him to go undercover as a child victim interview expert alongside Emily.

Y/N watched as JJ zoomed straight past her desk and stood behind Derek’s desk, “Morgan.” she said, flicking the volume button of the TV across the room, panic fighting its way through her voice.

Morgan and Y/N’s attention went straight to the news reporter on the TV, “--what is reportedly being called a routine questions and answers meeting by Colorado child services has turned into a violent and deadly standoff between Colorado authorities and a French religious group known as Separtatian sect. The raid--”

“JJ, that’s not the ranch Prentiss and Reid--” Morgan said, standing from his desk.

“They’re still inside.” JJ informed.

“HOTCH!” Morgan yelled across from the bullpen, sending panic and goosebumps to every nerve ending in Y/N’s body. All she could think was, not again, please, God, not again.

Suddenly, all the phones of the bullpen began ringing. Y/N was absolutely frozen in her seat, not even aware of the phone on her desk ringing its wire off. It was like the air was heavy and she couldn’t breathe. She was vaguely aware of JJ’s outline as she approached her and placed her hands on her shoulders.

“Y/N. Y/N!” JJ called out as if she’d been calling her name for hours already, for all she knew, she had. Y/N unexpectedly felt a salty bead of water enter her mouth through her lips, she was crying.

“JJ...not again, JJ.” She practically whimpered, shaking her head in disbelief. The blonde’s heart wrenched in her chest as she thought back to the events of Georgia.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. We’re on our way to him right now. We’re going to do our best to get them out. I need you to stay strong for me now, alright? The phone’s going to be ringing a lot, we need you here.” JJ attempted to comfort her and Y/N was quick to compose herself, nodding.

“Yes, yes, I know. I’ve got it.” She sniffled, rubbing her cheeks. JJ pulled her into a quick tight hug, well, as tight as she could with her growing belly between them. Y/N squeezed her tight, “You get him back to me safely, JJ.” She whispered and the blonde nodded before taking off with the rest of the team.

“Is she okay?” Morgan muttered to JJ as they speed walked out of the building, secretly wondering if that’s how friends should react to hostage situations.

“I’m not sure.” JJ answered honestly and the two shared a pointed look. 

It was no secret that there was something going on between Y/N and Reid, they knew they held intense feelings for each other, however the team decided to stay out of it...for the most part. Derek, on the other hand, was very good at not missing opportunities to mess with Reid and tease the hell out of him.

It took Spencer a while to get back on his feet, especially after Gideon had departed, but Y/N helped him every step of the way. She drove him to NA meetings whenever she could. She helped him take his mind of things when he was having cravings. She finally, finally agreed to learn how to play chess, even though she was positive she was destined to lose. She’ll never forget how excited he got when she’d offered.

~~~

“Wait--what?” Spencer stopped mid-sip from his morning coffee. The team hadn’t filed in yet, but he was hanging around her desk like he usually did when she told him.

“Yup, you heard me. I’ll let you finally teach me how to play.” Her eyes twinkled with playfulness and he could have sworn his heart swelled twice its size. He was aware that he was gaping at her, but for some reason he couldn’t stop. The thought of sitting across from her so closely and for so long as he tried to teach her the moves was enough to make him forget his words.

“Hello? Earth to Spencer?” She laughed, waving a hand in front of his face. He snapped out of it, blushing.

“Yes! Yes, I’ll teach you! We’re going to have so much fun!” He exclaimed, his face practically splitting in half from his grin. She was about to make a comment about how it wouldn’t be so fun to lose to him (the whole point of not wanting to learn it in the first place), but she decided the genuine excitement on his face was worth more than winning ever would be. 

~~~

She also remembered him practically fangirling to her over David Rossi’s books. He was so excited when the other founder of the BAU joined the team in place of Gideon. Of course, Spencer had read all his books and was more than ready to recite them to her if she wanted him to but she preferred to keep the crime and the gore at a minimum, preferring to hear about Victorian love stories and obscure children’s stories that are told in African villages she’d never heard of before. Rossi was a fairly nice man, much warmer than Gideon but was still somewhat cagey upon joining the team. She didn’t really blame him, he’d left the job only to come back to it years later and find a bunch of younger hotshot agents in the unit he created. At least Rossi took the time to learn her name and smile at her in the mornings. 

Sometimes he’d sit and watch the two interact from his office. He’d assumed they were together when he’d first joined the team, almost a year ago now. Seeing how they leaned into each other when they spoke and maintained such intense eye contact, it just made sense to him. That and the fact that he’d noticed the way Reid was so much more comfortable around her than he was with his team mates. He’d note the not-so-subtle lingering hand touches on arms and the way they chose not to move their knees away from each other if they bumped. But, most of all, what he thought was a dead giveaway, was the way they smiled at each other; they smiled with their whole faces. Spencer’s mood seemed to brighten around her and even though he hadn’t known the young genius for long, he knew that that was a good sign. If he hadn’t seen Y/N and Anderson getting in the same car together, he’d never have guessed that they were together, much less engaged. You don’t need to be a profiler to know what the longing glances across the bullpen meant, though. Or the sad eyes she gave him every time he left for a case. Or the hug she gave that was obviously tighter than anyone else’s when they came back.

Hopefully, he’ll come back this time.

Y/N was practically a mess at her desk after they all left. She was glad that Anderson was currently not around, then she remembered she should be wanting his presence. That is...assuming he brought her comfort. He didn’t. She took calls to try and distract herself from her panic but she found herself freaking out in between them. Her eyes traveled to the far corner of her desk where the book she was currently reading sat. She smiled as she saw the tassel fall from in between the pages of the book. The book felt heavy as she opened it, she slipped the bookmark from in between the pages, and pushed the book aside. The raised letters of her favorite poem felt familiar as her fingertips touched them. She touched the words as if they could seep into her bloodstream and finally calm her. She remembered the day he gave her the bookmark.

~~~

After years and years of participating in the office Secret Santa, Spencer finally got Y/N. He was overjoyed, in fact, he couldn’t wait to give her her gift. He had it meticulously planned out. He was ready. He poured out his heart and soul in a letter first (this took the longest). Turns out, confessing your undying love for someone wasn’t as easy as it looked on screen. With all the letters he’d written in his lifetime, he was positive this one would be no different. But, man, he couldn’t have been more wrong.

 Then, he made the bookmark. Store bought would never impress her. He struggled with finding the right kind of paper and the right kind of string for the tassel, but thankfully Garcia had his back. She even helped him laminate it so it could last, for years and years. The way he wanted to last with her. He printed the words of her favorite poem. One that he’d never forget, and not even because of his eidetic memory. He chose a shiny gold string to represent the strings of fate. He had told her once the ancient Greek myth of the Moirai, the three women responsible for fate. Although he’d gone in way too great of detail, she hung onto every word. He knew she’d remember the story whenever she saw the gold string. He hoped she might pick up on what he was trying to say.

That fate would always bring them together. 

That he knew that she was it for him, but if he wasn’t it for her, that’d be okay, too.

She’d also complained all too often about the nasty coffee at work, claiming that she wished she never tasted the “vile bean juice”. It was enough to shift her off of coffee completely, unless it was from the coffee shop on the corner of Spencer’s street (he took her there a lot and he liked to bring her her favorite drink in the mornings when he wasn’t rushing in). But she’d recently gotten into teas, and was annoyed at her teapot at home because she said it just tasted weird. So of course, he researched the best kind of teapot possible and hunted every single kitchenware store in DC down until he found it. She’s gonna love it.

To top it all off, he decided to get her a necklace. While looking for the teapot, a small silver necklace caught his eye in one of the shops. A small birthstone hung by two chains, he recognized it as her own, and it was perfect. 

He placed the gifts and the letter inside the teapot carefully and placed two pieces of tape to ensure the top doesn’t come off in the box before making his way to Garcia’s apartment. It was really no surprise she decided to host the Christmas party, considering her love of all things Christmas. He was buzzing with nervous energy as he set the gift box under the tree. He was the first to arrive, which meant he had to endure Garcia’s endless questions about the finished gift. She pried it all out of him, even the letter. Garcia was practically jumping up and down as he told her about the contents of the letter. He didn’t know he and Y/N were such a hot topic around the office. A few minutes later, the team flowed in, one by one. Y/N and Anderson were the last to arrive.

But something felt different as they entered the apartment. Her smile was brighter than usual and she seemed extra comfortable around her fiance. He thought maybe he was reading into it too much, but then even Emily noticed.

“Woah, Y/N! You look literally radiant, what’s going on?” She asked as the couple struggled to find places to sit. Anderson found a seat on the couch and offered her his lap. Spencer watched as she blushed and pursed her lips shyly, leaning into her fiancé as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Spencer practically had a nervous ugly green creature growing inside of him. He’s decided to name him Carl. Might as well name him, you know, since he seemed to be around a lot lately. He shifted in his seat a little, which made Morgan glance over at him.

“Well, we were going to wait until later to tell everyone, but I guess that’s the downside to being friends with profilers.” She laughed and shared a look with Anderson, whose hand was grasped tightly in hers. 

Spencer noticed her change in vocabulary, she said ‘we’ instead of ‘I’. He grew more and more nervous as the pause lengthened. He had to physically put his hands on his knees to keep them from bouncing.

“We finally set the date! Next August!” She exclaimed and Spencer’s heart absolutely combusted in the same exact moment. 

He immediately drowned out the cheers of congratulations and kisses on cheeks. The sinking feeling in his chest seemed to strive for more. More destruction. 

He was vaguely aware of Morgan grabbing his shoulder and giving him a pointed look, reminding him of his silence. Morgan felt bad for the kid, but didn’t want to embarrass Y/N. Spencer snapped out of his trance and swallowed heavily.

“Congratulations, guys.” He mustered a smile and she beamed at him.

“Thanks, Spence!” He barely registered it.

It was finally happening. 

The wedding. 

And he’d have to go.

And see her.

And smile at her like his heart hadn’t been ripped from his chest and placed at the altar for everyone to see as it beat for absolutely no reason.

Seriously, what was the point of his heart beating if it wasn’t beating for her?

Except, he knew it’ll always beat for her, even if she didn’t want it.

He’d have to watch her marry another man.

Watch as she walked away from him rather than toward him.

Everyone pretended not to look at Spencer but he could feel the glances anyway.

Oh no.

The letter.

The letter that was in the teapot under the tree! 

Spencer didn’t know his heart was capable of beating as fast as it was. He sent a panicked look to Penelope, hoping she’d get the message, but she was too busy coming up with wedding ideas. Spencer could feel panic oozing out of the pores of his skin. Morgan took him aside and into the kitchen.

“Kid, you alright?” Morgan asked, watching as his younger teammate squirmed in the kitchen.

“This is bad, Morgan. This is bad.” Spencer paced around the kitchen, hands in his hair.

“I know, kid, I know. But you need to calm down.” Morgan tried to reason with him.

“No, Morgan! You don’t understand!” Spencer whisper-yelled as he gripped his shoulders and Morgan saw his wild eyes, “You don’t understand! The letter!”

Morgan steadied Spencer, “Reid, breathe. What letter?”

“I’m her secret Santa. I wrote her a letter, Morgan. I wrote her a letter, a letter which contains very sensitive information that she cannot read right now--o-or ever!” Spencer’s hands flew to his hair again and Morgan had to think quickly.

“Okay, okay. I’ll help you, we need to think of a way to get the letter out of the box.”

“Morgan, it’s inside the teapot-- which is taped shut by the way-- inside the box, under the tree!” He flailed around nervously.

“Damn, man. Okay, just follow my lead. When she opens her gift, I’ll distract her and Anderson and you have to get that letter out.”

Spencer nodded and when they joined the rest of them outside, people were already opening their gifts, one by one. Spencer waited anxiously as she began to unwrap her gift.

“Oooh, I’m excited!” She said, carefully unwrapping the wrapping paper and opening the box, still seated on Anderson’s lap. She gasped, “It’s a teapot!” 

Spencer grimaced as he watched Morgan fake a trip and spill his drink all over Anderson’s shirt, getting some on Y/N’s back.

“Shit, man! I’m so sorry!” Morgan glanced at Spencer and Spencer jumped into action as the couple were distracted by the spilled drink. He quickly unstuck the tape on the teapot and lifted the lid enough to squeeze his hand through to remove the letter. He stashed it away in the pocket of his cardigan. In fact, he planned on burning it when he got home. He successfully restored the gift to how it was before they returned from the bathroom.

“No one says a word.” Reid warned the rest of the group, who were watching the whole debacle like it was a spectacle. They all undoubtedly figured out what was written in that letter, therefore they understood and nodded.

“Not a peep.” Garcia said, locking her lips with an imaginary key.

“Anyway! Now that that’s all sorted out. Back to the teapot.” Y/N came back to her gift and her seating arrangement.

“Um, you should...you should look inside. There’s um, bonus gifts.” Spencer was absolutely beet-red in the face. 

But Y/N knew the gift was from Spencer the second she saw the wrapping paper, which was full of adorable snowmen dressed in Christmas clothing. She grinned, remembering the argument between them which started by her telling him how cute she thought snowmen wearing clothes was and him getting frustrated trying to explain to her how snowmen wouldn’t need protection from the cold. She opened up the teapot and pulled out the bookmark. Spencer watched her eyes soften as they roamed over the words of her favorite poem. She toyed with the gold string of the bookmark as she reached into the pot again and pulled out the small pouch that contained the necklace. She pulled it out and gasped.

“Oh, Spencer, it’s all so perfect. Thank you.” She moved the gifts aside and wrapped him in a hug. Spencer stopped listening to the persistent ache in his chest as he hugged her back. He let all his senses be consumed by her, just temporarily. He found peace in that moment and he tried his hardest to hold onto that peace as he watched her fiancé clip the necklace onto her neck. 

Oh, what he’d give to be in Anderson’s place.

~~~

She smiled at the memory the bookmark brought. She found her fingers weaving themselves through the gold strings gingerly. That seemed to calm her nerves enough for now. Garcia had convinced her to go home finally after promising to call her and let her know if anything changed.

2 days.

It was 2 days before she heard any news. She had been cooped up with Garcia in her batcave for emotional support. Also she wanted to know about any advancements as soon as possible. Garcia and Y/N were currently watching a live feed from some news channel.

“Damn, how did he know there were FBI agents in there? Word travels--” Garcia began but the explosion on screen cut her off. Y/N stood up from her seat abruptly.

“What was that?! Garcia, was that the ranch?!” Y/N all but screamed with panic, “Penelope! Answer me!” Garcia’s stunned face was paired with teary eyes as she turned to look at Y/N. Garcia frantically called Hotch and Rossi, but no one answered.

“No, no, no. NO! This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening, Penelope. Are we sure Spencer and Emily were still inside?” Y/N’s voice wavered as she held her hands to her chest in disbelief. Garcia shrugged honestly and wordlessly.

“NO!” She began sobbing uncontrollably, falling to her knees, mumbling nearly incoherently, “I never got to tell him...I never got to tell him.” 

Garcia fell to the floor, holding the sobbing woman as best as she could without falling apart herself. Y/N gripped her tight as she felt the walls closing in on her. Her chest felt tight and she suddenly felt as if the air was ripped from her lungs. She could hear strangled sobs, but wasn’t even registering that they were her own.

It was too late.

She’d never see his smiling hazel eyes again. She’d never hear his hearty laugh once more. She never told him. She never told him how deeply her love for him ran. What was she waiting for? She’d waited too long. How utterly stupid of her. And now there’s no chance. He’s gone...he’s pulverized into bits and pieces--

The phone rang and Garcia leapt to it ungracefully, “Sir?! Reid and Prentiss--”

“They’re okay, Garcia. They made it out in time. With Morgan.” Hotch said sternly.

“Morgan was in there?!” Garcia screamed into the phone.

“Yeah, but I’m alright, babygirl, don’t you worry ‘bout me.” Morgan’s silky voice was heard from farther away. Garcia was about to reply when Y/N snatched the phone from her.

“Spencer?! Spence, are you there? Are you okay?!” She half-sobbed into the phone, not wanting her voice to give her away completely.

“Yes, yeah, I’m here. I’m alive.” Spencer choked out, relief flooding her system as she heard his voice. He was very much still alive and breathing, albeit with difficulty. Y/N didn’t register the rest of the conversation between Hotch and Garcia. She lay back in her seat and buried her face in her hands, trying to control her breathing. Garcia hung up and rested a kind hand onto her shoulder.

“Whew, that was a close one.” She said with a small smile. Y/N took her hands off her face and met with her warm eyes, “You know you’ll have to tell him eventually.” Y/N froze in her place again. She suddenly avoided her friend’s gaze. She was really hoping she hadn’t caught onto that. “It’s okay, pumpkin, we can all see it.”

She was right, oh my God, she was right.

“No, I don’t--I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re wrong, whatever you think you know, you’re wrong.” Y/N felt bad saying those words but there was nothing else she could do to protect herself. Garcia stayed silent, but gave her a look that shook Y/N at her very core.

Later, on the jet, Morgan took a seat next to Reid and stared at him intently before speaking.

“So, a little birdie tells me your girl was pretty heartbroken…” He trailed off, but not without an obvious wiggle of his dark brows.

“Morgan, for the last time, she is not ‘my girl’, she is engaged. She is very much someone else’s girl.” Reid rolled his eyes, attention going back to his book, although he tried to ignore the way his heart fluttered at the thought. He didn’t know if his heart was fluttering because of what Morgan called her, or because she was so torn up about the thought of him dying. He knew he shouldn’t ever feel good about someone else’s pain, but what did her pain mean?

“So what? Engaged ain’t married, pretty boy.” Morgan shrugged, saying it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Spencer shook his head at his friend.

Back in the bullpen, Y/N waited for their arrival ever so anxiously by the glass doors across from the elevator. She was rolling onto the balls of her feet and bouncing with anticipation. It didn’t even matter that it was half past 3 in the morning. She had to see him. 

The ding of the elevator was the most comforting noise she’d heard in about a week. There he was, way in the back of the elevator, lifting his gaze from the floor to meet with hers. They both broke into the largest grins they’ve ever seen. She practically pushed Morgan out of her speedy way as he stepped off the elevator and slammed into Spencer with enough force to knock the air out of the both of their chests. Spencer caught her gladly and spun her around, laughing.

“I thought I lost you.” Y/N whispered into the embrace.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” Spencer replied softly into her hair.

The team all watched the reunion, adoration clear on their faces.

Emily was caught mumbling, “Damn, I wish I had someone to greet me like that after almost dying.” This, of course, resulted in a full blown bear hug from Garcia.

