#a mere man up against insurmountable odds

[adrift-in-thyme]

I wanna read the Odyssey again

[hebuiltfive]

Thundertober Day Two: Espionage

This is a long one (sorry!) but the next two days are shorter so that kind of makes up for it. Minor Pen&Ink in this, but it's mainly spy!Penny.

AO3 here Day: One

Warnings for: bad language Tracy Industries has always had a target on their backs. But this time, the attack hits a little closer to home. Tagging: @thunder-tober @skymaiden32

Tracy Industries was a pillar in the world of aerospace, construction and finance. It held a desirable reputation and was run by a family of charming philanthropists who seemed to consistently beat the odds that were forever stacking against them. They were renowned in their techniques and had contract offers left, right and centre. With all of this factors combined, the target on their backs grew increasingly larger.

As a company they had witnessed, and prevailed, through many, many attempts of sabotage before, whether that was from other companies trying to convince major shareholders to sell their shares, or from jealous rivals trying to wreak havoc by circulating false whisper numbers around Wall Street in an attempt to sow doubt within and around Tracy Industries. In fact, in the first few months following his father’s tragic and untimely death, that had been one of Scott’s first challenges. The eldest Tracy had dealt with an insurmountable amount of attempts in the years that had followed, and he had managed to fight each attempt valiantly, managing to keep Tracy Industries afloat one way or another.

This recent hack, however, had been a much larger threat that could have ended in a devastating blow.

At first, they had assumed the security breach was credited to the Hood, but after being reassured by Colonel Casey that their nemesis was still securely locked away, they began to search deeper. Their result was unpleasant. Angry and dramatic vows of revenge followed, though they would never be acted upon. 

The breach couldn’t have been described as anything other than a direct attack and it was far deadlier to the company than any other previous sabotage had been. This breach threatened to expose more than just a few financial details, or ways in which to win bigger contracts back from Tracy Industries. 

As the main exporter and provider for International Rescue, this breach threatened to expose the blueprints Tracy Industries had kept in their files for the organisation’s crafts and machines. 

Much to all of their reliefs, the blueprints for the actual Thunderbirds themselves were kept safely locked away on the island, but that still left some of their other life-saving equipment being at risk of leaking. The thought of other, perhaps less ethical companies, getting their hands on any of their design blueprints was bad enough. With the added fear of them selling them to the highest bidder, regardless of who that buyer might have been, was terrifying, and that panic alone had them all cursing themselves over the lack of security surrounding those files.

Regardless of John’s reassurance that the security system fitted by both himself and Brains was impenetrable, keeping some of their top secret files over on Tracy Industries’s databanks, just for the convenience, was incredibly stupid, and it was something they had planned to rectify in the following months. The move was one made from pure carelessness on their part.

To add insult to injury, Scott had then received a personal invitation to a party hosted by the very man that they strongly suspected as being the one behind the attack. He had almost declined. The thought of partying with a man who had committed such a violation to their company, whether they were rivals or not, had his stomach churning. He would have much rather turned the guy in for corporate espionage and be done with it… Until he realised that what they had, mere traces of evidence, was not evidence enough. 

They’d have to dig deeper.

Enter Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, long time friend of the Tracy family and associate of both International Rescue and Tracy Industries.

The party’s location was being held at Randall Gardener’s private mansion in Beverly Hills and not at the office of his company, The Acorn Corporation. They had been aware of that fact from the moment they’d received the invitation and had planned accordingly. 

Gardener’s home office would be Penelope’s target. Brains had developed a special drive to expertly download all of Gardener’s files in record time. The device hid within one of the solid silver bangles she had dangling from her wrists. Though she rather worked alone on these sorts of missions, she couldn’t deny how conspicuous she’d look if she was the only one representing Tracy Industries and so she had relented when Scott suggested one of them attended with her.

Kayo was out on another mission with the GDF and so Penelope’s first choice was blown out of the water before she could even consider the Chief of Security’s company. Virgil offered his services, only to be quite literally batted away by Gordon. 

Once it was revealed that she would require a Tracy to hang off her arm for the night, Gordon had practically begged to be the one to go with her. Penelope wasn’t keen on the idea. At first he had so vehemently claimed to want to catch the ‘dirty bastard’ red-handed at his own dinner party, that Penelope wasn’t sure Gordon was the best option. Volatile, bitter and hurt were not what she was used to seeing with Gordon and, if she was honest, the sight worried her terribly. She had been inclined to take up Virgil’s offer instead but after a week of stewing, Gordon had seemingly calmed down enough for Penelope to feel comfortable with having him along. 

Throughout the evening, John would monitor them from Thunderbird Five and EOS would translate guidance through specially crafted earpieces, though this would only be when necessary to avoid distractions. 

With all the technical aspects prepared and ready, Penelope began to focus on her favourite part of any mission: her closet.

Penelope’s colour was pink. It always had been. It probably always would be. Her love of the colour came from societal’s childhood expectation of her; to adore the pretty and the sparkly, but her appreciation of the colour had grown in her later youth. By the time she had reached adulthood, Penelope knew how to use the colour pink to her advantage.

Just like tonight.

The gown she had chosen to wear was pink and sparkly. The hue matched her golden hair that was clipped in a way so her styled waves fell over one shoulder. Her manicure she’d had done earlier that day had her nails matching the colour of her floor-length dress, and her choice of necklace - diamonds inset into platinum - accentuated the modestly swooping neckline. Her outfit, as always, was a reflection of what they wanted to see. Pretty, poised and elegant. All the pieces helped her play the game all the more easily. 

After all, who would think to question the young socialite in her diamonds and sequins if questions were to arise?

Not that she was expecting questions. There was a reason Penelope had a stellar reputation within intelligence circles.  She was quick on her feet, agile enough in her social abilities to dodge unwanted questions and stealthy enough to leave no lead back to her doorstep. She liked to think she’d done her father proud.

Getting into the venue was easy. There were no checks on the door and there was barely any security on the property that could be seen. She didn’t want to jinx their mission but Penelope couldn’t help but think that perhaps this task of their’s was going to be easier than she had could have first anticipated.

It was a shame she would be proven wrong.

Sandwiching the main event of a fanciful dinner, networking was common during events such as these. This party was no different. The first half an hour, Penelope walked the room with Gordon, glasses of a sparkling wine filling their glasses before the party was called into a large, ornate dining room. Gordon was seated opposite her and both he and Penelope made patient small talk with those sitting closest to them. Once the many courses had been served and eaten, more networking commenced in the Grand Hall of Gardener’s mansion. Seamlessly, they played their parts and continued to blend in with the rest of the party as they mingled.

“God, I hate this part.” Gordon had whispered to her after they’d said farewell to a greying gentleman. He’d offered Gordon his business card in the ‘hopes it finds your older brother well’.  The fake smile he plastered on his features told Penelope everything she needed to know about how he felt about that situation.

“I thought you hadn’t ever been to one of these before.”

“I haven’t. Well, not officially. Usually I was with Scott. I wouldn’t mind it but… being the sole member of the family here means that I’m having to receive all the weird conversations.” He sighed. “When is the sleuthing going to begin?”

Penelope did her best to hide her fond smile, gesturing over to their host for the evening who was standing beside a nearby table. “Distract Gardener. I’ll go looking for the office.”

Gordon glanced at her with his eyes wide. “You mean I don’t get to do the cool spy stuff with you?”

“Gordon, you don’t know how to do the cool spy stuff.”

He looked at her, a little stumped by her frankness but, unable to think of a decent response, he merely grumbled, “I could have learnt on the job.”

“I’m sure you could have.”

“How long do you need?”

“Thirty minutes.”

“And if I can’t keep him that long?”

“EOS can warn me.”

Gordon offered her a nod. He eyed his target, clearly not looking forward to having to be the front of the conversation once again if his apprehensive bounce was anything to go by. “Good luck,” was whispered before Gordon melted into the crowd of attendees.

To appear as casual as possible, and to avoid as much attention as possible, Penelope waited a few minutes before making her exit, only leaving once she heard Gordon’s joyful greeting boom across the event hall as the distraction she was hoping for.

“Randall! Long time, no see, buddy! How are things?”

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

The office was far enough away from the rest of the party for Penelope not to have to worry about drunken party-goers getting in her way. She remained wary of possible security, though she came across no guards on her journey and, whilst she thought it odd, she wasn’t about to complain. It was making her job a whole lot easier. 

With the door already unlocked, her compact lock picking kit became redundant. Making sure the door behind her closed as quietly as possible, Penelope entered the office, making her way to the main computer unit at the far end of the room. 

Gardener’s office was state-of-the-art. Various gadgets sat on shelves, experiments he was conducting from home being strewn out over various worktables, and floor-to-ceiling windows which seemed to draw Penelope in, captivating all her attention for a moment despite her attempts to resist the distraction. From the mansion’s position in the Hills, the sparkling city of Los Angeles far below looked stunning. It was far too picturesque to ignore.

She only snapped out of that trance when she thought she heard footsteps outside the door.

“EOS, how long do I have?”

The AI’s childlike voice felt bizarre in replacement of the usual Cockney accent of her chauffeur. “Gordon is successfully distracting Mr. Gardener. I estimate he will continue to provide sufficient distraction for a while longer yet, Lady Penelope.”

Regardless of this reassuring update from EOS, Penelope set to work immediately. She knelt down behind the desk to avoid anyone being able to easily see her from the corridor, just in case that office door ended up opening somehow during her work. Bangles jangled as she retrieved the drive from where it had been inset into her jewellery and plugged it into the main terminal.

The screensaver image of the Acorn Corporation logo that had been lighting up the desk flickered away to reveal two windows. In one, the files of Gardener’s computer system. In the other, those same files being copied from device to device. Now all Penelope had to do was wait.

Brains had assured her the gadget was quick and she had never had a reason to doubt him before. Yet, watching the seconds tick by, the percentage staggering upwards ever-so-slowly, Penelope began to wonder whether, for once, Brains had been wrong in his design. It began to feel like she had been waiting forever.

“EOS, how much longer?” Penelope whispered, wary of the fact that she had no idea who could have been lurking outside that office door now. For all she knew, the device she’d plugged in could have triggered a hidden, silent alarm. It wouldn’t have been the first time she’d been caught out by a sneaky security trick.

The lack of a response from EOS had Penelope begin to feel uneasy.

Her eyes caught the screen in time to see the ninety-eight per cent mark tick over to the ninety-nine. Anticipation built up. It had almost completed. One more per cent and then she could find Gordon and get out of there.

Except the ninety-nine per cent never reached one hundred.

The entire system seemed to just… switch itself off.

Penelope, trying her hardest to not start panicking over what could simply have just been a minor mishap, began flicking buttons. 

It was pointless.

“EOS? EOS, can you hear me? What’s happened?

Faint static told Penelope that the line was still connected, if a little disturbed by interference.

“… I’m sorry, Lady Penelope.” EOS’s pause before she finally responded was so full of emotion, of guilt in particular, that Penelope could no longer deny that feeling of building dread that was creeping up from the pits of her stomach.

“You’re sorry—? What for?”

EOS remained silent again.

“What do you mean? Did you do this? EOS?”

“I was told it was for the best.” The AI defended herself before finally cutting the line off.

“By who?” Penelope tried despite the lack of static in her ear.

“By me.” 

The voice had come from behind her, from the door which had now been swung open, from a voice she knew all too well and had trouble believing.

“… John?”

She wouldn’t believe it. She couldn’t. He was supposed to be on Thunderbird Five! He wasn’t supposed to be here. Her head span as Penelope jumped up from her position behind the desk.

“I’m sorry, Penelope,” John continued, stepping into the room properly, “but I couldn’t let you download those files.” 

To his credit, John did appear to truly feel guilty over his words and his apparent actions.

“Why?”

John’s silence in regards to that question hurt her the most. Ignoring all the fears that were now whirling around her head, she attempted another question.

“Where’s Gordon?”

“Safe.”

“Can I trust you with that?”

There was a venomous quality to Penelope’s query which she didn’t regret one bit. Trust, it seemed, was not something she could currently equate to John. Was it ever something she could have attributed to him? Was it ever something she could honestly and safely expect from him again?

“He’s my brother.”

“Why didn’t you want me to download those files?”

Two guards, dressed to the nines which suggested they’d been blending in with the rest of the party just as Penelope and Gordon had been, entered behind John. Penelope eyed them and then the escape route that was just out of reach.

“Don’t.” John warned, sounding increasingly tired.

“You know me too well.”

“That’s the problem.” He sighed, as though that was her problem. Before Penelope could argue against that, John tapped his ear. “EOS?”

EOS’s voice filtered through Penelope’s earpiece once again. It had Penelope questioning if the AI had actually left earlier. 

“Message relayed.”

“Message?” Penelope asked, more frantically than she’d planned. “What message? To who?”

“To Gordon. To tell him that you’ve left, following a clue that you wanted to go in search of without him.”

“He won’t buy it.”

“I don’t care if he buys it. I just care that he’s out of the way long enough to not get caught up in this any further.”

“And what is this, John?”

Red rings circled his eyes and bags had long set in. His complexion was paler than normal, even by John’s standards, and Penelope found herself searching her memory to remember a time she’d ever seen him look so troubled. She wasn’t sure she ever had.

John spoke no words. He signalled to the two guards to take one of Penelope’s arms each before leading them all out of the office and down the hallway. Penelope didn’t try to fight them, instead opting for trying to get information.

“Who put you up to this?” She asked John, not expecting a reply and being pleasantly surprised when he offered her one.

“What makes you think someone put me up to anything?”

“This is your family’s business.”

“So?”

“So, why not let me look at those files?”

They turned a corner which led to a set of stone steps, which in turn led down to God knew where. John slowly stepped down them, as though each step was a step towards Hell itself. Penelope prayed it wasn’t.

“You wouldn’t have liked what you saw.”

“Which is what, John?”

The stairway curved around in a spiral, heading deeper and deeper below ground. That panic began to build in her stomach. It would have been easier to fight off if she knew she could trust John, but she couldn’t anymore apparently.

“We can’t help you if you don’t tell us what is happening—”

The fury of John Tracy was something Penelope had never witnessed in person before. Icy chills went down her spine as he span around to face her. His face was shrouded in shadows from the minimal light making it almost impossible to see his real emotions play out on his face.

“Shut up.” He spat in the most un-John-like way Penny hoped she’d ever have to hear. John sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose as he reined in that panic. “I didn’t mean— Just, please, if you know what’s good for you, Penny, then just stop talking.”

In a way, that was answer enough for her. Add all the little factors she had and Penelope found herself jumping to the worst conclusion: John was responsible for the Tracy Industries hack, or at least had a major hand in it. Why was still a major question that he clearly wasn’t willing to answer, neither was the how. 

A trickle of light glinted off his eyes, betraying the fact that he had tears in them, but Penelope found herself with little pity to give.

“Your brothers are going to be very disappointed in you, John.”

“I know.” He replied, head hanging lowly as he turned to continue leading them down that darkened hall way. “I fucking know.”

[bluehairlaunch]

7 Dragon Ball Villains that could've carried their own arc

Honorable mention, Sorbet. So I enjoy Frieza as much as the next guy, but his wacky and colorful Frieza Force is what firmly places the Namek Saga over the Cell Saga in my mind. Like they're all such memorable characters that I even like Cui ffs. However, let's be real, none of these guys could carry their own arc. At their heart, they're all followers (all except good ol' Geets). Maybe before their recruitment they had more ambition and determination, but when faced with Frieza's insurmountable power, they ultimately all bent over and bowed.

Sorbet is an odd example, because he is definitely a follower as well, although when the power vacuum that is Frieza and King Cold's death opened up, he didn't turn away. He instead took charge and kept the Planet Trade Organization afloat for DECADES, despite being a koala-man with a power level that I'm sure rivals Appule at best.

The only reason he's not on the list proper is because when we finally get to see Sorbet in action, he's trying to pass the torch back to Frieza. He still gets major points tho for leading as long as he did

Spoilers: no one else from Super is on this list, even though a filler character is

Monster Beast Giran

Look, I'm not saying Giran could've carried his own saga, but if Dragon Ball had been written by a more traditional shonen mangaka instead of a gag artist, he probably would've been the Big Bad of the 21st World Martial Arts Tournament. And yes, I'm using his added characterization from filler scenes in the anime to make my point.

A milk drinking brute with a voracious appetite and a deep-seated hatred of heroes, this absolute unit was unfortunately no match for Goku in canon, but his hulking appearance and quirky personality (at least in the anime) always stuck out to me. In my generic re-write of this arc, a majorly buffed Giran faces Jackie Chun instead, and defeats him. He then faces and almost defeats Goku in the final, but Goku transforms into a real monster beast for the win, and that's that

Yea I won't be trying to retell the story for the rest of these entries

Raditz

It says a lot about the quality of Toriyama's villains that Goku's evil brother from space is a mere speed bump on the road to the real top dog of the Saiyan Saga. This dude is so fucking sexy and such a piece of shit that I can't help but imagine what he could've gotten himself into if only he had more screentime

Staff Officer Black

I know Toriyama loves subverting expectations and that's one of the things I so greatly enjoy about Dragon Ball, but c'mon. Commander Black of the Black Ribbon Army would've been... so so sooo cool. The dude's a true believer, actually loyal to his men, and idk what Red did to become the leader over him, but he seems to have been the real brains behind the operation. Dragon Ball Online brought back Commander Red as a cyborg and all I'm asking is why not Staff Officer Black instead?

Turles

Aight so Tree of Might isn't the greatest movie, I'd even say it's mid at best, but it also has amazing ideas. The Tree of Might? Neat, inspired, scary, and also drawn from Journey to the West lore. Turles? Sexy tan Goku, what's not to like? His Crusher Corps? Don't get me started on his Crusher Corps, because they all have their own story, which was included in extraneous material, but not the movie itself.

Amond, the big guy? Yea he was an intergalactic criminal that was arrested by the Galactic Patrol until he was freed by Turles. Daiz was the Prince of the Pukimpa Dynasty that led his planet's army against Turles, but was defeated, then recruited for fighting so bravely. Cacao was a cyborg built to fight an interstellar war before he fucked off to become a bounty hunter and eventually join the Crusher Corps. Rasin and Lakasei were fossils resurrected by Turles using extract from the Tree of Might.

Fuck, Turles himself is a low-class Saiyan warrior that somehow found or stole the holy Seeds of Might, which were reserved for Kai. When I was a kid my older brother told me (read, lied to me lol) that Saiyans were all test tube babies grown from different strains and that's the difference between low medium and elite saiyans and why he and Goku are almost identical. Like, that's not true, but there's a lotta fleshing out you could do with Turles to make him and his potential saga more compelling

Demon King Dabura

Ruler of a shadowy demon realm for thousands of years with a power level that equals Perfect Cell, Demon King Dabura is also... the bitch of a tiny bitchy wizard? Yup, that's Toriyama all right.

So lemme start by saying that this guy gets so little credit he's not even in Fighterz, despite having a cool sword and a huge canon moveset. He also looks... well tbh, he doesn't look as awesome to adult me as he did to kid me, but he's still neat looking. I like his horns and his funky glamrock outfit. He also probably had his own Dabura Force filled with edgy evul henchmen (including Shula from that filler episode, who I'm pretty sure inspired Dabura's creation) that could've easily filled an entire saga.

It says a lot that Raditz isn't the lead of his saga, but imo it says way more that Toriyama created an entire evil universe opposite the regular universe ruled over by this baritone Satan and he's just a footnote. It also says a lot about Dragon Ball Heroes that instead of trying it's own thing, it digs up Toriyama's fossilized spittle and creates Mira, Towa, and Kabuto from Naruto.

Mercenary Tao Pai Pai

Ok so I'm biased, because this flamboyant bastard is easily one of my favorite villains, and that's including everything, not just Dragon Ball or comics. He oozes so much style that I'm not even sure how you could stretch him out into an entire arc, but it doesn't matter, because he could make it work. The dude can make watching someone else shop for clothes compelling ffs, so as far as I'm concerned, Tao could've been the villain for the whole of Dragon Ball and it'd be just or almost as good as what we actually got

His shirt says Kill You! he's seriously the best don't @ me

Dr. Gero

Mustache

Yes, I know he was supposed to be the Big Bad, but Toriyama's former editor didn't think an old man in baggy pants and a fat clown could carry their own arc, but they're wrong damn it! Just look at him

[theradicalscrivener]

Trevor: All in a Day's Work.

The hero stands on the brink of defeat. Towering, foes whose muscle-bound bodies are tough as steel are poised to snatch victory! What is our hero to do in the face of such insurmountable odds! With the fate of the world hanging in the balance, can Simon stop breaking character for just a few seconds?

(P.S. Ya boi's got Linktree and Bluesky now)

[First Chapter] || [Previous Chapter] || [Next Chapter]

Our hero had already pushed his powers to their limit, but the enemy was just too strong and too many. Everywhere the hero looked, titans towered over him. The hero barely reached their thighs. The titan’s bodies were coated head to toe with dense, rippling muscles. Their already powerful build further enhanced by the near imperviousness of their flesh. Their bodies were as firm and strong as steel.

The hero staggered to his feet and wiped the blood from his lip. Even now after being pushed to his limit, he refused to give up. After all, he still had an ace in the hole…

“I didn’t expect to have to use this, but you leave me know choice…” the hero groaned. He raised a hand to the heavens and channeled all of his power into this one last spell.

“You think you’re so big! Try this on for size!” the hero shouted.

The ground rumbled. The tremors were so intense that even the hulking titans that towered over the hero were knocked prone by the quake. Even the hero struggled to remain standing during the sudden, intense jolt.

“Ow! Fuck!” Simon yelped upon smacking his knee against the coffee table. During his big reveal he accidentally kicked the table that Trevor’s make-believe showdown was taking place. The action figures were all sent toppling, and even Trevor was nearly knocked prone by the sudden tremor.

Trevor ran to the edge of the table and shouted at his massive boyfriend, “don’t break character!”

Fortunately, the way Simon was doubled over put his ear very close to where Trevor was standing. Simon turned his head and glared at his tiny boyfriend. “Break character!? I nearly broke my knee!” Simon whined.

“How bad is it? Want me to kiss it better?” Trevor asked, only partially teasing.

“It’s fine. It just startled me. It’ll probably leave a bruise, but I’ve had worse…” Simon muttered.

Simon took a moment to rub his knee and wait for the pain to subside. Eventually, he looked out at the toppled armada on the table and then back to Trevor. “It looks like we already won,” he said.

“This is merely a setback!” Trevor announced in his best Saturday morning cartoon villain voice.

“It’s a pretty big setback,” Simon replied.

“I’ve had worse,” Trevor replied.

“Speaking of… want to me help you set them back up?” Simon asked.

“Nah. They’re fine where they are. It’ll make the next scene more fun, anyway… you are ready for the next scene, right?” Trevor asked.

“Uh, sure. Up you go,” Simon said and held out his palm for Trevor to climb aboard.

Trevor climbed on, and Simon steadily lifted his hand up to his shoulder so that Trevor could take his place astride the titan. Trevor wasted no time in getting back into character. Trevor placed a hand against the nape of Simon’s neck to steady himself as his did his best Jim Saotome pose.

“Prepare yourselves for the might of my mech! Ul-to-ra-man…. SEVEN!” Trevor shouted dramatically.

“Ultraman? He’s not a mech. He’s just a huge dude,” Simon said.

“Stop breaking character! And I know, but the song slaps,” Trevor replied.

Simon shrugged and rolled his eyes. The motion of his shoulder nearly sent Trevor toppling, but the little guy was used to sudden movements like this by now. Trevor quickly steadied himself and returned to his dramatic pose atop Simon’s shoulder.

“Ultraman! Prepare the cannon!” Trevor shouted.

“With gusto…” Simon chuckled.

 Simon glanced down at the figures on the table below. Even seated.  he still towered over the battlefield. The tabletop only came up to his chest, but he’d need to get even higher to deploy ‘the cannon’.

Simon steadily got up on his knees. He had done this numerous times in the past and had gotten very good at keeping his shoulders steady as he squatted up and down. Soon, his crotch was nearly level with the tabletop which, more importantly, left his exposed, massive semi in a position to flop onto the table. Simon quickly reached down and fished his huge dick up and laid his thick cock across the tabletop.

“Weapon systems charging…” Simon recited his lines in a robotic voice.

“Shit! It’s charging too slow! We can’t give them time to regroup! I’ll have to use my own power to charge it!” the hero announced dramatically.

“Understood,” the robot replied. The mech held up a hand for the hero to climb aboard. Once he was safely situated, the mech lowered its hand so that the hero could return to the battlefield.

The hero reached the battlefield and sprinted towards the front of the mech’s main cannon. He stood there and gazed down the barrel of the enormous weapon. It was easily six times longer than he was tall and some change! The barrel was so thick that even though it was resting solidly on the ground, the top of the shaft crested slightly higher than the hero’s head, and that was saying nothing for the bulbous, flared out head of the enormous cannon.

Trevor momentarily broke character as he stared down the slit of his lover’s colossal cock. Trevor had always loved how Simon’s cock looked. Even when he was his old size, Trevor had loved to admire it while working the shaft in both hands and licking at the tip, but now that Trevor stood just shy of two inches tall, he could really appreciate every little detail in his lover’s gigantic cock. Even just the head of the beast completely eclipsed Trevor’s whole body. Maybe it was just Rex rubbing off on him, but as Trevor had gotten used to being so tiny, he had gotten more obsessed with just how enormous Simon’s cock was compared to him.

Trevor leaned into the tip of his boyfriend’s colossal cock and began to rub his whole body against it. As he did so, he breathed deep the scent of Simon’s cock. Simon hadn’t worked out yet today, but even so, several hours of being cramped into a pair of tight boxers had given it a distinct aroma that drove Trevor wild. Trevor was already boning up as he made the trek along the length of Simon’s fat cock, but now he was rock hard.

Trevor began to rock his hips which caused his own thick cock to glide against the lower rim of Simon’s dick slit. Simon’s cock was so huge that the slit was almost as long as Trevor’s torso. The lower edge of it was nearly even with Trevor’s crotch and the upper end was pressed between Trevor’s pecs.

Trevor’s grinding had had a nearly instantaneous effect on Simon’s cock. Simon was already borderline boned while Trevor sprinted across the table, but the feeling of his little lover grinding against the sensitive tip of his dick got him rock hard in record time.

Trevor dug his fingertips into the thick, rubbery flesh of Simon’s shuddering glans. He could feel it pulsing and flexing. He could feel it swell as it flared up. He could feel, and smell, and taste the pre as it oozed out the tip of Simon’s massive, shuddering cock. Trevor was so turned on by the mere existence of Simon’s gigantic cock head that he could have cum just from being in the presence of such a fantastic specimen, but the sensation of his own fat cock gliding against the lower lip of the titan’s pre-slicked slit felt fantastic in its own right. Trevor shuddered. His cock lurched. He struggled to maintain control, but he was quickly reaching his limit.

“Weapon… almost… primed…” Trevor murmured between tremors of orgasmic bliss. There was no one to hear him, and even he had mostly given up on the roleplay. Even so, Trevor played his part to the best of his ability.

Simon meanwhile had completely abandoned his role as “mech”. His cock was rock hard, and he could both see and feel his little lover throwing his entire body against the oversensitive tip of his fully-boned cock. Simon was so close to creaming that he had to slam his hands down on the tabletop to steady himself as his entire body shuddered.

