#and i kept trying to find other scan sites but no!!! every single one for some reason keeps forcing me to see the bees!!!!

[maburito]

That feel when you find a really cute girl x girl manga but for some reason every single scan online ends with a picture of your number 1 NOTP

[a-space-wizard1330]

(This is a page dedicated to the Guardian, Apollo-13, and his Ghost, Asclepius, who belong to @kellofqueers)

[If you wish to add me on Destiny, my username is: A Space Wizard#1330]

Greetings, I have seen a few of my fellow Guardians make a "blog" here.

I have no idea what a blog is, but I saw that the Hunter Vanguard, along with some of my fellow Guardians, have one and decided to attempt interacting here.

You can ask me or Asclepius anything you want, and we will attempt to answer.

(🌕:Apollo-13, 🌑:Asclepius)

Apollo-13 (with and without helmet)

Asclepius

✨silly little lore things✨

these are completely optional reads, but provide context for certain conversations

Apollo-13's life before being a Guardian

Apollo-13 was a welder for Clovis Bray, although he had the capability and knowledge to be in larger roles, they kept him there because he was involved in too many workplace "accidents".

Nearly every single reset was because Clovis Bray needed to cover up the inhumane durability tests they performed at the expense of Apollo-13 and many other exos like him;the only resets that weren't performed because of his involvement with durability tests, resets 7 and 4, were due to him discovering the files that documented the results of the experiments along with other things.

Now you might be asking something along the lines of: "Hey waitaminute, didn't Clovis Bray have access to technology that allowed them to pretty much instantly make buildings?" and yes, they did! The reason why Apollo-13 and his "co-workers" were doing their jobs at all was because Clovis Bray kept them completely unaware of the outside world, the knowledge of this is what I meant when I said other things, and had them live on-site. The most exposure that they got to the outside world was music, but that was simply because everyone was issued a device similar to a Sony Walkman to listen to while they worked. The reason that they were provided with said device was because experiments showed that listening to music boosted productivity when working a hands-on job. However, all the music the "workers" had access to was all pre-Golden Age.

The reason why Apollo-13 was a subject in this experiment in the first place was because, when he was a human, he worked at the very top of Clovis Bray's Biology department. However, he inhaled dangerous spores from an experimental plant that they were developing. He opted to have his mind implanted into an Exo, on the condition that he be named Apollo. The reason why he decided to name himself Apollo is due to his extreme fascination with Greek mythology and he wanted to make further developments in medicine, like the god Apollo did, when he became an Exo.

Unfortunately, he was placed carelessly into the experiments for pain aptitude and extreme labor hours.

During the Collapse, Apollo-13 was on the job site welding metal support beams together while listening to his favorite song, Huey Lewis and The News' song "Hip To Be Square", when the whole facility began to shake from the invasion of the Witness and the Black Fleet. Unfortunately, Apollo-13 couldn't escape from the facility because the earthquake caused his blowtorch to weld his fingers to the beams he was welding together. Due to this, he was crushed because the facility fell apart and he couldn't escape.

Asclepius' journey to find Apollo-13

A nameless Ghost awoke, freshly born from the Traveler's Light, adjusting his vision to the world around him and he heard a voice, that of Apollo-13's, that said only two words: "My son..."

The Ghost knew that the message was from the Traveler, but that the voice was that of his Guardian. As is usual for most Ghosts, he didn't know where to find his Guardian but he knew he had to try...

A few years into his journey, the Ghost was scanning through documents in a Clovis Bray facility when he noticed a name that stood out...

"Apollo-13..?" the Ghost asked himself quietly. Fortunately, there was an audio log attached to the file. It consisted of Apollo-13 singing his favorite song while welding.

The shell of the small floating machine flared out in excitement as he combed through his memories and listened to the message from the Traveler. "My son..." emanated from him, the Ghost quickly played the audio log attached to the file once again and almost screamed in joy when he realized the voices were the same, just different in tone. He quickly looked through the file for the location of the facility that the audio log was from, and immediately began making his way to it in the hopes that the body of his Guardian was still there.

It took the Ghost another two years to reach the collapsed facility, but he eventually did find it. He floated through the rubble looking for anything that would lead him to his Guardian, not expecting to find him laying there under a pile of rubble.

The Ghost quickly floated over to the Exo and resurrected it, a small moan emanating from his mouth as a burst of Light flowed through it and cleared any rubble covering it...

The first words Apollo-13 said as he rose from the dead were: "My son..."

The Ghost quickly read the name tag on his Guardian's burnt jumpsuit, and named himself Asclepius. He had prior knowledge of Greek mythology from reading some burned out books in a few libraries while searching for his Guardian.