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[raunchyom]

Vices, Not Virtues: Kindness

[ Chapter 3 ]

[ Previous ] [ Next ]

A/N: Surprise! Wasn’t planning to have this out on Levi’s birthday, but also wasn’t planning that hiatus. School, amirite? On the plus side, I’ll officially be free by May 1, at which point I can start updating this (semi-) regularly again, so look forward to it! Tagging: @devintrinidad // @dweeb-central

word count: 2.7k || warnings: n/a

Listening to Leviathan rant was pretty much something that came with the territory of being his friend.

Whether about anime, his brothers, video games, anime, school, socializing, normies… oh, and don’t forget anime. There was always something on his mind, and his severely limited social circle meant you were often the recipient of his rants. Today in particular, it spanned a lot of different topics. Your recent absence hadn’t gone unnoticed, and the way he was going on made it seem like he’d bottled up every single emotion over the past few days and shoved them into a box labelled ‘re-open for Mc.’ 

Not that you loved him any less for it, of course. Poor Levi really couldn’t catch a break, and he was so excited to have someone like you who really cared about him-- well, who could blame him for wanting to open up?

Over the past week in particular, he’d been subjected to the usual trauma around the house. Apparently, he’d had Asmo and Satan gang up on him about never leaving the house, even the bookworm agreeing that Levi was too far gone. Mammon had ‘borrowed’ something of his, only for it to never return. Levi knew it was a bad idea every time, but he was too easily won over by promises of his investments being worth it. The last Akuzon delivery was supposed to be a limited edition maid-cafe-style Ruri-chan figurine, that smelled like her bean-cake best friend Azuki-tan-- which, of course, meant that Beel took a bite out of the package before Levi could get there to stop him. Lucifer had lectured him about grades, saying that he knew Levi could do better, if only he stopped playing video games so much-- “as if that’s a compliment!” 

Levi finally stopped pacing, rolling his eyes at the mere memory of it. He glanced down to where you sat, perched on the side of his tub. 

It wasn’t the most comfortable seat in the house, but his room wasn’t exactly made for visitors; you had to make do when you were there for a rant. He’d generally start talking while playing a video game, then gradually pause it, turn around, and eventually stand up and act out his frustrations. It was better for you to just start off seated on the side of his tub, that way he would have an aquarium backdrop for when he inevitably paced in front of you. It gave you a nicer view from the start, and when he wanted to sit again, he could choose to pull up his gaming chair or, if he was feeling particularly bold, sit down next to you.

As if he heard your thoughts, Levi plopped down next to you with a frustrated sigh. “Ugh, they totally don’t deserve to have you helping them all the time.” He grumbled, almost as if talking to himself. “I mean, I don’t either. I don’t know why you spend so much time around some gross otaku. And listen to all my problems, and--”

“Levi, it’s fine.” You assured him, “I don’t mind; we’re friends.” 

Levi glanced at you from the corner of his eye, as if he didn’t believe you. He shifted his gaze back to the fish tank in front of him and continued, “Still, I know I’m always venting to you, and…” 

The lack of eye contact didn’t prevent him from seizing up in your presence. You could practically see the buffering symbol in his brain, mouth wavering as he tried to force the words out. His face was getting red just from knowing your eyes were on him, somehow feeling as if every moment you waited politely for him to continue was a moment of pure torture.

“You don’t ever talk to me.” He mumbled. The words slurred together, as if he could barely convince himself to enunciate the syllables. He fumbled with the cord of his headphones and his stare shifted to the floor. Even eye contact with the fish must’ve been too much.

“We talk all the time.” You sounded much less sure than you felt, probably more out of hurt than anything. Did your friendship not mean as much as you thought it did? 

“That’s not what I--!” Levi frowned harder, tugging more incessantly at his headphones. He huffed out a frustrated breath, knowing what he wanted to say but not how to say it. “You do talk to me, but… you listen to me a lot more…” 

“So… you want me to talk more?” Levi was usually pretty easy to read. Sure, he didn’t say his emotions outright, but they were often written all over his face. In times like this though, when he was stuttering and refusing to make eye contact even more than normal, he wasn’t quite as transparent.

“No! Well, I mean, yes, but not-- I meant-- why don’t you ever ask?” Levi finally blurted out, surprising you both. “...for help? Why don’t you ever ask for help?”

“Uh… what?” Well, this was out of nowhere. You were supposed to be listening to his problems, but now he was upset that you hadn’t brought up yours? Was there some part of his rant that you were supposed to cut into with your own? 

“I notice, around the house, and RAD, and-- and everywhere. You never let people help you with things. You never ask for it yourself, even when you need it.” After a second, his eyes widened. “Not-- Not that I watch you! I-It’s nothing weird like that! I-I’m gross, and an otaku, and-- b-but-- I don’t st-stalk you or anything!” 

It was funny, watching Levi dig his own grave deeper. On the one hand, it was amusing to hear Levi desperately try to explain away any potential misinterpretation, but it was mixed with a fair amount of confusion about what his point was supposed to be. Your face must have portrayed this in some way, or at least one of these two emotions, because a cursory glance from Levi had him forcing himself back on track before he could say anything worse.

“I mean, I get why you don’t want my help. I-I’m just some yucky otaku, who’s anti-social and um, probably couldn’t help with anything anyway.” Levi was really good at kicking himself while he was down. Given, he always seemed to be down, and he always seemed to be kicking himself.

“Levi, that’s not why...” The words fell away halfway through your sentence, having caught yourself before admitting to anything. 

“So why?” You may have caught yourself before admitting anything too damning, but Levi caught it too. He was dense, not an idiot. “No, you don’t have to tell me. I mean, there’s a lot of other reasons you might not ask for help, too. Maybe you don’t want to feel weak, or admit that you need help from other people. Or maybe it’s because it’s hard to ask someone for something, when you’re already annoying them just by being around them. Or…  that last one is probably just me.”

“You’re not annoy--”

“It’s not about that!” Levi cut you off, determined to make his point. “The point is, you can’t do everything by yourself. Even Henry has the seven lords to help him. And Ruri-chan has her friends. In fact, her friends are what make her so--”

Levi took a deep breath, for once stopping his own tirade about anime. “Can you just… tell me why, at least?”

Song references aside, it wasn’t an easy question to answer, even if you wanted to. Levi didn’t often ask for this kind of thing though, which made it hard to turn him down. “It’s a lot of things, like you said. I just want to show that I can. Do things on my own, I mean.”

Levi frowned, unsure how to combat you. He already wasn’t exactly a pro on asking people for help, he holed up in his room too much for that. He had been, so far, basing it off the rare times he left his room. But now you were mentioning something that he could relate to on some level, except… “You… want to prove yourself?”

���I guess.” Not how you’d phrase it, necessarily, but not entirely inaccurate. Or really, it was oversimplifying the issue by a long shot, but it was better to give Levi half credit rather than no credit. His self esteem could certainly use it.

“But why!? You’re-- you’re so cool! You made a pact with every demon in the House of Lamentation! You could make a pact with Diavolo if you tried! You taught Satan to control his anger, you got Asmo to care about someone other than himself, you stood up to Lucifer when he was going to kill Beel and Luke-- and you, too!--, you got Belphie to get along with everyone again, you even died and--” It could’ve been that he realized what he was saying, or it could’ve been that he saw your face when he brought it up; either way, Levi clamped his mouth shut mid-sentence.

“I-I mean, not everyone gets to respawn.” He mumbled, hoping a video game reference would make it less awkward again. After a moment of silence, he reiterated his original point. “You don’t need to prove yourself. You already have.” 

It was heartwarming, hearing Levi sing your praises as he did. But that wasn’t exactly a quick fix for the fact that asking for help meant admitting you were bad at something. Or even just admitting to needing help at all. Lucifer said he had to teach you some pride, well here was a lesson you could skip. This one you knew well: don’t want to swallow your pride and ask for help? Easy, just don’t ever ask!

Levi seemed antsy to fill the silence, but managed to hit the nail on the head when he spoke again. “I know how it feels, when you see someone that’s better than you at something. It’s frustrating. And painful. Especially if you’re supposed to be the best, and then someone else knows more than you do, about a book series that they just read for the first time, and then spoil stuff about the one that hasn’t even been released yet, even though you’re the number one TSL fan and they shouldn’t even have that informa--”

“That was one time!” You protested. Levi let out a puff of air that was somewhere in between a scoff and a snort, but he didn’t seem to be legitimately angry. Then again, leave it to Levi to hold a grudge from the early days of the exchange program.

“Sometimes though, you can use that jealousy. Being jealous of someone can drive you to get better at things, or to learn from them. Or just ask them for help, if you have to. I’m never gonna work out like Beel, so if I need help lifting something I’ll just ask him for help doing it.” He deliberately didn’t mention his past experiences in asking for Beel’s help in getting fit, hoping you didn’t know about the devilgram posts Asmo made about it. You did, but decided to let it go. After a moment of consideration, he added, “I usually have to pay him with food, though.

“We may not always get along, but at least my brothers and I know how to depend on each other. Lucifer may act-- well, be annoyed a lot, but there’s a reason everyone goes to him for help. He helps the people he cares about… even if it comes with a lecture. Everyone knows to go to Satan if they need information, or help studying. Asmo’s so good with fashion that he works with Majolish, and still--” Levi’s chest puffed out a bit as he spoke-- “he comes to me for help in design too, since he knows I’m the best at cosplays.”

“That almost sounded like you were complimenting yourself.” Levi deflated a bit at your teasing tone, both embarrassed and a bit self-conscious. You felt some guilt about the latter, but none from the former. Not when his embarrassment meant his face scrunched up like that, and he floundered to go back on his own claims.

“W-Well, I didn’t mean-- of course I’m good at otaku stuff! A normie wouldn’t understand!” He floundered, clearly at a loss for what to say if he was falling back on calling you a normie. That was pretty much his version of sticking his tongue out when he lost.

“It’s hard to imagine Mammon ever gets asked for help.” You offered, trying to get him back on track. ...and maybe continue to push his buttons just a tad.

“That idiot--” Levi took a deep breath, gritting his teeth as he sought a way to talk about Mammon without including some form of insult, “He gets into trouble all the time, obviously. He’s a moron because of the kind of trouble he gets into, not because he asks for help. At least he knows to come to us for help when he needs it.”

At that, Levi gave you a pointed look. Well, consider that the last time you ever try to help him get back on track.

“Mc, none of us will think less of you. People usually consider it an ego-boost if someone comes to them for help. Especially if it’s y--” Levi fumbled, quick to brush past his near-slip. “If anything, we want to help. If you asked for help with your work and school and things, you’d have more time to yourself; for watching anime and playing games.” 

Levi tried to make it sound like he was being benevolent, but the implied ‘with me’ was hard to miss.

“So, you could try asking for help some more, to lighten your load. If you want. It would make me--  um, make u-us feel better, too.” He seemed content in ending it there, and made an effort to end any potential continuation of the topic. Flipping on a dime, Levi was quick to talk over any potential response. “Th-That’s all, anyways!  Uh, we can just-- go back to, you know. Playing devilcart, or um, we can watch some anime, or--”

“Thank you, Levi.” You had to put a hand on his arm to make him listen, the simple action instantly sending the touch-starved demon into fight-or-flight mode. “I’ll try.”

He swallowed back his nerves and nodded, surprised he had managed to make it through that whole talk. You were too, really, as soon as you realized that this was supposed to be his intervention for you.

As much as you might loathe to admit it, his talk made sense. Or at least it had some aspects of truth to it, and perhaps you felt marginally better about asking the bros for help. Levi made it very clear how he felt about wanting to help you, the least you could do was see if the others felt the same. And hey, maybe he had a point about people wanting you to ask them for help in general, too. Who would’ve guessed it, but so far these demons seemed to know a thing or two about sinning.

---

“Is something the matter, my Lord?”

“It’s been awfully quiet the past few days. I wonder what those brothers are up to?” Boredom generally caused Diavolo’s mind to wander to the Devildom’s most notorious troublemakers, but this week especially. His fellow members of the student council had been quieter than normal, without even a yelling match in days; much less something exciting enough to warrant Diavolo’s attention. Thus leaving the prince here, sighing as he pondered their goings on.

Barbatos poured Diavolo’s tea with a knowing smile. “They have been quite busy this week.”

“Oh?”

“It seems they’re corrupting Mc.” Barbatos spoke as if it were a common occurrence. 

Diavolo chuckled. “Should we be worried?”

“Quite the opposite. They’re working together to get Mc to take better care of themself.”

“Is that so?” Lethargy had caused Diavolo to ignore his tea at first, but the new information made him forget about it altogether. Diavolo sat up straighter, excitement tugging his mouth into a smile. “Perhaps I’ll bring tomorrow’s meeting to Lucifer, and pay the house of lamentation a visit.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

[juju-on-that-yeet]

At My Worst (Chapter 1)

Work Summary: Thanks to his enduring popularity in the fandom, The Author pops back into existence and the egos must suddenly contend with someone they thought was gone forever coming back from the dead. No one is more shocked than Dr. Iplier, who can't help but remember how things used to be - and slowly fall back into bad habits, despite his better judgement.

Warnings: Mild descriptions of past violence/discussions of death (more tags on AO3)

Read on AO3

Enjoy!

~

Last he knew, Dark was ripping his eyes out.

Then, he was nowhere and nothing.

Now, he suddenly is, where before he wasn’t, and the rush of sensation returning is terrifying and paralyzing. But he still knows who he is, he knows his name and that he’s a figment, and he remembers his life. Rather, his previous life, he suspects.

It doesn’t take long for The Author to get his thoughts back in order and regain the presence of mind to look around. He appeared standing, and somehow didn’t fall, but he doesn’t trust his legs enough to move just yet. He’s surprised by the fact that he can look around, that the eyes he viscerally recalls losing are back in his head, fully functional. The area he’s in looks familiar, reminds him of the forest his cabin sat in, but it becomes apparent that the place is different now. The trees are less wild, the ground more even. He’s standing on a path, perhaps a nature walk or hiking trail. Last he remembers, there were no such trails in his woods.

He finally walks, letting his instincts take him to where his cabin should be, though he already has a feeling it won’t be found. Sure enough, he goes as far as he can down the trail, leaves the path and goes onward, and eventually finds himself at the edge of a neighborhood. Where the cabin used to be is a two-floor house, probably built for a family with kids, and in the surrounding street are even more such houses.

Author doesn’t know how much time has passed, but clearly, it’s been a long time since his cabin stood. He has to wonder what became of his books, his life’s work. Were they saved by the other egos, or are they forever lost?

For a moment, he isn’t sure what to do. But he’s a clever man, so he thinks. If he exists, surely the other egos must be around somewhere, too. All he has to do is find them. But if they aren’t here, then where?

He walks back the way he came, back to the trail, passing the place he appeared in and continuing onward. By the time he makes it to the trail’s beginning, night has fallen, and the parking lot by the trail is empty. He walks past the parking lot, comes to a road, and walks. It’s not so late that no cars are driving, at least; it only takes a few whizzing by his upturned thumb before one decides to stop.

“Where you headed?” asks the driver, an ordinary-looking man with a moustache. Author wonders how entertaining he’d be in a story.

“LA,” Author says, settling into the passenger seat like he belongs. For having not existed at all twelve hours ago, his easy confidence returns quickly.

“Heh, aren’t we all?” the man chuckles, pulling off the roadside to start driving. “Anywhere in particular? I can put it in my GPS.”

“Not really,” Author says, “Just get me to the city and I’ll take it from there.”

The man shrugs, but doesn’t pry. Maybe he wouldn’t be a protagonist, but possibly a character just there to help the protagonist along, as he is now. Then again, his unquestioning nature would make him easy death fodder, too.

On the way to the city, Author tries to look around the car, just to see if he can figure out what day it is. The radio playing tells him the day of the week and the month before long, but he can’t figure out the year. It’s not a terribly long drive to the city (Author remembers how long it took to get to Dr. Iplier’s clinic, and the distance isn’t that different) (Oh, Dr. Iplier, he must be somewhere too, does he still hate Author for what he’s done?), and once he gets there, Author has but one favor to ask.

“Thanks for the ride, but quick question,” he begins as he unbuckles his seatbelt, “Any chance you have a pen and a notebook in your car I can have? Or even just a sheet of paper and something to write with?”

“Uh, sure,” the man answers, confused by the request but not so much that he won’t grant it. He rummages through the glove compartment until he pulls a notebook with some corporate logo, and a pen with the same branding. “Have these, got them from work a long time ago but I don’t need them.”

“Perfect!” Author exclaims, taking the notebook and pen. He flips through the notebook, taking in the sight of blank pages, empty canvases, ready for him to make his own. “Have a good one, man.”

The man nods, rolls up his window, and drives off, leaving Author standing on a random sidewalk just inside Los Angeles. But he’s not bothered, because he finally has his tools. He can do anything or get anywhere. He knows that Dr. Iplier’s clinic has likely gone the way of his own cabin if it’s been too long, but the egos must be somewhere in the city. Author doesn’t know why he feels that way, but he supposes his instincts have the right idea. He’s always been a creature of impulse, so he does exactly what he did when the sun was up and lets his legs carry him where they may.

When he gets hungry, he enters a fast food restaurant and opens his notebook again, this time to write. While in line, he reads the cashier’s nametag and puts pen to paper: When The Author reaches the front of the line and orders, Stella pays for his meal herself. And she does, without skipping a beat. Author stays in the building to eat, and internally snickers at the confused look he sees on Stella’s face when she realizes what she did, seemingly for no reason.

As far as Author can perceive, it hasn’t been very long at all since he last used his power. But his body can tell it’s been a long time, somewhere deep in his mind knows it’s been forever since he picked up a pen and changed reality to suit his needs. A part of him is glad he’s still got it, but how could he ever lose it in the first place?

Back to walking. It’s late at night, but his mind is too active to be tired. It wouldn’t be the first time he was up all night, whether pacing his cabin trying to untangle the next scene of a story, or painting LA red in search of inspiration, or tormenting a character in the woods, or staying up with Dr. Iplier until the sun came up and he had to return to his clinic in the early hours, yawning through a cup of coffee. Thinking of his doctor only makes Author’s mind buzz even more. How long has it been, truly? What must Dr. Iplier be like now? Can they start over again, now that Author’s been reset?

The more Author walks, the more he feels a pull to keep going. It’s as if there’s a GPS unit inside his brain, telling him which way to go. He has no clue where he’ll end up, but he follows anyway, not having anywhere else to go. Besides, perhaps he’s being led to the other egos, maybe some element of himself is being drawn to them. He still knows that he’s a figment, of course, and that being a figment makes him a little more magical than the average human, a little more special, even ignoring his reality-bending powers. Part of him wants to use his writing to get into a locked car and drive to where the magic inside him is leading, but even at this hour, he knows it’d be quicker to walk.