“I’m… I’m gonna…” Simon tried to moan a warning to his little lover, but the sounds of the titan’s moans just spurred Trevor on to work harder. Trevor pushed past his previous limits and gripped the tip of his lover’s cock even tighter and dug his dick even deeper. Yet, despite how tightly Trevor had gripped, it was not enough.

Simon let out a cry of bliss. His cock lurched hard, sending Trevor staggering backwards. Trevor regained his footing just in time to see the massive, Lavos-like maw of his lover’s cockhead tremble, and then everything went white.

A blast of cum hit Trevor square in the chest so hard that he went flying backwards. He hit the tabletop and skidded several inches, which at his size, felt like several meters, across the wooden surface while more and more thick spurts of jizz arced through the air and crashed down all around him.

Trevor was dazed, winded, and a little bruised, but despite this, he was as horny as ever. The feeling of being so thoroughly coated in his lover’s spunk was the final push he needed. His own cock bucked and lurched. His body writhed and wriggled with orgasmic bliss. Cum erupted from his own thick cock, but his own load was so small compared to the massive deluge of his titanic lover’s spunk that it was completely lost in the muck.

Simon managed to fight through the afterglow and stay coherent enough to reach forward and scoop his tiny boyfriend up from the massive splatter of jizz on the table. He quickly lifted the tiny figure up to his face and asked, “Are you ok?”

Trevor laughed. He was better than ok. He was amazing! He raised two big thumbs towards the titan’s face and managed to croak out, “all in a day’s work…”

[First Chapter] || [Previous Chapter] || [Next Chapter]

[not-bcring]

The scene opens up on a grand throne, ornately crafted golden frame with red velvet seats. Daisuke sits upon the throne with a devil-may-care expression plastered to his face. He adorned official-looking royal guard, complete with a crown and a shoulder cape. Upon seeing the camera had turned on, a smirk found itself on his face before he addressed a non-existant audience. "Greetings, Kingdom of Araya. I am Prince Daisuke of Yume, and I'm addressing you all today to let you know there's been a little change of management around here. But you don't have to take it from me," he announced, ending his statement by motioning to Ayumu standing off set. ( Gift for your pink brat. ) - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @ncughty-uwu 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Ayumu had been eager to try out this scene since Daisuke first propositioned it—his boyfriend has the most wonderfully creative and filthy imagination —the videographer slipping into daydreams whilst in the middle of work. Contemplating how he wanted to play his character. Would he be sheepish and subdued? The poor fallen Prince of a recently conquered kingdom. While it goes against his nature, it can be fun to indulge in a more demure demeanor. Especially when about to be corrupted by a dominant force... But perhaps he should be more combative and cocky?

With his head still held high and expectations of somehow reclaiming his rightful place. Even if he must first face insurmountable odds... as well as the firm and teasing hand of a new ruler. The simulated humiliation would be delicious. Unraveling before an imaginary audience of his subjects, brought to his knees before the ruthless tyrant who invaded his home. Going from brattish to potentially begging... What can Ayumu say? He's not immune to the allure of acting. Nor is his boyfriend, evident by the ease of which Daisuke slips into the smug role.

When given his cue, Ayumu has made his decision... He can't help but meet that smirk with an equivalent challenge.

Sucking in a steadying breath as he embodies his role, spine is straight and chin is raised as he smoothly enters the scene. Each proud step is accented by the rattle of the chains binding his hands and dragging along the ground. Ayumu wears the symbol of servitude as if it were merely an accessory befitting the Prince he ❛ used to be ❜ . Chosen ensemble is sheer and shameless, barely acting as concealment for the body it's complimenting. Extravagant with its golden-thread embroidery, it hugs his curves and pairs with the ribbons interwoven in his hair; pink locks done up in messy buns for the occasion.

Sparing a brief glance at the camera as if regarding his former subjects, expression doesn't change from regally dismissive. Paying no mind to having been adorned as though a prize for the victorious Prince of Yume, the defeated Prince of Araya beholds the man perched upon his throne. ❝ I suggest you enjoy this while you can... because you won't be on that throne for long. Besides— ❞ A cheeky smirk takes the place of indifference, dare-say flirtatious as Ayumu lets his eyes flit up and down Daisuke's royal form, only to brattily declare, ❝ It doesn't suit you. ❞ 「 ☆ 」

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 5

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Pairing: Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader (Gender neutral) Rating: T for language and mentions/references to an (emotionally) abusive relationship. Mild, brief violence. Warnings: TW for referenced emotional abuse, mild TW for possible physical abuse (sorry, angry Dani is not 100% gentle with people she doesn't love-love) Notes: Music for this chapter here. If you're following this story and really want to continue reading, but worry about the TWs for this chapter, just send me an anonymous message and I'll write up an alternative version of this post. It's not something I would do without it being requested, but it's also not a big deal so don't feel like you're bothering me if you want that. Previous Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Tocatta

Chapter 5: Poco a Poco (Italian: Little by little)

Finding a schedule for lessons to follow proved to be an insurmountable task. Consistency was something that Daniela struggled with greatly, even when it came to things that she genuinely cared about. Things like ensuring you lived long enough to entertain her. Instead of working with you to find a balance that worked for both of you, the youngest Dimitrescu daughter seemed intent on doing things in her own time. Little by little. Which would have been fine, if the two of you weren’t restricted by time.

Fate wasn’t entirely unkind, however. There were still a few things that Daniella recalled from her “youth”, bits and pieces of musical theory, the bare basics of reading sheet music. Not having to teach her proper posture or the structure of a piano would save you a little bit of time. On top of that, you had been informed that, somewhere in the castle, there were a few books of sheet music you could borrow. Assuming you were eventually able to find them, that is. So far they had eluded you, but you hadn’t even had much time to search, as you were still expected to perform your usual Maiden-related tasks.

In the end, it was Daniela herself that proved to be the biggest obstacle in your way.

“Look,” Daniela said one day, barely ten minutes into a lesson, “I think we should take a break… maybe have some fun?” One of her hands is resting on top of yours, the other tucking your hair behind your ear. There’s a smirk on her lips, unsurprisingly, and she’s mere inches away from kissing you. If not for the heavy threat hanging over your head, you would have already thrown yourself into her arms. Instead, all you can do is sigh, turning away from her as you do. “Don’t be like that, sweet thing. C’mon, no one can hear us right now. Might as well enjoy ourselves.”

“Babe. Darling. Buttercup, honey, cute little button on a bear, you are not the brightest bulb in the lighting department,” you replied, holding the bridge of your nose between two fingers. Instantly Daniela is upset, giving you a (thankfully) playful smack on the arm. Before she can protest more you continue speaking. “Your family would not hear us making out, true, but they would definitely hear us not playing the piano. I’m pretty sure your mother already thinks I’m doomed to fail as a teacher, and the last thing I need is to give her a reason to drop the curtains this early into our performance.”

“First of all, I am not an idiot,” Daniela said, a bit of a growl to her voice. “Secondly, what harm can a few minutes really do? Don’t you think I’ve been working hard enough to earn a little reward?” Now she’s holding a finger under your chin, lifting it up, making sure you’re looking right at her. There’s no dissuading her, it seems, as she leans in for a soft kiss. This was one of the more frustrating aspects of dealing with (courting?) her; communication felt like a one-man play, except the audience was as likely to throw knives as rotten tomatoes. Whenever Daniela acted like this, pushing away your concerns in favor of her pleasure, it felt helpless to try and resist her.

So you kissed back, wrapped your arms around her, and hoped that she’d be more open to compromise afterwards. At least kissing her was nice. Even though it had only been a week since you first kissed her, she was already getting better, evidently learning through experience. The passion behind her movements had grown as well, leaving you a tad breathless. Regardless of her odd perception of romance, and her insistence that she knew best, you found yourself charmed by her. It was scary. Terrifying, really, how you felt yourself falling under her spell. Wait. Hadn’t you been in this sort of situation before?... Staying with someone who wasn’t good for you? Why were you kissing her? Why were you starting to tremble, tears in your eyes, mind falling down a slippery slope of memories?

By the time you snap out of it, you’re sitting on the floor, Daniela awkwardly kneeling by your side. What the fuck? You think, sniffling a little. Head spinning, mind reeling, you struggle to form coherent thoughts. Next to you Daniela is unsure of how to help. But she’s trying, sort of, one hand holding your own, the other gently rubbing your back. She’s saying something, the words going right over your head. Understanding her takes times, focus, like tuning an instrument until the pitch is just right.

“I don’t understand, we were only kissing, what happened? Can you even hear me? Is this your way of tricking me into not making out with you? Because that’s a total dick move and-” she rambles, only stopping when you give her hand a soft squeeze. Then she’s meeting your gaze, looking uncomfortable, shoulders tense. “You’ve been weird for a while. Distant. Like you don’t want to touch me anymore. Don’t you still love me?”

There’s real, honest pain in her eyes when she speaks. If the timing had been different… you’d have thrown your arms around her and covered her face in kisses, promising to hold her onto she felt better, promising that yes you cared. You cared so fucking much. But she’s making you exhausted; every second has to be focused on her, not you. Every moment of concern is flipped around until she’s the victim, or at least the one that needs comforting. You didn’t think that she even realized what she was doing. Well, you hoped that she didn’t, wanted to believe that if she understood she’d change.

“Remember the first day we kissed?... how you pulled me close, and I kissed you harder, and we started…. Remember how I made a move and you pushed me away? I’ll never forget the look on your face. I felt like shit afterwards. I should have asked before I tried anything,” you explain, letting go of Daniela’s hand so you could pull your knees to your chest. Somehow you can’t bring yourself to maintain eye contact with her- not right now, not when you could still remember what it felt like to be on her side of this story. “I don’t want to push your boundaries, or make you feel pressured to do something you don’t want to do. The last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt you like that.”

“Oh bullshit,” Daniela snarled, shocking you, before getting to her feet. Confusion doesn’t begin to describe how you feel in the moment as you watch her pace back and forth. Both her hands are clenched into fists, and she’s refusing to look at you. There’s a buzzing sound in the room, faint but growing louder, like she’s a split second away from entering swarm mode. “We’re a couple, aren’t we? Shouldn’t you be able to tell what I want? Shouldn’t it be obvious what I desire, when I’m pinning you to the wall and shoving my tongue down your throat? What more do you require?”

“Holy shit, Dani, I know communication isn’t your forte, but have you really not even considered talking to me? That’s simple, easy, literally the first thing that should come to mind!” You snapped, too in disbelief to keep your voice down. For a moment Daniela stops her pacing, turning to stare at you with narrowed eyes. If you weren’t so mad, you’d be convinced she was ready to kill you. But she doesn’t move to grab her sickle, or otherwise advance on you, instead groaning and tugging on her own hair in frustration.

“Because that’s not romantic, genius!” She replied. Some dots start to connect in your mind, but you lack the full context, as if looking at sheet music with no clefs or time signature. It’s not until Daniela continues that you really understand; and, by extension, realize just how ridiculous this whole mess is. “None of the books I’ve read involve conversations like this. People just… they just love each other! And figure it out as they go along, reading each other’s body language and facial expressions, inferring what they need to know through touches and reactions. Why can’t we do that?”

“This isn’t a fucking book, dumbass! I don’t have powers like you, I can’t just read your mind and figure out what you want. That’s not how relationships work! Communication is key. And you can’t just talk, you have to listen, hard, and understand,” you continued, still on the floor, heart pounding so furiously you thought it might leap from your chest at any moment. As angry as you are, you wonder if you’re being too loud, too angry, wonder if there was a better way to get through to Daniela. Before you can think of a solution the air is ripped from your lungs. Your “partner”/student is grabbing you by the front of your shirt, yanking you to your feet. Instinct makes you struggle against her, as useless as it is.

“I. Told. You. I’m not an idiot!” Her free hand comes up to your face, cupping your cheek for a moment, then pulling away just as fast. When it moves back up she’s gripping onto her sickle. The sharp edge ends up resting against your neck, the slightest movement threatening to cut you open. This is the most Daniela has ever openly threatened you, and in that moment all your anger melts back into fear, tears spilling down your cheeks. A flicker of something shows in her eyes, making you think that even she doesn’t like where this is going. “Give me one reason not to end this right now.”

“... I don’t… I can’t think. I… Why would you?” The words leave you in a rush, even with the pauses, and each syllable makes the sickle press into your skin a little more. There’s sure to be a cut there, though you can’t even begin to estimate how bad it is. The blade is sharp, clearly, and it hardly even hurts as it slices you. Thankfully the sensation doesn’t last long. Once you’re done speaking, Daniela’s grip loosens considerably, hand slowly letting your shirt go. Her other hand takes a few seconds to move, but eventually pulls away without any fuss. For a few seconds she just watches you, eyes filled to the brim with a rich sorrow, mouth open but unmoving.

“No lesson tomorrow. I need a break,” Daniela whispers, barely audible. Then she’s dusting herself off, no longer looking at you, and heading towards the exit. Just like the first time you met, she pauses in the doorway. “How’s that for communication, hmm?” When she laughs, it’s empty, forced. Part of you wants to stop her and ask if she’s okay.

Instead, you watch her leave, unspoken words tangling with your tongue until you almost can’t swallow.

Then your feet move, automatically, leading you to the piano. You sit down without thinking. You touch the keys without thinking. When you play, you play without thinking. It’s just a song, the world tells you, and you have no choice but to play. It’s not just a song, you know this, but you can’t think. Can’t argue against the personification of your isolation, or the embodiment of your trauma. All you can do is let yourself get lost in the music, softly, recalling lyrics from a forgotten time.

I’ve been running all my life, trying to find a place to hide ‘Thought that I had settled down, but I guess things are changing now Don’t make me go, don’t make me go Just don’t make me go, this feels like home

As soon as the last note fades out you stand, wordlessly, and leave. Your feet carry you down corridor after corridor, past maidens working, some of whom gasp when they see you. But you don’t stop, not even when you cross paths with Lady Bela, who eyes you with surprising concern. She doesn’t try to stop you, though, and you doubt you would have cared if she had tried. It’s not until you are within your shared room that you finally stop moving. It is there that you sit, shaking, finally pressing a cloth to your neck. Blood stains the fabric, first in just a few dots, then spreading out. There’s not enough to make you fear for your life, but there is enough to make you cry harder. Washing the wound will sting… so you don’t do that. Soon you will have to return to your work, and the thought puts pressure on your skull, summoning an all-too-familiar migraine.

When you close your eyes, you don’t mean to fall asleep, but that is exactly what you do. And when you dream, you do not wish for nightmares. You never do- and fate never denies you their company.

[literaryfic]

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: 빈센조 | Vincenzo (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong/Hong Cha Young Characters: Hong Cha Young, Vincenzo Cassano | Park Joo Hyeong Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, vincenzo leaves, set five years after he left sk, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, vincenzo and cha-young are exes, they were in a relationship before, Fake/Pretend Relationship, jealous!vincenzo, Jealousy

THANK YOU SO MUCH TO @trynatalktou FOR BEING THE BEST BETA I COULD’VE ASKED FOR. THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO HER!

Summary: Time stops, or so it seems. Vincenzo is petrified, beautiful statue of a man turned into stone. Her eyes follow the high bridge of his nose, the sharp angle of his jaw and the curves of his slender hands gripping the coffee mug. Ah, she thinks. This is how Pygmalion fell in love with Galatea.

listen to this spotify playlist while reading if you want to suffer

Cha-young doesn’t dream that night; she barely sleeps 5 hours before she finds herself knocking on Vincenzo’s door at 6 am. She can’t help it, being in a room just underneath his, so close after all those years apart. Yet, she doesn’t want to show him mercy. She’s here to torment him, the way his absence had tormented her for years. Maybe she wasn’t thinking clearly, maybe she probably shouldn’t seek him out first, or at all. 

In reality, Cha-young knows damn well that she’s trying to find an excuse to be with him, not that she would ever admit it to anyone. 

So there she is, pounding on his door at 6 in the morning. He stands there, wearing one of his expensive pyjama sets, dark circles sitting under his eyes. She can’t quite tell if she’d woken him up or if he hadn’t slept yet.

“Did you even love me?”, she greets him. Good morning is overrated anyway. 

He sighs, letting her through. “You know that.” 

“No, I don’t. I don’t know anything anymore, Vincenzo.”

She stops in her tracks, the world suddenly spinning around her. He’s standing behind her, a mere arm length away. She’s stuck in his gravitational pull, a planet orbiting around its sun. The sharp sensation of her nails digging into her palms is enough to get her moving. She sits on the couch, the same one she’d sat in just a few hours ago. 

“I did. I do.” He clears his throat, looking away. “Love you, I mean.” 

She nibbles on her lower lip, trying (and failing miserably) to ignore his use of the present tense. He loves her, still. She shakes her head. 

“Well, you seemed to be living well without me.”, her expression turns sour. Was it love to hope he’d grieved her loss as much as she had grieved his? 

Vincenzo finally settles in the chair facing her, running a hand through his hair. “There was a point where I wasn’t sure… I wasn’t sure if I would make it.” He winces. “During that time, my only salvation was knowing each day brought me closer to death.” He looks at her, gaze so intense it pierces right through her heart. 

She scoffs, “And I’m the dramatic one, huh?” 

That gets a laugh out of him, and suddenly they’re back where they first started, complicit smiles and knowing looks - them against the world. 

“Coffee?” he asks, eager to keep up the pleasant atmosphere. There’s still a lot that needs to be said, but she relaxes her shoulders, welcoming the lighter turn their conversation is taking. 

“Yes, please.” 

He busies himself with the instant coffee, that same yellow brand he’d gotten hooked up on while they worked together. “So what have you been up to, exactly?” 

“Jipuragi Law Firm just opened a new office in Busan, things are going well. It’s nice, we get to help people who need it. Probably not as exciting as being in a mafia war or whatever.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he gives her a cup of coffee and sits down next to her on the couch. There’s a safe distance between them, but there’s no point trying to shush the deafening beat of her heart. “Your father would be proud of you, Cha-young-ah.”

“You think?”, she sips on her coffee. She looks up from her mug, only to find him examining her face. His lips curl in a soft grin, and Cha-young thinks that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad if she kissed it. 

The loud ringtone startles her out of the daydream, and she’s not sure if she’s supposed to be annoyed or thankful. She picks up the phone. “Mmh. Okay. See you soon,” she drags out the last word, using the endearing tone she reserved for those closest to her. Mr. Kwon, her assistant, was asking her to eat breakfast with the team. 

“I have to go.”, she tells him, getting up from the couch. 

He takes her mug from her, “I didn’t realise you were here with someone.” 

She hears it loud and clear, in the way he fakes nonchalance and keeps his voice cautious. He’s asking her if she’s with someone and part of her wants to reassure him that No. There is no one else beside you. But then she thinks of the countless times where she’d cried herself to sleep, memories of them echoing into her mind and his absence carving a hole into her heart, and she can’t help herself. He had wounded her fatally and it was her turn to injure him. 

“Mmh.”, she’s not lying, technically. She’s there with someone, with people actually, just not in the way he means. 

Time stops, or so it seems.Vincenzo is petrified, beautiful statue of a man turned into stone. Her eyes follow the high bridge of his nose, the sharp angle of his jaw and the curves of his slender hands gripping the coffee mug. Ah, she thinks. This is how Pygmalion fell in love with Galatea. 

The empty mug drops to the ground and the spell is broken. Brought back to life, Vincenzo collects the shattered pieces of the cup, and of his heart, too. “Is he a good person?”. Unlike me, he means. 

Cha-young has to remind herself that he deserves this, that this is his fault. “Mmh”, she repeats. “He is.” 

He’s back to the coffee station, his back to her. “I’m happy for you.”, his voice is tight. 

“Thank you.”, she’s almost at the door when she stops. “Maybe...Maybe we could be friends.”

He turns around, finally facing her. The distance between them, from one side of the room to the other, feels insurmountable. 

“Perhaps. If that’s okay with you.”, he answers. 

She doesn’t know what to say, so she stays silent. Is it possible for them to be anything else other than a tragic ending? 

“Perhaps. If that’s okay with you.”, he answers. 

She doesn’t know what to say, so she stays silent for a while. Would it ever be possible for them to be anything other than a tragic ending? 

She finally settles on a simple, “See you around.” An open ending, then. 

She’s cursing herself out the moment she leaves the room. What was she thinking? Cha-young had just lied to Vincenzo about being on holiday with her imaginary boyfriend. No, she corrects herself, she had simply misled him and he should’ve known better. 

She could picture it already; his aggravating smirk, raised eyebrows and insufferable “Oh, is that so?”, after she’d have to inevitably come clean. If only she hadn’t been so impulsive. Vincenzo would figure out her motivations the moment she’d admit to the lie; she wanted to see him jealous, to make him think she was doing better without him, that she was over him. He would see through the façade she had worked hard to maintain. 

Flushing at the thought of the colossal humiliation she would suffer, Cha-young scolds herself. Focus. This was a war that she needed to win. Like a general preparing for battle, she squares her shoulders and summons her most loyal soldier.

“Hey, it’s me. I have a favour to ask. Can you be my boyfriend for the next two weeks?” 

<>

At 37 years old, Kwon Ji-hwan considered himself to be a resilient man with a good head on his shoulders. In the four years he has been working for Ms. Hong, carrying out tasks outside of his job description was far from rare. Those included, but were certainly not limited to: picking her up after she’d drunk too much, infiltrating a yoga class to seduce a corrupt official’s wife, impersonating a law enforcement officer and hijacking an ambulance. In Ms. Hong’s vocabulary, a “favour” almost always meant something illegal. Despite her… methods, Ji-hwan enjoyed working for her greatly. The hours might have been long but the satisfaction of winning against the odds of powerful corporations made up for it. Also, the pay was really good. Still, as used to her antics as he was, he would’ve never expected her to ask something so absurd of him. 

Sitting there, in Ms. Hong’s hotel room (which, by the way, was way nicer than the regular ones she’d gotten for her employees), Ji-hwan cannot believe what he’s hearing. 

“Let me get this right,” he says, adjusting his glasses with his index finger. “You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend in front of your ex, who you’re obviously still in love with even though it’s been FIVE years—” 

“Yah!” 

“—because you want to make him jealous. Did I miss anything?” 

“That pretty much covers it.”, his boss replies, not even bothering to look ashamed. He looks at her, shaking his head. “So, will you do it?” 

He sighs, “What did this guy do to you for you to be so hung up on him after all this time?” 

He was not expecting the sorrow on her face as she answered, “He was there for me during the worst times of my life. We went through hell and back for each other. And then, one day, he left without saying anything.” 

“Wait, just like that? He didn’t even break up with you?” Ji-hwan raises his eyebrows. 

“Nope”, she accentuates the ‘P’. “He simply wrote ‘Live well.’ on a napkin and I never heard of him again. Until now.”

He scratches the top of his head, “What a fucking jerk.” She laughs, it’s rare to hear Ji-hwan swear. Finally, he rolls his eyes. “Fine, I’m in.”

“Yes, I knew you wouldn’t let me down. Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She’s doing her little victory dance now, shaking her hips in the least graceful way possible. Like every time his boss convinces him to blur the line of what is morally acceptable, Ji-hwan is regretting this already.

“If I said no, you would have threatened to fire me anyway.” 

“You know it.”

[dewykth]

SWEET SEPTEMBER.

a @periminkle​​​ and @dewykth​​​ collaboration.

synopsis. for many, september symbolizes new beginnings. but for namjoon, this month never fails to send him back into the past. though this time, something seems different.

pairing. kim namjoon | female reader contains. fluff, angst, slice of life au, ballet instructor!reader, single dad!nj  word count. 7.5k+  warnings. death mentions, mature audience

dae’s note. surprise !!! this fic is dedicated to my favourite virgo karla @guklvr​​​​ !! happy birthday bae i hope you enjoy this lil thing me n vira whipped up for u!! (i stress wrote a lot of this ha.) also sry for lying & keeping you up but hopefully this makes u forgive me. but i hope ur day goes amazing ILYSM DUDE !!! <333 and a huge thank you to vira for hopping on board for this idea bc i cld not have done this without her !!! pls give her all the love !!!

vira’s note. KARLAAAA!!! i always gotta scream ur name it’s mandatory to start with a good scream ykno? bUT HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIRL 🥳  i already told u this too many times today but ILYSM !! like that full day without saying a single word to u felt so weird and i kept going into our chat and rereading our mssgs and wishing I was talking to u??? which is weird to admit?? but that literally how much i missed u idk how but im addicted to u so if you leave me I will literally die :))) aNYWAY have the bestestestest day ever and i hope u love the fic bc I ignored all my uni work to finish this !!! (also i feel reallyreallyreally bad about last night sO IM SORRY AGAIN BUT I HOPE THIS IS WORTH IT) 💖

Despite the papers carelessly stuffed into his leather briefcase, the dark coffee stain on his black slacks, and his unkempt locks resembling that of a bird’s nest, Namjoon’s become accustomed to the hectic nature of his mornings.

The kitchen table is practically buried under stacks of files, yet he brushes them aside to allow one corner of the glass surface to peek through. He plops the toddler in his arms onto a high chair before racing to the counter and sloppily pouring some honey nut cheerios into a small bowl, handing it off to his daughter. 

“Daddy?” her voice squeaks, a patient smile stretching across her lips. Her brown strands are tied up into pigtails at the crown of her head with pink ribbons that flutter with the movement of her tiny head. 

“Yes, angel?” He scurries around to their bedroom, peeling the stained fabric off his body and threading one leg through another pair of slacks fresh from the laundry. 

With Namjoon’s focus pinned on checking off the mental to-do list in his head, he misses the gentle, reassuring smile that stretches across her rosy lips. The adoration for her father is clear in her gaze. “You forgot to pour the milk.”

At the reminder, he squawks and hops back to the kitchen on one foot as he maneuvers his other leg through the pant hole. Swinging the fridge door open, he grabs the carton and sloppily pours the milk into her bowl—white droplets leaping out with their newfound freedom and forming perfect domes on the glass tabletop.

Cleaning the mess falls to the bottom of his priorities at the moment, and so he speeds off to the bathroom to ensure that his appearance is presentable for work while Dasom reaches over to pluck a tissue from the box, swiping the milky beads away before diving into her breakfast. She shoves as many cheerios into her small mouth as she can, rushing because she refuses to finish her meal in the car with their wild driver behind the wheel. 

Despite her mere four years of age, she knows from experience that a bowl of cereal and a shaky vehicle is a recipe for disaster.

Namjoon races over to his briefcase with most of his hair sleeked back, only the locks of his bangs hanging out to frame his forehead. As he slips his dark blazer on to complete his form-fitting suit, Dasom scoops the last few brown rings into her mouth and slurps the remainder of the liquid.

“Did you finish your milk?” he questions while cramming the edges of the loose leaves that peek past the seam of his briefcase, hurriedly zipping it up and turning to face her.

Dasom flips the edge of the bowl up to display its empty contents, gulping the last of her breakfast down her throat. As per routine, she scans her father for any inconsistencies in his attire, landing on his odd fitting bottoms.

“Daddy, your pants are on backwards.”

His eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets, glancing down to affirm that the pockets at his sides are no longer at the front of his hips. Hastily, he shimmies out of his slacks once more and twists the fabric around to the proper orientation. 

Dasom hops off her chair, her bowl and wet kleenex in hand as she waddles over to the sink and waits for him to deposit the dirty dish into the sink and the sullied tissue into the trash. Although her short arms couldn’t reach over the countertop just yet, she’ll diligently drink every last drop of her milk in hopes of growing tall enough to take some of the load off of her father’s back.