How Apollo-13 knows about his life before being a Guardian

After being resurrected, Asclepius explained to Apollo-13 all the basics of Light, how to weld it, what the Traveler is, and that they needed to go to the a place called Last City. Apollo-13 nodded along, not understanding a single thing that this strange machine was saying to him but also understanding that he spoke only the truth.

After the lengthy explanation of why he was risen from the dead, Apollo-13 asked Asclepius where they were and if they could find out what his previous life was like.

Fortunately for the newly raised Exo, Asclepius had the ability to interface with just about any technology that exists. The Ghost lead him to the dilapidated office/observation room of the facility and began scanning through the computers that were scattered throughout the room. He found one that contained the entire life history of Apollo-13, even his life before becoming an Exo, and forced the centuries old computer to rise from the grave like his Guardian had. Apollo-13 began to read through his file, a strange sense of familiarity everpresent in his bones...

After spending about a week relearning himself, and even some things he wasn't aware of in his previous life, he sat on the ground and wept. He wept for the stranger who's body he was in. He wept for the brilliant mind who was forced to perform tasks that could be done in seconds by technology. He wept for the man who's body he was in, and regretted everything that ever happened to him. He cried for a week, becoming so distraught by the corruption and disgusting nature of the corporation who made the body he lives in. If it weren't for the presence of Asclepius, the New Light would've snuffed himself out like a candle lit in a rainstorm.

The journey to the Last City

After the Mourning, the name that Apollo-13 and Asclepius gave to that horrible week, the two of them set off towards the Last City. They crossed through swamps and deserts, lands that before the Collapse would've looked beautiful but now resemble a trampled ant hill on a rainy day. They reached the Panama Ravine, joining a small caravan that was headed to the same place they were. Apollo-13 refused food and drink from the people who he walked with, and never slept either. He was like a saint to these people, a gift sent from the Traveler to lead them to their home. They were only ambushed by Eliksni twice, the first was an etherbath for the poor Eliksni who dared lay a finger on those who traveled with Apollo-13 and Asclepius. The second ambush was much larger in size, as the Eliksni had brought a walker with them to attempt to destroy the New Light. This was the worst and last decision those poor Eliksni would ever make. Although Apollo-13 was a New Light, he trained while he traveled, before he joined the caravan of course, and knew how to rend the lines between realites apart and make them his weapons. He tried to tell the Eliksni to surrender, but they refused to listen. The last thing many of the foolish Eliksni saw was a flash of purple darting from one fallen comrade to another, before it eventually reached them.

After the carnage, Apollo-13 collapsed. He slept for a whole day, small sparks of Void energy occasionally leaping off his body. Once he awoke, he apologized to the caravan for having such an outburst. His apology was met with laughter, but not of a mocking nature. They held a small bonfire that night, celebrating the Guardian who had saved them from certain death.

The next morning, the caravan awoke to Apollo-13 covered in armor scavenged from the Eliksni he had destroyed along with the swords of the captain that led the ambush.

"I have made a gift for you, please take it."

He stepped aside and revealed a new transport cart, made from the Walker that tried to eliminate them.

"None shall touch you while you have this around, I left a single survivor on purpose. He will tell of the Guardian who disintegrated his allies and forged a ship from their machine. If any of them see you, then they will see this and leave you be."

The caravan cheered, but some noticed something was wrong with their savior's expression...

"Please understand that what I am about to say is not because I think little of all of you, I will be ever grateful for the help each of you provided me, but..." He steadied himself, looking at the small crowd in front of him "I am leaving to travel on my own. This is for the safety of each of you. My Light is volatile, I know not how to control it, and I would never forgive myself if any of you were harmed because of that." He begins crying gently, tears rolling off his chassis and onto the sandy ground of the Ravine "That is why I have built this machine for you, so that you may stay safe without me."

The caravan joined Apollo-13 in weeping, but each of them understood why he was leaving. Each of the members gave him gifts, be it small portions of food or canteens of water. Those gifts meant everything to him, but none were as important as the gift he received from a young girl.

She had given Apollo-13 her favorite doll, and asked him to keep it safe for her. He promised to keep the priceless doll safe, and was met with a hug from the girl.

After he hung the doll from his belt, he set off towards the distant horizon facing the Traveler as he went...

The rest of his journey was rather uneventful, all things considered. He was never ambushed due to the presence of a Captain's blades upon his back, and he never reached the last of his supplies due to rationing...