It’s morning by the time Author feels he’s gotten somewhere, nearly a day has passed since he found himself alive again. By now, the streets are once again full of people and cars, and the swelling sounds of conversation and car horns remind him of his trips into the city with Dr. Iplier. His feet finally come to a stop in front of a huge building. It doesn’t look very different from the other corporate skyscrapers standing along the street and stretching into the horizon, but it radiates magic. It’s a beacon, and Author can tell just by looking at it that this is where he’s meant to be, this is the place he’s meant to stay.

He’s startled out of his reverie by someone bumping into him, barking at him to watch it, and moving hurriedly along. Author is disgruntled, but has little time to get angry before yet another person does the same thing. He moves out of the way of traffic to stand under the magical building’s awning, away from the crowd. Amazingly, no one even seems to see him anymore. No one acknowledges him, or even looks at the building Author is standing in front of. Whatever magic it has, humans can’t see it. Perhaps that’s the point, perhaps the building’s magic is keeping it hidden. Author can’t help but be impressed. If he’s right, it must be Dark and Wilford’s doing; no one else would have enough power. Still, keeping a building shrouded constantly would take a lot of energy, and though Dark and Wilford are powerful, they aren’t powerful enough for something as big as this as far as Author remembers.

As if he needed more confirmation that it’s been a long time since he last existed.

Still, he’s made it to where he wants to be, and he’s not about to stop moving forward now. He walks to the door, pushes the double-doors open, and steps inside.

The doors open up into a wide lobby, high-ceilinged. Off to one side is another set of doors, wooden and old-looking. There’s quite a few other, more typical doors along the back wall, a couple labeled that lead to staircases and some without labels that likely lead to other rooms. There’s also an elevator in the center of the wall. The lobby is much bigger than the outside of the building would suggest, and Author has to assume it’s more magic at work. He has no more time to wonder, because one of the unlabeled doors opens.

Out steps another man, with hair swooped low and orange sunglasses and a tank top with the Bing logo on it, of all things. He stops mid-step at the sight of Author, and Author can’t help but pause, too. He doesn’t know who this person is, but he can tell he’s a figment. Not only that, there’s something too familiar in his hair, his face, his height. This figment is another one of Mark’s.

Author already felt like he’d found the right place, but now he knows for sure.

“Woah, how’d you get in here??” asks the figment, walking up to Author as his shock gives way to confusion. “Wait, are you a new ego?”

“You could say that,” Author replies with a shrug.

“Oh, sick!” the figment exclaims, now grinning with excitement. He reaches out to shake Author’s hand, and his grip is stronger than Author expects. “My name’s Bingiplier, but like, everyone calls me Bing. What’s your name, dude?”

“The Author,” Author answers, a little bewildered by Bing’s energy. Granted, he certainly seems like someone Mark would conjure up as a joke, but most of the true joke egos barely lasted a week.

“Oh cool, you write and stuff?” Bing asks. He frowns for a moment. “I gotta admit, though, I’m totally blanking on what video you’re from. I don’t watch all of Mark’s videos, but like, I don’t think anyone was expecting a newbie to show up soon.”

“I do write,” Author replies, though his mind is buzzing with the new information. No one’s expecting him? Then how is he here? “I can reality-bend with writing. I write it, and it happens.”

“Nice!” Bing says, “That’s, like, super-powerful. We haven’t had a real reality-bender show up in ages. Actually, your deal kinda reminds me of The–”

“Hey.”

A monotone voice, deeper than Bing’s, interrupts. Author and Bing both look to see someone else approaching. Author can’t help but grin, because this is an ego he recognizes. Googleplier’s hair is still long and shaggy, he still has his glasses, and even though figments don’t truly age, he looks older somehow, more mature. He’s not glitching the way he did when Author knew him, and his jaw is stronger, his stature more imposing. It takes a moment for Google to see Author past Bing, and it takes a moment more for him to register what he’s seeing. His eyes widen behind his glasses.

“Author? Seriously?” Google asks, incredulous.

“Wait, you know about him? Did I just miss the memo on a new ego coming or something?” Bing whines before glaring at Google. “Are you here for an actual reason, or just to butt into my conversation?”

“Ollie wants you, you won’t answer his pings, and the others are still charging,” Google answers, deadpan. Bing pauses a moment, face screwed up in confusion, before understanding slowly dawns.

“Oh, he did ping me. I was busy talking to the new guy.”

“Ping you?” Author interjects.

“Oh yeah, I’m an android!” Bing says brightly. “So’s Google, but he’s just the old default.”

“Leave already before you get dismantled,” Google growls at Bing, but his eyes don’t leave Author.

“Ugh, fine,” Bing sighs. He flashes Author a peace sign as he walks away. “See ya round, dude!”

Google waits until Bing is out of sight before approaching The Author.

“How are you here?” he asks, more bewildered than Author has ever seen him.

“You tell me,” Author scoffs, “You were always the know-it-all. All I know is that one second I didn’t exist, and the next second I did.”

“How long ago was that?”

“About a day? Popped into the woods where my cabin used to be.” Author stares hard at Google. “How long has it been? Since Dark tore my eyes out?”

Google hesitates for a long moment before responding.

“Six years,” he says.

Author’s jaw drops.

“Six years??” he gasps.

“Six years,” Google repeats. “It’s 2021, now.”

“When did Bing show up?”

“2017. Four years ago.” Google thinks for a moment. “Technically, that makes him older than you.”

Google’s right. Author was only a couple years old when Dark killed him. At this point, he’s been dead longer than he’s been alive.

“Jesus Christ,” Author mutters. He can hardly wrap his head around it.

“Jesus Christ is right,” Google growls, “How the hell did you get here? You died. You faded away.”

“I already told you I don’t know!” Author snaps. Google gives him a look like he doesn’t believe him. “Look, I appeared, I felt the urge to come here, and now here I am. So now what?”

“Now I have to take you to Dark.”

“Yeah, no. I remember how our last interaction went.”

“You have to,” Google sighs, clearly resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Every new ego has to meet with him–”

“I’m not new.”

“–And besides, nothing in this building happens without him knowing. I don’t like dealing with him either, but I’m not about to get in trouble for not telling him about you.”

“No choice, huh?” Author sighs. “Alright, let’s get this over with, I guess.”

Google leads Author to the elevator in silence. He presses the button for the sixth floor – the highest one – as Author thinks.

Six years. He still can’t conceive of it. Even for a normal human that’s a decent chunk of time, but for a figment, it’s like a lifetime. Plenty of figments don’t even make it to six years old…though clearly, Google and Dark have, and Author has to wonder who else has. Six years and six floors of this building means a lot of new people.

“Figures you and Dark stuck around,” Author muses to Google, “The fans always do love the grumpy ones. And now there’s Bing, and that “Ollie” and the “others” you mentioned…”

“That would be Oliver, Chrome, and Plus,” Google says, “The three of them are androids, other Google units, in fact.” That fact makes Author bark out a laugh.

“You got clones, now??” he snorts, “That’s awesome. Think I could borrow one for a story?”

“No.” Google’s response is instant, paired with eyes glowing icy blue.

“Alright, alright,” Author sighs, “Six years and you still haven’t gotten a sense of humor.” He pauses for a moment. “How many of us are there now?”

Last Author recalls, there were eight, including himself. Google barely needs a moment to mentally calculate it before he has an answer.

“Twenty-one,” Google answers.

“Twenty-one??” Author exclaims, jaw dropping.

“Twenty-two, now, with you. There’d be even more, but some have faded away.”

“Is anyone I knew gone now?”

“No, the oldest ones are still here.”

That means Dr. Iplier is still here. Author can’t help but feel relieved. He’s not sure what he’d do if he found out Dr. Iplier had faded away sometime during his absence. He’s so cheered by the thought that he forgets why he’s in the elevator until it finally stops at the top floor.

Right. Dark’s still here, too.

“I’ve already sent Dark an internal ping,” Google says as he leads Author out of the elevator. “He’s expecting you now.”

“Snitch,” Author mutters under his breath. Google rolls his eyes, but he chooses not to respond verbally.

The pair pass several doors as they walk, and Author wonders how many of them lead into the bedrooms of egos he hasn’t met. He wonders what Dark is like now. After all, Google seems to have barely changed aside from no longer glitching constantly. But he remembers how the people outside couldn’t even see this building, remembers the sheer size of the place, and knows that Dark must be much more powerful than he used to be to be able to pull it off. Too soon, Google and Author arrive at a door that’s much nicer than the others so far. Google knocks, something that the Google Author remembers would hardly ever do.

“Come in,” says a deep voice from inside. An older voice, but the same one that Author remembers well.

Google opens the door, and The Author steps inside.

Dark is not like Google. He doesn’t look the same as he did before. His hair is longer, swooped to the side. His eyes are still deep brown, nearly black. He’s wearing a suit and tie now, his skin is gray. Most striking is his aura. Where it used to be minimal, only wisps of smoke that showed themselves occasionally, it is now a swarming mass of writhing black tendrils surrounding him. It shakes even as Dark stares evenly at Author from behind a large wooden desk. Dark’s expression is cool and calm, and his hands are folded on his desk, but there’s tension in his shoulders and a hardness in his eyes.

“You’re dismissed, Google,” Dark says to Google, “But do not mention this to anyone.”

Author glances at Google, who nods and leaves, closing the door behind him, leaving Author and Dark alone.

“So,” Author says breezily, pushing down and hiding his discomfort. He’s not scared, but he does feel awkward, and a little annoyed to have to see Dark at all. “Nice place you got here.” He flops into a chair in front of Dark’s desk. “I hear there’s twenty-two of us now, crazy how time flies.”

“Exactly how did you come back?” Dark asks, without a hint of humor.

“I told Google like three times, I don’t know!” Author says, his annoyance getting the better of him. He takes a breath and calms before continuing. “I don’t know. I woke up in a forest, the same one where my cabin is. Or used to be, it’s just houses there now. I hitched a ride to the city and walked until I got here. It’s been about a day since I woke up.”

“I see.” Dark sighs, leaning back slightly in his seat. “This has never happened before.”

“I’ve gathered that.” Author frowns at Dark. “I might as well address the elephant in the room. Are you gonna pull out my eyes again or what?”

“No,” Dark answers, voice tight and aura swarming faster, “I will not. Things have changed since then, that is no longer how I deal with unruliness.”

“Is that what you call it?” Author mutters, “‘Dealing with unruliness?’ Does that make you feel justified for killing me?”

“You’ve been gone for six years,” Dark snaps, “Don’t pretend you know anything!” All at once, Dark’s form cracks, a shadow of himself turns away to scream in frustration. The scream is cut short, the whole thing lasts only a moment. Despite himself, Author nearly jumps out of his skin.

“What the hell was that!?” he shouts.

Dark settles himself, chuckling quietly. His aura calms somewhat, but it continues to churn the air.

“As I said, things have changed.” Dark rolls his neck, it cracks like the vertebrae are clacking against each other. “To put it in a way you would understand, my story has been rewritten in recent years. There’s a lot for you to catch up on.”

“I’ll pass,” Author retorts, “I’m not about to stick around here with you.”

“I’m afraid you have no choice.” Dark’s eyes go steely. “You may have guessed from the large number of us that Mark is much more popular than he used to be, which means we need to be more careful. You recall my desire to unite us all in a single building.”

“The building I died in, right?” Author snaps.

“Yes,” Dark replies coldly, undeterred by Author’s attempt to fluster him. “This building, in fact. The more popular Mark gets, the more recognizable we become, and the more vital it is for us to avoid attention. This building is imbued with magic to prevent humans from seeing or entering, and there are rules about the ways in which we may interact with them.”

“If you’re gonna tell me I can’t write my stories–”

“You can write as many stories as you like,” Dark says smoothly, “And you may use humans as…protagonists, if you so choose. But your stories may not be published, and you may not develop close relationships with humans.”

“And if I break the rules?”

“You get to visit my void.” Dark grins. “A place made of pitch, so dark you cannot see your hand in front of your face, cold and just quiet enough to hear its voices. It only takes a few hours to break someone weak. For someone strong, maybe a week.” He tilts his head. “I suspect a day or two in there, with no one to control and nothing to do, will drive you mad. At the end of a week you’d be tearing off your own skin just to feel.”

Author wants to scoff at the dramatics, but there’s something in Dark’s eyes and posture that makes him believe it.

“What if I leave anyway?” Author asks, “Strike out far away and find my own place?”

“Then you’ll have all twenty-one of us looking for you, whether actively searching or keeping an eye out. Once you’re found, the punishment would be immense. We’ve had egos run off before. The longest one ever stayed lost was eighteen days. Perhaps you could last longer, but your punishment would be that much longer as well. And if my void does not deter you, there’s a holding cell in the basement that’s designed to cancel out magic and keep figments contained indefinitely, where you can stay until you come to your senses.”

Author glowers, considering. It’s clear that he has no choice but to go along with the arrangement, but he’s too stubborn to give in yet.

“Any other rules I should know about?” he asks derisively, “Is there a dress code? Do I have to ask you if I want dessert after dinner?”

Dark glares at Author for a long moment.

“My, not even death could change you.”

He lets his own words hang in the air before continuing.

“The other main rule here is that you cannot harm another ego. Self-defense or defense of another ego won’t be punished, but aggression and attacks will.”

“That’s rich, coming from the one who tore my eyes out,” Author growls.

“You can watch your attitude,” Dark snaps, voice dangerous and aura waving wildly. “I’m still the leader, and you still need to respect me. You may not have changed, but I have, and I am much stronger than you can imagine. If you continue to draw my ire, you will find out just how much stronger I’ve become.”

Dark wasn’t nearly this imposing back in Author’s heyday. He didn’t have this maturity, this intimidating tone of voice, this simmering rage that only shows itself in bursts. He used to be pettier, whiny, more mean than cruel. There was a reason Author didn’t fear him, and it was that he could tell, clear as day, that Dark was threatened by him. But the Dark that sits before Author now is not threatened. He’s angry, but not defensive. He means every word he’s said to Author, and Author knows that Dark will make him regret pushing his buttons if he persists.

So he stays silent for a long moment, and Dark’s aura gradually calms, and his expression smooths back out.

“Good, we understand each other,” he says, “Now, you need to meet the other egos. I’ll call a meeting for the others.”

“Google said the others I was around with are still here,” Author says, remembering, “Are they coming, too?”

“Yes,” Dark says, “But their meeting alerts will have…context. They’ll know it’s you before they arrive.” He sighs then, raises a hand to rub his forehead. “Speaking of context, there’s something you should know before this meeting occurs.”

“What’s that?” Author asks, curious. Perhaps a little nervous, given Dark’s behavior, but he’d never admit it.

“After you died, a new ego appeared, one who looked somewhat like you, who had no eyes. It came about that he had all your memories, but he wasn’t you, isn’t you. His name is The Host, and as far as we all knew…you became him, you were reborn as him.”

Author thought he was done being surprised, being shocked. But this revelation is the worst of all. He became someone else? There’s an ego here that has his same history, and the six years he missed on top of that? A clone like Google has, but one that has a different life, has a life at all. Someone who’s The Author, but isn’t. Someone The Author was supposed to be. The one who came from the ashes of Author’s death. While he spent six years in darkness, this other him, this Host, was living the life that should’ve been his. It only gets worse the more Dark explains. Author hardly perceives Dark’s words, but he perceives their meaning, especially when another name is mentioned. The shock builds and deepens.

It’s not enough that Host now has Author’s body, his memories, his life.

He has his love, too.

His doctor.

Dark explains that Dr. Iplier and Host have been in a relationship for years, and something inside Author crumbles.

This is the man he was so excited to see again, the man he’d hoped he could start over with once he found him. He’d dreamed of that on his long walk to the building, dreamed of Dr. Iplier lighting up at the sight of him, dreamed of them both apologizing to each other for how they ended things, dreamed of them reconnecting, rekindling, loving each other all over again. But the dream shatters further the more Dark speaks, and the more Dark speaks, the more Author’s vision tunnels and the louder the blood rushes in his ears. Dr. Iplier didn’t wait for him. He moved on. He moved on with this facsimile of Author, and did so a long time ago.

Author doesn’t hear what else Dark says, he’s too busy thinking. But no matter how much he thinks the situation over, he can’t accept it. He won’t allow this ache in his chest, this burning in the back of his eyes. Dr. Iplier may have moved on, but some part of him must still love Author, if he moved on with the newer version of him. The way they loved each other was like nothing else, even six years later there’s no way Dr. Iplier has forgotten Author, has forgotten what their love felt like, has stopped missing it. Author will find his way back to him somehow, fix their relationship and fix his own breaking heart.

There has to be a reason Author came back to life. There’s no possible way him and Dr. Iplier could end like this. And Author may be a lot of things, but he’s not a quitter.

He can’t give up on Dr. Iplier, his heart won’t let him.

[captcas]

Worth Fighting For [12/?]

WORTH FIGHTING FOR by capthamm

Killian “Hook” Jones is a dominate up and comer in the UFC while Emma “The Savior” Swan’s career was cut short. When Hook’s manager moves up and the office brings in UFC’s youngest legend to keep him in check, will either of them be able to handle it?

read on ao3 // tumblr: ch 1/ ch 2 / ch 3 / ch 4 / ch 5 / ch 6 / ch 7 / ch 8 / ch 9 / ch 10 / ch 11 [Chapter 12/?]

The three weeks between that and Killian’s fight flew at lightspeed. Between training (together), press conferences (together), and general life (also, together), Emma found herself spending almost every moment with Killian without really knowing what hit her.

He wove himself into her life with an ease she would’ve found scary if she wasn’t so damn happy.

After meeting, Killian and Henry begged to be together daily. It started with short bursts– lunch here, a trip to the park there– and eventually it became week long movie nights with the three of them cuddled up on the couch. Any thought she had of slowing things down was abruptly erased by Henry’s overall excitement just to be with Killian.

The night the two of them fell asleep together in Henry’s bed mid-bedtime story was the proverbial nail in the coffin.

That’s how she finds herself sitting outside the locker room killing time before Killian has to prep for weigh-ins. Henry was already in their seats, Ruby keeping an eye on him while he oogles at the stage being constructed. Emma has been able to mostly ignore the reality of tonight– and tomorrow night– by managing Killian’s social accounts and keeping Regina off her back. (Let’s just say her boss doesn’t know the full extent of their relationship and Emma would like to keep it that way at least until this weekend is over and not just because even she doesn’t know the full extent.)

Emma hears the announcer call for fighters to the locker rooms and it snaps her out of her own thoughts. 

Killian has to go. They– mostly Emma– have been dreading this night since the moment they found out it was Neal. It was only three weeks ago, but somehow everything has changed and it feels like a different lifetime. Killian must have resigned to his fate as well, “Duty calls, love.” He kisses her on the forehead and she leans into the contact. Emma nods but is reluctant to remove her arms from their comfortable spot on his hips. She’s about to wish him luck when he pulls a long silver chain from his pocket. Dangling from the end is a beautiful ring– rubies set with diamonds across a twisted silver band.