He hoists Dasom up at the sight of the red car pulling up to the driveway, squeezing into the back seat. Namjoon doesn’t have to tell the driver to book it, as the calm man in front has learned to keep his foot pressed on the pedal. The car weaves through the morning traffic with concerning speed, snaking through the other vehicles littering the road as if they were no more than stationary pylons, simply there for practice.

Dasom remains on her father’s lap with his arms looped protectively around the seatbelt over her torso. She sinks into his embrace, fiddling around with his long, slender fingers as she watches the blurs of colour speeding past the window.

“Did you put your ballet shoes into your backpack, angel?” Namjoon loosens his grip on her, unhooking one hand to rummage through his own briefcase in order to confirm that he had indeed slid his laptop within the chaos inside. To keep her entertained, he playfully extends his digits out of her reach.

“Of course!” she chirps, a wide grin revealing the gaps between her teeth. The pads of her fingertips brush against his palm and tickle the sensitive skin there when she realizes that her arms lack the length required to latch onto his hand. “I can’t wait for class, we’ve got a new teacher coming in today!”

Humming absentmindedly, he sighs in relief at the sight of the silver device and packs the crumpled papers back in. “What happened to Ms. Kim?”

“She’s teaching the older class now.” The pout on her lips can be heard within the muffled lilt of her voice when she continues, “I asked her to stay until my birthday next week b-but she didn’t.”

Namjoon’s breath hitches at the reminder, but attempts to compose himself for his daughter’s sake. “It’s out of her control, angel, plus she’ll probably swing by anyway.”

His mind starts to fog up with the emotions he thought he buried last year–they swarm his every thought and nibble away at his sanity. He knows better than to believe that they would ever disappear. September will always be an insurmountable month for him.

“I might be a bit late to pick you up later, just sit tight and wait for Daddy, okay?”

She eagerly nods in response, noticing the dull red bricks of her school coming into view. “Okay, bye Daddy!”

Namjoon unlocks the seatbelt, wistfully watching his toddler bounce out of his arms and onto the asphalt below. No matter how many times he drops her off, it’s always difficult to be separated from her bright smile, but he reminds himself that it’s all for her; it makes things a little easier to bear.

“Have a good day at school.” He reciprocates her frantic waving through the window, craning his neck to watch her adorable form become smaller and smaller with the increased distance. Her full cheeks and crinkled eyes are engraved into the back of his mind.

Before long, Namjoon finds himself rushing into his office after an earful from his surly boss about everything from the late hour to the long list of meetings scheduled to all the work he’s got piled up. With his lips pursed and his head bowed, he somehow manages to make it past another lively morning.

Namjoon has a habit of overthinking. He figures it’s normal when you have a stressful job and a four year old full of energy to balance all by yourself. Not that overthinking about his daughter does him any good, because that is far from the reality. If anything, it just makes him, what you’d call, a bit... overprotective (over worrisome if you asked Jin). But it’s something he can’t really help. Even when she had just entered his life, so small and so blissfully unaware of the awful and evil things in the world, all he wanted to do was hold her in his arms and shield her from it all as long as he could.

Though he’s very aware of the fact that it won’t be much longer, that won’t stop him from going over every single little thing that could go wrong in the meantime.

So, of course, when Namjoon’s asshole of a boss makes him stay two hours over his shift, all Namjoon can think about is Dasom. Is she okay? Has she eaten anything? Did she drink enough water today? She’s always dehydrated after her classes too. He usually calls Ms. Kim to check up on her, but his calls went straight to voicemail, which definitely wasn’t helping his hectic mind. Perhaps something had happened to her?

Oh god, maybe someone broke in and had injured Dasom?

The doors are thrown open, the sound of the doorknob hitting the wall reverberating through the room. The receptionist wearing her usual polka-dot dress jumps in her seat, eyes lifting from the intense scene on her phone to the entrance of the building. An unsure smile stretches across her ruby red lips at the familiar figure, though a bit disheveled and breathless. But before the customary ‘hello’ can even form on her tongue, the figure is rushing past her, leaving only a gust of air in his wake. The papers on her desk fall to the ground, and she sighs.

Namjoon is prepared to fight the (fictional) person who thinks breaking into a toddler ballet class is a good idea, but the scene in front of him once he pushes past the doors of the studio is one he is wholly unprepared for.

He sees Dasom first, and the relief that fills his body is indescribable. It’s far from the usual sight he’s greeted with when he picks her up late. She’s not sitting on one of the chairs in the far corner of the room. His heart doesn’t feel heavy, which comes with seeing his daughter so glum. This time it’s her laughter that greets him, not one provoked by him but by the figure standing in the middle of the room with her.

Dasom doesn’t seem to be aware of the presence of her dad yet, but the figure twirling her around turns, and her eyes land on Namjoon.

The reaction is immediate. The carefree smile that had been on your face slips off, a look of embarrassment and surprise overcoming your features. Namjoon only catches a glimpse, and somehow finds himself wishing that won’t be the last time he sees it. You let go of Dasom’s hand, quickly making your way to the stereo on the other side of the room. And that’s when-

“Daddy!”

Dasom wastes no time running into her father’s open arms, and Namjoon suddenly can’t remember why he was so worried in the first place. “Hi, angel.” he says, just loud enough for her to hear. She pulls back. “I’m so sorry for getting here so late. I promise i won’t do it again.”

But of course, Dasom holds nothing but forgiveness in her heart for her hard-working father. She does love teasing him, though. “Don't say sorry to me, say sorry to her.” she giggles, pointing behind her and Namjoon furrows his brow until he remembers they’re not the only ones in the room.

His eyes immediately move to where you stand awkwardly near the stereo, eyes moving around the room as if you hadn’t been watching the whole exchange. Namjoon sighs, realizing he definitely can’t avoid talking to you now. He stands straight, holding onto Dasom’s hand as he makes his way over to you. You only seem to grow more nervous as he nears, and Namjoon distantly recalls Jin telling him he came off as intimidating to most people. Something about his ‘beefy’ arms, in his own words. (“And that stupid and unfairly attractive face!”) He goes for a smile because it's not like he can control his physique.

“Hi, I’m so sorry about…”

Namjoon stops.

Maybe it was the overwhelming distress before, or the really shitty lighting of the studio, but he hadn’t realized how pretty you were before. But now he’s standing right in front of you and he can’t seem to form a coherent thought. Pretty can’t be the right word. He realizes how creepy he probably looks, running in here like a madman and then downright staring at the (very beautiful) woman who looked after his daughter? Not cool, man.

You clear your throat, before extending a hand to him. “Hi, I’m ____, the new ballet instructor.”

Your voice sounds just like honey.

Namjoon stares at your hand dumbly, before the sound of Dasom snickering (very discreetly) behind him snaps him out of it. But instead of introducing himself, or apologizing, or just taking your fucking hand, he says-

“What happened to Ms. Kim?”

He mentally face-palms.

Not. Cool. Man.

Your face falls, and Namjoon has never wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole more than he does now. “Uh, she’s instructing the teen class now.” you chuckle awkwardly, dropping your hand.

“Oh-”

“Daaaad,” Dasom's voice sounds annoyed, and perhaps it’s a bit silly of Namjoon to feel like he’s being scolded, but that is exactly how he feels right now. “I told you this. In the morning. Remember?”

He doesn’t. “Ah, right of course,” Namjoon scratches the back of his neck. It wasn’t like he meant to forget, he had just been too busy thinking about the other things every September would bring. “Sorry, I’m Kim Namjoon. Dasom’s dad.”

This time he offers his hand, and he thanks the skies above that you don’t seem to hate him because you fit your hand against his. Warm, like honey. How long had it been since he last made a fool of himself in front of a pretty girl?

Too long.

“I’m terribly sorry for arriving so late it’s just that my boss, who’s a huge-” Namjoon glances at Dasom, who is now in her own world, singing some song she learned in school, “jerk, decided to assign these reports last minute and the printer would just not work and then traffic hour-”

Your hand comes up to cover your mouth, but Namjoon can see the amusement bubbling in your eyes. He flushes a deep red, eyes falling to the floor, realizing he started ranting.

“It’s okay. Really.”

When he looks back up, there’s a smile on your face. Not like the one before, this one was more reserved, but genuine, reassuring. And just like that, he’s sure you don’t hate him.

Namjoon’s not sure he likes this feeling though.

“Straighten your arms out, girls!” you belt over the classical music that floods the studio’s walls, scanning your army of toddlers in tutus whose arms immediately tense at your command. Making your way through the row, you poke and prod everywhere from their shoulders to their ankles. “Arch your back more, Somin.”

Their muscles violently tremble in response to the strenuous routine you’ve introduced, facial features scrunched in concentration and a resolute will to uphold their positions despite the hyperextension of their limbs. A mix of pity and pride swells in your chest at their effort. “Keep your chins up, the annual recital is only a couple of days away.”

Cheers erupt throughout the small room, disrupting the focus and spoiling their perfect form, yet you refuse to quiet excitement because of the renewed vigour buzzing throughout the room. The next hour depletes all of their built-up energy with demi-piles, pirouettes and sautés.

A glance at the analog clock in the corner informs you of the five minutes remaining before the end of class, so you pause the speakers and instruct the girls to stretch themselves out as they wait for their guardians to trickle in. They collectively sigh in relief before dropping to the floor like flies.

You snort at their dramatics with an amused smile playing at your lips. “I said to stretch, not to lay down and nap.”

“Can’t we nap and stretch at the same time?”

Strolling over to the source of the voice, you cluck your tongue at her limp form sprawled across the wooden floor and cross your arms, struggling to keep your giggles from breaking your angered facade. “And how do you suppose we do that, little Miss Dasom?”

She flashes her toothless grin up at you. “Like this!” With one leg bent over the other and her hands looping around to hold her twisted limbs to her torso, she shuts her eyes and exaggerates her snores.

At this point, it’s nearly impossible to withhold your snickers, and the rest of the class joins in your laughter. You pick up on Dasom’s tinkling giggles between each of her heavy breaths. The lighthearted jokes continue as kids are signed out with bright grins on each of their faces.

You wait for the rest of the toddlers to file out one by one, waving goodbye and checking them off your list until, as usual, Dasom is the only toddler left. Her tiny feet still clad in her faded ballet shoes waddle up to you, tugging on your blouse.

“Your pirouette was a bit wobbly today, do you want to go over—”

“‘M tired,” she interrupts, slouching her shoulders with an adorable frown marring her lips. Her exhaustion is justified, since the routine is rather exhausting, and with their recital right around the corner, you worked them to the bone today.

The odd timing of the switch between you and Ms. Kim left you with a little under a week to tweak and perfect their current choreography. A sloppy routine is not the way you want to present your skills to their parents for the first time, thus you were stricter with the kids than normal.

Your sympathy wins out, and so you gather Dasom’s lithe figure into your arms as you head to the closest wall. With your back supported, you spread out your legs and place her in your lap.

“My birthday is this Thursday.”

“Mhm,” you hum, bobbing your head to signal for her to continue her train of thought.

Her back faces you, but when her head tips down to stare at her hands, you know she’s contemplating her words carefully. Rather than encouraging her to speak freely, you wait for her to feel comfortable enough to reveal her thoughts; and surely enough, her shell cracks open just enough for you to peep through. “Do you wanna come?”

“I would be honoured.” A giddy smile splits across your lips. “Is Daddy picking you up again today?”

She flips around in your hold, wrapping her arms around your waist and snuggling her head to your chest. Her words are muffled into the fabric of your thin shirt, but her tone indicates her affirmation.

Suddenly self-conscious of your heartbeat—that Dasom can definitely hear with her ear pressed up against you—picking up pace at the mention of her father, you suppress your thoughts with a guilty conscience. You internally chide yourself for harbouring feelings for the charming, taken, man, defying arguably one of the most important fundamental rules of becoming an instructor.

Do not develop silly crushes on your student’s parents.

“Ms. ____?” her faint question snaps you out of your reverie, attention brought back to the present moment. While preoccupied, your hand took on a mind of its own, gingerly patting the space between the little girl’s shoulder blades at a slow rhythm.

She gazes up at you when you halt your rhythmic movements, sharp eyes boring into yours. “Are you gonna ask Daddy to come see me dance?”

The edges of your lips flip up in what you hope to be an encouraging smile as you nod your head. Subconsciously, you begin to stress over another encounter with Namjoon, formulating a script to hopefully avoid the stiff, tense atmosphere that lingered throughout all your previous interactions.

“Daddy’s always really busy,” she slurs, drowsiness coating her words and weighing down on her lids. Grumbling under her breath about her numb legs, Dasom crawls onto the floor beside you with her head resting on your thigh. “He’s always working hard for me.”

Your eyes soften at the fetal position she’s taken up on the ground; not only was Dasom lucky to have such a dedicated father, but Namjoon was also blessed with a caring daughter. “You don’t think he can make it?”

“It’s okay,” she whispers and you have to crane your ears to listen. You stroke the strands littering her forehead, gingerly caressing the crown of her head. “It’s okay if Daddy can’t come. I know him, he’s trying to do it all because Mommy’s not with us anymore, but it’s okay. I still love him even if I can’t see him lots.”

A knot forms between your eyebrows, a bittersweet ache forming within the creases of your heart. The painful constriction of your chest ebbs and flows with your shallow breaths that can’t seem to make it past your throat. You bite your lip to subdue the plentiful liquid gathering at your waterline.

No more than a croak escapes your lips before the door to the studio flies open, meeting the adjacent wall with a bang!

“I’m so sorry, my meeting ran late and I couldn’t—” the rest of his speech gets stuck in his windpipe at the sight of you, eyes rimmed red and sniffling, with Dasom, ostensibly dead asleep, on your thigh. “Did she…?”

You blink away your incoming tears, although your dignity has been completely thrown out the window, seeing as he believes that his four-year-old kid made a grown woman, who just so happens to be her ballet teacher, bawl her eyes out.

As you go to gently shake Dasom awake, she sluggishly lifts her head off of your lap and starts to scale your torso like a koala on a tree. Your confusion is vocalized through the high-pitched hum in your throat, but your efforts to pry off her limbs, tightly wound around the small of your waist, are futile.

“Uh, Dasom? It’s time to go home now, angel.” Despite his firm words, Namjoon’s tone is unsure and shaky; he can feel cold sweat build up in the lines of his palms. He knows his daughter, and she can be periodically stubborn and insistent the way children are at her age, thus even as you come to stand, she’s stuck to you like glue. “Would you, uh, did you need a ride?”

You mimic the sheepish smile on his face, hoping the flaming blush you feel on your cheeks isn’t as visible as it seems. “Sure.”

With Dasom latched onto you, both of you make your way to the red car outside after you lock up the studio. Namjoon courteously opens the car door for you, what with your arms supporting his clingy toddler; although, with the brute force he uses, you worry for the state of the hinges. Thankfully, they stay intact and he’s able to slip into the backseat after you.

Before an awkward silence can settle, you clear your throat and prepare to ask him about his day, but you’re interjected by Namjoon’s sudden stammering, “D-driving’s such a hassle for me so Jin drives us everywhere. Jin knows how to drive though, so, don’t worry.” He finishes with a deep chuckle that dies off nearly as quickly as it began. Oh, that’s unexpected.

“You don’t to drive yourself?” Rather than being processed in your brain and logically thought through, the question immediately enters your mouth without any prior scanning for dumbass-content. You instantly regret it, feeling as though it’s much too invasive. “You don’t have to answer that, I—”

The hearty laughter that meets your ears is “No, I do. Sometimes. But its easier raising this one like this.” His tone turns sweet at the mention of Dasom as he reaches over to pat her head, and you’re overcome with an intense desire to prod more into his personal life. Why does he have to work so much? Which shirt in his closet is his favourite? How does he like his eggs in the morning?

“I’m not sure if you already knew about the annual recital on Saturday, but Dasom’s been practicing really hard for weeks and the kids are all really talented, so it would definitely be worth your time...”

As he’s gazing at his daughter, galaxies of devotion and longing swirl within his cocoa irises. The cool light of the moon shines through the windows of the car, illuminating his sharp jawline and strong brows. You’re absolutely mesmerized by the sight in front of you. “You must be really busy, huh?”

“More than I’d like to be.”

You rip your entranced gaze away from Namjoon, willing yourself to steady your frantic breaths.

The remainder of the ride still drips with awkward tension, although with a definite lighter tone than before. Jin pulls up to your apartment with your direction and you dislodge a sleepy Dasom from your torso, which is much easier now that her limbs have gone slack with sleep. Handing her off to Namjoon, who practically engulfs her tiny form with his broad chest, you rush out of the vehicle with a quick, “See you!”

You slam the door closed before he can say anything, racing into the comfort of your home with your heart in your throat.

The last thing you had expected to do on a Thursday evening was to go to a birthday dinner. Thursdays are your days off, your in-days. The ones you spend lounging on your couch with a face mask and some wine. And yet, here you are.

When you received a text this morning, the last person you had expected it to be was Namjoon. Much less Namjoon asking you to come over for Dasom’s birthday. You weren’t going to say yes, hell, you had thought of downright ignoring it. It was weird, wasn’t it? But Dasom had quickly carved a toddler-shaped hole into your heart. Truly, you had said yes before the message was even typed out.

And so now you stare at the tall apartment building in front of you, definitely feeling more nervous than before. You knew that Namjoon had to be well-off to afford a weekday chauffeur, but damn did you not expect him to be this well-off.

It seemed today was the day to expect absolutely anything.

You enter the opulent building, signing in at the front desk before entering the large, mirrored elevator. The beating of your heart picks up the more floors you pass, and you can’t help but fidget with your appearance. Namjoon had said it would only be you three, which you guessed was supposed to calm your nerves but really, it did anything but that. The mere thought of eating dinner with Namjoon was nerve-wracking. But now you were about to eat dinner and enter his home; you had no fucking clue what you were getting yourself into.

The doors slide open, and you step into the hallway. A single door could be seen at the end of the hallway, so you quickly make your way over. You stop right in front, taking a deep breath in before pushing the doorbell. A beat, a crash, another beat, then-

The door swings open, and your breath catches in your throat.

Namjoon looks heavenly as always, but seeing him in clothes other than his usual black slacks makes your heart do a cartwheel. God, this is dangerous.

“Ms. ____!”

Before Namjoon can form a hello, Dasom is running past him and wrapping her small arms around your legs. “You came! See daddy! I told you she’d come.” her tongue pokes out of her mouth, aimed straight at her father and you stifle a laugh.

“Did he think I wouldn’t?” you ask, eyebrow arched as you glance at Namjoon, who seems to have a permanent pink hue on his face.

“He said you wouldn’t!”

“Oh, really? What else did he say?”

“He said I had to help him clean either way!”

“Alright, Dasom. That’s enough.” He says firmly, clearing his throat and trying to act as unaffected as possible. His eyes shift to meet yours. “Why don’t you come inside?”

As much as this day really sucked for Namjoon, today had been… different. Not all too much. Of course, getting up was the hardest part, but he had decided to make Dasom her favourite breakfast meal instead of her usual cereal. He had also made sure to get her all the toys she had been wanting, and planned their day out to do Dasom’s favourite things. Namjoon just wanted this day to be special for her. That was all he cared about.

But when Dasom had asked him to invite you, he had hesitated.

Dasom had never spent her birthdays with anyone else but Namjoon. Not that it was intentional, but Namjoon liked to have this day just for the both of them. Because that’s how it’s always been. He didn’t know what it was about you that made his daughter talk about you all the time. Or why she wanted to spend a birthday with you. But how could he deny her? And so, the text was sent.

And now, as Namjoon puts away the dishes while you sit on his couch, he realizes he hadn’t thought of her today. Not as much as the years before. Dinner had been so... nice. It felt nice to have someone else around. Namjoon loves Dasom, but he hadn’t realized how distant he had gotten from everything that had once seemed to be the centre of his life.

Namjoon closes the dishwasher, exiting the kitchen and making his way to the living room. He places the two glasses on the table before pouring the dark red liquid.

“I hope you like Merlot.”

“Oh, please. Anything’s fine.”

You take the wine glass, sending him a thank you before taking a drink. “So,” you lean back, “remind me how to play this again.”

“Ms.____ I told you. You have to take a block without knocking the tower over,” Dasom shows you by pushing a middle wooden block out, “then you have to place it on top, like this.'' She places the same block on top of the tower.

“Ah, right! I just need to make sure if I want to win.”

“You can’t! I’m the best!”

“Oh really? And what about you?” you turn, brow raised and eyes playful.

“Pshh,” he scoffs, leaning forward. “Who do you think she takes after?”

He doesn’t think he’s ever lost a game so quickly.

Namjoon watches as you close Dasom’s door quietly from the hallway before you make your way back to the family room. “She’s out like a light. I guess all that tower building got to her.”

Namjoon snorts. He feels oddly disappointed as he watches you gather your things to go. Was it weird that he wanted you to stay? “Do you need me to get you a ride? I can call Jin to drive you home.”

“No, it’s fine! Really! I already ordered an Uber anyway.” You grab your coat near the door. Before Namjoon can unlock the door, you touch his shoulder. “Listen, thank you for inviting me today. I know you probably wanted to spend this day together instead, but I... “ you inhale, because you aren’t sure of what you want to actually say “thank you.”

Would it be weird to say how much better you made today? Probably. “You don’t… have to thank me. I think I should be the one doing the thanking. I really wanted this day to be special for Dasom and you… you definitely helped. So, thank you.”

The door opens, and the light of the hallway fills his dim flat. “Guess we’re even then.” you smile before turning, making your way to the elevator. Namjoon shuts the door once the sight of you is gone, but the smile on his face remains

“Guess we are.” he whispers wistfully

Perhaps stopping at a flower vendor when you’re already running late was a bad idea, but Namjoon wasn’t thinking about time. He had seen the bouquet of flowers and imagined the huge smile that would stretch across Dasom’s face, and that was all he needed to swerve into the left lane.

Now, though, as he anxiously watches the cars in front of him move a foot forward after thirty minutes, he’s sure he should have just left the fucking flowers alone.

Namjoon doesn’t know how long he’s been shifting his eyes from the traffic to the watch ticking around his wrist, but by a miracle, the cars start moving. Slowly, then he’s speeding down the highway, praying to the skies above he’ll make it in time. Even if he arrives in the midst of the dance, he can’t miss this recital. He won’t.

He sighs in relief when he sees the familiar glass building, though it’s cut short when he sees the parking lot. No available place in sight. Fuck. Namjoon is sure he looks insane right now, swerving around the parking lot in search for an empty spot, or really just any fucking spot that looks like it could fit his monster of a car.

Then the clouds seem to open up, and right near the entrance is a vacant spot. Namjoon swears his mouth almost waters at the sight. Quickly speeding around the lot, he parks, but not before flipping off the angry parent who tries to beat him to it. Namjoon exits his car, quickly grabbing his coat and the large bouquets of flowers from the backseat. He runs to the entrance, practically throwing the shriveled paper at the ticket clerk.

Namjoon slows as he nears the theatre doors, taking a deep breath before calmly opening it. He had completely forgotten to book seats in advance, so he’s not surprised to see the velvet seats filled to the brim. When he looks to the stage, he’s relieved to see that there’s still time until Dasom comes on.

Now, Namjoon knows he’s not the most… balanced person. It’s common knowledge that he trips over his feet and knocks things over sometimes. (Oh, but definitely more than the average person.) Now, if you were to ask Namjoon if he pays attention to his surroundings, he'd say yes.

But if you were to ask Namjoon what he tripped over, he wouldn’t know. It doesn’t matter, because now there’s a furious mother with a horrendous bob cut glaring at him, and what he thinks to be a broken camcorder on the floor. The only thing he can manage is an awkward smile and an even more awkward apology. Namjoon offers to give her the cost for repairs, hell, even offers to buy her a new one. The woman snatches the bills from his hands but she doesn’t go back to minding her business like he thought she would. No, instead she starts to argue with him, in the middle of her child’s recital, no less!

Namjoon can’t do anything but stare at her as she blabbers on about how horrible he is for throwing her camcorder on the floor. (Not like it had much life left, that thing looked like it was from 2007.) She’s damn near spitting on his face, and causing other parents to turn around and glare at them. As if it was his fault. Who knew she had such an attachment to the damn thing!

A hand lands on his shoulder, and for a second he’s sure it’s security ready to escort him out of the building. But when he turns, he’s surprised to see it’s you. Like an angel had ascended from the clouds to save Namjoon from the wrath of a ballet mom. And just like that, you’re leading him away, taking a seat two rows before the stage. Namjoon’s eyes widen at the sight of the empty seat beside you.

It’s that feeling again, and Namjoon’s palms start to get sweaty as he takes a seat. “Jesus, thank you for that,” he whispers, relishing your quiet laughter that follows.

“Of course. She was probably a blink away from going full-blown Karen on you.” you tease.

“Oh, and that wasn’t?”

“Oh, Joon, you haven’t seen how angry ballet moms can get.” you both laugh, huddled together as if you’re sharing a special secret. It seems so natural. As if this is where he’s supposed to be. So much that Namjoon almost doesn’t catch the nickname, but how could he miss it when you say it just like she used to?

The stage lights darken, and Namjoon is grateful for the excuse to look elsewhere. He’s sure if he would have stared at you for just a bit longer, he would have done something completely and utterly stupid. “This is her.” you whisper, and Namjoon buries the thought away.

A blue hue shines across the stage before the soft melody begins to play, filling the room with the sounds of strings and keys. One by one, tiny swans begin to come into view, prancing around the stage. Namjoon catches sight of Dasom, looking adorable in her white tutu and he can’t help the proud smile that makes its way onto his face. He watches with adoration as she does her pirouettes, and maybe there’s some water overflowing in his eyes as they finish their dance, bowing towards the audience.

You both stand, clapping and cheering the loudest, uncaring of the stares from the snobby rich parents because you’re both too damn proud of Dasom to care. For a moment, Namjoon pretends that it’s different, simpler. That it’s not only his child on stage but yours. Ours. He thinks he likes the sound of that too much.

Once the show ends, you lead Namjoon backstage where the buzz of dozens of girls talking fills the air. You tell him that you need to check in on the other kids and disappear through a hallway. He spots Dasom quickly, or rather, she spots him.

“Daddy! You came!”

Namjoon lifts Dasom with his free arm, twirling her around before placing a big kiss on her forehead. Her giggles fill him with delight, and he doesn’t care that his cheeks hurt from how hard he’s been smiling. “Of course I came, angel. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He places her on the ground before he grabs the bouquet of sunflowers from his other arm. The sight of her favourite flower makes Dasom jump with joy. She takes the flowers, and Namjoon silently coos at how much smaller they make her look. Then she spots the other bouquet of flowers in his arm. She scrunches her brows together, about to ask who those are for before her eyes catch something behind Namjoon.

“Ms. ____!”

“Dasom!”

Dasom jumps into your arms, and you laugh at her enthusiasm. “You did so well! I’m so proud of that pirouette!” You twirl her around once her feet hit the ground, smiling as you watch her stumble slightly. Namjoon can’t help but smile too.

“Look what daddy got me, Ms. ____! Look!” Dasom lifts the flowers up, almost shoving them into your face.

“Wow, these are very beautiful, Dasom!”

“Look! He got you some too!” she giggles, and you look at her confusedly then at Namjoon. He sighs, looking pointedly at Dasom despite the cherry hue making its way across his cheeks. She giggles once again before running to her friends. “Dasom!” but it's futile.

If it weren’t for the consistent chatter, Namjoon’s sure there would be an agonizing silence to fill the space between you. You walk closer to him, looking down at your shoes bashfully. “Ah, these-” he takes the bouquet from his arm, “these are for you.”