Why Asclepius' shell is special

Fast-forward to the time of the Witch Queen expansion, and Apollo-13 and Asclepius are the best of friends. They were sent to the Throne World to deal with Savathūn and her Lucent Hive, but were often sidetracked by exploring the crashed Pyramid Ship.

However, this would prove to be a near-fatal mistake for both of them...

On one fateful expedition into the Pyramid Ship to clear out a large Scorn nest that was forming, the two of them weren't paying attention and Asclepius was suddenly struck with a slash of Resonance energy that split his shell in two and damaged some internal components.

All the sudden, a Tormentor emerged from the shadows to deal the killing blow on the Guardian who kept trespassing on a sacred ship of the Black Fleet.

Unfortunately for this Tormentor, Apollo-13 was pissed and all his anger was directed at the creature of Darkness...

Apollo-13 knew that he had to do something, and so he reached deep within himself and unleashed a Chaos Reach so potent and powerful that it turned the walls surrounding the Tormentor to nothing but ash, sparking with residual Arc light.

This, fortunately, was enough to kill the Tormentor and leave some of his body intact, minus the smoking hole in his chest of course.

"Apollo..." cried Asclepius, weak and dying from the damage.

"Asclepius, please don't die..." Apollo began to weep, holding his Ghost within his cupped hands

His mind began racing with ideas on how to fix Asclepius' shell when suddenly he heard the wall of the Pyramid Ship begin to repair itself automatically...

"Asclepius, I'm sorry but this is the only way..."

Apollo-13 quickly ran towards the wall, clutching Asclepius in his hands, as he felt his Light fading. He began frantically grabbing at pieces of the wall and used a blade made of Solar Light to carve them into pieces.

"Oh Traveler, please forgive me!"

Apollo-13 held Asclepius in one hand and the carved wall bits in the other and ran towards a small well of Resonance energy.

He began frantically trying to channel the energy, fortunately he already had experience channeling Darkness from his ventures on Europa with Elsie Bray and Variks.

He encased Asclepius' core in blinding Light and then a layer of Resonance, placing the carved wall bits on either side of him so the energy would have somewhere to flow to.

"Apollo... I think you did it..."

Asclepius slowly floated out of Apollo-13's hands, trying to focus his vision but failing

"My eye is broken, I can't see!" Asclepius began frantically panicking, trying to look at his Guardian but failing to

"Calm down Asclepius, I have an idea."

Apollo rose to his feet and walked towards the Tormentor he had killed, and ripped his eye out. He gathered more bits of the wall and carved once more, now making a lens for Asclepius to see with.

Apollo-13 carefully placed the part with the lens on it on top of Asclepius and stepped back cautiously...

🌕 "Well, how is it..?"

🌑 "I... I can see again! Apollo, you're the best Guardian ever."

🌕 "You do realize that I just broke several Vanguard laws about utilizing Darkness, correct?"

The two of them stared at eachother blankly, before bursting out laughing. Asclepius returned to Apollo-13's side, and they left the Pyramid Ship and vowed never to return. Unless Ikora told them to.

More lore to be added later...

If you've gotten to this point, I just wanna say thank you. I really appreciate you being so invested in my Guardian and Ghost's story that you read what is essentially just really complicated fanfic.

Stay tuned, I will add lore here when I feel like it!

Extra bits

Asclepius' shell before the Pyramid incident

Asclepius' current shell, made from Resonance and the Pyramid Ship

Transmogs for Apollo-13's main outfit

the same shaders are used across all outfits

[calummss]

Failed Mission | Kylo Ren

masterlist

summary: you failed a mission and have to deal with snoke’s consequences until kylo steps in

requested by: anon

words: 1.8K

Your black combat boots hit the hallways of the Finalizer leaving behind an echo. Your feet moved at a very fast pace trying to keep up with Kylo. With Kylo Ren by your side you strut through the main part of the ship trying to get to the conference room in time. Several people would be joining you today, to invade Jakku in aid of finding the two droids that had stolen a pod and escaped the ship all by themselves. Even when you had to explain to Supreme Leader Snoke what had happened you were embarrassed to say the least. How could two dumb droids escape the most guarded ship in the galaxy?

Making your way through the empty hallways you started to approach the conference room door that was guarded by two stormtroopers. The door slid up and the table was almost filled.

‘Kylo R-‘

‘Sit down, General Engell.’

‘Yes, Sir.’ she sat down and placed her arms on the table.

You followed Kylo to the head of the table and took your seat next to him, opening the files that would be needed for today's meeting. The seats were filled with Generals who were sceptical about the plans Kylo made.