Oh shit.

“Whoa. Whoa, whoa, wh–”

He rolls his eyes, “Calm down, Swan. I’m not proposing.”

She nods with a tight smile, ignoring the rush of disappointment that floods her mind. It’s barely been a month, she should not be disappointed. He smirks, probably reading her like a book per usual, but continues anyway, “You know I’m good at surviving the octagon, yeah? Well, this ring is why. I’ve had it for many years, it’s the reason I’m alive. The reason I’m here today.”

“Killian–”

“I want you to have it this weekend. Keep a piece of me with you. Tomorrow may be a bloody awful night for me but I can’t imagine the war raging behind those beautiful eyes of yours, love.” He brushes a small piece of hair off the apple of her cheek before placing the ring carefully in her hand. She clutches it tightly before pressing up on her toes to place a gentle kiss against his lips.

“Thank you.”

He smiles, something bright and happy that reaches his eyes but is reserved for her, “Don’t mention it, Swan. I’ve got all the luck I need right here.” He squeezes her waist, eliciting a small giggle as he focuses in on a slight ticklish spot. Killian kisses her temple once more before they finally part.

“Go get him, Jones.” She can’t help the grin that spreads across her face despite the potential danger Killian is walking into.

He turns back to respond, “Aye, love. Tomorrow night, that’s the plan. It’s only weigh-ins, what could go wrong?” With a wink and a smirk he heads into the locker room and Emma notices the ring still clutched tightly in her fist. Taking it gently, Emma places it over her neck, the weight of the ring heavy atop her chest.

It feels like a lifeline.

Emma takes a deep breath before cracking her neck and slipping into her very real position as Killian’s PR manager. Henry is here tonight, so despite her job, she figures she should check on him first– that is if he hasn’t already tried to come find her. As she walks out from behind the stage she bumps into someone solid. Nausea hits her like a freight train as a familiar scent takes over. The hands on her shoulders seer like fire and she looks up only on instinct.

She swears her blood runs cold at the sound of his voice, “Ems?”

Before she can react, another familiar voice cuts through blood rushing in her ears, “Mom?”

Emma can feel the indent of the ring carving itself into the palm of her hand as she realizes what’s about to happen. Maybe lifeline was an understatement? She reached for the ring instinctively as she realized the moment she had hoped would never come was hovering right in front of her.

She closes her eyes and hears Killian’s voice in her head, “ You can do this, Swan.”

Somehow that’s all the push she needs. Turning to Henry, she ignores the close proximity of his father. “Henry! You were supposed to wait by the seats.”

Her eyes never leave her son. “I was going to but Ruby said I could get popcorn and when I heard them call Hook back I figured you’d be coming out soon so I figured I’d wait for you.” He turns to Neal. “Oh my god, you’re The Fire !!!!”

Neal looks like he’s been tased. Emma pleads with him telepathically to ignore the fact that this is his unmistakably his son.

She never was good at telepathy.

“I am! And you must be Henry.” Neal smiles at him and then turns to Emma for confirmation– she nods slightly despite him barely deserving that. Henry’s eyes light up.

“Did Hook tell you about me?! Mom, do you know Neal Cassidy, too?!” Neal’s eyes turn from amusement to confusion before he turns to Emma.

“Hook?” The word sounds like poison as it cuts across the space between him and Emma.

Henry speaks before Emma can form an explanation, “Yeah! Killian is my mom’s client. She helps him run his Twitter and stuff. Does she do that for you too?”

Oh yeah, client, right.  

Neal gives her one more look before turning back to Henry, “Nope, not for me. Your mom and I are just old friends.” Acid. He sounds like he’s spitting acid. Emma has to choke back a scoff.

How did Emma ever fall for this shit?

“Oh, Killian and mom are friends too. He’s over pretty much every night. I think he likes me better though.” Emma can’t stop a smile from breaking out across her face. She grabs Henry and pulls him in for a hug.

“I think you’re right, kid.” Emma’s eyes meet Neal’s and he’s about to speak when a trainer comes up behind him and whisks him away. Something in his gaze tells her that this conversation isn’t over, but he says bye to Henry who waves before completely moving on to the veteran athletes he saw while waiting in the concession lines. Once he’s out of sight Emma takes a moment to focus her breathing— the cool temperature of Killian’s gift against her thumb effectively grounding her.

This ring really is a godsend– or maybe that’s just the man who gave it to her.

. . .

Killian is sitting in the middle of the sparring gym when he hears his moniker called by an unfamiliar voice. Whoever it is sounds angry. It’s weigh-ins so this level of hostility is usually a show for the cameras, but it’s also usually reserved for fighters who actually know each other.

“Killian Jones.” The use of his full name causes Killian to stand, coming face to face with Neal. He’s only seen him in photos and on tape, but he’d recognize him anywhere. Ice fills Killian’s veins before turning to white hot rage. He’s got half a mind to knock him flat on his arse but knows better than to fight outside the ring.

He opts for civility instead, “Ah, you must be Mr. Cassidy.” Killian squares with him, sizing him up. Despite his clearly trained stature, Killian knows Neal is a coward.

No man who gives up a boy like Henry could be anything less.

“Stay away from my son.”

That was not what Killian expected, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Neal is fired up for some reason or another. Killian can’t imagine why, unless– Emma .

Neal must’ve ran into Emma and Henry before coming back. Killian drops the niceties, “ Your son? I believe there’s a hefty packet of legal papers that says quite the opposite, mate.”  

He watches the rage fill up Neal’s face and his arm begin to form a fist. As Killian responds, Neal’s trainer is coming up behind him. “Not here, Cassidy. Save it for the octagon.”

As the trainer pulls Neal away, Killian doesn’t let the wash of relief exit in a sigh, but he feels it all the same. Neal turns to him once more,“We’ll settle this tomorrow, Jones. You don’t get to steal my life.”  He clearly has a compulsory need for having the last word.

Too bad so does Killian.

As Neal approaches the door separating their designated gyms, Killian calls out once more, “It’s not stealing when you give them up in the first place. Finders keepers, mate.” He winks as Neal crosses into the other room, his trainers keeping him pointed in the right direction.

That’s when Robin walks up behind Killian, “What the hell was that about? I thought you two didn’t even know each other.”

“A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets, Robin. It seems Mr. Cassidy is regretting his choice not to fight.” Killian turns to his best friend and finds only understanding in his eyes.

Robin claps his hand onto Killian’s shoulder, “Kick his ass, Jones.”

Nodding, Killian straps his gloves on. “My plan precisely, boss.”

...

@mariakov81 @kmomof4 @superchocovian @pirateherokillian @teamhook @bawley-bug @let-it-raines ​

[athina-blaine]

MoMM Chapter 4 - The Storm, Part 1 (Preview #1)

(Note: this is not the finalized draft; anything featured is subject to edits or deletion!)

Chapter 3: The Empty Corridors

“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure I deserve that. Your friendship. After everything I’ve done since…”

“Of course you do. Listen to yourself; it’s not like you wanted to frighten me.” An inch of space sat between their hands. “Is this …? Um. Is this okay …?”

The winds continued to howl, and Martin's hand lay limp on the bed sheets. His face grew hot, and he started pulling back. Stupid idea. But then Jon slid his hand closer until their fingers brushed. Emboldened, Martin wrapped his hand around Jon's, his burn scar grazing the soft skin of Martin's palm.

He squeezed gently.

“No one deserves to be lonely, Jon.”

Jon had no response, staring out to the storm that continued knocking on their windows. He stared, and he let Martin hold his hand.

Chapter 4 - The Storm, Part 1

Martin was an optimist. He had to be. Anything else would have been utterly unbearable.

That being said, he was… relatively confident things would get better. Jon had confided in him the terrible secret of Magnus Manor and the truth of this hellish storm. The Lonely. And understanding a problem meant you were one step closer to solving it, right? It meant one step closer to getting out of the cursed estate you’d found yourself trapped in.

Most importantly, though, the two of them were talking again. Above all else, that gave him hope.

 Jon was waiting for him in the foyer the next morning. His nose was buried in a book, but when Martin approached, he looked up, and Martin liked to think he looked pleased.

“Good morning,” Martin said, hoping he didn’t sound too flustered.

“You as well. Would ... would you be amenable to sharing some morning tea? If ... if you're still offering ...”

“Y-yes, of course.” So yesterday hadn’t been a fluke; Jon wasn’t going to leave him alone again. “That sounds great. Um. English Breakfast, then?”

Jon smiled, nodded, and fetched them both a pot and one cup apiece. The porcelain warmed Martin’s aching fingers, a refreshing respite from the chill that crept so subtly through the halls.

They drank, and they talked about very little. Martin’s tongue burned with questions (–what’s it like living with these entities? How do they manifest? Will we get out of here soon?–), but he restrained himself; the age lining Jon’s face had soothed as he sipped his tea,  and when he asked Martin how he’d slept, there was a shy twist to his mouth.

Right now, Martin wanted to enjoy himself. Enjoy Jon and a warm cup of morning tea. There would be plenty of time to agonise later.

In the meantime, he’d just need to keep busy. Now was as good a time as any to give cleaning the manor another chance. Masochistic, maybe. Impossible, certainly. But at least this time he didn’t have to worry about being reprimanded. Probably.

One of the many study rooms that littered the estate would be a good place to start. Small as it was, its sooty fireplace and dusty couch was enough of a time sink for his purposes.

He was in the middle of battling a particularly stubborn stain when the door opened and Jon peered inside. Despite everything, Martin couldn’t help his trill of anxiety, made all the worse when Jon kissed his teeth.

“Must I iterate that it’s not necessary for you to – ”

“I want to.” It was still such a shock to just see Jon, to have them talking, that the words came out in a breathless, jumbled mess. “I promise. I-I like cleaning, honest. It keeps my mind off … you know, things.”

Jon paused mid-stride. For a moment, Martin thought he was going to be chased off anyway, and then he’d have to actually beg to clean, because the thought of spending another minute with nothing to do but contemplate their situation– 

“I–” Sighing, Jon brought a hand to the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Yes, fine, if you insist. So long as you understand that it is absolutely not an expectation of you.”

Martin’s shoulders sagged with relief. Another hurdle crossed.

He’d just convinced himself to relax and finally let his mind wander, soothed by the familiar, tediousness of cleaning a fireplace, when Jon unclasped his cloak, lying it over the sofa. 

“What are you doing?”

“Assisting you, obviously. Having you clean it in my stead when I’m the one responsible for it falling into disrepair doesn’t bear thinking about.”

Doesn’t bear thinking about. What didn’t bear thinking about was a man of Jon’s stature doing menial work like this in the first place. But Martin was hardly about to refuse his help … or his company, so freely given. “Um. Thank you. You don’t have to be so hard on yourself, though. There’s literally no way you could have kept this place clean all by yourself.”

“I appreciate the reassurance, but the point is moot.”

Well, if Jon wanted to roll up his sleeves and work at a grimy fireplace, Martin wasn’t about to stop him. When Jon literally rolled up his sleeves, he bit back a smile. The skin of his forearms was paler than that of his hands and face, smooth and free of blemishes. When was the last time he’d enjoyed a bit of sunshine without his shirt buttoned up to the chin?

Not that Martin had any business considering a thing like that in the first place. God, his face was burning again.

“I hate cleaning,” Jon murmured as he dunked the spare cloth in the water bucket. “Nothing ever stays clean.”

“Yeah. Gotta do it, though. Oh, you should keep your elbow up. You won’t tire out your arm as quickly.”

“Oh. Yes, I see.” Jon sighed. “Perhaps the fault lies with me. I’ve never been particularly good at domesticity, after all. The rare times my grandmother was home, the only thing we talked about was how untidy my room was.”

Martin’s ears perked. The opportunity to learn more about Jon and his past? It was too enticing to resist. “Your gram wasn’t home much, then?”

“Not often. She was the matriarch of our family, so important business kept her in the capital most days.”

Oh. How … odd. Martin didn’t know anything about how noble families handled representing themselves, but … “I figured your mom or dad would take care of that sort of thing after a while. Did your gram just enjoy the work?”

“Both of my parents passed when I was a child.”

Martin’s stomach plunged to his feet. What a stupid blunder to make. “I’m … I’m so sorry.” 

“It was a long time ago,” Jon said, waving him away. “I was barely more than a baby at the time. I simply don’t remember enough of them to mourn their loss.”

Martin wasn’t sure if that made it worse. For all that Martin mourned the absence of his father, at least he had fleeting memories of warm hands and a deep voice to prove he’d existed at all. That he’d had a father once. “Still, that must have been … a bit lonely.” 

“Not at all. I always had my governess’ supervision. She provided the structure and discipline I required.” Jon laughed, a wistful, breathy thing, and lowered his head. “I was … a rather troublesome child.”

That did even less to make Martin feel better, because he suddenly had this image, unbidden, of a little boy with big eyes and gangly knees, head hanging as his grandmother told him off in clipped tones, before leaving once again to the bustling capital. No hugs, or gentle forehead kisses. Just a scolding about his messy bedroom.

I’m sure you were wonderful, he wanted to say. I’m sure you deserved better than that. 

But he was probably just projecting again.

“I’ve always liked cleaning,” Martin said, instead. “Makes me feel useful. My mum, she’s … she’s been sick most of my life. Nothing too serious,” Martin added quickly as Jon turned his head. “She just gets tired a lot. You know, hard to stay upright most of the time. There wasn’t a lot I could do to make her feel better, but keeping things clean helped.”

“I … I’m sorry to hear your mother is ill.”

“We were really lucky, actually. We lived in the same town as a really good doctor. He was really generous with us, but eventually … I-I couldn’t keep up with the bills running the farm all by myself, especially after our last goat died. We had to sell a few years ago, and I had to find work in the city.” Even after all this time, his throat tangled at the memory of leaving his childhood home. “Managed to land a really good job at the lord’s castle, so I always had money to send home. Every month. Haven’t been late once, yet. Until …”

“… Until now.”

Martin opened his mouth, because, well, he wasn’t late yet. There was still time for Martin to send his letter: about a week or so. That was plenty of time. But he refrained, because saying as much to Jon felt … dangerous. Like he was tempting fate. 

Things were going to work out. They had to. The storm was going to clear, they were going to get out of here, and then … 

“Your devotion to your mother is admirable,” said Jon.

Warmth ballooned in Martin’s stomach, spreading to the tips of his ears. It was an absurd thing to receive praise for (oh, you love your mother, really going above and beyond), but … well, it was still nice to hear, every once in a while. Or at all. “Thank you.”

It took most of the morning, but, with their combined efforts, they managed to restore the fireplace to an off-colour white. Martin stepped back, basking in the glow of a job well done. Jon, however, didn’t appear quite as chuffed as Martin felt. Rolling out his wrists, the man collapsed onto the couch, kicking up a cloud of dust in the process and triggering an intense coughing fit.

“Break time?” Martin asked, taking a much more gentle seat. His only answer was more coughing. Poor thing looked utterly done with the whole enterprise, if the curl of his nose was any indication. “So, what do you do for fun around here?”

“Fun?”

“Yeah. Unless you really intend to help me clean this room all day?”

Jon laughed, turning away sheepishly.  “I … yes, um … Well, this and that, I suppose. Reading, mostly. I’ve always had a penchant for it, and I’ve yet to make my way through the library. Um. Music, although it’s been quite some time since the gramophone worked. I took to baking for a time. I like to think I’d gotten rather good at it.”

“Wait, so you did bake that bread? When I first got here?” Martin thought back on it, how crispy the crust was, the soft and tasty inner dough, how fresh it had been. Martin couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten fresh bread. “That’s seriously amazing.”

“It’s hardly a complex task. But … yes, thank you.” Martin wasn’t sure if it was the haze of the dust, but Jon’s face looked a bit darker, a bit flushed. But then, the good humor in Jon’s eyes fell away. “And then there was the garden, of course. It was … well. A disaster, to put it mildly.”

“What happened?”

“Well, I killed everything, didn’t I?” Jon’s eyes dropped to his lap, shoulders sinking. “Not a single bulb flourished under my care. I … I eventually figured it was more merciful to give up than keep trying.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not that bad.” Would be better to start with anything but roses, he wanted to suggest. You’re just setting yourself up to fail. But that would certainly come across as annoyingly patronising. “Maybe I can lend a hand?”

“Pardon?”

Wait. No. What business did Martin have making an offer like that? It wasn’t as if he knew any better about keeping things alive. But something about the resigned nature of Jon’s tone tore at him; his mouth had fallen open of its own accord. 

“I-I mean … Well, it might be fun, yeah?” Martin tried. “Personally, I’ve always wanted to learn how to garden.” 

“Is that so?”

Martin nodded, intending on leaving it there, but Jon was watching him, waiting. Oh.

“W-Well, uh, when I was a kid,” Martin said, face warming, “I’d always dreamed of having a, um, like a little cottage? That I owned? With a great big plot of land in the middle of a forest somewhere. Would get married, settle down, grow flowers and all kinds of food together. It’s … it’s a bit silly.”

“Not at all,” Jon said, eyes softening, and Martin’s heart fluttered something fierce. “I think that’s lovely.”

He smiled, hoping it didn’t come out as a grimace, because it had been a long, long time since he’d indulged in that particular fantasy. It just wasn’t feasible, these days, having a little cottage of his own or … or finding someone who’d want to marry him when he’s never even had a serious relationship before.

“Thank you, though, for your offer,” Jon said, cutting through Martin’s thoughts. “I’ll … be sure to consider it.”

The tight knot in Martin’s stomach unwound just a bit. “‘Course.”

By that point, the dust had become utterly unbearable, and they were forced to evacuate.

.

The brass of the door handle glimmered under the lamplight, rusted with age and disuse. How long had Martin been standing here, knees locked and shivering beneath the thick chill? Ages, by now. Griffiths was going to have his skin peeled for shirking his responsibilities like this, and the head butler would be perfectly within his rights.

But every time Martin tried to remind himself, that he still had so much work to do –

“… Hello?”

That voice. Still out there, somewhere behind the old door. Distant, but not beyond Martin’s reach. If Martin had already been here for ages, then that voice …

Wasn’t anyone coming for them?

If he opened the door, he could just take a quick look. Call out, see who needed help –

“And what do you think you’re doing, young man?”

Martin yanked his hand back, hand burnt on the molten brass.

“M-Mum?”

“I always knew you’d leave for good someday. I could see it in your eyes, you know. You couldn’t bear to take care of your poor, sick mother, and now you’re off to traipse about the countryside with some invert.”

“I didn’t leave.” Tight pressure strangled Martin’s throat, the back of his eyes burning. “I’d never do that. Where are you? I’m coming, I-I’ll find you–”

“And what, pray tell, would be the point of that?”

“Mum, please, just tell me where you are, I’m coming–”

“You’ve always been a wretched liar.”