You looked surprised to say the least. Eyes wide and glassy, your mouth falling ajar. “Wow, uh, really?” you ask, glancing up from the bouquet. He nods shyly.

Listen, he had only planned to buy Dasom her favourite flowers. But then he caught sight of these beautiful yellow roses, tips painted a light amber orange. Somehow they reminded him of you. And the way you had left him with his heart feeling lighter for the first time in years the other night. Maybe it was a way of saying thank you. He’ll admit, he didn’t think it all the way through, but the way you’re smiling at him right now makes him think it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

There’s a moment where it seems to just be you and him, despite the tons of parents and children running around. He’s only focused on you, and the way your eyes drop to his lips, if only for a millisecond. Namjoon wants to say it. God, he wants to say it so badly. “Listen I… I’ve been meaning to ask you,” his voice fades away as his eyes catch yours. Hopeful. Beautiful. Glimmering.

Just like hers.

“Do you, uh, need a ride home?”

And the bubble bursts.

You step away, looking at anything but him and he hates it. He despises it. He wants you to look at him like that again. He wants nothing more than to pull you back and kiss you senselessly, like his mind is screaming for him to do. But he can’t. He can’t do it for some fucking reason and he almost wants to cry in frustration because why can’t this just be easier? Why is it so hard to move on? You don’t deserve this. You deserve so much better than what he can offer you. And that thought keeps him still.

“Uh, sure.”

Quiet.

Say something, idiot! Tell her what you’ve been dying to say! Just fucking say it!

Namjoon hates himself for the next words that tumble out of his mouth.

“Let’s find Dasom.”

The drive to your house is just like it was before, except this time there’s no chatter to fill the emptiness. Dasom is sound asleep in the backseat. You've never seemed more distant than now, facing the window, body pressed against the door. You had almost begged to go in the back with Dasom, and Namjoon doesn’t know why he didn’t just let you.

How did it come to this? This wasn’t what he wanted. This night wasn’t supposed to go like this. Everything should have gone differently.

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever fix this. If things will go back to normal. If he completely ruined it. But he’s too afraid to ask. Too afraid to know.

Namjoon has never hated the quiet more.

The sight of your apartment complex fills him with dread. All he can think about is all he wants to say, all he should have said, all he wants to take back. God, Namjoon wishes he could take it back. If only there was a way to turn back the time. Why had he been so afraid to make a move? Why did it hurt so much? But he knows going back wouldn’t help. Not when he doesn’t know if he would have done it differently.

His car comes to a stop, and the doors unlock. He faintly catches the small thank you before the passenger door slams shut. Namjoon watches as you make your way up the pathway, feet moving briskly and it feels like he’s watching you walk away from him.

You’re shuffling through your bag, looking for your key. And fuck, is he really just going to this go?  Is he that stubborn that he can’t see past himself? He can’t. He can’t let you go. Not like this.

Well do something, dumbass!

The door of his car is thrown open, and before he can overthink it-

“____!”

You still. You turn.

Namjoon shuts the door. He walks up the steps and stops a few feet away from you, but he feels like he’s miles away. You look up at him, questioning. Your eyes aren’t the same ones. Not like you looked at him before. Yet they’re still warm. Inviting. Namjoon is tongue-tied, and all those words he wanted to say are gone now.

“Are we… good?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“I just…” he scratches the back of his neck. “That moment back at the recital. I… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” you say, simply. When he looks at you, he can’t tell what you’re feeling. You’ve blocked him off. “Namjoon, really. It’s fine.”

But is it really? He wants to ask. But he doesn’t. It’s quiet again, this time the sound of the wind rustling the browning leaves above filling the space. Still.

“I… god, I don’t know why this is so hard. Ever since, you know,” you don’t. “I… I didn’t think I'd ever get an opportunity to…” he inhales, unsure of what he wants to say first.

“I just feel like I ruined it so carelessly.”

You don’t say anything for a few moments. You only stare at him, really stare at him. Like you can see through his mirage, through the walls he’s spent so long building up. You’re taking it all, but there’s nothing he can take back from you.

“You didn’t.” you whisper it so quietly, Namjoon would have thought his mind had taken pity on him. But a smile slips onto your face. Unlike the other ones. It doesn’t fill him with joy. It doesn’t give him butterflies. This one hurts.

And he knows you’re telling the truth.

“This… It might take a while.”

The wind picks up. The leaves rustle. The cold, biting.

“That’s ok. I’ll wait as long as you need me to.”

Your lips are bittersweet on his tongue.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN TO KARLA !! ILYYYY <3

[heliosthegriffin]

Jaune “Mean Bastard” Arc AU.

The Arc family is a family stapled into history with their deeds of heroism, their immense physical strength, willingness to accept others into their clan at the drop of a hat, fighting against insurmountable odds for no apparent reason other than it being the right thing to do.

...That was only half the story however.

Ozpin thought to himself as he watched a tall, very lean blonde strut off the airship.

“Please, please don’t make scene today, Mr. Arc.” Ozpin said to himself, but the tone lacked hope, and most of all was riddled with fear. “Your not even a student here! You didn’t even send in transcript! How’d you even get onto the airship!”

But, deep down Ozpin knew, he always knew, he was an Arc, and Arc’s found a way, one that most people wouldn’t call ethical, sane or even reasonable.

Ozpin shivered, the Arc clan had been much too quiet in recent years. Was he the reason?

What terrible reason could this new Arc have to come to his school.

“Gods help us all, gods help every one of us.”

-

“So, much for a warm welcome to Beacon.” Ruby muttered to herself in her crater.

“Need a hand?” A warm voice asked her.

Ruby looked up into the two bluest eyes she’d ever seen, and blushed deeply.

“You ok? Looking a little hot under the collar.” The man before her asked with concern.

Ruby could hardly speak, he looked like a modern day fairly tail knight. WIth long blonde bangs, sapphire eyes, handsome face, dressed in all white, blue, and gold.

“I..I”..I”m fine!” Ruby squeaked out.

The blonde boy reached out to grab a flailing hand and pull her to her feet. Ruby wasn’t ready for that however and ended up face to abs with him.

‘So warm, so firm, I could stay here forever.’ Ruby thought to herself. Before going atomic on her blushing, and Rose Warping ten feet behind herself.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, just thought you could use a hand getting up.” The man said with remourse. “I’ll let you go about your buisness now.

“RUBY ROSE!”

“Hmm?” “MY NAME IS RUBY ROSE! THANK YOU VERY MUCH FOR HELPING ME!”

The blonde man reeled back from her sudden outburst of thanks.

A smile graced his face.

“Jaune Arc.”

-

“So I got this.”

*Unfurls Crescent Rose*

“Neat.”

“So, you got anything?”

“Hmm. not here.” “Oh, did you send it ahead?” “Nope just didn’t feel like bringing it from home. Didn’t think I need a weapon for this.”

“What! How are you going to fight any Grimm if you don’t have a weapon!? Even my sister needs Ember Celica before she goes punching Grimm out!” Ruby said doing so painfully bad shadow boxing.

“Oh, I didn’t come here to fight Grimm.” “What? Why are you here then, if you’re going to be a hunts-man in training you need to fight Grimm.” “Bold assumption, I’m not already a huntsman.” “Oh, yeah right, you look pretty strong and stuff...” “But, a correct one.” Ruby could only pout at being played like she had. Eye little eyes then spyed two blocky pouchs on his waist.

“What are those?”

“Oh those, one is my journal that take notes in, and the other, well, hehehe, I guess you could say it’s ledger.” “A ledger for what?” “Oh, for keeping track of debts and stuff.”

SIlence filled the space between the two.

“Are you a kneecapper?”

“Of sorts.” “I don’t think we can be friends.” “That is fair.”

“Do you work for the mob, or like, Torchwick.” “Nope, I work for me.”

“Freelance?” “All of my debts relates not to money, but personal experiences.”

“Oh, kinda like when you help some move, and they drive you across town?”

“Close enough, and looks like we’re at the auditorium, I’d say see you around, but since we can’t be friends, bye forever.”

“Wait, wait, I take it back!” But Jaune was gone into the crowd.

“Ahh, fiddle sticks.”

-

Ozpin looked calm and composed on the outside, but he was freaking the hell out on the inside. He lost track of the Arc, he fucking lost him! He could be anywhere doing anything!

He hasn’t even told Glynda, or anybody else, oh, gods this is going to be a blood bath.

He gave a inperceptible sigh, and decided to give his speech. “Hello, children-”

Warm breath behind him caused him to freeze.

‘When did he get behind me!?’

He could see the children murmuring at the unexpected guest.

“Hi, you must be Ozpin!” The warm voice said behind him. “I’m Jaune Arc lord patriarch of the Arc Clan, and you have been at the top of our shit list for five decades, you have a one day to prepare your last will and rights. Tah-Tah see you in twenty four hours.”

“What are you doing here young man! Get off the stage!” He heard Glynda yell at the Arc behind him.

He would stop her, but he needed to right his will again tonight.

Jaune Arc seemingly did nothing to react to Goodwitch but stare at her.

“Are you obstructing me?”

“Why yes I am, you are interrupting the initiation!”

“I see then.” Jaune brought out his note book.

“What are you doing!?” “Adding you to my shit-list ma’am, and if you don’t stop talking I’m going to just put you further up there.” Jaune said as if it was the most casual thing in the world.

“What I, I never, you, you miscreant!”

“Just keeping talking sugar tits, just keep going up my to-do list.” He shot a Glynda a smirk. “I changed my mind I want to break you into the Arc clan, we like ‘em feisty.”

She went Nuclear with rage and leveled her wand at him and fired a telekinetic wave at him.

“Oops,” Jaune said as the wave hit him, sending him out of the room and into the courtyard.

“That’ll teach him, the arrogant miscreant, should have been smarter to pick a fight here.” Glynda said proudly, “Someone get him off this campus and into a hospital.” “Ah, so kind. You do care, too bad you hit like a child.” Jaune said from behind Glynda picking her up in his arms like a princess “Well, fix that later.” Shooting her a wink in his arms.

‘So strong, and comfy.’ Glynda thought gobsmacked in his arms.

He then looked at Ozpin. “Remember old man, a day and no more.”

It was then that Jaune remembered a legion of students looking at him. “The fuck you all looking at, never seen a man take care of business before?”

The student shuffled around awkwardly.

“Yeah, I damn well thought so. Why are you all dressed so damn weird? Am I at a Anime con or a huntsman academy, Ozpin your standards suck.”

‘I like him more already.” Glynda thought. ‘Standards have been dropping for years.’

“Alright, I know whats happening next.” Jaune said proudly. “I am going to walk my happy ass out of here, and if anyone of you can so much as inconvience me, I will personally train or find someone to train you at the Arc compound.”

The student started looking very nervous, the man took down Glynda Goodwitch with no effort. What chance did they have?

Yang thought differently and launched a flying punch at him, Jaune bent his waist and launched a brutal kick straight into Yang's midsection and sending her through the ceiling.

Ruby came next like a rose petal reaper for his bent over next. Jaune grabbed it with his teeth and threw her aside like a puppy with just neck power.

Weiss not to miss a opportunity, speeds forward on glyphs to skewer him also while shoot a wave of ice at his feet, and a stream of fire at his face.

Casually he flexed his legs and shattered the ice, and kicked his leg out hard enough to send a shock-wave that knocked over idle students and killed Weiss flames.

Weiss however sped through the shock wave, and went to stab Jaune. The blade mere inches from his heart, Jaune leaned down to head butt Weiss while dodging the blade. Weiss went down like a sack of potatos.

Nora went down with hammer at Jaune, but he moved and let her fall on his knee, then grab her by the neck with his teeth throwing her through a wall. Jauen followed up with a kick behind him hitting Ren rag dolling him.

Pyrrha appeared last, an launched a series of precise shots and then strikes at Jaune, only for him to dodge each one, and knee her when she over extended by the millimeter.

WIth that the last of the challengers fell unconscious. All within twenty second, All with Goodwitch in his arms.

“Nice try, I’ll come collect the one’s who tried tomorrow, but first.” Jaune grabbed a handful of Goodwitch’s ass, causing her to gasp out. “I got break in the new Arc.”

“It’s Goodwitch..” She muttered weakly.

“Not anymore.” “...Ok.”

“Ozpin, anyone else that wants to try can do so tomorrow when I merc’ you ass.”

And with that the Arc left, taking Ozpins secretary with him.

-

That was the other side of the Arc clan, one of maruding madmen who recorded their grudges and never let them go, holding onto any slight for centuries, training their young to perfecting and taking fresh blood to increase their grudge spilling power.

Destroying Grimm Hordes because they killed a family pet.

Killing Tyrants for increasing taxes.

Cucking buisness men, because they heard they them demean their name.

The list goes on. But the fact is the Arc Clan is petty beyond reason, and always looking for more members... If you meet their interest that is.

AN: Added a drop of smut in there, don’t know how I feel about it. Hope it turned out ok. Then again it’s crack.

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (83) || atz

The blade seems to sing in the ghostly light of the half moon as you take one step, then another, down the length of the ship. The deck seems to have been vacated, silent and empty, but you’re screaming inside your mind for someone, anyone, to step out and see what you’re doing - to stop you from what you’re about to do.

No one does. All you hear is the sound of the sea, waves lapping against the shore, pulling your mind into a trance like quicksand, impossible to escape from. You take another step forward, and just like that, and you’re at the door to the captain’s cabin - the light from the lamps inside flickering across your face.

One step away from committing an unforgivable sin.

You raise your hand to the door, knocking three times, the other clutching the blade behind your back.

Please don’t respond, you beg, screaming through the haze of your mind. You feel like you’re merely watching your actions play out in front of you, completely unable to control your body in the least. Keep seeing me as a monster, be afraid of me. Don’t open the door!

The door swings open.

There he stands in the doorway, eyes tired, but a gentle smile on his face. You would rather it be twisted with wariness, with hate, with anything but that guileless expression. Your fingers tighten around the handle, the carved decorations carved into steel digging into your skin.

“Kill the human captain, and return to whence you came.”

When he sees you, he steps back, holding the door open a little wider so that you can come in. You curse yourself, desperately trying to resist the powerful magic of the reflection in the water, but your feet start to move forward of their own accord.

“Yeosang decided to bed down with Wooyoung in the hammocks tonight, to give me some time alone to think.” Hongjoong says, closing the door behind the two of you as you turn around to face him, effectively hiding the blade with your body. “I just... It’s good that you came. There’s much...” He hesitates, taking you in with his one good eye, unfathomable sorrow flickering in its depths. “There’s much that we need to talk about.”

You don’t say a word, lips clamped firmly shut. Your mind, however, screams with the effort to move your mouth, a warning, a cry, something!

“About what we were saying earlier, I’m sorry about it.” Hongjoong’s words are low, regretful as he leans against the table in the middle of the room. Too far for you to stab without alerting him, the dark voice in you whispers. A tiny fraction of relief spills across you. “Jongho doesn’t mean any ill will, he was just being cautionary, and-”

“He’s not wrong.” The words escape your mouth without your permission. “I almost killed someone. It’s right for you to be cautious of me.”

Hongjoong nods, looking relieved that you understand. It’s not me, you want to cry. Get away from me, as fast as you can! “So, what are you going to do about the Royal Navy?”

Hongjoong gives you a faint, little smile. “Well, it might be the last battle that the Treasure will see.” He says softly, and you have to strain your ears to catch his words. “There’s no other way but to fight, after all.”

Dread wells up inside of you. Is there truly no way to save the Treasure? In the end, it’s all because of you that the Treasure has gotten mixed up with the Royal Navy in the first place, so what if they could just...

You have no soul, so if the heart of the sea were to be robbed from you, you would cease to exist. All traces of your existence would be wiped from this earth like a blank slate. None of your so called family would be able to remember you, much less your existence nor sacrifice.

Your breath catches in your throat.

But... they won’t even remember you.

All the memories you’ve made with them, the first time you had gone drinking with them in the tavern, to learning how to use a sword with Jongho and Yunho, from the time Hongjoong had journeyed with you through the sea witch’s lair, to sitting on the pink beaches of Eleuthera with Mingi. Learning how to cook with Seonghwa and Yeosang saving you from a bullet. Embracing in the darkness of nightmares with San and sitting on the masts with Wooyoung to watch the sunrise.

They’re all going to be erased.

All gone.

This entire life would have been worth for nothing.

“But I have a plan.”

Your eyes widen at the news, and you look up to see your captain with a shadowed, pensive expression on his face. “Earlier today, while you were still unconscious, an envoy from the Royal Navy approached us. He said that the commander-” you catch the almost imperceptible grit of his teeth, “-would be willing to speak to us on a small island somewhere between where the two of us are now. A no man’s land, if you will. To, well, negotiate.”

That can’t be right, you think, confused. The Royal Navy clearly has the upper hand in this situation, so why would they be willing to negotiate?

“Of course I know it could be a trap.” Hongjoong’s sigh breaks your train of thought, and you look up to see him running a hand through his hair. “But it’s the best option that we have now. Wooyoung, Yeosang and I will be going tomorrow while the rest of the crew will be targeting the command ship, so I want you to stay with San - safe and out of sight.”

You want to argue. It’s got to be a trap, you can’t just go blindly walking into it like that! But you only nod, quiet and accepting, eyes downcast. The sides of Hongjoong’s mouth turns up in a sad smile.

“Good girl.” He exhales, breath a little shaky - he must be afraid, too. “We’ll come back to you, alright? Since you promised me that you’d stay alive, I need to do so too, am I right?”

If you were in control of your own body right now, you would have burst into tears at his words. The weight of the dagger is heavy in your had, yet you can’t let go of it, metal seared to your skin. Hongjoong rises to his feet, turning away from you to look over the map spread out over his table. “If it all goes according to plan tomorrow, we’ll be able to escape.”

His back is turned to you.

You frantically try to scream, to make him turn around, to warn him somehow, but your body refuses to listen to you. You rise from the bed, dagger clutched in hand, taking slow, measured steps towards him.

No!

“It’ll be a narrow chance, of course, but it’s still better than giving you up to the Royal Navy.” Hongjoong continues to speak, tracing the map with a finger. Your hand is trembling, as you desperately attempt to wrench your hand away from its intended path - you won’t let yourself hurt your captain, not now, not ever.

Don’t do it, you beg yourself. Please, don’t make me do this. I’d rather die than hurt him like this-

Despite your best efforts, however, your arm raises the blade high into the air, your eyes fixed firmly on the side of his neck, where warm lifeblood flows the strongest. Just one slash, quick and clean, and you’ll be free once again-

All of a sudden, there’s a wicked fast flash of silver, and the point of something cold presses to the tip of your throat.

You find yourself staring down a long silver blade, a single cold, green eye reflected in vicious steel. A bead of cold sweat trickles down the back of your neck as you look up to see the man in front of you.

Hongjoong looks terrifying.

Fear, nauseating and dizzying, gnaws at the pit of your belly as you freeze, too scared to move an inch. You’ve seen him give enemies this stare many times, but it’s never once been directed at you, and you’re so, so afraid.

“You’re not Chin Hae.” Hongjoong’s voice is cold, measured. His blade doesn’t waver in the least as he stares you down, fearless light in his eyes identical to the ones that burn when he faces down insurmountable waves and impossible odds. “What are you?”

Your body doesn’t react for a moment, before a high, cold laugh suddenly spills forth from your lips. “So, you know her far better than I thought you would. How did you tell?”

Hongjoong lets a snort escape him, not amused in the least. “From the very second you stepped into the room. The last thing Chin Hae saw before she fainted was her patient being shot. Knowing her, he would have been the first thing she asked after.”

Your heart clenches. He knows.

“Secondly, when I told you about my plan to take the commander of the Royal navy hostage, you didn’t argue.” Hongjoong continues, grip on his sword cutlass tightening. “The real Chin Hae would have protested, asked me to give her up to the Royal Navy instead, because she’s selfless like that. You’re not her.”

“So, you’re observant.” Your tongue flicks out to swipe at your lips, head tilting to the side, uncaring in the least of the blade at your throat. “That is truly a pain to deal with.”

“Get out of her body.” Hongjoong’s lips curl back into a snarl. “I don’t care who or what you are. Leave Chin Hae alone.”

Your voice leaves you in a mocking hum. “You mean, leave her to die in your arms, human captain?”

At the words that your mouth utters, Hongjoong stills, his eye going wide with shock. Your heart plummets into the pit of your stomach, horror spiking through you. Silence looms heavy and oppressive over the two of you.

He looks terrified.

“What?” He finally utters, voice cracking with what you know as fear. Another laugh escapes your mouth, mocking him, taunting him. “Oh dear... seems like the two of you weren’t quite as close as you wish you were, captain... she must not have told you.”

That’s not it! You scream into the dark recesses of your mind. I just... I just didn’t want you to worry, I just couldn’t bear to see you hurt. Hongjoong, please, don’t think that way...

You remember the last time he had clung to you, like you were the only anchor in the middle of his storm. The way he had broken down in your arms, had wept for you and the crew is still fresh in your mind.

While Hongjoong is distracted, your body takes the opportunity to strike. Lashing out with the blade, your hand curves down in a sweeping arc, aiming straight for the jugular at his neck. He barely manages to react in time, diving out of the way before the blade sinks into the wood of the table, splitting it clean down the middle in a show of strength you’ve only witnessed once in your life.

“Perhaps she thought of you as unreliable to trust.” Your voice coos, voice sickly sweet with false sympathy as you raise the blade again. Raising the blade once again, you swing at him faster than you’ve ever moved before.

Hongjoong curses, dodging to the side and the blade narrowly shaves off a few strands of hair from the back of his head. They go fluttering in the air, but before they can even reach the ground, you’re already lunging for him once again in a jab to the throat.

Your captain, unable to react in time, grabs the blade by the hand, stopping it right before it can pierce his neck. Hot, red blood, however, flows crimson down his palm and onto the ground, staining the blade of the knife. Horror lurches in your chest.

He’s hurt!

Ducking around you so swiftly that you can barely follow his movements with your eyes, Hongjoong pulls on you hard, arms wrapping around you and yanking you into his chest. “Stop fighting!”

Your body lashes out with inhumane strength, and Hongjoong is flung into one of the bookshelves lining the walls. Books fall all around him, scattered on the ground, and Hongjoong lets out a moan of pain that tugs at your heartstrings - you hurt him.

A sob almost leaves you. You hurt him. He was just trying to protect you, and you hurt him like that with your own hands.

“You’re remarkably curious, human captain. It’s rather entertaining to see what that bloodied boy on the beach has grown up into.” At your words, a low growl leaves Hongjoong’s lips, more animal than human. “In your hand there is a drawn sword, yet you have not used it. Are you truly afraid that you might hurt her?”

Your heart breaks as Hongjoong struggles to his feet, using his sword to prop himself up. One of his hands are pressed against his side, possibly a broken rib, you realise. And yet, he’s still wearing that indomitable expression on his face, unwilling to give up.

“You’re still standing? You humans are really so interesting.” Your voice is teasing, the dagger in your hand raised once again. “Human captain, since you’ve impressed me, let me tell you something. Did you know that killing you will save Chin Hae’s life?”

Hongjoong’s uncovered eye flies open in shock, and he blinks at you, unable to speak. “Wha-” Instantly, you’re terrified. he had said once before that he would rather willingly take on all the pain alone than see any of you suffer, so what if he... no, you don’t dare to so much as think about it, but...

“Only killing you will be able to save her, human.” Your mouth moves on its own, without your permission. “If you truly care about her, you’d die for her, wouldn’t you?”

Terror immediately floods through you, so acute that you feel like you’re falling apart, piece by piece. She’s lying, you want to say, even though you know she’s not. Anything to stop that sudden hopeful light in his eyes, the way his eyes fix on the knife in your hand as if that’s the only thing they see. “That’s all? Just my life?”

Just his life? Ache wells up in you, so fierce it hurts you from deep within. What does he mean, just his life? Does he really intend to die for you, just like that?

“You can tell I’m not lying, human.” Your voice sinks into a dark, enchanting purr, almost hypnotic. You take one step forward, another and another until you’re crouched in front of him, blade in hand. The expression on Hongjoong’s face could break your heart clean in two. His eyes search yours, a pained smile on painted on his lips.

I’m sorry.

Your hand raises the blade into the air.

“I’ll make it quick for you, favored one.”

A silver crescent cuts across the air.

The blade comes down.

[soudam-appreciation]

Carousel (3)

Kazuichi further zipped his jacket from its current chest level to his chin. He shivered, taking long strides to keep up with Gundham. They had entered the event with no trouble whatsoever, and Gundham had received a congratulatory look from the man at the ticket booth. Gundham didn't want to answer why, but Kazuichi thought it was likely because he had witnessed Gundham waiting.

"What attraction would you like to visit first?"

"Hm? Oh- well, I've never really been to something like this before... what stuff is there to do?"

Gundham paused and made a wide sweeping motion, gesturing to the rows and rows of flashing lights and temporary structures that surrounded them. Kazuichi turned in a wide circle, eyes catching on nearly every sign. He had been so focused on not bothering Gundham that he hadn't paid any attention to the actual attractions. Turning back to the way they had come, he looked down the row of nothing but food trucks and booths.

Kazuichi inhaled deeply, a sweet scent drawing his attention. He stopped his odd rotation, turning to face the stand that seemed to be the source. Said source seemed to be yet another brightly flashing booth, advertising lemonade, hot dogs, and... funnel cake? His mouth watered, and he wondered what real carnival funnel cake tasted like.

Gundham noticed Kazuichi's draw. Turning the same way he was facing, he too noticed the stand. Glancing back and forth between Kazuichi and his focus, he tucked a hand into his pocket.

"Would you like one?"

"Huh?" His attention snapped back to Gundham, startled out of his deliciously scented trance.

"Would you like one?" Gundham fished for his wallet.

"Oh, well, I mean, y-you don't have to-"

"Would you?"

Kazuichi didn't quite know why, but he said, "I- I mean, yeah..."

. . .

Gundham nearly marched to the stand window, stomach in knots. He had no idea what his goal was, or why he essentially forced his "date"- no, no no no- his "friend" to agree to eat garbage carnival food. He simply had the uncontrollable feeling that he should be purchasing something for the mortal he was visiting with.

He held his place in line behind a tall woman with dark hair, shaved short on both sides, and a shorter, rounder girl with cropped red hair. Ignoring their lovestruck chatter and discussion of what to order, he turned his focus to the menu posted on the side of the construction. He selected a "fresh-squeezed" lemonade and Pespi Cola™, both for his companion. For himself, he decided upon a mere water.

Then the odd couple before them had moved on, and it was Gundham's turn to order. Preparing to express in his usual way whilst also coming across clearly and concisely, he stepped up to the window. The hot, sticky, syrupy air rolled over him from within the edifice, and he resisted the urge to gag.

"Hey, what can I get for ya?" The woman inside was a plump one, eyes shining with the fake luster of customer service. Her cornrowed braids were pulled to the crown of her head, and her large hooped earrings jingled softly.

"Ah, yes, pardon, but may I request one Lemonade, one Pespi Cola™, one water, and one... funnel cake?" His voice trembled, and he cursed his unreliable social anxieties.

The woman, however, was completely undisturbed. Her hands tapped away at a small tablet before her as she entered Gundham's total order. "And what  kinda topping on the funnel cake?"

Blinking, he took a quick moment to recover from the unexpected question. "Pardon?"

"What kinda topping on the funnel cake?" Noting Gundham's sheer confusion, she clarified further. "We have chocolate, caramel, cherry, and apple."