.

Martin lurched upright, sucking painful gasps through his aching teeth, his sleep shirt sticking to his sweaty skin. No light permeated the windows— he may as well have been in a tomb, for all that he could see.

Jon was out there somewhere. Alone. As was his mother.

I’m coming back to you. I’ll find a way out of here. I’m doing everything I can– 

Liar.

Martin curled up onto his side, wrapping trembling arms around himself. Even though there was no one else to hear him, no one to stifle himself for, he drove his teeth into his lip until his mouth filled with the dull taste of copper.

Check out the Monster of Magnus Manor here!

[batarella]

I Don’t Hate You - Part 9 *EDITED* (Jason Todd x Reader)

one more part until the MID-SERIES FINALE. After Part 10, I’ll be taking a break from this series and post a few SMUTTY ONE SHOTS HEHE THEN  I’ll continue the I Don’t Hate You series with Part 11 onwards. 

(edited): ALRIGHT SO This started out as one of the chapters I wasn’t too happy with. Other than the massive amount of grammatical errors, I felt like it missed out on the climactic event which was supposed to be their last day at the library. So I added about 2000 words in the first part and fixed (most) of my other mistakes. Now I’m extremely happy with this. To all IDHY fans, I hope you’ll like this (thank you @knightfall05x​ for proofreading this for me you’re the best)

(the above GIF is the jade west scene I used in this part which I didn’t get to add to the VIDEO EDIT)

WORDS: 6725 WARNINGS: fluffy first date between two idiots 

Masterlist

I DON’T HATE YOU - MASTERLIST

-----

At times, when familiarity does come with the idea of comfort, the moment it’s stripped away, it becomes difficult to part with. And it may have been repulsive at the first glance, something you never would have thought you’d grow fond of. But the rustic smell of old books, the dust that stuck to your fingers against the covers, that one wheel of your cart that squeaks a lot, those were things you’ve grown familiar with, grown fond of.

You were certain that at the end of that day, when you step out of the library as its assistant no longer, that you’d miss every single one of those little things. Work wasn’t work any longer. It became a pastime. A wonderful pastime.

But even then, you knew the one thing you’d miss more than anything else was having a reason to see your cute jackass of a co-worker.

The shelves were quite easy to hide behind. When you stood by them, it was as good as hiding by a solid brick wall if no one looked your way. But if you peer enough into the spaces between the book’s spines, you’d be able to spy on the other side without being detected. You took advantage of that. You hid yourself, but peaked into all the spaces you could find without making too much noise. On your toes, you tried your sorry best, swerving to the side when you saw his back and stifling a laugh when you caught his eye before disappearing again.

It was the only reason Ms. Peterson hadn’t noticed. Somehow, Jason was really good at being stealthy.

“Where are you?” you whispered to yourself. You were taking a risk walking into an aisle with your back unguarded. Though you swore you saw him by the poetry section.

A whistle. All the way over to the back. Shit.

You hastily turned around, yet still you couldn’t see him.

Then there was a jab to your side. You jolted up and screamed, immediately leaping to where you felt the winds shift.

Jason ran right past you and went for the shelves once more. He was laughing, and more so was his voice loud enough for Ms. Peterson to notice when you were running behind him, considerably slower, and because of that you lost him once again.

There was movement by the romance novels. Crouching over, you quietly made your way over to the back. Then as you did, you caught sight of where he was really hiding. At the shelf right in front of it where he thought you wouldn’t see him. Smiling to yourself, you went to the other side.

And when you were almost facing his back, you sprinted and tugged on his jacket. “FUCK. You little shi-“

Giggling as you ran, you knew you couldn’t stand a chance. He chased you around the aisles, through the shelves and the tables where Ms. P couldn’t see you. Your laughter was getting much too difficult to hold back. You stood with your defenses up by a shelf, with him guarding your way. Over to the left. Then to the right. His eyes were on you, laughing just as hard, then when you ran for the back, he went straight for you.

But you’d disappeared as you went around the corner.

Toppling a book to the ground, Jason went straight for the noise. But his senses were all over the place. You could barely make a step onto the carpet without it being too noticeable. So you went for the tables. The ones out of Ms. Petersons’ sight.

You could see his feet move from under the table and you felt no less than a small child playing hide and seek. Which basically was what you were playing. Jason was walking around, all around the shelf. You could hear his murmurs and his occasional calling out of your name. He couldn’t have seen you.

Smiling to yourself as he once again went into the sciences section, you stayed under that table for a few minutes, and you felt confident until no longer could you see his feet.

Crawling further down, you placed your head near the ground and looked for any movement. Nothing. He wasn’t where he used to be-

“This is a terrible place to hide-“

You jumped at the voice whispering into your ear. And before you could scream and run away, Jason had already pulled you down on the ground, grabbing you around your shoulders. His touches made you laugh out of your wits. And you tried holding them back just to not make so much noise. “ASSHOLE-“

“CAUGHT YOU!”

He started wrestling you to the ground, and the worse you kept laughing, the more so was it difficult to not smile his face off and laugh along with you. Under the table, on the floor, he almost pinned you to the ground, then the dickhead started gripping you into a headlock and rubbing his knuckles onto the top of your head.

“JAY. JAY. NO.”

“YOU ADMIT YOU'RE A LOSER?”

“STOP IT.” You grabbed his wrists but he was much too strong. His back was on the ground, with you on top, then you were rolling around trying to make him stop giving you the worst knuggies you’ve had in your life.

“JAY, STOP IT. YOU WANT ME TO BITE YOU!?”

“FUCKING TRY-“

“I WILL CALL THE POLICE-“

“RESISTING MAKES IT WORSE!!”

He was laughing so hard and by then your hair was an absolute mess, your clothes all dirtied from rolling around the floor.

“YOU HAVE SHARP KNUCKLES!!!”

“STOP RESISTING!”

You stuck your palm right up against his face, and he snorted, prying his hands away from you, but as you crawled out, Jason grabbed you by the ankle and started wrestling you down again. “JASON!”

Finally, with you panting and your cheeks hurting so much from the smiling you were doing, you managed to lay down right on top of him and pin him down with his arms. And if you didn’t know better, you would have missed how he was purposefully losing against your much weaker grips and the wide grin he had as you did, holding him down.

“I win,” you said.

“You sure did.”

Jason smiled through his teeth. When his eyes were too wide set, his pupils visibly dilated at the sight of you, your face grew hot and you slid off of him.

And just like that, he pinched you in the cheek and ran off into the shelves. Cursing the worst of profanities, you pulled yourself up from under the table so you could go right after him. When you were back to running around, hiding by the shelves, taking turns in chasing each other until the sky grew dimmer.

His laughter certainly was the best thing you’ve ever heard.

Hiding behind a corner with your head sweating like a leaking tub, you saw him slowly walking around, thinking you couldn’t see him. Or maybe he did. And this was his way of trapping you again. But you wanted to run to him now. You’ve been at this for the past hour.

So as you snuck out of the corner, you rushed to his back, grabbed his shirt, and stuck to him like that with Jason trying his best to turn around and catch you. But you gripped onto the fabric for dear life and stuck your chin to his back.

“REAL MATURE!” He screamed.

“OH, ‘CUZ YOU'RE SUCH AN ADULT-“

The asshole, not being able to catch you no matter how much he tried to catch you off guard, reached over to his back and grabbed your arm, but you swerved around.

Then he started backing up, with you having no choice but to go along with him.

“JAY, WHAT ARE YOU-FUCK!”

He’d backed away against the wall and was pushing against you so harshly the shelf was imprinting itself against your back. He was laughing like a madman, and you were screaming into his ear.

“GET OFF!”

“YOU STARTED  IT!”

“JAY-“

“SURRENDER NOW!!!”

“NEVER!”

“THEN I GUESS I’LL HAVE TO STAY HERE-“

And you did what he never would have expected, though it didn’t surprise him even a little. You bit his shoulder.

“AGH!”

You pushed him off and ran for your life, but he was merely just a foot away from you. He grabbed your hand, pulled you, then you were by the corner hiding from him and he’d caught you there too. You never laughed so loudly until finally, he’d grabbed you from behind, arms locking you down so you couldn’t even thrash about. He pressed his chest against your back and kept laughing into your ear.

“NO, NOT AGAIN!”

You struggled off him, panting, sweating, and you were so out of breath but so high up in a bliss that you didn’t even want to move away from his arms. When you stopped, stood on your feet, trying your best to catch your breath, Jason spun you around and you tried worming your way out. But his hands were on your hands, holding them tight, letting the warmth go through his palms and onto your skin.

You were still smiling, and so was he, but no longer were they desperate laughs or screams. His smile was sincere, sweet, and more so was it that when you locked eyes and your breaths started to wear down. Jason kept holding your hands and pressed his forehead against yours.

“YOU TWO SLIMEBALLS. QUIT YOUR PLAYING AND DO YOUR JOB!!! YOU AIN’T FREE UNTIL 4:30!”

Like the life was sucked out of him.

Jason groaned and reluctantly loosened his hold around you. You were groaning, too. But your smiles still hadn’t worn off when his hand tightly lingered around yours before eventually pulling away when you walked over to Ms. Peterson’s desk.

The old woman had knife-like glares on you when you and Jason grabbed the cart of books, wheeled it over to the side, and you started pushing your tongue out at her when she wasn’t looking but Jason pulled you away.

Jason pushed on the cart, helped you with the books on the shelf, making you laugh and feel so lighthearted you swore you’ve never felt so much in a high.

“Nice to hear you aren’t complaining,” Jason said.

“It’s our last day. I’ll enjoy it while I can.”

“So you enjoyed it, did you?”

Rolling your eyes, you shelved a book. “You gonna help me or what?”

“Nah,” he placed his arms on the cart handle and put his chin on top, staring at you. “I’m good here.”

And he didn’t stop staring at you. Not even as you tried to ignore it for the sake of the redness in your cheeks, the tension still up in the air. You hadn’t kissed him yet since that night. You’ve done other things, like hold hands and hug and tease each other endlessly and basically spend every free minute there was with each other.

But he hasn’t made another move. It had been this way for quite some time. It was lovely, this point in your relationship. Could you call it a relationship?  But you weren’t sure how to move forward. Or where to move forward. He hasn’t even asked you out yet.

“My turn to push,” you said. “And you arrange the books.”

Smiling his teeth off, he offered the cart to you. He shelved the books, glancing back at you knowing you were teasing him by doing the exact same amount of staring as he did. And you made sure you were so noticeable just to rile him up and get him to blush.

When he almost emptied the cart, and when you pushed it to the last shelf­-the last shelf-your heart skipped three beats when the warmth of his chest started pressing itself against your back, arms around you, holding the cart and pushing it along with you. You kept walking, but merely biting your lips just to keep them from curving up too much had grown too difficult for you to do.

You glanced over your shoulder and suddenly you felt his nose against your cheek. And it was a miracle you were still alive at the rate your heart was going. Your bones were about to break, but it was that wonderful gooey madness that sent your mind miles up into the clouds.

Even when you reached the shelf, he didn’t move.

Then your breath hitched when you felt his nose against your shoulder.

“You gonna shelf those or what?”

Jason laughed. The deepest, breathless laugh that clenched every muscle in your body. He wasn’t holding your hands but you could feel his thumbs feeling your skin, ever so slightly brushing them against you. He was so close to you. So burning and even scorching with him pressed to your back like that. You could easily cut the tension between you two with just your fingernail.

“Jason…”

“You shelf it.”

“I can't.”

“Yes you can.”

“No, you’re blocking the way.”

“You want me to move?”

Looking back over your shoulder to scoff, only to freeze when his mouth slightly touched your cheek for the briefest, yet most wonderful moment, you sighed.

“Yes.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I’m asking you to move.”

“You didn’t ask me to move.”

“I said yes to your question.”

“Then say you want me to move.”

You rolled your eyes. “Fine, I’ll arrange them.”

“How wi-“

You bent over with him still against your back, just for the shortest second to grab the last few books, then you stood back up and placed them onto the shelf not caring if they were arranged.

Then you turned around, just so you could have a good look of his flustered skin and uneasy breath. Shaking his head, he kept you caged in his arms and leaned down just to narrowly hover over your face.

“Are you gonna let me out or do I have to force myself out?”

“You threatening me, Y/LN?”

“I just might be, Todd.”

“Mmm,” he groaned, and it made every nerve in you shiver.

Then his face was nearer, nearer, closer until your noses touched but not your lips. You fluttered your eyes close, relaxing every muscle on your body including your mouth. He brushed your noses together so delicately and sweet that you couldn’t even bring yourself to smile when every part of you just wanted to enjoy and take all of him in. His breath. His bright blue eyes. The way they were looking at you with his pupils so clearly dilating again.

When he tried leaning down to kiss you, you swerved away just to keep that teasing alive. You were having way too much fun.

“Y/N…”

But you quirked up a brow, swerving away again when he pulled you once more. Groaning when you leaned your head back, he pushed his tongue to the side of his gums.

Then you were once again grabbed into a headlock by his incredibly strong arms, knuckles on your scalp, rubbing them so you were screaming out for help. You thrashed about, but he kept you in his hold. Eventually you were wrestling so much that you ended up on the floor, rolling. He pulled you until his back was leaning against the shelves and you were laying your head on his lap with his one arm still holding you down.

“PLEASE STOP. PLEASE STOP!!!” You yelped.

“NO!”

“JAY, COME ON!!!”

“NO!!!”

You managed to grab one of his hands, pulling it away, but he only rolled you over. Finally you shrugged yourself off him and blew the strands of hair up your forehead.

“That never gets old.”

“Shut up, now I look like a mess.”

You were sitting cross legged right in front of him. Jason laid his head against the shelf, watching you comb it with your fingers. You glared at him, but when you caught his eyes for more than three seconds you were smiling off your face.

Jason reached over to mess up your hair again, and you held him by the wrists so desperately trying to hold him off. Your laughs were silent, playfully cursing at each other, but you were on the floor playing all the way until the last, final minutes of your detention sentence had finally come to a close.

Still trying to hold his hands away, he settled when you both heard Ms. Peterson clean up her desk. It was 5 pm. You spent too much time.

You couldn’t believe this was over. This. Jason in the library. Jason with the books. Jason having a reason to be with you all the time.

Calming down, you inched yourself closer to him. He looked so relaxed and heavenly watching you like you were the ocean so calm.

You didn’t know if you should be asking him. But you really wanted to. It could be a step. A small step. But a step nonetheless.

“Hey uhm,” you looked down at his shirt, of which you were playing the hem with your fingers. “Do you have to go home early tonight?”

“Not really,” he smiled. “I’m taking you home.”

“That’s the thing. See, I have this thing at the gym in five minutes. Rehearsals for tomorrow’s dance. Well, not rehearsals since I haven’t even picked a song. But they asked me to come over and test the mic…”

You stopped for a moment when he reached for your hair to hook it behind your ear.

“Would you wanna come?

He didn’t even flinch. “Sure.”

“Only if you don’t have any other plans… It won't take long though.”

“I’m alright. I’ll go with you anywhere.”

Biting both your lips, you hadn’t realized how amused you looked just staring at the ground.

“This is our last day here…”

You looked around at the books, at the walls, at the ceiling and windows.

It worried you when you thought of this day coming. That somehow your time with Jason would end along with your time in the library.

But no longer was that the case when he held your hand so tightly, watched your face move the way no one ever has ever cared about the littlest details on your face.

Thank you, you told the library.

-----

The decorations in the gym were already halfway done, with snowflakes falling from the ceiling and some silver carpet to make the floor look like an ice rink. A stand was at the middle, which meant an ice sculpture was probably going to be fixed on top of it. Jason watched you take a snowflake in your hand.

“This is made out of construction paper and glitter,” you groaned in disgust.

“You two!” A short man with glasses and a clipboard went over to you. “You can start by blowing those boxes of balloons over there, then help with sticking them to the center of the stage.”

He pointed to a box which sat on the lowest seat on the bleachers.

“We’re not here to help-“

The man held his hips. “Oh¸ so you guys are just gonna stand there and watch us work?”

“I’m here for rehearsals.”

“And we don’t want any useless pricks lounging around while we work. The sound guys won't be here for another hour. Either you get out or help everyone else.”

“Listen here, you little Gollum shi-“

“We’ll help,” Jason soothed your back.

“Good.” He waved for you to the balloons again. “Help yourself.”

Jason walked you towards it and placed his hand on your back again.

“Jason-“

“Come on,” he squeezed your shoulder. “This is fine.”

“I don’t want to be here-“

“These are balloons. If anything, we’ll just sneak out.”

“Yeah. ‘Cuz that always brought us good before-“

“It won't be that bad.”

“We just finished a ten-week sentence and now you still wanna work?”

“It’s not work if you don’t think it’s work.”

“I didn’t even want to come here. Those assholes at the committee told me to come over and I swear I was about to shove their heads in a-”

“What if I told you I just want to spend more time with the girl I like?” He smiled. “Would you stay?”

You squirmed.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d be giggling beneath your breath. But you weren’t about to giggle. Not for another lightyear. Instead, you just gave in.

Biting back that giggling couldn;t stop the embarrassing grin from resurfacing.

“Fine.”

You and Jason sat beside each other on the seats, opened the box and took two air pumps that were inside it.

Jason took a balloon and blew air into it in four strong pumps. “This is easy enough.”

“Give me. I’ll tie it together.”

He gave you the balloon and you tied the end of it in a tight knot. “This is like when we did that damage check with the books.”

“Yeah,” you took another inflated balloon from him. “I say we make a great team.”

“We do,” Jason said and winked at you. You rolled your eyes and looked away so he wouldn’t see your face.

“What are you gonna sing tomorrow?”

“I don’t know.” Your eyes kept on Jason with the pump. The veins on his arms showed each time he flexed. “I’ll have to look into some song choices tonight.”

“Are you nervous?”

You shrugged. “Not really. I’ve done it a couple times.”

“You know, I’m still mad at how I’m basically the last to know in this whole school.”

“You baby.”

“Oh, we calling each other that now?”

God, this dickhead was going to be the death of you.

Scoffing at him and pretending that didn’t make you flush, you tied a strong knot and threw a balloon at him. He chuckled and threw it back.

“Stop. Or you’ll end up blowing them up.”

You threw another balloon at him. “No.”

He smushed a balloon into your face. “You know you can't win against me with this.”

He inflated another one and handed it to you, and you snatched it away, lightly hitting the top of his head with it once you tied the knot. “Whatever.”

You felt him smile at you while you looked away. For thirty minutes, you kept with the balloons until you placed them all in a sack.

You were at the stage with a box full of thumbtacks as you and Jason stuck the balloons onto the wall. “I prefer handling books, honestly.”

“I know. But we’ve got to stop getting into trouble just to hang out.”

Jason smirked at you. “So you purposely did all this just to hang out with me, do you?”

“You’re insane.”

“Y/N.”

“What?”

You turned to your side. But Jason wasn’t there. Your back suddenly felt just a little bit heavier and something was tickling the back of your legs. You looked down behind you.

Three balloons were stuck to the hem of your jacket. Jason was right behind you, laughing.

“YOU ASS.” You ripped the balloons off. “I’m gonna kill you one of these days.”

“I’m gonna kill you one of these days,” Jason mimicked your voice with an annoyingly high-pitched tone. Snarling at him, he neared his face to you. “You wouldn’t,” he whispered.

“Yeah. I would.”

“Nah,” he stuck two balloons onto the walls. “You like me too much.”

“I hate you.”

“Do you?” He lightly touched your nose with a balloon. Rolling your eyes, you went back to work. After a while, you held on to the bottom of a ladder while Jason was working on the balloons at the top.

“I know you have plans on murdering me, but I appreciate it if you don’t let me fall off a ladder.”

“Eh,” you said. “Ladders aren’t exactly what I’d use to kill people.”

“Are you actually admitting to being a serial killer?”

“Not at the moment, no.”

“Yeah,” he said, looking down at you as he stuck a balloon to the top. “You definitely are.”

Ever so slightly, you shook the ladder in your hands. Jason froze and held onto the wall. “NOT FUNNY.”

You laughed. “Totally is.”

“Y/N!” you heard someone say all the way from the sound systems at the back. “Why don’t you start testing out the microphone!”

Looking down at you, Jason grinned.

“You’re performing tomorrow, right?”

You kept holding onto the ladder. “Yeah!” you screamed back.

“Awesome. Give us a bit of a rehearsal so we can adjust the monitor.”

Jason walked down the ladder, hands on his pockets and smiling as he watched you walk over to the front. The stage made the rest of the gym look dark, and you could barely see anyone’s faces that were looking straight at you. “Lookin’ great!”

You rolled your eyes.

“Can you hear me?” you spoke into the mic, but you couldn’t hear much of your voice. The sound guys gave you a thumbs up.

“I can't hear myself,” you said. “Maybe turn me up a little.”

You squinted when you suddenly heard some laughing. The guys at the sound controls cried back. “Sure! I’d love to turn you up a little, baby!”

Jason’s smile dropped immediately and he looked like he was about to go up to those guys and stick the microphone up their asses.

“You little-”

“Just turn my voice up BEFORE I LET YOU INHALE THOSE WIRES ALL THE WAY DOWN YOUR INTESTINES,” you screamed at everybody in the gym

Jason stopped his tracks, looked back at you all wide eyed. Then his chuckle could be heard through the mic. You weren’t laughing with him, though.

Everyone had grown silent, with you glaring at the sound guys shivering at you. “Turning you up! S-sorry!”

Jason did not at all look faltered. Didn’t even flinch when you screamed.

“Nice,” he said.

Then you started with your singing. You tested the microphone until you could hear your voice perfectly. You didn’t exactly sing a full song. You just did runs with your voice and a few verses. Then when you turned to Jason, who looked like he had hearts for eyes, you chortled. “Alright. That’s good,” you told the guys.

Walking away from the microphone, you faced him.

It was just the two of you on stage.

“I can't wait for tomorrow.”

You bit onto your lip. “You know I hate dances.”

“Yeah,” he said, stepping forward. “I can tell.”

You looked straight at him without looking away even as he met your gaze and returned your flushed expression.

How was it, that every time you faced him, and he was looking at you the way he was now, that everything else around you just seemed to disappear?

It didn’t matter what you did, or where you were. Any other noise there was and all the people around had ceased to exist. Even with the cheap décor, Jason made everything look beautiful.

“Listen.”

Jason’s eyes were at the ground. “I know that, uhm, we don’t exactly have to go to the library anymore to hang out. And I know we’ll probably just see each other in class and in the hallways anyway so it’s not to say we won't be able to hang out.”

You nodded. “Yeah…”

“But,” he gulped. “I mean. We don’t have to. Like. I can still see you after school. We can stay at the library and study-“

“Study?” This boy was an absolute nerd.

“Not study! But, you know, just sit and talk. Or do whatever you like. It doesn’t have to be the library. I just, you know, hope we can still hang out. Outside of school maybe.”

His hands were deep in his jeans and his shoulders were slumped down. If this was his way of asking you out, he was way beyond being a nerd. This was just being adorable at this point. And he did look adorable.

“I can do that,” you smiled, your hands in front of you.

“There’s this Christmas market opening near your apartment. It opens tonight. Maybe you’d wanna go? Not necessarily tonight. Just, anytime you're free.” You could see the sweat down his forehead. “It’s mostly got food stalls and a bit of gift shops. It’s much nicer when it’s snowing, though.”

You watched him fumble, then he met your eyes, how lovingly they were staring at him, and it gave him the comfort he needed.

“We can go right now,” you said. “Even without snow, I’m sure it’s fine. Better than this.”

You pointed up at the cheap snowflakes almost falling out onto the ground and the balloons you stuck to the wall. Jason scratched the back of his head. “I would love that.”

“Awesome.”

Alone up on stage, with a few people in the gym and the blue and white lights shining from above you, Jason looked at you like you were brighter than any of those lights. “It’s a date.”

You looked down at his lips, and he took that chance to step even closer to you. You felt his hand hold your arm, and your own hand on his shoulder. He leaned down to your lips.

“HEY!”

You both pulled away and looked out at every other direction, hands in your pockets. The guy with a clipboard screamed from the bottom of the stage. “Finish those balloons up so we can go home!”

Jason turned to you. “We should-“

“Yeah.”

Fumbling back to the balloons, you worked in silence. Comfortable silence. The best kind of silence.

-----

You held onto his waist, and he sped down to the plaza.

You’ve been to Christmas markets before. Though they weren’t exactly your style, looking at it now, you thought it looked magical.

The huts made of wood were lined up in aisles, with the walkway in between wide enough to be a street. Though there were no cars, it was big enough for dozens of people scattered about, some at the stalls, some just walking around, and some at the benches at the center. The roofs were covered in white cotton to look like snow, and on the inside, lit up with yellow lighting that contrasted nicely against the night’s deep blues. You could smell peppermint in the air, since there were a number of candy shops besides the ones with toys.

The end of the aisle turned over to the left, where even more shops were lined up, was a large Christmas tree standing as high as the buildings. There was a bright star on top, and the lights and ornaments glistened in bright reds, greens, and yellows.

It was exactly how they made Christmas towns look like in the movies. Normally, when you came up to a place like this, the beauty of it was the last thing you’d notice. Normally, you’d see what was wrong with everything and hate them. Not today, though. All you felt was warmth.

A cloud of smoke escaped your lips when you breathed. Jason walked beside you, down the street with the bustling of the crowd. “I’ll get you some coffee”

You nodded, then you went with him as he bought you a cup. Exactly the mix you wanted.

You were crazy over this boy.

The place was beautiful. And the lights were so bright, you couldn’t help but look around and marvel at everything you could see. You never admired so many things at once. The sounds of the people around you, the cold seeping through your toes, your shivering from the wind.

But even then, your eyes always trailed back to Jason. He was the most beautiful.

Handing you the cup, you walked slowly down the shops. “This place is really nice.”

“Yeah?” He seemed excited. “You like it?”

If it weren’t with him, you’d be so indifferent to the shops and the food that you wouldn’t bother to look around at all. But you were with him, and his smile made your stomach do flips and turns in the most wonderful, blissful way. You nodded. “I love it.”

This was a date. Your first date with Jason. Jesus, you’ve never been so excited and nervous over anything in your life.

You sipped on your coffee to calm yourself down.

“What will you be doing over winter break?”

You shrugged. “Probably be at home. We don’t exactly have plans for Christmas.”

“Me neither. We can go to… more places… together. If you like.”

You decided to drop the awkward façade and laugh at him. “Jeez, you’ve become a real dork, Todd.”

Jason’s nervousness mellowed down. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You sipped at your coffee, looking straight at his eyes. “It’s adorable.”

“Hey,” he nudged your shoulder. “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh, I will.”

You turned over at the corner, where the Christmas tree was at the other end. “I’d love to, by the way. Go to places with you over the break.”

His smile warmed you up more than the coffee had that night. He bit his lip, then turned away.

After you bought two turkey legs, you sat on an empty bench so close to each other, and watched as people walked past you.

“Jay. Look.”

It was Ms. Peterson with who seemed to be her grandson. Barely five years old as you could tell. She was telling the boy off for dropping his ice cream cone.

Her grandson seemed to take after her though, since he was screaming back at her while crying.

“Jesus,” Jason leaned over to you. “Watch this.”

“MS. P!!!” he screamed.

The librarian turned to you both, horrified, then her grandson ran off into the other stall and she ignored Jason to go after him.

“I’ll miss her,” you said, biting into your turkey leg. “I can't believe it. But I will.”

“Yeah. I’ll miss everything about the library.”

Your shoulders touched as you turned to him. “Me too.”

You saw a bit of his food smudged near his lip, so you wiped it away with your finger. Jason never took his eyes off you while you did that.

You then slumped back onto the bench and continued with your turkey leg, talking just like you always had with him, with the frequent bickering and the teasing and the laughs you’d most often shared. Jason pressed his side right against yours.

And when the moment seemed perfect enough, when you just couldn’t help it anymore, you leaned your head against his shoulder.

Your eyes were locked onto the ground, but you could feel his were on you, head craned down and his lips lightly touching your hairline. Then he pressed his nose against your hair, inhaling, and he stayed that way for a little while. You didn’t want to move. You wanted him to keep holding you that way for the rest of the night. You never wanted to go home. You just wanted to be by his side.

You had so much to tell him. But it could have only boiled down to something so brief.

“Thank you,” you said.

He didn’t move, but you felt his nose against your forehead as he hummed. “For what?”

“Everything. For the past ten weeks.”

He sighed and pulled you closer. “I should be the one thanking you.”

His arm went around your shoulder and pulled you even closer. So close, even with the cold you felt warm. You shifted into his arm so he could encase you in it. He could rest his chin at the top of your head now, and with that, you closed your eyes.

Snow. The first snowfall of the year. You both looked up, feeling the light trickling into your skin, so freezing that your muscles were stuck on its lingering smiles. The music blaring from the speakers turned up. Christmas songs. Soft, mellow ones that weren’t so overplayed and annoying.

You couldn’t possibly have chosen a better night. It was perfect. And so beautiful. Your heart has never felt so pure. So lightly beating that the comfort it brought you sent you over the edge. You turned to look at Jason.

He’d been staring at you for quite some time.

But he didn’t look away this time. He kept his eyes on you, and yours on him. Inching forward, you felt his gloved hands ghost over yours.

You welcomed his fingers without an ounce of reluctance. Jason held your hand so tight, you felt like you’d never be able to slip away or fall or be of any distance apart from him.

And he looked so handsome, staring at you, so close to your face.

“Your face is all frozen,” he teased.

“I know.”

“You look like a porcelain doll.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” you quirked an eyebrow.

“No,” he said. You rolled your eyes and stuck your tongue to the side of your mouth. “I hate you.”

Then you felt his hand tighten and his hot breath against your cold skin.

“Do you really hate me?”

Once, as a child, you stuck a pin into an electrical outlet wanting to know how it was like being shocked. You remembered the feeling; it was like being stabbed but with a billion needles down your nerves. And it made you jump. It was exactly that feeling, except it was wonderful. It had that same buzz, that same rush. But it was addicting. His eyes had that effect on you since the first time you sat this close to him.

“No,” you whispered. “I don’t.”

Rubbing your thumb down his palm, your other hand went to hold him as well. He was so close to you now. Jason looked so lovingly into your eyes, it was the only thing more beautiful than the moon on nights when it was cloudless.

“Do you hate me?” you asked him.

And when you thought you finally caught your breath, his finger trailed down your cheek.

“Not even a little bit.”

Silence. Comfort. Depth. Beauty.

Just ten weeks ago, you thought the world hated you as much as you hated the world. You thought growing soft would render you so vulnerable that you’d never be able to succeed in its cruelties, that if you didn’t have your defenses up all the time, you’d lose yourself.

But with a world that brought you here, where you couldn’t even find just one thing you could say you hate. When you loved the way your boots sounded walking down the wooden planks, when the bright yellow lights of the stalls contrasted greatly in the night, when the Christmas tree brought you as much hope inside you, gifts that couldn’t be held, when you loved the way the snow fell to your cheeks, how nicely the cold trickled past your clothes.

When someone you could look at all day without ever growing tired of how his jaw clenches, how his nose scrunches, how his eyebrows narrow, or how his teeth bite his lips. When you could never grow tired of talking about anything, knowing he wants you for you, how you never started out having to change yourself, yet here he was, holding you so delicately you could break.

How, despite everything you are, despite everything you’ve done, he held you like you were the most precious, valuable treasure in his hands.

Jason. Jason.

You couldn’t hate the world as much. Not anymore. Not when you had him.

You couldn’t possibly ask for a better first date. At almost midnight, Jason took you to your apartment. He walked you to the steps, still holding your hand. The snow had slowed down yet everything went on to feel cool when blowing against your warmth. Under a single lamp post, your hands in your coat, you looked up at him.

“Tonight was amazing.”

“It was,” he whispered.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. At the dance.”

“I can't wait.”

Something jumped. Deep inside your chest. You froze to the ground when Jason leaned in, and ever so gently, placed his lips on your cheek.

You closed your eyes and felt him so close. He was so perfect.

Jason watched you go up the steps, walking into your apartment. “Good night, Jason.”

“Good night, Y/N.”

You didn’t even wait until the door was closed when you smiled the brightest smile you’ve had in a really, really long time.

 ----

I DON’T HATE YOU - MASTERLIST

-----

TAGLIST

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[yandere-wishes]

🕌 A Whole New World // Yandere Kalim Al-Asim x Reader//🕌

Worst thing I’ve ever written 😭  😭 😭 😭 But it’s out before the new chapter so I’m content lol.

 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌 🕌

"Oh my isn't it amazing?" (y/n) hugged the book closer to her chest an excited squeal leaving her lips as she laid down flat on the plush Persian carpet. Kalim crawled over to where she was abandoning his conversation with Jamil and half-eaten sandwich. "What'cha reading," the young prince asked curiously. 

(y/n) lazily cracked open an eye, her bright smile ever-present. "It's the 1001 Arabian nights! The one by that famous storyteller from the Land of Hot Sands! " Her voice held a dreamy tone. Kalim's eyes widen in some sort of foreign comprehension. Nostalgia flashed in his marigold orbs. "Jamil! Do you remember those stories from when we were little?" His head wiped around, eyeing his childhood friend. The black-haired youth-only nodded absentmindedly as he chewed on his sandwich. "Jamil use to read me one of the Arabian night's stories before I went to bed each night!" Jamil just hummed in agreement, he seemed too wrapped up in intentionally ignoring the conversation. 

Kalim flopped on his back, arms pulled back acting as a pillow. His eyes never once left your frame, his piercing gaze was practically glued to your body. "SO~~ Which one is your favorite?" his tone was light and cheerful, he just seemed so oddly happy. Brushing it off you guessed it might have just been the sentimentality talking. Mentioning those old stories must have stirred some childhood reminiscence. Your eyelids fluttered downwards, closing in thought as your mind raced through the countless stories you had consumed throughout the day. But there was one that seemed to shine rather brightly in your head.

"I guess the lovers of Bassorah, there's just a sort of hopeful ring to the whole story...It's hard to explain but it kinda proves that true love isn't just an open pathway. There are numerous difficulties that lovers must face before they can hold each other in their arms." When you finally opened your eyes again, you noticed that Kalim's grin had been replaced with a quizzical look.  His eyes scrunched, traversing between you and Jamil. Signing the older boy, he finally shuffled over to the two of you. He crossed his leg before explaining the story to Kalim. Realization dawned on the white-haired boy, you listened in wondering if Jamil had actually memorized the old folk tale. But as the story progressed there seemed something off about Jamil's retelling, something gritter, grimmer even...It was wrong, so wrong that it sent a flood of shivers up your spin. But a quick glance at Kalim made it obvious that the prince was not only undisturbed by the fables 

The sun had started to die quite some time ago. The sky was painted in bright melting colors that seemed to resemble sugary sweets. Jamil and (y/n) had started packing up the little picnic while Kalim sat and watched. His red eyes followed (y/n) as she nimbly picked up the plates and leftover food. She was so breathtaking, so enchanting, something about the way she moved and talked had poor little Kalim bewitched. He couldn't help the fantasies that kept sprouting in his mind. The longing to hug you close to his chest, to feel your warmth, breath in your scent.  He could imagine them so vividly that they were practically felt real. 

With a heavy sigh Kalim waved good-bye as the young girl walked away to her dorm room, book pressed close to her heart. 

Kalim watched with a  downhearted look as the last rays of sunlight screamed for help before being engulfed by the darkness of the night. Every couple of moments the young prince would tear his gaze from the starry tapestry to throw a childish lovesick complain to his childhood friend -who's body was beginning to tremble with visible annoyance- each nag circulated around the same premiss. "Why doesn't (y/n) love me?" over and over and over again. Really Kalim didn't mean to be a bother he was so wrapped up in his sorrow that he could bother to remember what words had slipped from his lips moments ago. It was well into the late-night when Kalim turned once more to Jamil his shoulders slumped, poster slagging. His mouth opened, but before any words could escape into the large room. Jamil stood up, feet stomping on the rug under him. Angrily Jamil marched over to Kalim his arms swinging before grabbing ahold of Kalim's shoulders. His long nails dug into the royal's shoulders. "Listen Kalim, I'm getting sick of this puppy crush of yours! Can you please just forget--" Jamil stopped mid-sentence, his grey eyes widening as a plan hatched in his mind, slithering around the most devious parts of his brain. A smirk formed on his chapped lips, "Kalim!" His excited tone reverberated off the walls. "Grab the flying carpet! We're going to get you a date!" Jamil ran for the door, picking up the dorm leader staff on his way. Kalim watched his friend race out the room, he remained stunned for a second before he ran after Jamil yelling; "But where do we keep the flying carpets?? Jamil! Help!" 

The cool night air washed over you, as you stood by the window, brush in hand, combing your messy locks. Your eyes carelessly jumped from star to star, soaking in their twinkling brightness. Each star seemed to sparkle a little more vividly when your gaze landed on it. It was almost like they were silently wishing you goodnight....or warning you about the secrets the night was hiding. 