He stuttered a bit, stumbling on his words. Where is Souda? It's his dessert! He turned quickly, almost running headfirst into the boy standing directly behind him. On second glance, it seemed Souda had followed him to the vendor and was now cowering behind him. "Ah, Souda. Chocolate, caramel, cherry, or apple?"

"Huh?" Souda simply stared at him, eyes round with the same confusion.

"Topping on the confectionary. Which of the four would please you, chocolate, caramel, cherry, or apple?"

The mortal's face lit with understanding before wonderment took hold. Gundham briefly wondered if the boy had ever consumed the fried monstrosity they called 'funnel cake'. "Oh, um, could I maybe get caramel?"

Sighing, he nodded. "That would be precisely the reason I asked you." Then, mumbling, "Why would I offer it if it was simply out of the question?" Returning focus to the woman in the booth, he raised his tone again. "Caramel, then."

"Ok, gotcha!" She tapped a few final times, then offered his total. He paid quickly, as the heavy cloud of sickening sweetness that enveloped the cart was gnawing at his stomach. Taking his printed receipt, and thanking the woman with one final high-pitched squeak, he stepped back to wait.

. . .

Kazuichi's (clearly irradiated) taste buds met the sweet sticky caramel, and the deep-fried dough melted in his mouth. He hadn't expected it to taste as good as it smelled, but by the Gods, it delivered. The caramel sauce was rich and thick, drizzling softly across the twisted mess of pastry beneath it. The cake itself was crisp and, well... cakey.

He had difficulty walking while he experienced this new delicacy, and Gundham looked mildly annoyed at the slowness of their pace before suggesting they make their way to one of the many picnic-type seating areas scattered around nearby the food trucks.

Kazuichi also had difficulty taking small bites of this delicious treat and easily devoured around half the dish before instinctively offering Gundham a large bite as well. He waited a moment, plastic fork outstretched, as he slowly noticed Gundham's expression. When he finally did notice his look of obvious confusion, shock, and embarrassment, he quickly lowered the utensil, face reddening almost instantly.

"Ah- uhm- uh... s- sorry... I kinda..." He set the fork back on his plate, reflexively reaching up to fidget with his braid. "I kinda forgot we d-don't... we don't hang out th-that much..."

Gundham coughed quietly into his scarf, which he had tugged up over his nose. "I-It's alright..."

Kazuichi felt heat flooding his head and chest, mortification pooling near his heart like lead, making it hard to breathe. He just did something that stupid, huh?

. . .

Gundham found himself staring intensely at a grime spot on the picnic table, scarf softly scuffing against his cheeks. His mind was spinning a million miles a second, although he wasn't entirely sure why. His heart raced, and when he tried to focus on the feelings and rationalize them, he found he couldn't gather the correct words for it. It was as if the thought of eating after a mere mortal, specifically that mortal, was what was causing his confusion and embarrassment.

He tried to avoid looking too intensely at Souda as he finished consuming the fried thing. As he finished the grease-saturated confection, Gundham rose and offered to take the disposable tray. This offer came in the form of him holding out his unbandaged hand, waving it around a bit to get the boy's attention, and mumbling something incoherent into his scarf. Obliging, Soda handed him the tray, turning his attention to the lemonade and taking several large gulps.

Heading toward the nearest trash receptacle, he walked quickly, utilizing his long legs to the best of his ability. He still wasn't sure to what stimulus his emotions were responding, but it hardly mattered. He tossed the soiled cardboard into the trash, taking several steps back from the stench before taking a deep breath. He inhaled from his stomach, pushing all dizzying thoughts from his mind. Or, trying to, anyway. He was still a bit too close to the trash, and the strength of the smell invaded his lungs with every inhalation. Coughing a bit to clear his airways, he turned around and began to wander slowly back to the table.

However, it seemed Souda had begun to follow after him. Not expecting him to be so close behind, Gundham stumbled back the slightest bit.

"Ah! Sorry, didn't mean to startle you!"

"I- Pardon, it's no trouble." Gundham dismissed the apology with a wave, briefly hoping his face had ceased its embarrassing fluster. Hoping to direct them elsewhere, away from the stink of sugary carnival food and garbage, he said, "Perhaps we could wander elsewhere, to other possible attractions?"

Nodding vigorously, his tangled curls and braid bouncing, Souda displayed unsurmountable excitement. Zest for life. "Yeah! I wanna see what other cool things there are!"

As the two made strides towards the rest of the hundreds of structures, Souda turned to face Gundham once again. "I uh, I just wanna say thanks. For the food and stuff. It was super good, and also really nice of you to get stuff for me." He stumbled, having tripped while walking backward, and promptly turned around again. This was, of course, lucky for Gundham, as he was once again drawing his scarf towards the moon.

. . .

Kazuichi bounced from booth to booth, staring wide-eyed at all the bright colors and stuffed prizes. He wasn't sure he'd be good at any of the games, but he desperately wanted to win a prize. Preferably a big one. He didn't want it for himself as much as he felt like he needed to repay some insurmountable debt to Gundham, who had given him the real Funnel Cake Experience™.

He looked high and low, ping-ponging between the duck grabs to the ring toss to the dartboards and all else in the area. Gundham walked slowly behind him, allowing adequate time to jump back and forth as they moved through the fair. However, despite his searching, Gundham seemed to find the perfect gift before he did.

. . .

Gundham stalled before a silly racing game, the kind powered by water guns. He looked up, attention captured by the biggest prize available. It was an overly cute, very round hamster holding a strawberry half its size. It was absolutely ridiculous. And Gundham loved it.

Of course, he would never admit to loving it. He was a dark character. He chanted rituals and spells in the dark of night! He controlled entire worlds, and would soon conquer this one as well!

So obviously, he would never tell anyone about the way its large round eyes melted his heart, or how the soft, full cheeks reminded him of... that boy. How its tiny paws holding that ridiculously sized strawberry sparked so much joy. Or about how much he wanted to squeeze it to his chest and feel the plush fur against his face. No, he would never tell a soul.

Souda, however, had seemingly noticed the foolish god standing completely still before the booth. He must have tracked his gaze, which was very much focused on the large, round, soft plush hamster.

. . .

Kazuichi smiled, poking Gundham in the shoulder. "Whaddya think of that one?" He pointed directly at the round rodent that Gundham was fixated on.

Spluttering, Gundham took a step back. "I-It's-" He steeled his gaze, glaring at Kaz ferociously. "It's ridiculous." He crossed his arms over his chest, trapping his scarf against it. He shrugged his shoulders, wriggling a little bit to loosen the fabric.

"Really?" Kazuichi turned back to the booth. It seemed like just the kind of guilty pleasure a so-called "dark overlord" would like. he spun on his heels to face Gundham again. "I think it's kinda cute. Reminds me of you," he added, intended to be a completely separate statement.

Realizing the implications of his words far too late, Kazuichi watched in a blend of terror and embarrassment as that simple statement registered slowly on Gundham's face. His eyes widened, and he turned his attention to studying the rouge gravel on the ground. Hot blush raced to his cheeks, spilling across his nose and forehead. His hand once again flew to his scarf, and he yanked the front up almost past his eyes. He coughed, tension flowing thickly between them.

After a few more panicked seconds, Kazuichi scrambled to correct himself and promptly tumbled over his tongue. "I- I mean- not the cute part- reminds me- I mean... the- like, uh, I dunno- shit- I mean, j-just... I didn't mean- cute- I meant... the hamster stuff- cause, you know... you have- y-y'know... hamsters..." He ran his fingers through his hair, tangling it further as he desperately tried to correct himself. Tugging his hand from the mess, and wincing at the pains, he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"W-well, if you insist..." Kazuichi glanced back at Gundham as he inhaled, seemingly steadying his voice. "If you desire a factual answer... I do... 'like' it..."

Kazuichi smiled wide, feeling around for his wallet. "Oh, ok! If you like it, then gimme like 5 minutes!"

"Wait-" Gundham seemed confused, but Kazuichi was already gone. He wove through small clusters of other fairgoers, sliding to a halt in front of the game booth. It was a racing game, one where the player must aim a stream of water at the center of a target, thusly causing the car to move forward. He fished out his wallet, handing the money necessary for one play to the attendant.

He lost the first round, complained about being out of practice, and paid again. On the second go, however, he pulled ahead easily and won with almost no difficulty. When prompted for the prize, he looked back at Gundham, grinned, and pointed at the Very Round Hamster.

. . .

Gundham watched in confusion and awe as Souda won a Very Good, Very Round Hamster while playing one of the strangest, most confusing carnival games he had ever seen. Souda's smile was broad as he skipped back over to Gundham, and he held out the plush.

"So? Pretty cool, right?" He was breathing hard from bouncing around so much, and he nudged the fluffy toy into Gundham's chest. Gundham took it in his hands, astonished by the size of it.

It was as big as his entire torso and made of annoyingly soft Minky synthetic. He wrapped his arms around it and squeezed it softly. He had to resist the urge to bury his face in the silky fabric as the stuffed fiend gave way to the perfect amount of plush.

Realizing he had let his guard down, he snapped to attention. The soft smile that had unknowingly appeared on his face was quickly wiped away, and he fought the need to drop the hamster and hide the rose dusting on his face.

"Are you... presenting me an offering?"

Souda's grin fell a tad in confusion. "An offering...? Oh, like a gift. Yeah, it's for you." He slid his hands back into his pockets.

"Oh..." Gundham couldn't hide his smile this time. He ducked behind the plush, hiding his face to the best of his ability.

. . .

Kazuichi couldn't keep the grin from his face as walked with Gundham. Where he almost had to run to keep up with him before, now it seemed the boy had slowed considerably. He was still burying his face in the toy Kazuichi had won for him, and he took that as a sign Gundham really liked it.

They continued walking, seeming to wander toward the space occupied by the rollercoaster and other rides. Kaz had been so distracted by the lights and signs he hadn't realized that was precisely where they were heading. He felt the bottom of his stomach drop to his toes as he thought about going on the rollercoaster.

It was easily one of the most intense rides the little fair had. Even as they were about 300 feet from it, he could hear the screams of its riders. It was a simple coaster, but it had lots of dips, bends, and, worst of all, cameras. The thought of going on such a ride made him nauseous to no end. He unconsciously gripped Gundham's sleeve, just as he began to lower the plush.

"Would you be... interested... in riding one of the other attractions here?"

Kazuichi's attention snapped to Gundham's face, and despite the sinking feeling that overwhelmed him, he asked, "Which one are you thinking about?"

"Well, there aren't too many interesting ones... perhaps the main 'coaster'?" His voice tinged with a strange disgust as he spoke the words, and Kaz got the sense he wasn't the biggest fan of them.

"No- nonono I think I'm good on that one actually. Really, I don't think that one is the best or most interesting one here so maybe... we could just skip that one!" He rushed to get the words out of his mouth, without focusing nearly enough on keeping the rising panic out of his tone.

. . .

Gundham trained his mismatched eyes on Souda's. His voice had shaken as he denied the ride, and Gundham understood that to mean he was truly terrified of it.

Nodding, he conceded that it surely wasn't the best here. He turned around and around, looking from sign to sign for a ride suitable for the two of them. His gaze landed on the carousel.

"Perhaps that one?" He gestured vaguely in the direction of the attraction, and Souda followed.

"The Merry-Go-Round??" His tone was one of confusion, and he read the words off of the sign as if they were entirely foreign to him.

"Yes, that one. It is fairly simple, all it does is turn."

Gundham watched as Souda's tension eased, the fear dripping slowly from his face. He smiled and said, "Yeah, ok! Sounds easy enough!" He laughed, still sounding a bit tense, but not nearly as fearful as before.

They stood in the annoyingly long line for nearly 15 minutes, and they both became restless. Souda had removed the hair tie from his magenta almost-curls and began to unbraid and re-braid his hair over and over, and Gundham had simply fidgeted with the trinkets at the end of his bandage clip, rolling the smooth bead over and over between his fingertips.

When it was finally their turn, Souda had replaced his hair band and buried his hands in his pockets instead. They stepped to the very front of the line as the woman operating the ride said, "There's only one pony left. Are you two riding together?"

Gundham stuttered slightly, glancing at Souda. He also seemed unsure, however, as their eyes caught and they both stumbled.

"Of course-"

"We can wait-"

The words tumbled out in unison, and Gundham choked up more as he corrected his claim to fit Souda's.

"Er, yes, we're riding together."

"Alright, to the left."

They entered the space, placing the Very Soft Hamster in one of the 'personal belongings' bins before following the edge of the attraction to the left as they had been instructed.

They soon came upon a vacant horse, presumably the only one, and stepped up to take their seat. It was a chestnut bay, sporting a  cream-and-rose saddle for two with leather reigns. The pole through it was twisted and worn of its sheen at around hand height, and it was one of the animals that was firmly affixed- it would not rise or fall.

"So this is it, huh?" Souda's voice cut through Gundham's silent assessment of their steed, and he snapped to attention.

"Yes, that is correct." He stepped closer, unsure as to who would be seated in the front, before Souda made the decision for him.

"Can you help me up onto this thing?" He had one hand on the worn pole and the other on the cast saddle. "I dunno how I'm s'posed to..."

"Here, put this foot here." Gesturing to the stirrup, Gundham held out his arm as a support. Souda gladly took it, and lifted himself into the seat. He scooted forward, looking expectantly back at Gundham.

Taking a deep breath, he followed, placing his right foot in the stirrup and swinging his other leg over effortlessly. He had already begun to settle before realizing how close he was to Souda, and that there was nothing to grip to steady himself when the ride would begin.

Glancing over his shoulder, Souda noticed his lack of a handhold. "Hey, aren'tcha worried you'll fall off?" He faced center again, muttering, "I'm worried as it is, an' I've even got these." He wriggled the reigns half heartedly.

Gundham hesitated, then held his breath as he wrapped his arms around Souda's waist. The instant their bodies came into contact, he felt Souda tense as much as he had, before reclining slightly into Gundham's chest.

. . .

Kazuichi was unused to physical touch, but anything was better than falling off a kid's ride at roughly 10 PM. He was made painfully aware of his shoulders pressing into his companion, Gundham's hands resting dangerously near to his thighs as Kazuichi felt his stomach knotting itself into a fishtail braid. He tightened his grip on the leather reigns. He didn't have much time to think about it though, as the ride began seconds later.

It began rotating, very slowly, and the music dulled to accommodate the ride attendant's voice delivering the usual spiel about holding on, keeping hands and feet in the ride, and staying seated. He stayed focused on the horse in front of him, which was white with a gold gilded saddle. Its rider was a younger girl with long dark hair, and he chose to focus on the large crimson bow that pulled her bangs from her face. However, as the ride picked up speed, he found that his eyes began to wander, only recognizing his mistake when he caught the slight blur of the world sliding past...

Oh no.

Facing front yet again, he felt the twisting discomfort rising in his abdomen, curling around his organs like a snake. It wrapped around his ribcage and arms, turning his muscles to gelatin and breaths shallow, before reaching for his skull. Spots started to dance in his vision, the swirling unease constricting his sight and mind. He felt like patterns were tracing themselves beneath his skin, and he unconsciously tightened his grip on the reigns. Leaning back into Gundham, he tried to focus, but the steady and violent sickness rolled his world from side to side, and he made no feeble move to correct it. 

. . .

Feeling Souda go nearly limp in his arms, Gundham felt concern rising in his chest. He held him tightly, reaching one arm for the pole so they wouldn't fall, and leaned in next to Souda's ear to ask if he was alright. Even more worrisome, though not surprising, he shook his head no. His eyes were closed, knuckles white against the reigns, face pale, his usual blush entirely gone. Gundham wondered if there was anything he could do to make him feel better, but knowing the most likely environmental stimulus, there didn't seem to be anything that would help.

Luckily for both of them, the ride began to slow, horses and children together coming to a complete stop. Souda's eyes fluttered open halfway, and he whispered, "Is it over?"

Nodding and assuring him that yes, the ride was over, he began to dismount. When both boots had touched the ground, he held out a hand to Souda, offering the most support he could. Souda thankfully obliged, almost tumbling to the ground in his effort to stand again.

. . .

Kaz stumbled blindly, gripping Gundham's sleeve as he tried to right himself. He felt Gundham place his hands upon his shoulders, and the added support made it a bit easier to stand. Straightening his back the best he could, he allowed his partner to lead him carefully to the exit (but not before they retrieved the stuffed hamster).

As they exited the ride's grounds via the gate, he quietly searched for another attraction for them to visit. However, most of the rides nearby seemed to either be fast or a real coaster. He'd rather not die tonight.

"Do you feel alright?"

Halting, he saw that Gundham had stopped a foot or so in front of him, concern apparent on his features despite him seemingly attempting to hide it.

"Huh? Me?"

"Of course you, who else would I be speaking to?" Annoyance flashed in his eyes, and Kazuichi shrunk slightly.

"You're right, sorry... Yeah, I'm ok. Just got a little motion sick is all." He found himself toying with the end of his braid again.

"I would hardly say 'a little,'" he said, punctuated his words with air quotes around Kaz's. "You looked to be near death."

Kazuichi felt his face heat up again, and he pushed his hands deep into his pockets and scuffed his shoes in the dirt. "I guess so... sorry about that."

Gundham sighed deeply, then turned back to the rest of the fair, as if to drop the matter. Kazuichi took a few steps to stand beside him, and he once again set to surveying for the next event.

"Perhaps that should be next?" He waved his bandaged hand in the direction of the tallest ride by far, the one Kaz had only seen in movies. He was pretty sure it was called a ferret wheel.

"Uh, yeah, sure. Ok." Swallowing hard, he tried to keep the fear out of his voice again, this time very deliberately. He really did want to go on another ride with Gundham, but he wasn't sure he could handle it. The height, not the riding with Gundham.

[mountphoenixrp]

We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:

                Tu’er Shen, the Rabbit God of LGBTQIA+ Relations,                            whose origins stem from Ancient China.                                      He is currently unemployed.

FC NAME/GROUP: Lee Hoseok/Wonho - Soloist GOD NAME: Tu'er Shen / Tu Shen (Leveret Spirit / Rabbit God). He is the patron deity and safeguarder of LGBTQIA+ relations. IC NAME: Hu Tianbao PANTHEON: Chinese OCCUPATION: undecided DEFINING FEATURES: upturned rabbit-like nose

PERSONALITY: Ironically, Tian has grown a lot since his untimely death. However, he is still very much the same lovestruck young man that he was before his rise to divinity. Go figure that losing your life would give you a passion for living, right? He tries to experience new things whenever he can and not set limits on himself. This extends into his relationships with others as well. He has a big heart and cares very much for the people around him, the amount of which is always increasing because he's outgoing. Surprisingly, in spite of being a God who is known to help others find love, he isn't actually known for being monogamous. Part of his reasoning had been that he wasn't settled anywhere in the past, but nothing has changed now that he has put roots down in Mount Phoenix. Tian believes that he has a lot of love to give and that there is no reason it should be restricted to one person.

HISTORY: Many stories over the course of history have romanticized the act of sacrificing oneself for true love. Hu Tianbao doesn't really consider himself any different. A young soldier from the time of the Qing Dynasty, Tian found himself in quite the predicament when he fell for a man serving as a government official.

While bonds between men weren't unheard of in the province of Fujian, they were often concealed as a brotherly sort of relationship. The elder man, known as the qixiong (adoptive older brother) would pay what was essentially a bride price to the parents of the younger man, who would become known as the qidi (adoptive younger brother). They would even host a ceremony just like a formal wedding, after which the qidi would move into the qixiong's home and serve as the equivalent of a wife. Eventually, both men would be expected to marry women and procreate, but some of their partnerships could last up to twenty years before they separated to fulfill their "husbandly duties."

It was risky thinking that perhaps the man he desired would engage in such a deceptive partnership. The official was from another province and it was unlikely that their practices were the same, but Tian couldn't help how smitten he was. They'd met in passing, but he might as well have been invisible to the official, just another lowly commoner. Even so, he'd find himself longingly watching the man as he went about his duties and found it harder to keep his growing affections to himself. Could such a beautiful feeling truly be immoral? Unbeknownst to Tian, the official had noticed him hanging around and had grown suspicious of his intentions. He'd assumed he was a spy or some other shady criminal, but his attention had been harmless enough that the official couldn't make an accusation. The day came that Tian could no longer keep his feelings to himself, though, and he ventured to the bathhouse he knew the official frequented, hoping to catch him alone so he could tell him. He'd very nearly backed out, but the official saw him before he could and immediately questioned why Tian would invade his privacy. In a fit of nervous emotion, Tian confessed his love, saying that he knew it was wrong and that he was unworthy of a man of his stature, but that he couldn't help his heart's desire.

The official would have probably been less disgusted if Tian had confessed to murder. In a fit of rage, he dragged Tian out of the bathhouse and had his guards beat him to death, leaving his body beneath a dead tree. Tian journeyed to the Underworld, where the Lord of the Afterlife recognized his love had been true and granted him the title of the Rabbit God, so that he may oversee and protect the affairs of people like himself. With his newfound purpose, Tian returned to the mortal realm and appeared in the dream of a villager, telling him to build a temple where those in need could seek his aid.

For nine years, Tian blessed many relationships who would otherwise be shunned by the powers that be. In 1765, however, a new official named Zhu Gui came to Fujian. On the surface, he seemed like a true servant of the people, but his ultimate goal was the expansion of Confusian principles. He would create and enforce the first law in China to ban homosexual relations and so began his crusade against what he deemed as the "Cult of Hu Tianbao." Zhu Gui accused the Rabbit God's followers of being lewd individuals who prayed in secret for assistance in corrupting the youth to share in their depraved desires. It didn't take much convincing for him to receive government support to destroy their places of worship.

Tu'er Shen's temples were razed to the ground. His idols were smashed to pieces and scattered into the river to never be recovered. Like the forgotten bits sinking into the dark depths, those who worshipped and found comfort in the controversial God were forced to do so in secret. They would erect small, unmarked shrines that only they knew the true purpose for and couldn't even tell the tale of the unfortunate Hu Tianbao without the fear of retribution. Yet the shunned God still listened to the pleas of those who felt misunderstood and oppressed simply for who they loved. He only wished that he could reach out to more of the community that had no other Gods to turn to who understood their plight.

For nearly two centuries, the government's persecution of his followers had left Tu'er Shen's already discrete temples abandoned. If anyone happened across it, there wasn't even any sign that it belonged to the Rabbit God, except for the coincidental presence of bunnies that could occasionally be caught scurrying away into the foliage. He would go years before he would hear the whispers of someone's prayers... So it was with great sorrow that Tu'er Shen left Fujian. The harsh reality was that he couldn't do much for people who didn't know he even existed. A forgotten God was powerless... Yet as the civil rights movement for the LGBTQIA+ community grew in fervor, he realized that he could do so much more as just a man.

Tianbao traveled the world, finding the little pockets of people willing to fight for the freedom to love who they wanted without the fear of suffering the same grim fate as so many others. It wasn't until the 20th century that the movement truly started gaining traction and was able to make legal leaps and bounds to decriminalize same-sex partnerships. Seeing the progress that humans made, without having to entreaty the aid of a higher power, really astounded Tianbao. He would have never thought in his wildest dreams that any of what he'd witnessed would ever be possible. A once silent community had found its own voice and fought against all odds to make sure they were heard.

While Western nations were making more progress, though, Tian wasn't ignorant to the seemingly insurmountable oppression that was still going on in his homeland. In 2006, he found himself called back when a priest in Taiwan built the first temple dedicated to The Leveret Spirit in nearly two centuries. Even though he had been fighting for civil rights alongside mortals for many years, there had always been a sense that something was missing. Hearing the prayers of those who felt alone and reminding them that they were not fulfilled a purpose he had all but forgotten. During his years spent in Taiwan, Tian had crossed paths with a few Gods and Goddesses from an island out in the sea that mere mortals couldn't find. It wasn't until 2019, when same-sex marriages were legalized in Taiwan, that Tian decided to go check out this island for himself and he has remained there ever since.

POWERS: in his myth, Tu'er Shen can enter dreams and interact with the dreamer. But when going to his temple, people pray to him to find love and for blessings/good fortune in same-sex relationships. Usually at the temple, they ask for talismans or blessings on things like skin care products to hopefully attract a partner. So I was thinking his powers would be the ability to walk in dreams and influence the dreamer, momentarily increasing the luck or allure of someone carrying a blessed item, and minor wish granting.

STRENGTHS: confident, assertive, observant, instinctive, friendly WEAKNESSES: single minded, overly emotional, blames himself for things he can't control, overly protective of his children, cannot swim

[occultdreamland]

Find the Right Card -- 1

He stands at the entrance of your small abode, presence all consuming and demanding of your attention. By the colorful robes draped over his shoulders, to the many rings that adorn his fingers; you need not have an idea of who he is to know him.

“Come. Sit down.” Your voice breaks the steady silence, the whisper of calm breeze the only other that accompanies you. His eyes are only on you as he sits, graceful as one of those show horses you see from time to time. “What brings you here, My Prince? To such a place outside of your own, I’ll specify.”

“Your name is on the tongues of many under my employment. I wonder what a witch has collected so much of my mens’ spare time,” He says, his eyes cold and never leaving yours. It brings a chill to your spine.

You give him a pointed stare; “A witch I am not. Scryer is a better, healthier term for me.”

There is a pregnant silence.

He tilts his head to the side, jutting his jaw out in a way that you can discern as unjustified arrogance, “Tell me, what is it that those soldiers do to speak of you so highly.”

“They tell me their name before they dare enter my dwelling, as a start,” you quip, letting your gaze break from his as you gather your collection of markless tarot decks, displaying them in front of him, eyes now expectant on his pale face. “Be my guest, however, and pick the one that draws you in. Don’t dwell too long, they like to tell their own story. A story that may not be what is the truth.”

“I believe I came here for an answer, not a story, wench.”

“Is a story just as viable as an answer, My Prince?” You bite your tongue at the name he bestowed upon you, but it is not unusual for men to say such things.

Finally, his eyes break from you, and the relief you feel is insurmountable. He is quick to pick a deck, two fingers laid lightly on top of it as he pushes it toward you. You hum, a lick of a smile reaching your lips. While not your best deck, it certainly suits him. Cleaning away the other decks, you open the one he presented to you, scattering them around the table in a circle, making a mess of the card order and bringing them back into a clean stack.

“What type of spread will you be requesting, My Prince?”

“I asked for information, and I shall receive information. Will I have to tell you any differently to get what I want?” He says.

You raise your head in acknowledgement. You begin to release the cards into the spread you have chosen, all ten cards set into their positions, with the second card being placed on top of the first and the other eight others being placed where they belong.

The Princes’ eyes sit on the spread, dissecting the back of every card as if he already knows what they are.

Your fingers rest on the card beneath another, and you carefully reveal what it is. It’s the Knight of Coins; reversed. “This is the present card. Tell me, what does this card tell you?”

He scowls and rolls his eyes. “It tells me that I’ll be riding a horse. Staring into the horizon with my sword drawn.”

“That’s what you see. I want to know what this card tells you.”

“How will I know what the card tells me when I do not know what it means?”

You cock your head to the side with an expectant huff. “This spread tells of your past, present, future, with your past and present challenges, and the outcome. This one tells of your present, and the card speaks of wasted energy and money. What does that tell you?”

“It tells me that you’re a waste of my time.”

You laugh, something that surprises you. “If I am a waste of your time, you can always leave, my Prince.”

But he doesn’t budge. And he stares at you. Again.

“I will let you think for a moment. It’s always good to reminisce on this card.”