You were shaken from your stargazing by the sound of a slamming door. You didn't think much of it, brushing it off as just being one your friends sneaking in for a late-night chat. Casually you turned around, only to be stricken by a wave of fear, slither across your lavish dorm room, was something out of a nightmare. A larger then life serpent was bolting for you, it's scales glittered in the chandelier light, flashing between shades of gold and ruby sometimes even turning as pitch black as a starless midnight. Its tongue flickered out sniffing the air then crashing back between its lips. For a fraction of a second, your eyes met, the monstrous snakes grey orbs seemed to be mocking you. You were sure that if he was able the monster would have been laughing at your distress. 

With each step you took in retaliation, the snake slithers forward, it's towering body was constantly looming over your petit frame. You were pushed up against the open window, no place left to hide. The snake was far to close, it's tongue grazed your cheek each time it darted outwards. You were finished, hopelessness was to the only feeling that floated through your body. You closed your eyes, ready to accept your fate. That was until a gust of cold wind blew across your face, carrying with it the sound of your name. At first, you kept your eyes closed, blaming it on your subconscious. But the noise of your name kept coming back to your ears. Finally, in a desperate attempt, you dared to turn away from the snake and spare a glance outside. Your eyes widen, hope bubbled in your gut. Standing outside your window floating on one of the infamous flying carpets was nonother than the dorm leader of Scarabia. 

"(y/n)!" his voice was like a god sent, pure melody to your ears. "Do you trust me?" His hand was extended palm awaiting your own hand. You didn't think for a moment, instantly you reached out and grabbed his arm, permitting yourself to be dragged out the glass-less window. Your knees hit the concrete of the outer wall as you tumbled onto the flying carpet. The carpet didn't miss a beat, the second your flesh hit the rug, it was off soaring into the dark night. 

The icy wind blew across your face, your body was pressed suffocatingly close to Kalim's as he navigated the flying tool across the clouds. Your heart was still pounding in fear, each beat reverberated through your bones adding an additional layer of panic. The hight and constant maneuvering of the carpet did little to ease your stress. Nether you nor Kalim had spoken since the journey began. You bite your lip waiting for him to make the first move. To say something, anything! However, what ended up breaking the silence was rather unexpected joyous laughter coming from your companion. "That was a pretty convincing show that Jamil put on wasn't it (y/n)?" there was no malice in his tone if anything it came off more as if this was all a game. A young child laughing after a good game of hiding and seek.

You turned to Kalim with a shock written all over your face. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT! I JUST GOT ATTACKED..." Your breath caught in your throat, your lungs where heaving trying to pull in more oxygen to no avail. It only now began to dawn on you just how high up the two of you had gotten. Kalim must have also been facing the same problem as the leaned his weight to the front of the carpet, causing it to accelerate downwards. You let out a shrike of terror, arms wrapping around the white-haired youth. "that’s overexaggerated, it’s really isn’t that big of a deal”

Your eyes widened how could he not think that this was a big deal. It didn't matter wither that snake was really Jamil or not, the shock was real, the fear was real. "Is this some sort of cruel joke!" you yelled. Kalim shot you a confused look, one of his hands reached up to entwine his fingers in your flowing locks. “But I thought you said this kinda thing was hot!“ Kalim genuinely sounded both hurt and confused. His eyes were pooled with deep sadness. You gulped "What are you--" your memory flashed back to the stories the two of you had discussed earlier that morning. In each story, the protagonist had to stage some sort of clever catastrophe to earn their lover's affection. In multiple stories, the hero always lore their lover into some sort of danger then swoop in and save them. That was had happened, Kalim had tried to show you that he loved you by both putting your life in danger and saving it. "Kamil look I--" He pushed a finger to your lips, shushing you wordlessly " Stop pretending you don't want this, you and I, we're meant to be so just for tonight let's pretend we’re the only people in the world". For the second time, that night uneasiness overflooded your sense, but in an impulsive fit of bravery and longing, you waved it off. Nodding as you wrapped your arms tighter around Kalim's waist, enjoying the scenery of the sand dons and the sweet flowery scent that came from Kalim. 

You weren't sure when it had happened but at some point, the melody of the breeze along with the peaceful silence had lulled you into a tranquil slumber. You were stirred from your sleep by the rays of the rising sun. Slowly you pushed yourself up, there was something off about the bed you where laying on, somehow it felt much plusher than your own bed. As you attempted to turn you felt a sharp pain pulling you back onto the mattress. You moved around tugging your arms forward only to see the metal cuffs, orienting your wrists... something had happened during that carpet ride, what it was exactly you weren't sure. But you knew that you would soon get your explanation once Kalim returned. 

In one of the rooms in  Scarabia, a bloodcurdling scream could be heard. Blood trickled down Kalim's arm. dripping onto the carpets and oozing into the seems. Joyfully Kalim spun around, droplets of the crimson liquid flying off in all directions. Jamil sighed as he began dragging the body. "stop making a mess Kalim. Don't you think it was wrong to kill the boy? He was just a friend of (y/n)'s, nothing more." The white-haired royal stopped to look at his friend, a bright smile plastered across his face. “Nothing we do will ever be wrong if it's for (y/n)! She can't have anyone else but us in her life! They'll just be distractions!" Jamil rolled his eyes as he continued pulling the lifeless corps out into the balcony to be turned to dust. All the while Kalim skipped behind him joyfully humming some old tune and dreaming about his awaiting darling. 

[jack-is-lost]

PATCHES & PINS (CH 1)

A/N: This story revolves around a transgender, female to male, original character. LGBTQ+ topics are a given within this story. Gender and body dysphoria will come up as well since he is not out to his family — only close friends. If you dislike such a story premise please understand you do not have to interact with it at all. Leaving hate comments will be removed. Of course, constructive feedback is always welcomed.  

Pairing: Eventually Marko x OTMC

Story is still in progress and updates will be slow

Eventually it will be posted on A03 once I’m a few chapters in

Currently on Chapter one | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 coming soon

Chapter one

My life, for the most part, has always been unusual — a little different. Despite having parents that looked like any successful mom and dad ought to, and an older brother willing to stick up for me, things just didn't go according to plan. 

You see, my mother was excited to have a daughter finally. Someone to doll up and buy dresses for, maybe even enroll in a dance class. A stark difference to her firstborn, Tyler, who was all about karate lessons and throwing the ball with dad. Which eventually evolved to working on cars as he grew older. Our mother wanted somebody to share girly interests with, understandably. And, for a while, she was able to have it. The baby pictures are proof of that. Yet, as I grew older and became more aware of what I liked, the fewer things seemed cookie-cutter-perfect for my family.

"Are you not taking your bag to school, Jacklynn?" The mentioned item was nowhere in sight as the youngest of her children poured coffee — the action resembling someone needing every drop left in the pot as if to survive.

"It's the last day," came the grumbling response after a long, soothing sip. "I doubt most kids will even be showing up."

"Yeah, about that," Tyler, the oldest, spoke around a bite of toast. "Can't I be a minority and just stay home?"

"No, you only have one day left, guys." She smiled at her two kids. A graduate who had already filled out college applications, and is ready to further his engineering career. The other, soon-to-be senior, that seemed to have no real drive in anything but drawing and reading — and staying up too late apparently.

"Seriously," she spoke up again as they sighed in unison, deflating with their last hope crushed. "You two will survive."

Tyler nudged his sister, who leaned across the counter, jostling the coffee dangerously enough to receive a seething glare. "Want me to take you?"

It wasn't like Tyler to offer that too often, "Sure."

They both pulled away from the kitchen and made their way to the door, hollering goodbyes as Tyler grabbed the keys — the other sibling still nursing the coffee.

"Don't stay out too late!" Their mom called back, knowing full well she wouldn't see her kids after school. It seemed the closer summer drew in — the fewer tests to study for and homework to do, the more they came home later.

Tyler stepped into the car, unlocking the passenger door as he slid inside his cherry baby — A beaming red, 1983 Audi Sport Quattro, followed by his sister plopping down less elegantly. He glanced at her while starting the car.

"Talk to me, Jay." It was the last day, after all. Weren't kids supposed to be excited about that? "What's bouncing 'round that head of yours." He barely received any notion his sister was listening till she drew out a long sigh, head hitting the back of the seat.

"I don't know, man." It was drawn out, tired. "Didn't get much sleep, I guess."

Tyler nodded while giving the steering wheel a turn, making his way down the road. The school building wasn't very far when on wheels, and he pulled into a parking lot marginally less filled than it ought to be.

As his sister made to get out, he placed a hand on her shoulder, their eyes meeting as she paused halfway out the door. "Ever need to get a chip off your shoulder come talk to me, okay?" Her eyes rolled to the side, and Tyler gave her a little reassuring squeeze, "I'm serious. What are big —"

"— bro's for? I know, I know."

Tyler chuckled as he released her shoulder, "Good. Now," he slammed the door shut and leaned over the roof, "Go sleep in class or something." That at least drew a chuckle out of his sister as she turned away from the car.

The last day of school went how one could expect it to go. Some teachers put on movies and had extra treats for their students. Others went over lessons in the last semester, hoping it would stick to impressionable minds before three months of freedom — minds that were only thinking about freedom and not math.

It was by mid-day when a note made its way into Jay's locker. In gruff, almost unreadable handwriting, it merely said, 'Meet us by the big tree'. Jay instantly knew who it was from and folded the paper up.

A long night was probably ahead.

When the final bell rang, Jay had to wipe the drool off an impromptu pillow-desk before heading out and down the hall. Many of the kids loudly boasted about their summer plans while cleaning out lockers, jostling each other, and hurrying outside. Jay maneuvered around the hoard and quickly escaped out a side entrance, locker already empty since lunch.

It didn't take long to walk a block to the park, down a jogging trail, before splitting off into a cluster of trees. There, in the center of it, laid a large trunk of a dead tree. Upon it splayed out a makeshift map, bags, and — unsurprisingly, two brothers.

"Finally," Grumbled Edgar while raising his head, a red marker still poised over the map. "Where's Sam?"

Jay stared, unaware that Sam was supposed to tag along for the stroll after school let out. "Was I meant to wait for him or?"

"Forget it," came the short grunt, and Edgar was back to the more important matter at hand as Alan turned around to face Jay.

"I'm sure he'll show up. He's got the same note as you," he started to unravel what appeared to be a chaotic ball of cord in his hands. "Oh, hey—" he stopped as a thought struck him, "—Still a no go on the knife?"

Oh, not this again.

Jay leaned against the bare trunk, arms crossed and brow lifted. "Alan, we've been through this. Keep me on the books, but hand me a knife, and someone will lose a finger."

Of course, no one knew if Jay meant their fingers or not, and that was on purpose.

"Maybe some training will help," Edgar spoke up again, pausing on circling locations. "You need to prepare yourself for—"

"— the unexpected. I get it, Ed." Jay cut him off while peering closer to get a look at the map.

"Edgar," he corrected with a tired mutter despite it being useless. They've known each other for an entire year now. One would think it wouldn't matter at this point.

Jay tapped a finger on the closest circled spot, the cemetery. "Thought you marked this off?"

"One can never be certain," He nodded to his own words of wisdom. "It is a common ground for the dead."

"I'd say," Jay suppressed a snort, "It is where the deceased go to be laid into the ground."

Rustling noises announced Sam’s arrival as he pushed through, almost smacking himself in the face with a thin branch. His strained voice drew attention to him. “Guys,” he dusted a leaf off his overly styled coat, “We really need to find a better spot to meet.”

Jay lazily offered a salute wave, “Hey to you too, Sammy.”

“I’m serious,” Sam huffed while taking up a spot near Alan, hands shoved into his pockets. “What about the shop? Y’know, with school now over and stuff?”

Edgar grunted in thought. “Yeah, that ought to be doable.”

“Your grandpa still against us being at the house?” Alan spoke up.

Sam gave a partial shrug. “Sort of,” he eyed the map, then glanced at Jay, who returned the unspoken question with a tired look. Sam returned to explaining when Edgar motioned for him to continue. “You guys can visit, as you have, but you can’t — you know —” he shuffled his hands for the right phrasing, “— bring hunting business there.”

Jay had never actually been to Sam’s place, but the stories shared made it sound like a lot of stuff went down there — destroying property kind of stuff. So Jay could understand what the man was trying to avoid. The Frog Brothers being walking time bombs of destruction, after all.

“The cemetery again?” Sam squawked at noticing it. “I am not doing that again.” The sound of Jay snickering redirected Sam’s defiant stare. “Make Jay do it this time.”

“Wait, wha—”

“—He doesn’t have the qualification for it, Sam.” Edgar cut in before an argument could occur. This only made Sam huff, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

“So? I didn’t either last year.”

Alan stopped weaving the cord at this point, placing it down on the dead trunk. “Jay needs the experience. It could be good for him.” He simply spoke, agreeing with Sam.

“Hey, Jay’s right here,” he had pointedly avoided parading around Santa Carla for a whole damn year. Sure, his knowledge of supernatural things is what drew the Frog Brothers to him in the first place — and the free charge of ordering books at their shop kept Jay in the circle, but he was a good year older than them and didn’t feel like playing make-believe.  

Sam smirked in the way that screamed challenging, “C’mon, Jay, or are you scared of the dark?”

Jay narrowed his eyes, “I know what you are doing.”

“Then prove me wrong,” Sam continued.

“No.”

Despite that, Jay found himself amongst the dead at one in the damn morning. It was eerie, the cemetery, sitting in absolute silence and blanketed by a coat of darkness. The only noise now filtering through was shoes scrapping against the ground and low grumbles around him, voices hushed as not to alert anybody — or anything. Even their flashlights were ordered to stay off unless it called for it, as directed by Edgar.

“Exactly what should we be expecting to find here?” Jay spoke up quietly while trailing behind the two brothers, hands stuffed into his jacket. It was chilly tonight.

“Any signs of the undead.” Edgar simply said without much explanation, to which Alan filled in.

“Disturbed graves, tombs broke, drag marks.” he ticked off like a list.

“Ah,” Jay deadpanned. “So zombies?” the brothers turned to him, the moonlight hitting their frames but leaving their faces shadowed. “What?”

“Could be vampires too.” Edgar simply grunted. “Fresh ones crawling out of their dirt bed.” Alan nodded along with his brother, and Jay sighed.

“Sure, yeah. That too,” It wasn’t like anything of the sort actually existed, but Jay would humor the guys. They put up with his oddities, after all, so he could continue to do the same for them.

“Didn’t any of your books mention that?” Edgar continued while turning around, walking along a worn-out path again, and avoiding stepping on actual graves.

“A little,” Jay admitted as they continued on their trek.

A majority of Jay’s supernatural books were all about how one became something, the signs, and lore behind creatures — not exactly if they crawl out of graves or not. It made sense, though, if considering how people feared vampires in the past. How they would stake and behead someone during burial just in case their loved one decided to raise again.

Same could be said about leaving a bell.

Alan suddenly crouched down near the edge of a grave. “Look,” his flashlight clicked on to bask the empty hole in light. Edgar followed promptly as Jay stared at the two figures eyeing an obvious dug hole for a burial happening soon.

“It might be a sign.” Edgar rubbed a finger over the crumbling edges, dirt smearing and falling back inside the pit.  

“Or,” Jay leaned over them to get an exact look at the perfect outline, “It is the groundskeeper getting ready for a funeral. There’s not even a casket down there.” Jay simply summarized before leaning back.

Alan clicked off the light and stood, “He’s right, Edgar. It is too perfect.”  

“Hey!” the voice resonated out, cutting the muffled talking off as a beam of light frantically flailed in their directions. “What are you kids doing?!”

Without a shared word between the three, just mere glances at one another, they quickly split. Or at least Jay tried to do just that, but the brush of Edgar flying past him in a rush entirely threw him off balance. It wasn’t until tailbone smashed into dirt that Jay even figured out what happened.

“Fuck…” he muttered, then covered his mouth as the light grew brighter over the grave from above, rushing footfalls growing closer before fading away in the direction the brothers ran. Once it was clear, the curse slipped again with more fever.  

Jay eased to his feet and stared above his head, the wall towering almost a foot over him. “They truly mean six-feet-under,” he muttered while raising a hand to the ledge, just able to cup fingers over the lip, only to stumble back as it gave away.

The recent rainfall was not making it easy.

Again Jay tried to grab, shoes scraping along the wall in an attempt to gain some height — thinking if he just rushed up the wall it would give him enough momentum, only to fall back against the adjacent wall.

“Shit — fuck,” Jay didn’t even care if his voice traveled that time. He was stuck in a damn grave, after all! Screw it!

“Need a lift?” came a voice from above, and Jay shot his gaze upward to see a hand reaching down toward him. The moonlight didn’t offer much else to see but light curls and the frame of a coat.

Even if it were the security guard, Jay knew this would be his best bet. It wasn’t like waiting till daylight to be discovered was an option. It would not help much in regards to needing to be home before Jay’s parents could find out he even snuck out.  

He reached for the hand, feeling leather against palm and uncovered fingers wrap around his wrist. It took only one good heave, shoes against the wall and other hand clinging to the edge, to be entirely pulled out. Despite mud caking Jay from front to back, he could even feel it in his shoes; it felt good to be back on the surface. It wasn’t like he had a fear of enclosed places, but it still sucked regardless.

“Thanks,” he looked over at the stranger, still only catching the slightest glimpse of a smirk within the darkness. It was hard to make out any features, and the way the guy stood didn’t help anything.

“Were you takin’ a dirt bath?” he joked inquisitively, and Jay chuckled under his breath.

“No, not exactly.” Who would want to do that in a cemetery anyway?  

The beam of a flashlight washed over them again as rustling sounds drew near, and Jay stepped away from the pre-dug grave. Definitely not wanting to repeat that incident all over.

“Looks like we should start running,” spoke up the other guy, head turned away from Jay to peer toward the security guard.

What was once hidden was now lit up like a spotlight. A smooth curved jawline, willowed eyes bright with brown, and curly dirty blond hair glowed on display for a split moment. Until the flashlight jostled by the running security guard fanned over the area. And Jay would be lying if he said he didn’t stare.

“Avoid any more holes, yeah?” he easily teased before seemingly stepping in a direction with no real speed.

Jay floundered for a moment before taking off after him. “Wait.” Jay didn’t know the grounds that well, and the two idiots that did had left him.

The guy laughed while reaching behind him, grabbing Jay’s wrist again with no problem, then started to run as the worn-out guard hollered something. He seemed to avoid any lifted tombstones, flower arrangements, and small fences like it were daytime. All while Jay tried his best not to stumble, gaze more on the ground than anywhere else.

When they neared the exit gate, chained to prevent people at such odd hours to visit, he let Jay’s arm go and placed both palms out while crouching down. Jay didn’t have to ask and quickly stepped into the waiting hands. He felt the guided push upward as his own hands grabbed for purchase, trying to avoid being nicked by the gothic-style fence. Yet, as Jay’s leg swung over, his pants snagged and ripped — the gravity of his body spilling over the other side holding little resistance.

Surprisingly Jay landed on his feet, if not a little wobbly, and quickly looked through the fence to see the guy still standing there undeterred. “You coming?”

“Don’t worry about me,” he simply said. Jay wanted to comment, but the sight of the guard pushing past the nearest tombstones shut him up. “Go.” he laughed again — actually laughed as if nonplussed by the whole thing. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep him distracted.” Then he turned around and fanned his arms out as if directing air traffic before darting down the side of the fence.

And that was the last Jay saw of the guy before quickly hiding behind the bushes lining outside of the cemetery, not wanting to be seen as the flashlight shown in his direction.

The walk home was slow as he picked flakes of mud off his jeans. Jay could feel the dry mess on his face and in his hair. A shower was needed as well as a talk with the Frog Brothers tomorrow. No way were they getting off free from abandoning him in the damn graveyard! Even as he climbed back through the bedroom window, Jay was envisioning how he’d throttle them. It wasn’t until he was in the shower, scrubbing extra hard to clean the grime off, that his thought wavered to the stranger.

“Why was he even there?”

[welcometophu]

The Meaning of Home, Chapter 1

The Meaning of Home Chapter 1

Tags for all Welcome to PHU novels will be available at the PHU tag list on Pillowfort. This list is under construction as of Sept. 5, 2021.

[ First | Next ]

Even knowing that he’ll see him at the end of the trip, it’s strange for Pawel to be driving to his childhood home without Conor in the car. Usually his son would be requesting music changes, playing videos so loud that Pawel could hear them even with Conor’s headphones in place, or generally talking up a storm. Even after cranking the radio up to fill the silence, Pawel feels alone in a way he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

He can’t blame it entirely on Conor. Yes, as a single father he hasn’t had much, if any, time to himself in the last nine years. But this past academic year has been chaos to the point where it seems strange not to have one of his students in the car as they head off to save the world.

Students, yes, but he’s not that much older than most of them. Some of them are friends as well.

Rest. Take the summer and rest.

The voice in his mind sounds suspiciously like Mac, and he hears Carolyn’s soft, aggravated huff not long after as she adds, Get normal amounts of sleep. Take a shower. Eat real food.

Spend time with your kid, imaginary Mac adds.

Great. He’s back to being that only child who used to have conversations with invisible friends, except now, as an adult, it’s advice about self-care from real people who aren’t even here.

The thing is, they’re not wrong. He knows he has a tendency to focus intently on the one most important thing at hand and tune out everything else. Since fall semester—for the first time in nine years—that wasn’t Conor, and he still feels guilty about that. He feels the kind of guilty that means there are two brand new games for Conor’s handheld system in a bag on the back seat, along with a cooler holding freshly butchered grass-fed bison steaks as a thank you for his father for helping him out.

Pawel exhales.

Maybe he’s having a little trouble letting go of the chaos. In a way, it felt good to be busy. To fix things.

They saved the world.

Nobody knows it, but it happened. And Pawel knows, so he should be satisfied with a job well-done.

The question is: what can he do now?

Rest.

For all that they’re imaginary, the voices of his students are right, and he knows this. It’s just hard to let it all go, to accept that the chaos has ended and he can do that. But he’s clean-shaven, and his hair is neatly trimmed, even if he didn’t go back to his buzz cut. He looks older in the mirror than he remembers being when the school year began. He might even look his age, which would go a long way to gaining respect from incoming freshmen in the fall.

He just needs something to do with himself while on vacation over the summer.

Maybe his old dojang would let him step into a taekwondo class or two while he’s visiting Dad. It’d be nice to be the student rather than the instructor for once.

You couldn’t let go of control that much.

“Shut up.” He says it as if imaginary Mac would even listen.

One song ends, and for a second, the silence in the car echoes before the next song begins.

This isn’t working.

He reaches out to touch the button on his radio dash for the phone, then presses Mac’s number from his contact list.

“Aren’t you with your family?” She starts speaking without bothering to greet him.

He adjusts the volume so that her voice isn’t quite so loud. “Hello to you, too. I’m almost there now. It’s quiet in the car. No Conor. Not even any grouchy almost adults grumbling about saving the world, or muttering about sparring.”

Mac snorts softly. “I’m only a few years younger than you, Pawel. And out of us all, Rory’s probably got the oldest soul. I take it you’re bored?”

“A little,” he admits. “Pels’s family moved into the house on Friday, then left for Burlington. As far as I know, everything’s gone well up there; they weren’t back before I left the house today. Anita’s got my number in case she needs anything for the house while they’re renting it out this summer. Traffic’s been decent, so I’m maybe fifteen minutes from my Dad’s house now, and the silence is killing me. How’s your summer break going?”

There’s a delay before Mac replies, and her voice sounds determinedly cheerful when she does. “It’s a break. I’m thinking about my research, and the fact that my advisor is in Italy until the end of June and told me I can’t work without him there. Which means Mom thought I should come home for a while, and right now things are… awkward… with me and Dad. So. There’s that.”

When Mac says it, Dad means Senator Delwin Palmer. Pawel knows what that meant to Mac as a part of a secret government training program for Talented children, before she came to PHU. He knows that everything they learned about the government involvement in the creation of the soul-destroying Shadows has only made her relationship with her stepfather more difficult.

He makes a small noise. “Are you going back to PHU soon?”

“Mid June, so I’ll be here about three weeks. I’m going to take my brother to the festival when Rory and Thorne are in DC in a couple of weeks, and I’m spending most of my time in the museums and libraries in DC until then.” She exhales. “I’ve thought about going to see my father, but I think that’ll be the weekend that I drive back up to PHU. I’ll just stop in to visit him in the city while he’s got some time off work.” Mac hesitates, her words more forceful when she asks, “How long are you planning on staying with your dad?”

Fine, Pawel will accept the change of topic, changing conversational directions at the same time as he takes the exit into town that will lead to his childhood home.

Sort of. It’s not the same house he grew up in, but it’s close to the same neighborhood.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m on leave for the summer. It’s not a sabbatical—they don’t do that for less than a year, and right now they won’t let me go for a whole year until the department has more experienced faculty. But it’s a paid leave and I’m supposedly researching my next book. The thing is, Dad doesn’t have a lot of space since he moved into the retirement community. I’m going to be crashing on his couch. Conor’s got the bed in the guest room.”

“Sounds great for your back.” Mac laughs. “You’ll probably still sleep better than you did for most of the spring.”

“Probably,” Pawel agrees. “I think—” He stops abruptly, because that makes it sound like he has a plan in place. “I’m going to play it by ear. Conor’s made friends there, although he’s clearly missing Alan and home, too. Everyone keeps telling me that I need to just stop trying to fix things and take a break. Including a voice in my head that sounds suspiciously like you.”

“Good to know my voice has infected your brain, like the way I hear yours saying ‘commit to the kick’ whenever I’m sparring and going for that head kick against a much taller opponent,” Mac says dryly.

“They’re all taller than you.” Pawel takes a series of turns, remembering to turn left instead of right at the critical intersection. He slows down; there’s no one else on the road behind him to annoy, and he’s not quite ready to arrive yet.

Mac sputters. “Rude.”

“True.”

“Fine. True,” she agrees. “Taekwondo is a sport for tall people. I’m just a good jumper, and before you say it, no, I’m not teleporting to get there. Most of the time.”

He rolls down the road towards a four-way stop. There’s a sign across the way proclaiming the entrance to Hart Acres. If he turned left, he could make his way to the police station where his dad works, and right would loop him back behind his old neighborhood.

Straight takes him into his dad’s new life in a retirement village where half the people who live there aren’t actually retired. His dad’s been living there for a year, and Pawel’s not sure when he’ll finally step down as Police Chief. He likes his work far too much to give it up.

Dad says it’s easier to keep working when he doesn’t have to worry about the little things like mowing the lawn. Hart Acres takes care of that for him.

Pawel’s pretty sure Dad’s going to work until he has both feet in the grave, and then he might just keep going.

“Hey.” Mac’s voice is low. “Did I lose you?”

Right. He was having a conversation.

“I’m just about there,” Pawel admits. “There’s an old lady walking her fluffy dog down the street. I guess I should hang up. Focus on finding the place and not hitting the two people that are in the middle of the road having a conversation.”

No exaggeration. Now that he’s pulled into Hart Acres and is following the first traffic circle he encounters around to the second exit, there are small knots of people gathered everywhere. Including two smack dab in the middle of one of the side streets.

They see him looking and lift their hands in cheerful synchronized waves.

“I am really not ready to see my dad as the kind of guy who needs to be surrounded by old people looking for a social life,” Pawel mutters. He makes a disgruntled noise when Mac snickers.

He’s in front of the house before he can say anything else.

“Go,” Mac says. “Hug Conor for me, and tell him to work hard. He’s still in school, right?”

“Another three weeks, yeah,” Pawel says. “I might take him out for a day on Friday to head up to Buffalo for Rory and Thorne’s tour, though. It’s a holiday weekend, so maybe the school has the day off—they do weird things with snow days sometimes. Although the weather was strange this winter and they might not have the extra days.”

“Nikki would apologize if you need her to,” Mac says. She’s quiet for a moment. “Hey. You really should take the time to rest. Let your dad be the parent for a little while. Enjoy being home, and with your family. You don’t have anything you need to save right now. The world isn’t ending. Just have fun for the summer.”

“Only if you promise me that you’ll rest, too,” he responds. He wants to say that he understands that it’s not that easy. He understands that talking to Delwin Palmer is going to be complicated, and that putting herself back in that environment only brings the PTSD out in full force. “You can always call me if you need someone to talk to.”

“I’ll let you know when I’m back in the area,” she says. “Maybe we can get together and spar. I’m taking a break from organized classes while I’m home.”

Her old dojang isn’t full of happy memories like Pawel’s is.

“Sure, we can do that.” He catches movement out of the corner of his eye; the door to his father’s unit nudges open. “Conor’s coming out. I need to go.”

“Bye, Pawel. Rest.”

“I will,” he promises.

The music blares for a moment after she hangs up; he turns the key and silences it. He manages to get out of the car as Conor races around it and slams into him, hugging him hard. Pawel wraps his arms around him, and exhales as he feels the familiar crackle of Conor’s magic around him.

“I missed you,” Pawel murmurs. His hand is between Conor’s shoulder-blades, and it feels higher than it used to rest in this same position. “Did you grow in the last two months?”

“An inch since he arrived.” Dad stands on the lawn next to a girl about Conor’s age that Pawel doesn’t recognize. Her mouth is pinched and her brows furrowed. She has her arms crossed tight across her chest as she leans forward, a myriad of braids falling forward across her shoulders and down her back. Dad puts a hand on her shoulder, and she straightens up, shoulders relaxing. “I started a growth door for him here. We’ll need to get a mark on it for you so he can see what he’s aiming for.”

There was a piece of trim in Pawel’s childhood house that had marks for every few months of his age, from toddlerhood to adulthood. He wonders if the new owners painted over the careful notes made in his mother’s hand, and the messier ones his father wrote after she passed away.

“I had Dziadziu put Emma on the door, too.” Conor slips from Pawel’s hold and grabs his hand, dragging him towards Dad and the girl who still watches warily. “This is Emma. She’s in my class, and she’s a Weather Witch, and she’s my friend. We’re both new here. She’s talked to Alan with me.”

“I know they’re married,” Emma says with a heavy sigh and an eyeroll. “Conor’s not my boyfriend. I don’t want a boyfriend.”

“You say that like people have been trying to tell you that you can’t be friends because you’re a boy and a girl.” Pawel stops in front of her and holds out his hand solemnly. “Hello, Emma. I’m Pawel. And don’t worry, I understand that most people are full of shit. Right now my best friend is a girl and I can assure you I have no romantic intentions towards her whatsoever. And if I did, she might kick me in the balls.”

Dad makes a strangled sound.

Emma tilts her head, brow still furrowed. “I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t say that people are full of shit.” She takes his hand and looks at their joined hands in some confusion, then drops it again. “But you’re right. They are. Come on, Conor.”

“I think you’d like Mac,” Conor says as he walks by Emma’s side and they disappear into the house. “She’s small but fierce. She used to be a gymnast and now she kicks ass.”

Pawel should say something, but he did just tell them that people are full of shit, so maybe he can cut him some slack for language this time.

“I did say that someday you’d be lucky enough to have a kid just like you,” Dad observes. “That said, Conor’s been a good kid while he’s been here. Getting good grades, getting his work done. He and Emma bonded straight off—her parents disappeared not long before you did, so they had something in common. Except, of course, you’re back and they’re not. She’s living with a foster family here.”

There are a dozen potential things wrong with everything Dad’s just said. Pawel rolls the thoughts around in his mind as he heads back to his car, opening the doors so that he and Dad can both take several things into the house. “Do they know she’s Talented?” he asks.

“You know where the guest room is.” Dad points through the living room and kitchenette to the small hall beyond. “Right at the end there. Just take Conor’s stuff down. We’ll put your things to the side in the living room for now.”

Conor pops his head out of his room just as Pawel arrives. “What do you mean for now? Aren’t we staying all summer? I thought we’d stay here all summer, Dad. Dziadziu said we could.”

There are times when Pawel wonders what their family looks like from the outside: three generations having three separate conversations in tangled instances, answering questions in random order. He can see where Emma sits on the bed, Conor’s tablet in her hands. She doesn’t seem concerned.

“I’m sleeping on the couch, Conor. We’ll stay in town, but we might need to get a hotel room. I’m going to need a bed eventually,” Pawel points out.

“I’ll move in with Emma. Her dads wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t think they’d even notice,” Emma says dryly. “I like Conor better than Matt.”

“She has four foster siblings,” Conor stage whispers.

Emma looks up, gaze pinning him. “They aren’t my siblings. I’m an only child. We’re all just fosters in the same house, except Nevaeh and Jennie. I think they’re almost as good as adopted. Jennie doesn’t even remember her parents.”

For once, Pawel is the one getting whiplash from the swift turns in conversation.

“Is everyone Talented?” It’s the same question, asked a different way, and this time he throws it out there for anyone to answer. He drops the bag of Conor’s summer clothes on the bed, next to where Emma sits.

“Her dads are both Talented!” Conor bounces up onto the bed, almost knocking the suitcase off. “One’s Clan and one’s—”

“They aren’t my dads,” Emma snaps. She drops Conor’s tablet on the bed and stands up, her body shivering so hard that her braids shake. “My mom and dad are coming back. They aren’t my dads at all. I’m just staying there until—”

“My dad can find them.”

Emma’s mouth is slightly open, her voice a small squeak. “What?”

“My dad is really good at everything about Talented people. He’s an expert.” Conor nods quickly. “He’s so much an expert that he teaches people not to be stupid—uninformed,” he corrects himself, “about what it means to be Talented. He knows everything.”

“Not everything,” Pawel tries to stay, but Conor steamrolls over him.

“He just saved the world, and he’s friends with Clan and with Mages, and we know this entire commune of Mages up in Burlington and if anyone can find your parents, he can,” Conor says firmly. “You’ll do it, Dad, right?”

“I think I’d need a little more information before I can promise that,” Pawel says slowly.

“Your father is supposed to be resting.” Dad stands behind him, and Pawel doesn’t need to turn to know the look Dad gives Conor. He was on the receiving end of that look himself many times as a child. Dad continues, “The last time your father got involved in something, he disappeared and you came here.”

Conor’s mouth snaps shut, lips pressed and his cheeks flushed. “He came back,” he mutters. “He always comes back.”

Emma pats the bed and when Conor sits, she puts her arms around him and holds on. “Maybe mine will come back, just like yours did. Then your dad won’t have to go find them.” Her whisper is too loud to be entirely secret. “I don’t want your dad to disappear again.”

��Me neither,” Conor admits.

“Emma.” 

“Dziadziu!” Conor interrupts him. “Did you ask Emma’s dads—”

“They’re not my dads.”

“—if she can stay over tonight?” The sadness is gone from Conor’s expression as he bounces on the bed. “She’s got stuff in a drawer from the last time she stayed. She can get on the bus with me in the morning, and we can play games with Alan online later.” His gaze skates to Pawel. “If you say it’s okay, of course.”

It’s only been a couple of months, and Conor has somehow built himself a routine here. Pawel isn’t entirely sure how he fits into it.

It’s strange thinking about Conor growing up and growing apart from Pawel when his son is only nine years old.

“I talked to them,” Dad assures them. “But that means sleep tonight. It’s a school night, and I’ll be checking. No magic after dark. No surprise storms. No more rain indoors.”

“That was once!” Conor protests.

“Lights out by half past eight, and I want you asleep by nine,” Dad says in a tone that brooks no argument. “You’ve got plenty of time before then; we haven’t even had dinner yet. You might even be sick of each other by then.”

“Never!” Conor and Emma chorus.

Pawel has to wait for Dad to move before they can both slip out of the room, leaving the door cracked. “I’m glad he’s made friends here,” Pawel says quietly. “He and Alan are—well, I’d almost call them codependent sometimes. I was worried. But they both seem to be doing well.”

“Conor’s fallen on his feet, that’s for sure. He’s a lot like another child I once knew: just starts talking until he finds his spot to fit in. Might even have a bit of a savior complex.”

Pawel gives his father a dark look. “I do not have a savior complex. If I did, I’d have followed you into law enforcement, rather than going into academia.”

Dad smiles. “You’re still saving people. You just go about it in a different way on a daily basis. But it seems to me like you didn’t even hesitate when you found out your students needed your help. You can’t resist a puzzle.”

“Apple didn’t fall far from the tree, I get it,” Pawel mutters. “Fine, fine. We’re all peas in a pod, and a hundred other trite descriptive phrases. The Szczek men have similar traits.”

“Mm.” Dad leads the way outside, so they can retrieve the last few things from Pawel’s car. “Some of us have learned how to ask for help,” he says quietly. “Conor’s made himself at home in Emma’s foster house. He’s spent more than a few nights there, and yes, before you ask, I trust her foster fathers completely. One of them works with me. But that’s something you might want to think about this summer, Pawel.”

Pawel shoulders the backpack with his computer in it, and closes the door to his car. “What’s that, Dad?”

“You don’t have to do everything on your own,” Dad reminds him. “For the summer, you’ve got me. Think about what to do when you get home. The fate of the world doesn’t need to rest on your shoulders alone.”

It seems like everyone’s got something to say about his bad habits. The thing is, Pawel’s got help at home. He’s a single father; he knows he needs assistance sometimes. He’s got Alan’s family next door. Emily’s always willing to help out with Conor. But he’s also got… a lot of responsibility. He’s a professor, and a dean, and he leads Coven and the taekwondo team. 

Who the hell else is he going to rely on? Pawel does the things no one else is available to do.

“Don’t worry, Dad,” he says, because he knows it’s what Dad needs to hear. “I’m not going to overwork myself again. I’ll make sure I’ve got help.”

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