Another beat, and he still looks at you like a caged and hungry dog stares at a slab of meat. You continue, lifting the card that had sat on top. “The challenge, the Magician reversed. My Prince, to be up front, what have you to lose? A loved one, your position in the court, maybe the power over the men you command in these dire times?”

This card speaks to you, this time, telling you that you have many, many things to lose shall you upset this man. However, you also know that he hears the same thing, the way the energies between him and the card bend and wave before your eyes.

Finished with his speedy introspection, he looks up at you, his eyes demanding a continuance of this process. You lift the third card, it sits to the left on the two card pile, and it tells you of the past. The Empress, and you tell him as much. “Nature is our mother, she is a mother to me just as she is to you. It seems you have been a disobedient prince, and she will correct your actions like a mother would to her own child.” It was a risky jab at him, but said in light humor. It doesn’t seem to bother him; his skin as steel as his own blade.

Next is the future. The upright hierophant. “Ah, something that should please you greatly, my Prince. You will be a great scholar, and if not that a man of great intellect.”

“I am already a master of the blade, what else do I have to accomplish in my life?” He says, baring his teeth as if the card insulted him.

“But are you a master of politics? Of the on-goings in the court and the well-being of the people you will rule over? Or of the briars that line your great castle gardens? There are many things outside of war, my prince.”

You turn over the next card, goals and aspiration, a reversed ace of wands. It tells you what you already know. “You are resisting change, resisting the thing that brings you to the best outcome.”

He bites down on what you assume is a fiery retort, and you let it slide. He is beginning to taste bitter; a sign that he is up to no good in your home.

“Have you any say, my Prince?”

“None that concerns you, lowlife.”

Yet you continue, your drive of knowledge on this man a once in a lifetime deal. This card is the foundation of him, what makes him who he is and what drives him to his goal. Nine of Cups, upright. You pull a face(How immature of you! You were trained better than this!) and it upsets the Prince. 

“I now know why my men are so enamored with you, now,” he barks, standing from his seat so fast that it knocks it over right onto a case of valuable oddities, making you stand as if you are fast enough to catch a falling section of the wall, your heart dropping to the pit of your stomach, “Your sorcery will be punished, witch! And do not think that my words are as empty as those cards. We will make sure that your presence will leave this town like you never existed--you and your collection of harlots!”

Your eyes widen, and for the first time in years, you feel what it is like to know an abyss of fear.

~~~

Those armored men, the men under the name of Prince Maksimillian, destroyed your home, tore apart every tapestry and crystal and orb in your possession, burned your books and every tarot they grabbed their hands on. You remember screaming at them, restrained in the bruising metal grips as they tried to secure you into the carriage filled with all of the other scryers and readers in your village, weeping at the destruction of their home and from being torn from their families. 

It took two men to restrain you, and a third to knock you out after threatening to curse them and their children after you saw a bag of your cards being thrown into the growing pit of flames.

You sit in the corner of a crowded cell, shackled,  curled with your knees to your chest with an elderly woman pressed against you. You had given her an odd stare before, but her old eyes only blindly mistook you as her young grandchild. Even then, the cell was pressed for space, maybe twelve people shoved in here. Most of them women, you count three heads of men, two of whom mere children.

You all sit there for maybe two days, there is no light here, but the guards rotate shifts at about an hour and a half each… the math kind of ends there, though. You’re a seer! Not a mathematician! It all confuses you to the point you start to doubt the time from the start til they begin to take out women and it becomes more spacious in the cell. 

By the end of one of the guards shifts, where there are only five others beside you in that cell, a man in silver armour seemingly grabs you from the room, holding you by your chains, pulling you along the dim corridors. He takes too many turns, definitely a mistake in the construction of the building, and it wouldn’t surprise you that this level of the jail was meant for that. You aren’t surprised execution is about to come to you, but the screams of men and women that puncture your ears startle you to near tears.

But you are drawn away from those horrible noises, at some point, and then taken up many, many flights of stairs, taking you higher and higher until you stand in a gold gilded room, the High King’s Throne empty while Prince Maksimillian obtains the smaller throne right of his fathers. He lounges on it, a leg propped up on the knee of the other with a hand lazily holding a goblet. He looks pleased to see you.

“You finally brought the right one,” he says, and it’s the first time you hear a humorous tilt in his voice. It’s not directed to you, of course, but to your guide, your escort. The prince raises an eyebrow, a face he must make often because the knight releases you and leaves.

The doors slam shut, and you are left alone in this vast room with the prince.

You are unsure of what to do, for the first time in a while. 

Prince Maksimillian takes a long sip from his drink. “Do you know why you are here?” 

“N-No, my Prince-” 

“I do.” He is blunt, but relaxed, languid. “And I don’t want to tell you.”

“My Prince-”

A smile graces his lips, and you wonder if you said something wrong, “I don’t like such formalities. Maksimillian will be fine. Maks even better.”

“M-Maksimilian, my Prince- why am I here?” You ask, a tremor in your voice.

“You intrigue me, scryer.”

He doesn’t even know your name!

“And you are of a breed I have never been introduced to. One with the spirits, with the unseen. You are a seerer, and an elegant one at that. It’s something that this court needs to show them the things that they have never seen before.” He accentuates himself with the waving of his cup, “And not only that, but my father - oh, my father - needs help that only you can provide. Well, not just you, but you were chosen out of all of those old hoots and hags. Hand picked- by me! An honor most of our knighted will never see out of me.”

There is a silence that sits between the two of you. You are speechless, and you wish you had your personal tarot with you to separate and divide these emotions to make sense of what’s going on. But all of that was burned, gone in ash. It will take you years to accumulate what you had before, the connection with your crystals melted and the love you and your decks shared now gone, soot a black snow in your river side village.

“But…” you whisper, looking down on the floor, unable to hold his interested gaze. It’s the first time he seems to take an interest in your words, “You destroyed my decks, the thing that made me the thing you saw. I can’t just… take a new deck and expect to be the same. They had personalities! That’s why that deck had called out to you, because it knew what you are, and could tell us the closest truth of you and your objective. I can’t get the same result without getting back what I lost...”

Maksimillian huffs, “I am the first born son of the High King of Rosodour, the face of the wealthiest Kingdom of the land. I can assure you that there will only be the highest quality materials bought for your shows.”

You stutter, eyes widening in disbelief. “My abilities are not a show!”

“Your presentation is, however,” Maksimillian continues, now leaning forward, his elbows propped against his knees as he places the goblet next to his feet, “I can give you back what you lost in the round-up, but all I ask is that you soothe the hearts of the people in my court even if it risks doing more harm than good in the long run.”

“I can’t accept this!”

“I was not asking you.”

“Prince Maksimillian, this isn’t right!” You plead, almost dropping to your knees, “Even if I do as you say, regain the trust of all of those cards, I won’t be able to live as a fraud! Like one of those harlots in the brothels!”

He sighs and buries his face in his hands, “Accommodations have been made for you. I can show you to your room, or I can have one of the maids or servants take care of you. I will send for someone to take note of what you need for your craft.”

[solohux]

So after staying away from A/B/O for a long time (idk why i just figured it wasn't for me) someone got me into it and tbh I kinda need more now? 😅 So anyways, do you happen to have some good omegaverse kylux recommendations? Thank you in advance!

Of course! Luckily, the Kylux fandom is truly blessed with some amazing ABO writers so I’ve put this list under a Read More because it’s a bit long! ❤️

Enjoy! （　´∀｀）☆

◾ Unexpected Avenues by @sinceyouaskedmeforataleof​ (WIP)

No one wanted to take this particularly grisly task, but Dopheld is glad it fell to him when he realises that all is not as it seems. Can he make a new life on the run with his ex, now that everything he thought he knew has been turned upside down?

◾ Safety In His Arms by @redcole​

Kylo knows it's time to bond with Hux, he just wants to make sure that his intentions are clear. After all, it isn't often that an omega courts an alpha.

◾ Heat Sink by @sparrows-trashcan​

Kylo Ren is an omega but so is General Hux. While Hux doesn't mind everyone knowing that his preference is limited to male omegas Kylo Ren is shamed to feel the same. Everything changes after the Starkiller incident: Kylo Ren is in heat and there is only one person on the Finalizer who could possibly help him...

◾ Lighting The Fuse by hey_honey

"What is going on?" Phasma asked when Hux returned from his meeting with Leia looking pale. He stared at her."The Queen's son agreed to marry a First Order official on one condition," he said."And?" Phasma encouraged."That official has to be me," he said.

Alternatively, in which a political alliance is made between mere Lieutenant Hux and Ben Organa, soon to be queen of Naboo. Leia is about to get more grey hairs. And Snoke is an asshole.

◾ High Risk, High Reward by Alexandra_Savile (WIP)

My take on the entirely unoriginal premise of demanding and possessive Alpha!Hux attempts to court a confused and skeptical Omega!Kylo.Feelings are caught, supreme leaders killed, and heats satiated. Story begins a little before TFA.

◾ What We Did For Love by Lady_Faulkner

They were both born wrong but that’s what made them perfect for each other. Hux is a slim Alpha and Kylo is a bulky Omega. Neither thought they would ever find a mate, but after the destruction of Starkiller, Kylo goes into heat and Hux finds he can’t resist him.

◾ Falling Stars by @huxative​ WIP

Armitage Hux is the omega son and ever present shame of Lord Brendol, overseer of the Arkanis region. That was, until King Snoke arranged a marriage between his adopted son and Armitage.

◾ Hadopelagic by DustOnBothSides After a life of staying pharmaceutically heat-free, Hux has to allow his body to go through at least one natural cycle, lest there be consequences. He takes a shore leave and travels to a former omegan retreat, abandoned and all but forgotten after the fall of Old Republic. Ren, not knowing of Hux’s predicament, decides to follow, suspecting treason. He finds something else instead.

◾ Bodies, Can’t You See? by sual When Hux sees the positive result on the pregnancy test scanner, he comes to several alarming realizations all at once. One: that his birth control has been tampered with. Two: that the baby is Kylo’s. Three: that this is his true punishment for Starkiller’s failure. And quietly, in a weak, tiny voice in the back of his mind, the unsettling conclusion that he wants to keep it. He’ll die before he lets anyone near his child. He’ll tear apart anyone that tries to get in his way. Even Kylo.

◾ The Emperor’s New Consort by @redcoleThe First Order is in control of the Galaxy, in a last ditch effort to save those who are left, they request negotiations. Only to find that for the Resistance to survive they only need to give up one thing small thing -  the angry Senator Ben Organa.

◾ Babe, I’m Here Again by @sinceyouaskedmeforataleof It’s 2008 and graduate student Armitage Hux has no idea why hes still hanging out with that nerd of a second year Ben Solo. Surely he had better things to do that sit around planning Dungeons & Dragons adventures with this not-at-all-attractive Alpha who he definitely doesn’t think about constantly.

◾ Flame by bastila_s

On their way to an important meeting with Snoke, Hux and Kylo become trapped when the elevator breaks down. To make it worse, Kylo goes into heat.

◾ Shades Undimmed by @longstoryshortikilledhim  Hux is a bounty hunter who teams up with renegade Jedi Kylo Ren for a hunt. They’re determined not to let their biological needs intervene with the integrity of their mission. They fail.

◾ Fields of Gold by @ mssdare Ren and Hux crash on a planet full of strange flowers. Soon, Hux starts feeling the effects of the pollen.

◾ Unexpected by @gonna-pop (WIP)After twenty years together, Ben and Armitage have gotten comfortable. There are no surprises left in their marriage, and nothing new to learn about each other. That is, until Armitage unexpectedly goes into heat while they’re vacationing on a resort world — and a few days of renewed passion changes the course of their lives.

◾ no hope, no quarter by @thethespacecoyote  Stolen away to a temple on Moraband, Kylo Ren finds himself at the mercy of an obsessive, sinister captor. Only one person can hope to save him, and would even dare put their life on the line against such insurmountable odds—Armitage Hux, his general and lifelong mate.

◾ To Build A Home by @reluctantly-awesome  Ren is truly a hopeless alpha and Hux helps him reluctantly and not because he wants a home himself, not at all.

◾ In Your Debt by @pangolinpirate  Things work a little different in the Order then they do in the Resistance

◾ need you baby (more, more, more) by @thesunandoceanblue “Ren?” “Yes?” Hux traced his finger down Ren’s jawline. “You’d do anything for me, right?”

◾ Alpha You Are Knot by @darktenshi17 Alpha Kylo Ren has finally found his perfect mate, now they can begin a family together. There’s only one problem; that’s not how human reproduction works at all.

◾ Amnesia by @bubbaknowlton  Hux wakes up on an unknown ship, seven months pregnant with a baby crying in a crib. The last thing he remembers is leaving Kylo Ren at Snoke’s citadel. Not knowing what alpha has bred him, nor the fate of the First Order, he takes the baby, some supplies, and runs.

◾ Checkmate by @thez1337  Alpha Kylo Ren strikes down Omega General Hux’s alpha. Then he takes his place. With omega Hux’s pup in tow, will Kylo keep them or make new rules for the den?

◾ Stress Relief by orphan_account Kylo helps his omega settle after a nightmare.        

◾ I’ll Even Call You General by @asexualavenger  Without a mate, Kylo turns destructive during his heat. Snoke tasks Hux with finding him a partner.

◾ Not a Mistake by @redcole  Hux was just looking for a good time when he met the strange man named Ben, but he ended up finding a lot more.

◾ It Feels Right by @deluxekyluxtrashcan After the destruction of Starkiller Base Kylo finds out that Hux is an omega, and tries to help him by finding suppressants to replace the ones Hux lost. It turns out that there are three others omegas on board the Finalizer, and, much to a somewhat jealous Hux’s displeasure, Kylo ends up getting better acquainted with one of them - Petty Officer Thanisson - just a day before Hux goes into heat.

◾ If You Can’t Be with the One You Hate by @tethysian  At Snoke’s request Hux has always helped Kylo through his heats, albeit reluctantly. Then Kylo happens to go into heat while a prisoner aboard a resistance ship. Poe is the lucky(?) alpha chosen to take care of him, and Kylo discovers he might prefer an enthusiastic partner. Hux discovers something else about himself.

◾ time whets the fang by @thethespacecoyote  As an alpha, Supreme Leader Snoke believes he has free reign to do whatever he wishes with the omegas beneath him, including his apprentice and top general. He may wind up regretting his arrogance.

[kashimos-hajime]

viper | s.r.

summary: you would laugh at the irony — bucky is the one telling you the love of your life is gone — if you didn’t feel like this.

WARNINGS: angst, swearing, they kiss n stuff so ig its cute sometimes, civil war discourse, guns, unstable reader, also TREAT YOUR SIGNIFICANT OTHERS RIGHT or ill come beat you with a BAT lmk if i missed anything pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!enhanced!Reader word count: 12.5k

a/n: written for hann over @sunmoonandbucky​!! and i’m so sorry this is late! this is a stand-alone kinda prequel that occurs in the same universe as come undone so sorry yall steve is still an asshole and this ain’t up to snuff but i was having trouble keeping it a reasonable length (like maybe less than 15k???) my prompt was “i bet they have a sex dungeon” but i reworded it just a tiny bit. gif not mine

It begins with “Maybe I can get Thor to come down,” and “Only if you call your blondie first.” (You add you could pretend to put a gun on Jane and he’d instantly come down in a blaze of white and rainbow light — Jane retorts with the fact that Steve Rogers bought a bouquet of roses on your first date a week after you began being her shadow and writes you hand-written letters every second week. The instant you call, he’ll come running)

It begins with a friendly competition between Thor and Steve, who are not even present, but love the women there just as much (Thor would say he loves Jane more than Steve loves you because everything’s a competition on Asgard — Steve would say he loves you in some poem he wrote on the flight over with pink cheeks and a shy smile)

It begins with jokes and smiles, “I bet there’s a sex dungeon,” and laughter. (Jane comments that the abandoned warehouse is full of cobwebs and the readings are off the charts — you tell Darcy under your breath that that’s something you hear everyday and it’ll take more than that to interest you)

It ends just the opposite.

It ends with Jane Foster pulling your smoking body from the ashes of an abandoned warehouse. (Her hands nearly burn as they grab at bits of melting leather — your veins glow beneath your paling skin in bright, unearthly red)

It ends with a call to S.H.I.E.L.D. and Steve Rogers being pulled out of Washington, D.C. (Darcy makes the call because Jane doesn’t want them involved — they’ll end up doing what’s best for them rather than the best for you)

You end.

And something else begins.

.

It’s 2010.

You’re assigned to shadow Tony Stark alongside the Black Widow. You’re fresh-faced and chirpy, someone who whistles when they make coffee in the morning, the type of girl who’ll dance like no one’s watching and belt out the lyrics to her favourite song. Someone who believes that the insurmountable can be an anthill if you only look at it with a new point of view.

You wear combat boots and three thigh holsters and knives to work, but you love wearing makeup and sundresses and taking walks on the beach at sunset.

Essentially, if the Black Widow is the night, you are the day. 

Essentially, if you ask Natalia Romanova her opinion of you, then you’d get that you’re annoying as fuck, but if she catches anyone looking at you the wrong way, there’s no doubt they won’t live to see another day. That is, if she gets to them before you do.

Because before the sunshine girl Natalia affectionately calls a pain in her ass, you are the Viper. 

And vipers never strike twice.

.

It’s 2002.

Budapest is cold at this time of the year, but you’re only here because you owe Yelena a favour and if you don’t pay it back, she is going to kill you.

Whether that is a figure of speech or not, TBD.

Anyway, you figure you’re going to die anyway when your tires are shot out as you speed across the Liberty Bridge. It’s your last night in Budapest after killing whoever you’re meant to kill, and although it’s spring, it’s still fucking cold.

So, there you are, appropriately panicking internally because you do not want to plunge into ice cold water. You’re already shifting gears as you try to gain control of your car and you hear cars beep at you, but it’s two in the morning and you’re exhausted and you think maybe you can pull it off. Then another tire blows.

You fail miserably.

Swerving off the road, you let out a short yell before you’re sinking into the Danube, and the night air weaves underneath your tac suit before the freezing cold of December currents slams into you. You cut yourself free with the knife strapped beneath your dashboard as another wave of river water laps at your waist. Sucking in a huge breath, you fight back the freezing cold and reach up to your sunglasses department.

“Yelena, I’m going to kill you,” you mutter between your shivering as you grab the automatic center punch and press it against the glass. The glass shatters near instantly and you take a deep breath, climbing out through the window as your car sinks deeper into the river. The water nips at your cheeks and you fight off the urge to gasp at how bracing it is. Pushing yourself to the surface, you suck in a gaping breath and glance for the closest shore before swimming as hard as you can. An odd sensation of something burning you from the inside out fills your arms and legs as you paddle to shore, and you drag yourself onto dry land, wet dripping, squeezing out with every press of your body against the ground.

“Fuck.” Wiping off the water from your cheek, you roll onto your back and suck in a cold breath that is somehow warmer than you are. Closing your eyes, you let the breath shudder in your lungs as you try to pull yourself together. A list of names runs through your head as you push yourself up on aching limbs. You cross off a name one by one of those who’d want to kill you and instead rub your arms, trying to get some warmth back into you. You’re quite sure a mighty bruise is gonna bloom along your arms and ribs in a few days as an arrow lands at your feet.

“Stop.”

A voice, American, male, makes you turn around and you know immediately it is the one who shot out your tires.

“What do you want?” You look up to see him, a blur of dark violet and black as he propels himself down and lands a distance away. His bow folds back into a compact black rod that fits on his back, and he lets go of the rope as another figure appears at the top of the bridge. A flame of red hair and a black suit that looks a lot like yours drops to the ground and you gasp, lips barely parting and this time, it’s not from the cold.

“My name is Clint Barton, I’m with S.H.I.E.L.D.” The man smiles. Your eyes drag warily back to him, a hand on the pistol strapped to your back, along the line of your waist. The woman with red hair steps off the rope, shaking her head when the water laps at her feet. Pebbles crack beneath her feet and your breath rattles as your eyes dart back to her. “You’re who they call the Viper, right?”

“Yes,” you murmur, hand still on the gun. 

“Well, me and my partner here were tasked to kill you, but we’re thinking of making a different call.”

“We’ve been tracking you for a while now.” Her voice. The smirk you can barely see and the way she tosses the hair out of her face. Even the way she walks is the same

“Natalia?” Your voice bursts from your throat and you feel breathless at the sound of her name. The woman with red hair looks up jerkingly and your eyes widen as you soak in her face. She hasn’t aged a day, and you almost want to cry. “Tali, it’s me.” Her body goes limp, her arms swinging by her sides as you let go of the gun at your waist. Taking a tentative step forward, you press your lips together in a desperate attempt to smile. “Nat? Natalia?”

“No…”

“It’s me.” Your eyes burn now and you take another few steps, your knees weak and shaking. “I thought you were dead. They… they told me you were dead.”

“Well, clearly I’m not.”

“Fucking funny, Talia,” you spit, unable to help the tears clogging your throat as Natalia Romanova takes a step towards you. “It’s… it’s fucking… it’s really fucking funny.” You let out a sharp, chilling breath just as she opens her arms, and you glare at her, half-hoping she melts into a puddle at your feet.

“Come here,” she whispers and then you are flinging yourself into the Black Widow’s arms. Melting in her warm, dry embrace, you bury your face in her neck. You wrap your arms as tight as you can around her and squeeze, eyes closing shut. “Oh, god, Vipe,” she breathes out, and then she murmurs a Russian prayer of thanks you haven’t heard since you were five. Joining her, you can feel the smile beginning to pull at your lips at the familiarity of a sister’s hug.

“I feel like I’m missing something here,” Clint says, “but it’s a moment, so I guess I’ll let it slide.”

.

It’s 2012.

And there is a god on the loose.

“Can I just say that I hate this? For the record, that is,” you chime in helpfully, and Tony rolls his eyes at you through the screen as he fixes his mask and you sigh, stuffing another one of Peter’s pair of pajama bottoms into a duffel bag you’ve brought with you. “I don’t think we need to move Peter out of New York when Loki’s going for Stark Tower.”

“Just make sure Parker’s good. I don’t like the thought of us losing as much as the next person, but if we do lose, you know it’d be good if I didn’t get another Parker killed.” Tony’s voice echoes and you press your lips together in half a smile, wry and tired. 

“What happened at StarkExpo two years ago wasn’t your fault,” you say, but he merely shakes his head as you rifle through the closet for day clothes. The moment Peter is back from school, you’re taking both Peter and May to Tony’s place in Malibu for the weekend. “Ben Parker did what he thought was best.”

“Hammer drones killed him and they were going for anyone with the mask, Vipe.” Tony sounds exhausted, and you pause, glancing over your shoulder at your phone propped up on a stack of Peter’s textbooks. Sighing, you momentarily abandon your task of packing Peter’s bags and instead head to grab your phone. “If it weren’t for you, Peter would be dead, or worse—”

“You’re the one who saved him, Tony,” you murmur, sitting on the bed. You know he’s spiralling despite how put together he is externally, and you wish you could be there. You wish you could just reach over and hug him. But you can’t. Not yet. “I just made sure he stayed safe.”

“He’s just a kid.”

“I know.” You pull a strand of hair away from your face. “Tony, please don’t do anything stupid.”

“Cannot be guaranteed, Little Miss.” Rolling your eyes at the nickname as playfully as you can, your small smile tugs at your cheeks. Tony barely has the goggles on his face, holding them by one hand as the blowtorch sparks in every direction and you lean on your knees, just watching him at work. It’s always been something so intriguing to you, watching Tony make a suit, but now, it just makes you tired and sad.

“Then, at least put on your goggles,” you whisper, and it is at this volume that Tony finally looks at you. He blinks, squints at you with those dark, wet eyes and absorbs your sagging frown, the bags pulling underneath your eyes. “Tony.”

“Yeah. I will.” He sets down the blowtorch to pull the strap over his head before glancing up. “I’ve gotta go, Little Miss. I’ll see you on the return trip.”

“Bye, Tony.” You smile and he manages one of his own forced grins before you end the call and let your hands drop, leaning heavily on your knees as your head hangs low. The weight of the situation has always been on your shoulders, but for the first time, you feel like you have something to lose now. And it isn’t just Tony.

Coulson wasn’t the only one who ‘watched Captain America as he slept.’

You know everything there is to know about him, but you wish you knew Steve Rogers half as well you knew his alter ego.

So, when Steve Rogers asks you out on a date the old-fashioned way in the middle of the airport, you want to say yes. There are a ton of reporters around, snapping pictures of Captain America in his domestic life, and you’re tanned from your weekend in Malibu. Peter is clinging onto the luggage cart even though you’ve told him not to. May’s gone to the bathroom, and your eleven year old companion interrupts Steve’s no-doubt-memorized speech on how much he likes you with coughs he refuses to acknowledge collectively as a symptom of a cold.

“You always come with the extra set of arms and legs?” Steve asks when you don’t respond right away. He jokes to ease the tension, and you grin, just glad to see him in one piece. Unexpectedly, Steve smiles back and you feel your heart beat faster. You think you might just be a little in love with that smile as May comes back.

“Uhm, no. Sorry to disappoint you but I don’t think Peter wants to go on a date with us,” you quip and he chuckles. “I’m being reassigned in London, so maybe I could put a rain check?”

“Of course. I’m going to Washington, too, uh, since Fury said he has some work for me there.”

“Perfect.” You smile and he brushes hair away from your face, a bit shyly. A delighted pink flush swells in his cheeks as he turns, walking to the cart. He begins to push and you blink as he sets off in the direction of the exit. A protest builds up in your throat — you can push your own luggage — but Steve is already off with Peter clinging onto his back, and you’re left with May.

“He’s good with kids,” she hums and you agree. “You two would have cute kids.”

“I just said yes to a date,” you admonish, much to her amusement. “May!”

“I’m just saying!” She throws her hands up in the air, walking after Steve and Peter who are being chased by reporters, and you let out a frustrated groan. You’re sure your boys are already playing a game of Tag with the paps chasing after them.

Wait.

Your boys.

Oh, you’re fucked.

You fall head over heels in love without a second look back.

.

It’s 2013.

After New York, Steve was reassigned to Washington as the newest S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, and you to Jane Foster on Phil Coulson’s secret, special command. He owes Thor a favour.

So, you shadow Jane Foster as her bodyguard of sorts and you don’t say from who but you have enough charisma to lay down some heavy hints.

After all, Phil’s supposed to be dead. But he isn’t.

And the moment you touch the black cube, some part of you knows you’re supposed to be dead, too.

But you aren’t.

When you wake up — and you’re surprised you wake up —  you can taste the blood pooling in your head that feels like it’s splitting open and the drying tears on your cheeks. The sky is too bright and it’s pitch white, red and blue spiralling at the edges of your vision as a high-pitched siren rings between your ears. A violent push forces you into a sitting position and a scream tears itself through your throat as you cough, hot smoke spilling out of your mouth.

It curls in your lap, black as sin and silky between your thighs as a hand lands on your back, warm, heavy and familiar. 

“Doll? Hey—” You jerk away, the mind-splitting agony causing another round of tears to burn at your eyes. The hand wraps around you and a hot rush surges down your fingers as something snaps. “Hey, it’s just me.” Your hands plant themselves against the pavement, the roughness grating against your skin as lips brush against your ear.

“S-Steve?”

“That’s right, baby girl. Just me.” You blink, face twisting as the pain begins to melt away. It flows down your spine, nests at the base of your skull as the hand runs up and down your back. “Hey, you got yourself into some trouble, huh?” You raise a trembling hand to your face as you pry your eyes open and you let out a choked sob at the blood running down your wrists. 

“Steve, I’m… what happened?” Your words slur and echoes in your skull as you screw your eyes shut again. “Everything… hurts.”

“I know, doll, I know. Just hold on for a moment, okay? You’ve been out for thirty hours. S.H.I.E.L.D. set up a perimeter, but it’s…” He lets out a breath in a whistle and your eyes flutter open. 

“Where’s… Jane? Is she okay?” As your eyes begin to adjust, you try not to let your tears overflow. You run a hand over your face. Blood smears over your cheeks and Steve hushes you quietly, taking gentle hold of your hands. “What?”

“You’re bleeding. Just… let me take care of you, okay? Let me take care of you.” His words whisper over your skin and you turn towards him, raising your chin just enough to catch a glimpse of his sapphire eyes. The moment his gaze meets yours, it’s like a shock runs through your system. You’re all at once aware of how cold you are and you shake your head slowly, turning to examine your surroundings.

A white tent has been set up around you, and it’s where you lay now, on wet pavement beneath the ceiling you know now is not a white sky. The police sirens swirl along the walls, flash through the tarp flaps, and you feel something tug at your arm. 

“Don’t pull on your IV,” Steve murmurs, and you blink, dazed. Looking down at your elbow, you spot the IV that runs up to the stand and frown at how many marks there are there along your skin, as if some amateur did it. “They asked me to keep you hydrated, but I did a pretty bad job.”

“Where is everyone?” you ask, turning to look at Steve again. He looks exhausted, plum half moons staining beneath his eyes, his blond hair barely shining in the darkness of the tent. The whole tent is drowned in shadows and you feel him rub at your hands with a rag. Glancing down, you watch him tug at your fingers, slowly coaxing the red off your hands. 

“No one could touch you. Every time someone tried, it was like something lashed out. Whatever you touched inhabits you. Like that movie you made me watch when I came over to visit last Christmas.” 

A chuckle builds up in your throat and you let it spill, a smile tugging into your cheeks as you sniff. 

“Alien. It was the Chestbursters,” you whisper and he laughs against your cheek as he runs his hand through your hair. 

“Right. Well, it was sort of like that,” he continues and you nod, burying your face into his shirt and you breathe in the smell of sweat and blood as he wraps an arm around your waist. “But you’re safe now.”

“Steve—” The words catch in your throat. It feels like layers of you have been peeled away and you can taste whatever it is that squirms beneath your skin as you fling your arms around him. Holding onto him as tight as you can, you bury your face into his neck and let out a shuddering sigh— “Thank you.” 

“You’ll have leave, and be reassigned to a facility back in New York. Tony will love to have you back,” he says and you pull back. Quirking an eyebrow, you try to make yourself look as attractive as you can — as the sunshine girl Steve knows and maybe even loves, but you find yourself failing at how gross you feel. Like there’s something inside your body, sharing you, taking over. You feel like vomit. Not like vomiting.

Like stomach acid and day old corn, beef, potato salad, stale water and foul air.

And it makes you want to cry at how uncomfortable you are in your own skin.

“Christmas is just around the corner,” you say weakly and Steve chuckles as you poke his cheek. Wetness meets your fingertip and you blink, for the first time noticing the tears streaming down his face. His cheeks blotchy, eyes red-rimmed, he looks like hell took him and spat him out.

“You scared the life outta me, doll,” he murmurs when you plant your clean hand against his cheek. “Shit, you scared me.”

“Didn’t mean to, Stevie,” you mumble and he sighs, almost like he’s exasperated and grateful and half-in-love before he pulls you tight towards him again. Steve’s lips press into the juncture of your neck and shoulder before he hugs you tighter and you let out a wheeze. You raise your hand, the other clean one still flat against the ridges of his back, and marvel at the way the siren lights play with the dark blood streaking across your skin.

And as you focus on the warmth flowing through your body, swirling in your stomach and ebbing down your arms, red sparks at your fingertips.

“Everything used to be normal,” you whisper, closing your fist tight. Crescent moons imprint on your skin as you close your eyes. Steve’s arms tighten around you and you let out shuddering cry. “What happened to me?”

“We’ll figure it out, alright?” He pulls you back by the shoulders, makes sure you meet his eyes because they are sure as stone. They anchor you and you cup his face, feel his heat. He feels so real.

You nod. The sirens stop and you can hear people walking, murmuring to each other, words you can hear that they might as well have screamed in your ear. Freak accident, crazy, broken.

“We’ll figure it out,” he repeats, hand tilting your chin up as he half-smiles. “We’ll figure it out, and I love you, and I promise you I will fix this, okay?” Your eyes widen and you suck in a helpless breath as his smile shrinks. “What is it? Are you hurt?” He looks down at your body, still sopping wet and freezing, but you can barely feel the numbness tingling at your feet. Heat shoots through your veins as you fling yourself at Steve again, wrapping arms around him. 

“You love me?” 

And he laughs, laughs and laughs against you until all you know is the sound of him in your ears and the feel of his heart against your chest. “Of course I do.” He turns your face so he can kiss you and you smile into his kiss, a wet smile that he doesn’t care about because any smile of yours is… priceless. 

“I love you, too,” you utter and he smiles against your mouth, eyes closing. “I love you so much.”

“That’s perfect, ‘cause I plan on staying around for a while.”

You roll his words in your head before smiling to yourself. Melting into his arms, you press your ear against his chest as red wisps curl coyly around your fingers and you look into your lap, stained with the black you’d coughed up and the slick of blood. 

“Thank you, Steve,” you whisper above the sirens. You can barely hear yourself think, but Steve merely holds your head to him, supports you in ways you cannot.

“Anytime.”

.

It’s 2014.

You pace the length of the glass, pulling at the electrodes connected to your head while Thor, Steve, and Jane all yell at you through the intercom to stop. It’s been twenty four hours and you haven’t slept in any of them. Instead, you refreshed yourself on French, Croatian, and Finnish.

Instead, you’ve recreated your room to look like scenic Sweden in the middle of summer and you’re strolling through the streets of Stockholm.

It’s a neat little trick, that.

“Look, if this Malekith wants to come get me,” you say, planting your hands on your hips as a bird flits past your head, “he can come get me. Can I at least get a breath of fresh, non-filtered air? It tastes stale.”

“Sorry, doll, but no.” Steve’s voice filters through the speakers in the room and you let out a frustrated groan, your fist flaring up as you throw him a glare. Or at least where you think he might be standing. The illusion burns away by red flames and you face the mirror and pale white walls you can see in the reflection. Your boring test chamber. Prison. “I know, it’s New Year’s, but—”

“Steve, save it. It is New Year’s, and Tony and I were supposed to go to Peter’s party because I promised him.”

You haven’t seen Peter in months. You wonder how he is, and you think it would be enough to hear voicemails, but instead it isn’t. Your phone is flooded with voicemails from him, voicemails you’ve saved and listen when it gets hard to sleep, and you want to show him the newest thing you’ve learned in your detention. The hopeful smile he’d have… the one full of wonder and his eyes…

Thinking of him just makes you miss that boy more, and you want to scream at the top of your lungs, but then Steve would tell you to be quiet and that Malekith can hear you, and whatever it is — the Aether — will flare up and you’re just so sick of sleeping in a glass cell like a test subject. 

Whatever.

“I’m sorry. I have no idea how to make this easier for you, but you just gotta look on the bright side.”

Not whatever.

If anything, you’re so sick of false promises. You’ll be out once we’ve run some tests, you’ll be okay, whatever’s inside you isn’t hostile and Viper, Viper, Viper, someone wants to come in and do another round of blood tests, maybe your chemistry has changed and— 

You want to snap.

“You’re right! I’ve only been here ever since you guys found me passed out in London. I can’t leave, I have fucking powers I can’t understand and apparently I can make anything I want become reality.” Whirling around, you spot the croissant you haven’t touched from breakfast yesterday and grab it as a surge of energy flows up to your palm. Immediately it flickers in your hand like some hologram, distorting until a croissant no longer rests in your palm, but a rich red apple. You show it to the three watching you, show them the fruit of your labour. “See that? I’m doing great controlling this thing, huh.”

“Doll, stop. Power spikes might tip off Malekith on your location and—”

“You know it’s real,” you comment, cutting off Steve coldly. Biting into the apple, flavour bursts on your parched tongue and you swallow down the fruit before you toss it in the air. Letting it land in your hand like a baseball, you look down at it. “Or, I think it is. It tastes real, and at this point, any type of reality feels better than this, y’know?”

“My lady, you must control your temper.”

“Thor’s right.” Jane’s soft voice makes you pause and you rip your gaze away from the bitten apple in your palm to the mirror. You can only stare at yourself, at how much you look like some insane asylum patient. The electrodes, the issued white jumpsuit in a white room with a white bed and everything burning white or silver, the ankle tag in case you walk out of your cell, because everyone knows you can.

After all, if you can literally turn water into wine when you want to, what else can you do?

“Thor’s right,” you repeat dully, a terrible smile etching itself into your face. “Yeah, he’s right. ‘Cause I’m crazy, right? And some dark elf is trying to kill me, but I should stay the sunshine girl, right?” If your every word was corrosive, you know the glass would have melted. Would’ve been fitting, and for half a moment you are tempted to burn the whole building down.

The searing heat singing in your arm balls at your wrist and you glance down to see bright red smoke spiralling down to the floor, kissing at the apple you have dug fingernails into and juice leaks down between your fingers. You let out a heavy breath when the heat is blown away, cool conditioned air puffing against your bare skin. At how everything is regulated, even the temperature, what you eat, your calories, your oxygen levels, everything tiny little thing you don’t know about.

A knot in your chest twists harder and you want to throw a bed across the wall or shoot something, or just go for a round of sparring but instead you settle for throwing the apple hard enough it splatters on impact. Bits of fruit go everywhere and you watch the juice track down your reflection as apple seeds clatter around you. You didn’t try to break glass, but you think you can hear something crack as you close your eyes.

“We could give you a few hours,” Jane says, apprehensive for a potential galactic war, maybe, worried about your sanity and her safety, definitely, “right?”

“Malekith will take any chance he has to reach the Aether. There is no time for whims of the one,” Thor says.

“Doll, I’m sorry—”

“No, shut up! I miss kissing you, Steve, okay? I’m horny! And I’m supposed to be normal, you know? As normal as I can get!” You fling your arms out to the side and you spin around from the bed where you have a tray of food that was pushed in the flap in the door resting atop your blankets. You slam a hand against the glass, red smoke running along the surface. Your breath comes out ragged and you look at your own reflection, eyes wide and your shoulders heaving. “I’m… I’m supposed to be Natalia’s pain in her ass, and I’m supposed to wake up in the morning next to you and bring Tony his coffee or tell him to sleep because Pepper’s out of town or help Peter with his homework. 

“I’m supposed to be there for him,” you whisper, eyes closing as a burning in the corners of your eyes track down your skin. Pressing your forehead against the mirror, you swallow down the lump in your throat. “I’m… I’m supposed to be figuring out whatever the hell they did to me with you, Steve, not… not alone. Not as some lab rat for S.H.I.E.L.D. to poke and prod.” Your hand runs flat along the cold surface and you look up at your own reflection, at the mess your hair is, at the paleness in your face and how gaunt you look. At the red that seems to flow through your veins instead of blue and how utterly witch-like you look. “I’ve had enough of that in the Red Room, and I thought I switched sides for a reason.”

“I’m right here, okay?” Steve murmurs through the speakers and you sniff, trying to imagine him on the other side of the glass. His blue eyes staring back at you — eyes you have not seen in months. His blond hair swept off to the side and maybe he’s wearing a white tee-shirt and that dark jacket you bought him as a parting gift when he got reassigned to Washington. “I swear, we’re going to get this son of a bitch, but for now, you’re just a walking dart board, and I know they won’t miss. I miss you so much, but I can’t lose you.”

“Steve.” You slide down onto the ground and it’s almost as if you can feel his heat. If you close your eyes tight enough, maybe you can imagine him just on the other side of glass you’re not too afraid to break. “I miss you, too.”

“We’ve had quite a courtship,” he teases and you chuckle, pressing your cheek against the mirror. “Long distance, then London, isolation, and hell, I promise I’ll take you wherever you want as soon as this is done. I’ll take one of Tony’s jets and we’ll go, fix this, find someone who can fix you. Marry you, if that’s what you want.” Red smoke flares brightly at your fingertips and you shove them beneath your thighs, snuffing it out.

Some part of you wants to feel grateful.

Another part of you wishes he told you there’s nothing to fix instead. Wishes Steve can just accept that this is who you are now, as you have.

“A wedding sounds nice. Like a jailbreak party,” you whisper and he laughs, crackling over the comms. “But I need a ring first.”

“Give me a few hours.”

When dinner rolls around, the door beeps and swings open to reveal Steve Rogers in sweatpants, one of his hoodies he bought in some Brooklyn corner store, and dinner.

You smile and invite him down to your cot where a TV hung on the wall plays Aliens.

“What do you say to a movie night?” He pulls the hoodie over your head. Tucking hair away from your face, he kisses you sweetly. He tastes like sugar and heat, and you plant your hands flat against his cheeks. 

The hoodie smells ripe of him and you dig your nose into the collar, inhaling deeply before looking up at him. “It’s sweet but how’d you convince Coulson to allow you in here?” The blond doesn’t respond except for another few quick pecks and you pull away from his seeking lips with a scandalized gasp. “He doesn’t know?”

“Would it kill you if I said no?” he mumbles and you laugh into his next kiss as he sets down the tray of food on the floor and plucks something off it. He slides off the bed, sinking to one knee before you and you rake hair away from your face, the elated smile freezing on your face as he cracks open a velvet box. “‘Cause it would kill me if you did.”

“Steve?” His name stutters in your throat as you stare at the diamond ring way above your pay grade. You have a sneaking suspicion that Tony had something to do with it but it sparkles, glimmers in the artificial light. “Steve, I was joking—”

“I wasn’t.” In sweats and a grey hoodie, Steve has never looked more like a god. The white light plays in his hair, turning it silver-gold and his eyes are alight with pure hope that you nearly melt as you sit on the edge of your bed, just… speechless. “I love you, and I’m here for you. Sickness and in health. So… what do you say?”

“Yes, but also, we can’t get married here,” you warn and he laughs, leaning over to kiss you as he picks the ring out from between the cushion of velvet. Sliding it onto your finger, he pushes you over against the bed and wraps an arm around your waist. Draping himself over you, he kisses your chin, your lips, down your neck and you giggle, outstretching your arm as the red mist curls around the ring, curious to what this new thing is.  

“Doesn’t have to be now, ‘s long as I got my yes,” he mumbles and you close your eyes. All of a sudden, the walls in your prison have pushed themselves out by three inches. Letting your hand fall back, you run your fingers through his hair. “And what was that again? You said you were horny or was that my imagination?”

“Rogers,” you warn, but you can’t help the way he chases away the weights sitting on your chest as he brushes kisses up and down your neck. “C’mon, they’re watching.”

“Oh, no, they’re not.” His fingers poke teasingly into your sides and you let out a squeak as he chuckles, lips meeting yours again. “Forgot how ticklish you are, doll.”

“Steven Grant Rogers—”

“Shhh,” 

“But dinner—”

“Can you forget about the stupid dinner? I’m trying to take your clothes off.” You wiggle beneath his body, hair splaying beneath your head and he growls, nipping lightly at your jaw just as his phone vibrates and he jerks back. Bracketed between his legs, you prop yourself up on your elbows and frown, the joy slipping away like oil. Weights crush down on your shoulders as Steve’s eyebrows knit together and you reach up to cup his cheek just as your vision flickers.

Like a faulty TV, it breaks with red and you blink at how Steve’s face seems to fizzle as your fingers meet his cheek. His blue eyes meet yours immediately, drowning away the red and you let out a sharp breath.

“Steve?” Your voice catches and he flinches back, stung. “Steve, what happened?”

“Something in Washington,” he whispers and he stumbles off the bed as you sit up. The heat of him leaves a chill on your body and you stand up. He texts furiously on his phone and you walk after him as he gets the door to open. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Can I help?” You reach for his arm and you can’t help yourself from wondering what on Earth is this important. You know Tony’s in town and Natasha can handle Washington. Hell, S.H.I.E.L.D. is based in Washington and whatever it is, surely— “Captain America doesn’t need to go, does he?”

“Look, I have to go.” He shakes off your hand and hurt slams into you like a truck at how he doesn’t so much as spare you a glance before he pockets his phone. “I’m sorry,” he says and you think he almost means it by the way his blue eyes widen inconsolably. “I’ll be back.”

“Steve!” He pushes you back deeper into the room just as everything flickers red and you let out a gasp as something digs into your brain. “Steve, wait!” Your hands clutch at your skull as you fall to your knees and you squeeze your eyes shut. The pain blisters, pulsing like a heartbeat inside your spine before it drains away as quick as it came, and you let out a shaking breath.

When you open your eyes, you see everything outlined in blood red, their edges flickering like TV static. The ring on your finger burns cold and you rip it off, flinging it into the glass.

It cracks, shatters your reflection, and you turn away so you do not see your own tears fall.

.

It’s 2015.

You breathe new air for the first time in ages and your lungs spasm in your chest as you feel the sun on your face. With your bags packed and ready, you stand at the entrance of the S.H.I.E.L.D. compound and wait.

Sokovia was two months ago and you have some new teammates to meet, apparently.

“Steve said he’d come pick me up, right?” you ask the agent standing next to you. He’s swiping on some datapad but turns to look at you with a smile. “A hundred percent?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Cool.” You twist the ring around your finger and pretend not to notice the imaginary ants you have crawling on your boot. It’s not like you’ve told Steve. You know he’s been busy with whatever made him run out on you the first time and you know he said he might be a little bit late picking you up, but you didn’t think Captain America believed in being tardy. Not really.

A part of you wants to be angry that he’s a hero, and another part of you wants to just go home on your own.

Thirty minutes roll by.

“Do you have any cars I could borrow?” you ask. Sighing, you don’t wait for an answer and pick up your bags. “I’ll just drive back on my own. New York isn’t too far from here.”

“Of course, ma’am.” The man smiles and you half-smile before you fish out your phone. “I’ll have someone bring one around to the lot.”

“Thank you for waiting with me,” you call and he merely nods before heading back in. A disappointed pang hits at your stomach as you walk over to the lot, and you try not to let it bite at your heels until you’re bleeding.

You’re sure your heart already is.

You drive back to the Avengers facility where Tony’s working with Bruce on something and the welcome you deserve resides in Tony’s arms. Nearly two years since you’ve seen him and some very exhausted part of you jumps at the sight of him. Even if he’s visited, you know nothing will ever compare to seeing the exhausted eyebags beneath his eyes.

“Welcome back, Little Miss!” he cheers and you grin, holding onto his neck tight. “Welcome back to society.” You nestle your head against him, holding on for a second more before pulling back. 

“Hey, Bruce,” you whisper, turning to hug him quickly and he smiles like how you think your dad might’ve when you came back after an unruly tussle when you pull back. Or maybe that was the Red Room and how the madame would smile when you beat every opponent in your class. Parts of Bruce’s face stretch too wide, and his eyes narrow when you blink, and you wonder if it’s your mind playing tricks or he really looks like a stone-cold killer behind warm brown eyes.

You don’t even want to think about it.

“Cap didn’t pick you up?” Tony asks and your gaze darts to him warily. His face flickers red and for a moment, there’s two of Tony in your field of view before it’s gone. “You okay?”

“Yeah. A lot’s happened, y’know?” you say with a slight smile and he smiles, then, too, sad and bittersweet. “Uhm, can you show me to my room, Tony?”

“Yeah, definitely.” He claps and the lab lights turn on systematically, revealing more than what’s illuminated on the table Bruce turns back to. “Bruce, if you could work on the… the thingy.” He doesn’t stop to hear the answer, guiding you out of the lab. 

“So…” You descend down the steps, your sneakers slapping against the tile as you pull yourself together. Red wisps, barely there and faint as steam, play at your fingers as you try to come up with a reason Steve just… disappeared. You’re getting good at that, making up excuses. “Steve didn’t pick me up, and I was wondering if you knew where he was?”

“Steve didn’t come?” Tony’s eyes land on you and you press your lips together as you shake your head. Shoving your hands in your pockets, you turn to look at your friend. “I—”

“It’s fine. Two years — basically — of solitary confinement and he just… doesn’t come to see me out. It must’ve been important.” You shrug then, and Tony frowns. “It’s okay, Tony. I love him, like not-crazy love him but close enough, and I know it had to be something important because we’re getting married, y’know?”

“Yeah, congratulations to the happy couple,” he says but it’s half-hearted. “You give Cap too much credit,” he adds under his breath and you frown, blinking as you look at the floor. Stomach the soil, seeds of doubt are planted deep in your gut as you run Tony’s words through your head. “He didn’t even text you?”

“Maybe it was a mission.”

“And he didn’t take Wilson?” Tony shoots back, and you look up jerkingly, eyes flashing to the man beside you as you stop at the lounge. He walks around to flop down on the couch and you nearly cringe at the crumbs littering the glass coffee table. Tony leans back, kicks up his feet, and slaps the space beside him.

“I still have to meet Wilson,” you mutter, crossing your arms across your chest and walking onto the carpet. Sitting down, you nearly sink into the cushion and let out a yelp. “Shit, this is comfortable.”

“Haven’t had luxury in a while?”

“I was in a detention facility, so no,” you retort and you lean in towards Tony’s heat. “I’m just gonna wait and maybe it’ll be okay, y’know?”

“Right.” Tony claps again before resting an arm along the back of the couch. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you show Vipe where her room is?”

“Right away, boss.” You sit up, tucking your feet beneath you just as the elevator dings. Looking towards the sound, you watch as the doors open and your mouth drops open as a blond and a redhead step out. “Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Rogers have returned.”

“From where, exactly?” Tony calls out and Steve immediately whips around to the sound of his voice. Natalia is basically sleepwalking as she rubs at her eyes and you stand, grabbing an empty cup from the coffee table. Red smoke fills up white porcelain as it fills with warm tea and you rush over to her, offering her the drink. 

“Hey, Tali,” you whisper as Natalia looks up sharply, blue eyes wide and sober. A face-splitting grin on her face, she knocks the white mug to the ground, hot tea spilling everywhere. It shatters, a sharp cacophony, and white shards go everywhere, hot tea splashing against your shoes.

“You’re out!” Her arms wrap around you tight and you let out a wheeze when she lifts you up but the smile dies as you meet Steve’s gaze. He looks stricken at the sight of you, but the corner of your mouth quirks up as your sister puts you back down. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there.”

“It’s okay. I drove myself back,” you whisper and you cup her face, relishing in the warmth of her smile before a yawn on her part breaks the moment and you grin. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Promise,” she agrees and she heads up the stairs before you turn to Steve. Tony jogs past you, climbing the stairs after Natalia and you turn to watch them go before looking into his stricken face.

“Where were you?” you ask quietly, trying not to sound hurt. But you feel hollow, and everything is red when you’re not with Steve. “I really missed you these past few weeks.”

“Sorry. It got really busy with the new assignment,” Steve says with a shrug and you nod, pressing your lips into a smile as you open up your arms. “It’s really good to see you.” He walks into your embrace and you melt into his hold. “God, I’ve missed you.” His lips press against your hairline and you close your eyes.

“I love you,” you murmur and you tilt your chin up to look at him. His blue eyes are dark, tired, and he’s barely able to keep them open as you card your fingers through his hair. Just looking at him makes you feel so empty and whole at the same time that you know it has to be real. To feel such a paradox, such an oxymoron that you can’t even describe it, it must be real. “I love you, so it’s okay and you can tell me why you didn’t pick me up.”

“I needa tell you about Bucky,” he says and you thumb his cheek, feeling the soft swollen bags beneath his eye. He takes your wrist carefully, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of your wrist, eyes meeting yours beneath the hood of his brow.

“Tomorrow,” you say and he sighs against your palm. You step closer, your other arm wrapping around his waist as you tilt your head. “Whatever it is you need to tell me can wait. For now, shower and get some sleep.” The blue of his gaze lightens and he leans down to press a gentle kiss against your mouth. Breathing him in, you nearly sob at how soft his lips are, the smell of him so overwhelming — the smell of sea salt and smoke — that you feel your sinuses sting.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and you pull back with a nod. As he goes, you let your hand drop with a shattered sigh. Turning to watch him ascend the steps, you feel something inside you ache.

He looks as hollow as you feel.

.

It’s 2016.

“Couldn’t they put this as a PDF or something,” you murmur, trying to get a hold of the thick-as-fuck Accords. Words spin in your head as you flip over another page and Steve, with his arm around your shoulders, ignores you to argue with Tony. You sneak an arm around his waist, running it up and down his side as you scan the next few lines. “Save the trees.”

“I really don’t think that’s the U.N.’s priority right now,” Natalia comments from across the way and you sigh, setting it down in your lap. You can’t help the weird feeling in your stomach as wisps of red weave between your fingers. They seem to want to drag your hand back to the Accords and keep reading, but your head spins. 

“No, but it’s run by people with agendas, and agendas change.”

“That’s good. That’s why I’m here. When I realized what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands, I shut it down and stopped manufacturing.”

“Tony, you chose to do that. If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose,” Steve exclaims and you look up warily. Tony’s eyes meet yours for a moment before you turn your gaze back to the Sokovia Accords. “What if this panel sends us somewhere we don’t think we should go?” You unweave your arm from around Steve’s waist and stand, tossing the Accords onto the glass table between them. Wanda and Vision, sitting on a bench, reach for it. “What if there is somewhere we need to go, and they don’t let us? We may not be perfect, but the safest hands are still our own.”

“Steve, I really think you need to read this,” you begin and razor sharp azure meets your eyes. “Look, if this doesn’t happen now, on our terms, they’re going to do this to us. That’s not going to be fun for any of us.”

“You’re saying they’ll come for me,” Wanda begins, and you whirl around to face the girl. She holds the Accords, too large for her slim frame and her eyes glow as red as your veins do. 

“We would protect you.”

“Look, Vision, that’s sweet, okay, but it’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“There are weapons of mass destruction in this room,” Tony continues, “and the government’s not going to allow a couple of nukes to walk in downtown New York. Ross had a point. Do we even know where Thor and Bruce are?”

“No.”

“Maybe Tony’s right.” Natalia sounds certain, and you turn to her, surprised as she breaks like static. Blinking, you see color other than red once again and try not to let it show on your face. Other than the fact that going from red-vision to full-colour still makes you surprised, you hadn’t expected her to pick a side so soon. You cross your arms as you sit down next to Steve once more. His arm falls around your shoulders as you tug at the skirt of your sundress. “If we have one hand on the wheel, we can still steer. If we take it off—”

“Aren’t you the same woman who told the government to kiss her ass a few years ago?”

“What?” You look sharply at your sister who shrugs helplessly. Shaking her head, she looks at Wilson with a fierce stare.

“I’m just… I’m just reading the terrain. We have made… some very public mistakes. We need to win their trust back.”

Something vibrates against your leg and Steve’s arm slides from your shoulders. You turn to look at it, distracted as Steve grabs it and you slide your arm along his shoulder as he reads whatever message he was sent. Running your thumb over the curve of his shoulder, you rest your head on his shoulder just as he gets up. Your arm falls flat and you catch yourself just barely.

“I have to go.” Steve’s voice cuts clear across the tension and you watch the man leave, throat knotted. You feel something inside you twist and your eyebrows furrow as you try to come up with some reason, some way you can follow.

“I’m going to, uh, go see what that’s about.” You clear your throat, getting up to follow after him and you hear his footsteps echo as he descends the steps before stopping at the landing. “Steve?” He leans against the banister and bows his head with a heavy sigh, and you come up to him with gentle hands. “Steve, what happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Steve, is it Bucky?” You lean in beside him, trying to get a read on his state as he pockets his phone and you sigh softly, trying to figure out what to say. “Is it the Accords? Because you seem pretty adamant on not signing.”

“And you are?” 

“I could’ve been the person who killed the Wakandans.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Someone did.” As soon as the words leave your lips, Steve’s head twists towards you, a frown pulling at the corner of his lips. He looks whole in your eyes, not a flickering edge in sight and you sigh at how much relief it brings you. “I’m not saying Wanda meant to do it on purpose, but she’s a kid and kids need supervision.”

“She had it.” Steve crosses his arms tight across his chest, and you turn to him, planting a hand on the rail and another on your hip.

“Did she? Because I read the report, Steve.” You throw up your hand, turning back to lean against the rail again as you try not to let your anger simmer. Your brow furrowed, your chest begins to tighten. “Rumlow said Bucky and suddenly, nothing else mattered, did it?” 

“Doll—”

“And… it feels…” You trail off, and you have no idea why. You think you’re softening the blow for him, but maybe you’re softening the blow for yourself.

“What?” Steve’s voice, sharp as daggers, sinks into you and you drag your gaze towards him. He looks shocked, pale as a sheet with rosy lips barely parted as you let out a soft exhale. 

“It feels true.” You shake your head before meeting his eyes. “Look, it doesn’t matter. What does is that I’m going to sign. Because we may not be kids, but we are dangerous and we need oversight.” Fingers reaching for his, you’re stung when he pulls his hand away. Clenching your jaw, you try to keep your voice hushed.  “Steve, I don’t want to fight.” 

“We can barely agree on when to get married, doll.” When he looks at you, it’s almost as if he stares right through you. “I don’t see how we can’t fight when we can barely make the small things work.”

“This isn’t some small decision! This isn’t choosing a winter wedding or a summer wedding, or whether the napkins should be folded in a Sydney Opera House or a lotus. This is whether or not we allow ourselves to get arrested or we play our cards right.”

“I’m not trusting a panel who won’t care about the people we’re supposed to be protecting.”

“You don’t know that.”

“It’s happened before.”

“Okay, but this isn’t S.H.I.E.L.D.” Your voice sharpens and you bite your tongue. “This is something we can give input to. What do you think they’re going to do when we disagree? Restrain us?”

“It isn’t that simple! Just because you see everything black and white doesn’t mean I have to. We can’t just choose to give over our rights and be okay with it.”

“You’re the one who’s seeing things black and white! Because this is a fucking grey area and we are drowning in it. This is… It’s not easy to just hand over the keys to people who don’t know us but we need this.” You struggle to find the words. “Steve, open your eyes and just… just understand that I want us to stay together. And if you do this, it’s almost as if you don’t care.”

“I’m standing up for what I believe in. I thought you could respect that,” he whispers harshly and you hold back a groan in frustration. Planting a hand on your hip, you look at him with narrowed eyes.

“And you don’t believe in family? In staying together? Because we can make changes. I promise, and you can still search for Bucky, I just—” Your breath hitches in your throat and Steve looks at you, eyebrows quirked. “Bucky.”

“What about him?”

“It’s Bucky. It’s always Bucky,” you whisper so quietly under your breath you don’t know if you even said it. “Natalia told me that—” You turn to look at the top of the stairs desperately. You can’t begin to describe how much you want to run up the stairs, down the hall and never look back. But you’re an optimist.

You always have been.

“Told you what?”

“That I’d never be your first choice.” The words come out bold and burning, and you can feel the ash it has left in your gums as you clench your jaw. You can still hear your sister’s voice echoing in your skull, whispered in confidence the day after one of Steve’s secret missions when he was looking for Bucky. Specifically, the mission that caused him to miss your birthday. You can still taste the bitterness, the tears that pressed bruises into your throat. “And I think he’s part of the reason why you won’t sign the Accords. Because you’re afraid they’ll issue sanctions if you go on your secret, unauthorized missions.”

Steve sighs, and his eyebrows knit together as you wrap your arms around yourself. You stare at him, wait for him to deny it, but you know he won’t. Because you’re in love with a man who supposedly loves you, but clearly doesn’t love you enough.

“Ever since Bucky came back into your life, it’s all you ever think about,” you continue, leaning against the banister once more. You cross your legs at the ankles, and turn to look at him. Your eyes immediately soak in the shadows that play across his face, the way the pale blue light of the sunroof has cast him a god of wind and sea. “And even though I’m talking to you… you’re not even here.”

Steve’s gaze darts to yours and you hold it, searching for someone who you haven’t seen in years. 

“I love you,” he insists and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down so you can breathe in his scent. He smells cool and clean, like sleep, and you want to go back to yesterday, last week, last year. You want to go back to when you were too afraid to break a bubble that you lived in, when the Accords didn’t exist. “I’m in love with you, but I’m so damn sorry.” His whispered words push into your mouth as you kiss him chastely, a barely-there kiss that makes your heart mend and break. His forehead knocks into yours and you hold him there for a moment, just watching the tiny little twitches of his face. Burning him into your head.

“It’s okay,” you say, hand stroking over his face and into his hair. His eyes half-mast, he just watches you as red runs beneath your palm, through your veins. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and it just makes you all the more aware of the hole he has carved in the shape of pieces he took from you. He won’t even touch you. “I can’t compete with what you and Bucky have.” 

“I don’t want you to. You’re the only one I want—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” you murmur and he closes his eyes pulling away to stare at his feet. He grips the handrail and you stare into your palms, red playing against your flesh. The silence is thick and you swallow, trying to think of something to say — anything. Your chest is smashed to ashes and an ache spreads in your lungs as you close your eyes, hot tears sliding over your cheeks. “Steve—”

“I’ve got to go,” he mumbles and you’re not quite sure if the salt on your lips is yours or his as he presses a quick farewell kiss to your mouth and pulls away. He wipes at his face with a sleeve, and you wipe at your cheeks with the back of your hand as he turns away to hide his red-rimmed eyes and sniffing you can still hear. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Yeah, you always do,” you murmur and you watch him go as he bows his head, sleeve to his face. Sucking in a cold breath, you lean against the banister and tilt your head back. Closing your eyes, you try to ignore the migraine digging into your skull.

But you can’t. It only grows when you sign, and with the deadline to bring in Steve Rogers, and nearly tears you apart as you fly to Germany.

“Are you okay?” Peter asks as you walk to your position in the airport. He looks good in his new suit Tony had designed and you smile tiredly as he fidgets with the mask. You ruffle his hair, leaning over to kiss his forehead before trying to reinforce your weak smile.

“Yeah, I am. Watch yourself out there, okay?” you add and he nods as he opens up his mask. “If May finds out Tony smuggled you into Germany, my ass is going to pay for it.” He half-laughs, and you nudge him towards his hiding spot. “Go kick some ass.”

And you do, and he does, and you think maybe team Iron Man might make it work bringing in a rogue Captain America without J-SOC.

That is, until the giant.

“Okay, anybody on our side hiding any shocking and fantastic abilities they’d like to disclose? I’m open to suggestion.” Tony’s voice echoes in your ear, adding to the headache balling up between your eyes as you throw yourself at Clint. The man catches you by the rod of his bow as you wind yourself around his waist and flip him over.

“Would it kill you if I said I have untapped energy potential?” you ask into your comms and Clint sends you a confused look as you roll your eyes through the pain. Everything is hazy red and red mist spills from your hand as you stop Clint from swinging at you with a baton.

“No, I like that idea.”

“Tony, it’s not a good idea.”

“It was a joke, Stark,” you growl, flinging Clint away. The rod of his bow skids a few feet away and you scramble towards it, snapping it open with a sling. As you pull the string taut, an arrow forms between your fingers and you let it fly, following after Hawkeye with a barrage of arrows and keeping him busy running. “I’m trying not to kill anyone today.”

“Understood, Madame Secretary,” Tony teases and you squint an eye, letting another arrow fly just as Clint jumps onto the walkway leg. It nearly tags him in the ankle and you draw the string once more, black metal materializing between your fingers just as someone tackles into you. You’re slammed into the ground with a hard groan, your head snapping back into concrete. You hear something crack and you groan as Sam Wilson’s voice rattles in your ears. 

“I got her, Steve. It’s a go from me.” 

Steve… you repeat in your head, dazed. Turning over, you watch as Sam takes off after a jet and you try to get up. When you blink, your world is covered in red film, breaking like faulty holograms and you let out a sharp breath, trying to rub it out. The roar of the jet echoes in your heart, weaves into your chest as you reach out a hand. Red energy curls against your palm, soothing a nefarious drilling digging deep into your brain. Steve is getting away, and I can’t stop him. No, no, no— 

It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together — to know Steve’s the one who put a target on your back. Blood shoves its way up your mouth as the ball of pure agony in your head explodes. 

“They’re getting away.”

“Get up, Viper! Come on, get up! You can stop them!”

You can’t get up. You can barely see as you plant your hands against the ground. Blood slick against your palms, you roll onto your stomach as you try to push yourself up. Shockwaves shake your bones and you let out a painful groan when your head tips you over. Landing on your side, you feel something warm dribble down your chin.

“Vision, I got a bandit on my six.” 

“What’s happening?” Peter’s innocent question makes you turn blindly towards him and you reach out just as strong arms hoist you onto your knees and you try to open your eyes only for white light to seep into your irises. “What’s happening? Are you okay? Hey, hey, hey, are you okay?”

“Vision! You copy? Target his thrusters, turn him into a glider.”

“Pete.” His name is thick in your mouth as you pat blindly and you come into contact with his face as you cough, black dotting the edges of your vision and you let out a groan when the blood pooling in your chest sloshes against your lungs. “It hurts. Shit, it hurts, Pete, it hurts so bad.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Oh, god, what do I do? Is there some way I can make it better?”

“Pete, you gotta go. You needa go, you needa go.” You can feel his arms holding you up as your hands trace down his cheeks and onto his neck, streaking blood all over his skin. You can barely see him but you know that he is smiling through his tears, tears that run over your knuckles and you think, brave boy. A brave boy who shouldn’t be here. “Pete, go.”

“I’m not gonna leave you here alone! You’re hurt, and I don’t know what to do. What do I do? Where does it hurt?”

“Rhodey!”

“Everywhere! Fuck, my head, Pete, you need to just… go. It hurts, it hurts. Make it stop,” you whimper as a ripple of agony travels across your skull. Jerking back, you rake your hands through your hair, trying to keep your eyes open through the tears. Everything is blinding white and red as you catch a glimpse of Peter’s face, brown eyes wide and tears dripping down his face as a double of him flashes before your eyes. A jackhammer digs into the center of your mind and you let out a scream, a pulse thundering through your body as you flare scarlet red.

“Tony, I’m flying dead stick.”

“No—”

“Leave me alone.” The words slip out of your mouth, incoherent, barely audible as voices begin to echo in your head. You half-recognize some of them, and others you barely know as frost sinks into your limbs, paralyzing you. Your whole body rigid, you fall to your elbows and knees as Peter’s hands hover around you. You can feel his warmth, every single molecule of his being, the racing of his heart and the soft whomsh of his blood. His breathing echoes in his ear, and you can hear his fingers twitching, the blink of his eye, the thickness in his throat, the roar of the quinjet and the sound of a body whistling through the air, falling faster and faster, too fast, and two men desperate to catch him—  

You can barely hear your own thoughts and your breaths come in sharp, painful gasps as you try to sort through the storm in your head — your thoughts from whatever it is that lives inside you, or changed you, or whatever it did because you can hear voices in languages you don’t understand and everything turns red, static and breaking apart as your reality crumbles to pieces around you.

“Let me help—”

“Leave me alone!” Pushing him away blindly, a surge of heat sinks its teeth down into your bones as everything inside you breaks. You pitch forward, bones snapping as voices echo in your head, and the ground splits beneath your hands.

“RHODES!”

.

It’s 2023.

You wear a black sweater because Pepper said it’d look nice and the heels Tony bought for you after the Civil War that’ve been gathering dust in the apparent five years you’ve been gone.

A part of you wants to toss the heels into the lake when the service is down, and you want to see if you can siphon what is left of the energy you have to bring Tony back to life. But you can’t. So you don’t try. You sit at the edge of the lake as the water laps at your feet, and you send gentle wisps of red over the soft waves as they lap at your feet. Tony’s last message echoes in your head, and you can picture him so clearly. And Natalia too, her last words to you— 

“Don’t go—”

The wisps take shape, mere figures of shadows of Tony and you and Natalia, memories playing like puppets on strings, jagged and sharp and all too wrong.

“Hey.” 

The figures vanish, sink into the water, and you flinch at the sound of his voice. Putting on a smile, you turn around and he stands there, hands shoved in his suit pocket, face pale and swollen around the eyes. Wiping at your own tears, you stand up and clear your throat.

“Hey, Steve.”

“Natasha’s service is tomorrow, so I was thinking we should all get some rest,” he says and you nod, turning back to the lake. He steps up to the shore beside you and you try your best not to look at him, no matter how much you want to. Your ring seems to cut off the blood to your finger as he breathes in quietly. “How are you?”

“I’m alive,” you reply softly. “Guess that’s what matters.”

“Doll—”

“Don’t call me that. Just…” You turn to him and stare into his glossy blue eyes, eyes that you haven’t seen in so, so long. Your heart nearly snaps in two as his lower lip trembles and you throw your arms around his neck, embracing him so tightly you can barely breathe. “I missed you so much, Steve. Oh, god, I miss you.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers hoarsely, and then suddenly his arms are around you, squeezing the life you’ve just gotten back out of you and you run your fingers through his gelled hair. “Germany, I— I never meant for that to happen.” Cold water douses whatever warmth you feel and you pull back, face pulled back in a terrible mask of an empty smile. “I never meant to leave you in the middle of one of your breaks.”

“Steve, that was apparently seven years ago and… it was for Bucky. You’d do anything for him. Do anything for anyone from your past, apparently,” you whisper and he tries to smile, but even he can now see how finished you are. How you’ve given up, and you wonder if that can scare him any more than it scares you. “And it’s sweet, and admirable, and that kind of loyalty is rare. I wish someone was like that with me, but… it’s just… you were always the only one who could stop me and in Germany… in Germany you were the reason it happened.” His arms fall away and you step back, clearing your throat. “But it’s in the past, now.”

“Doll—”

“Steve, fighting Thanos was the fucking scariest thing of my life, and I wanted to kill him so badly I tore open what Stephen Strange thinks is a multidimensional tear. Because I lost control, and I didn’t want to come back.” You can still recall the feeling — like free falling and knowing the clouds will catch you — as you just let go of everything holding you up. Of falling into the darkness and just barely snagging the last of the light so you can pull yourself out again if you wanted to.

And you didn’t want to until it was over.

Until Tony was dead.

“Everything from the past doesn’t matter, because I have more important things to fix,” you continue blithely. Steve barely has time to open his mouth before you lean up to kiss his lips. “I love you, Steve.” 

“I need to tell you something—”

“I’m not in the mood to talk, Steve. My best friends are dead, and it’s permanent. I’m not so lucky as you.” You force a smile onto your face and run a hand up and down his arm in farewell. “I’ll see you at the cabin.”

You don’t.

It is Bucky who tells you the man is gone.

You would laugh at the irony — Bucky is the one telling you the love of your life is gone — if you didn’t feel like this. Like your world is ending and like you’re not good enough and like the ring on your finger was just a cheap way to keep you around. 

Instead you thank him, and go to Natasha’s funeral. Because that’s what you do.

You look to the future. You are the sunshine girl after all. The Viper who can shed her skin and move on.

The Viper who is searching for someone. Who doesn’t know yet, but someone who doesn’t want to fix her, because she is not-fine-but-accepting of the way she is now. Who isn’t searching for someone else, someone from their past, someone you aren’t and can never be.

And you find him, weeks after the Battle, in one of New York’s finest bars.

Because if Steve Rogers is a loyal golden retriever, then Quentin Beck is the snake in the garden.

[zombiescantfly]

Halo and the Burden of the Extended Universe

Halo, as in the initial trilogy of games one through three, has been about one man, known only by his rank, traveling to exotic alien superstructures hanging in deep space, traversing their surfaces on foot and in a variety of human and alien military vehicles, and mowing down literally hundreds of enemies per level. Throughout that trilogy, we’re supposed to believe that these aliens, the Covenant, pose a great risk to all of humanity. We’re told, by way of the instruction manuals and some NPC chatter, that these aliens have pushed our own species, at the time a massive space-faring empire, back to the singular planet of our birth. 

In all three games, we just barely make our way to the latest superstructure, clawing our way there against what's said to be insurmountable odds. We're constantly told that we're low on resources, low on time, we barely have a foot in the door while the Covenant have already made their bed. And yet, every single game, we win. Effortlessly. Constantly. 

And not only do we win, but we prevent the total annihilation of all life in the universe no less than once per game, sometimes more! Untold hordes of enemies fall at our controller-wielding fingertips, but somehow we're meant to accept that this one is our last chance, for real, we swear. Still, problems come and go at the whim of an inattentive scriptwriter, built up to be the most important thing we've ever seen, left perfectly resolved at the end of a 20-minute level.

In every game, the goalposts are constantly shifting, pushed further and further back by writers who realize, sweat on their brows, that they've started with the destruction of all life in the universe and have to somehow amp it up from there. For three games.

To put it mildly, they are not successful.

What do we have to be afraid of? Not the Covenant, because even the worst weapons we have available to us can tear them apart. All life on Earth, the last bastion of our species, is put at risk a full three times over the course of two games, and every single time we, as the protagonist, turn our back on the problem and are promised it will be solved when we aren't looking. If the Halo rings are fired, all life in the universe dies! Except when it was fired in Halo 2 and only sent a standby signal before being deactivated. Except when it was fired in Halo 3 using a never-before-heard-of "tactical pulse" that is at perfect odds with everything it was stated to do in all three games. 

There's no threat that sticks, no threat that matters. Everything the games have told us to be afraid of are continuously revealed to be utterly inconsequential. Even the moment-to-moment threats become routine, the moment-to-moment losses, unnoticeable. How many times have you gathered a squad of friendly Marines only to lose them all in the next gunfight? Well, don't worry, here comes a Pelican with four new ones, no questions asked. Yes, we're running low on fuel and men and supplies, but here you go Chief, you're special.

But why are we special? Who is The Master Chief? We know some things, but not a lot. We're a supersoldier, a Spartan. We have a ship's AI in our head who tells us what LZs to clear and does all the talking for us. Across three games, approximately thirty hours of gameplay, our main character has a mere sixty-eight lines of dialogue, and most of it doesn't pass the five word mark. Cortana, in comparison, has nearly six hundred spoken lines. Our hero is characterized only by lines like "boo," "green, sir," "I need a weapon," "understood," and "we'll make it."

Truly, a fascinating and deep character to go down in the annals of gaming history. A man brimming with all the personality of a cardboard box, all the empathy of a brick, and all the motives of a potted plant.

And yet, every Halo fan out there will tell you how cool he is, how haunted by his past he is, how deeply he feels the loss of his comrades, and how much he cares for his tiny blue Garmin. 

Why? We played the same games, right? With all the same plot holes and haphazardly shifting priorities, the miniscule cast of named characters that never do anything to extend past their paint-by-numbers archetype? What are they getting out this that I haven’t?

Well, they read the books.

To them, Halo has an excuse. There aren't any plot holes, none at all, because you can just read this piece of licensed fiction to plug it. Are you still uncertain, well over a decade after the fact, just how much time passed between Halo 2 and 3? There's a graphic novel to answer that for you. What about the Arbiter, why didn't he stick around to try to form a proper treaty with humanity after the end of Halo 3? Read the book to find out. Okay then, the Flood invasion of Earth, how'd that get cleaned up so fast? Don't worry, watch the animated short.

This isn't how storytelling works. 

You don't get to present a player of your game, a buyer of your product, with one third of a story and then tell them the rest exists as multiple books. You don't get to ignore key plot points that would bring your story together just so they can be sold off years later in a different medium.

External media, should your property have it, should be to expand on things the primary property has no room for. Hinted-at background events. Formative character experiences. Something tangentially related that still ties in to the main story. If it's really that important, tell your writers to make room for it in the main product. 

Halo has the room for it. Each game will probably take a first-time player around ten hours for a first playthrough, and far less time on subsequent runs. These games are short, but they attempt to tell a story many times larger than they make room for. So make more room. End the focus on getting players in and out in a single weekend sitting. Let your characters talk to each other beyond exchanging stiff one-liners in cutscenes. Stop making every level a bombastic, breakneck setpiece and give the story room to breathe, to actually be told. If it’s the end of the universe we’re dealing with, surely you can spare us more than nine measly levels? Let us actually see the larger situation rather than being told about it. Do you really think Halo fans would complain about a campaign taking fifteen to twenty hours to beat? They love Halo, they want to spend time with it. Capitalize on that, and take the opportunity to finally, actually tell a story with all the parts in it instead of just a third.

Which brings us, finally, to Halo: Reach.

Certain Halo fans, largely the same group of them that defend the poor storytelling because “it’s in the books,” have a reaction to Halo: Reach that can best be described as ‘vitriolic.’ They don’t like it. Why?

Because it’s not like the book. 

You see, while Halo: Reach came out in 2010, a book by the name of Halo: The Fall of Reach came out some months before the first Halo game in 2001. They are both about the same event, but with quite major differences. This caused quite a lot of contention at the time of Reach’s release, mainly from the part of the fanbase that believed they were going to get a one-to-one retelling of this book in videogame form. 

They didn’t get that. Halo: Reach is an original story that tells the tale of a world’s final hours and one team of elite supersoldiers as they attempt to do anything they can to help delay the inevitable end. It’s not the most compelling story ever written, or even the most compelling version of that story ever told, but it’s effective. Even though we’re dealing with the imminent destruction of an entire planet, the story manages to stay small. Reach’s ultimate destruction is a common piece of wall graffiti or NPC combat barks, so the ending is known, leaving room for smaller objectives to take the spotlight. Rescue civilians trapped behind enemy lines. Delay an invasion force to buy evacuation efforts another hour. Clear the skies so supplies and medivac can go out. 

Halo: Reach has almost no connection to the series at large, and it’s quite the breath of fresh air. As a prequel, its ending is a forgone conclusion, but it does what it can with the time it has. The messy, convoluted politics of Halo 2 and 3 are far in the series’ chronological future, letting you fight two enemy factions at once for the first time in the series, away from the plot point that sees them at war with each other. The end of the universe isn’t constantly being dangled over our heads for the third time in as many games, so the characters have a chance to sit down and swap banter, tell us who they are. They aren’t anyone too terribly compelling - Bungie still hadn’t quite figured out character writing - but they’re tested archetypes played well enough for the story’s demands. The threat is known and static, the stakes grow higher by way of the ticking clock drawing us ever closer to the planet’s inevitable end. There’s no faffing around with “trading one villain for another” because killing the first one would have ended the story too quickly, so a new one has to show up with no lead-in. 

Even at the very end of that original trilogy, Halo’s story was too big for the time Bungie gave it. Its own plot points were shoving at each other, jockeying for position, knocking parts off themselves in an effort to fit into nine half-hour levels until all that was left were fractions of what you’d need to find in the books afterward.

Reach suffers from its own short length, but not in the same way. It suffers in that you can point to the characters and they say needed more setup, more time with each other, maybe another level or two here or there to really draw the relationship out. It suffers by pushing a little too hard at the “imminent end” angle, hurrying you through and skipping over hours of in-world time that probably could have been their own level.

But surely even the superfans saw that this was preferable? That a standalone story was the best way to go about things? Surely they understood that attempting to simply recreate the book would have ended with them not seeing any of what Bungie came up with for this new game? There’s a lot to like about Halo: Reach, and a lot to do in it that you can’t do in any of the other games. Surely even the most fervent defenders of the extended canon ended up coming around and being able to separate the two for what they both were on their own.

Of course, that’s not what happened. See again, ‘vitriolic.’ And so here we are at the question this whole thing has been building up to. When a company leans as hard into external supplemental media as Bungie did for Halo, is it then obligated to play by the rules and plot points outlined in those external entities? It’s a tricky question, mostly because up until that point, Bungie had gone ahead as if every book and animated short and comic and webisode was one hundred percent canonical. The reason superfans tolerated those gaping plot holes in the games is, again, because they weren’t holes at all when paired with their companion media. So now, in the far-past year of 2010, Bungie has suddenly decided that one of those sacred tomes of external knowledge is incorrect. 

I think the easiest answer would have simply been to...tell the proper amount of story in the first place, but I guess it’s a little too late for that, especially now. 

So what, then, is the obligation put forward by such a slavish devotion to external storytelling? Were they wrong to do something different? Were they right to forge ahead with something new for the benefit of freeing players who had never read that book and any other related to it from the web of multi-author canon? 

I’d say they made the right move. Let’s talk about Star Wars.

Star Wars and Halo share many a talking point, the most obvious of which is just the sheer amount of additional stories they have stapled to them. Great news for fans who are into it, but terrible news for the actual IP holders. All they do is get in the way when the primary vehicle wants to expand. Disney felt it more than Bungie ever did, but Bungie felt it first: cut away the myriad stories clogging up the canon or you’ll never make anyone happy. Try to appease the superfans and get burned by not touching on every single node of criss-crossing plot webs that is the result of decades of overlapping stories by as many authors, while alienating newcomers by being forced to pay lip service to concepts and characters they’ve never heard of and have no attachment to. 

Disney made the right call, and so did Bungie with Reach. What came next in Disney’s case isn’t relevant, and Bungie washed their hands of Halo entirely afterwards. 

If your story cannot survive without the propping-up of half a dozen pieces of external media, you have failed to tell a good story. If your answer to questions about this story is to tell the asker to read a book, you have failed to tell a good story. I understand the appeal of that expansion, of being able to have a celebrated setting grow and reach new places, but it shouldn’t come at the expense of the setup. The world has to exist before it can be expanded upon. The story needs to be in place for its offshoots to grow. And that’s what Halo fails at, so totally and repeatedly. Bungie was too excited by the prospect of having an extended universe that they forgot to make a universe to expand upon. As a result, the actual core universe exists smeared across half a dozen mediums and dozens of individual pieces, with no true convergence point someone can present a newcomer with and say, “Start here.”

The Halo games are a patchwork mess of uninspired characters, unexplored concepts, unknown stakes, and uninteresting locales. Because they rely so heavily on their companion media to fill in those blanks, there’s nothing there to entice a first-time player to do it themselves. If a character’s inspiration comes from one book, the exploration of a concept comes from another, the weight of the stakes is told through an animatic, and the otherworldly locales are shown in all their glory only in the pages of a comic book, what is the game even for? If everything you need to know about the Master Chief, the Covenant, the war, and the Halos isn’t in the games, what’s the point of them? What do Halo 1, 2, and 3 actually stand to add to a universe seemingly defined elsewhere?

They become wastes of time. Wastes of potential. Other people - artists and authors working under contract for Bungie, not Bungie themselves - did all the heavy lifting to create these worlds and these characters. Does Bungie even know who their own characters are? Could the original writer for Halo 1 tell me everything the Master Chief has become through the works of a dozen other authors over the course of twenty years? 

The books might be good. I wouldn’t know; the games didn’t inspire me to read them.