‘We’ve all heard those two droids that escaped the Finalizer.’ Kylo started to pace around the room, trying to keep his anger under control. ‘They escaped using one of our pods located in the lower base of the ship. They were unsupervised. Someone let them out of their sight.’

You glanced at Kylo. He was wearing his helmet but you could tell that he was biting his lip in frustration. He always did. Ever since you met him, he’s bitten his lip on any occasion something didn’t go his way. You knew how important it was for him to get those droids back, to show them how great and powerful Kylo Ren is, to show Snoke that he is the chosen one. Looking around the room you saw General Pryde and Quinn take notes whilst General Armitage Hux kept a close eye on Kylo’s frame that was pacing around the room.

‘One of the droids is from the R2-series astromech droid, which was manufactured by Industrial Automaton. He’s blue and white in colour but does not look brand new. He was built in 32BBY or prior.’

Everyone was taking notes again to give the descriptions to stormtroopers that would set foot on Jakku. No one but a few selective people had seen the droids.

‘The other droid is a 3PO-series protocol droid that was also built prior to 32BBY. He’s completely gold and stupid.’ Kylo huffed with a hint of annoyance. ‘Make sure that every corner is checked, every stone is turnt over and every street is cleared. I want those droids back!’

Kylo finally sat down. The rest of the Generals were looking at him waiting for something else.

‘Y/N will take care of the rest. Leave.’

And with that they stood up, bowed and left the room so you two could continue talking about the plan and how you could get the droids back.

‘Do you think we’ll be able to find them?’ you stared at his face, hoping he wouldn’t be too harsh on himself.

‘Of course I will. I have to. We’re the First Order we always get what we want.’ he turned his head to you.

‘I’ll get started then okay?’ you gave him a reassuring smile and stood up.

Before you could walk off he grabbed your hand and placed a soft kiss on the back on your fingers. ‘Be safe.’

‘I will.’

You grabbed your files and headed out of the door like the rest of the Generals before you. You made your way back through all the hallways the Finalizer had. Heels clicking you made your way to the bottom section of the ship and opened the door to reveal the landing site. You walked past spaceships, shipments, other workers and containers to reach the large group of stormtroopers waiting for you. 200 of them stood in a block arrangement waiting for orders.

‘I’ll be sending you to Jakku on the orders of Kylo Ren. Two droids were reported missing a few hours ago when they stole a pod and stranded on the planet. Find the droids and bring them back alive! I will be joining you.’ you ended your quick speech earning a salute from the troopers before you. They cleared out and made their way to the First Order Transporter.

10 minutes later you landed on Jakku. It was warm, humid, dull and beige. You saw the village in the distance and motioned the troops towards the east of your current standpoint. Swinging your arm over your forehead you tried to keep the whirling sand out of your face. You walked through the desert to arrive at the main part of the village soon after. You sent the troops away and walked to a cantina to freshen up. You ordered something from the menu and took your time to relax. You couldn’t fail this mission. You couldn’t fail Kylo, you couldn’t fail Supreme Leader Snoke.

It has been six hours since you landed on the planet located on the outer rim of the galaxy and no stormtrooper came back to report the founding of the droids. Growing impatient you swung back the last shot of whatever liquid the bartender gave you and marched outside getting blinded by the sun. You walked up to a group of stormtroopers that were standing at the side of the building letting passengers go through.

‘Mission report.’

‘We have not yet found them, Miss.’

‘First of all it’s General Y/L/N to you and what do you mean you haven’t found them yet?’ you scanned the group in front of you trying to find a hint of sarcasm.

‘General Y/L/N, we have not found them. They seem to have disappeared with a girl and a boy.’

‘A girl and a boy?’

‘Yes, they were sighted two hours ago but no one has seen them since.’

You rolled your eyes. It was already getting dark and you’d have to call off the mission. You wouldn’t be able to find them in this condition. You gathered the troops and wandered back to your shuttle. You left the planet empty handed. You had failed.

You turned one of your monitors sideways and dialed Kylo Ren’s number, hoping he’d pick up and understand your attempts to find them.

‘Kylo?’ you questioned not knowing if he was there.

‘Yes. Did you find the droids?’

You took a big breath before letting the words slip off your tongue. ‘No, I haven’t.’

‘What do you mean ‘no’?’ he said a whisk of frustration in his tone.

‘I said no, Kylo. I don’t have the droids. We’re coming back as I speak. It’s getting dark and that would just put everything on hold regardless.’

Kylo stayed silent. The kind of silence that filled the void and made things awkward. He was angry, you could tell. He had every right to be but not at you.

‘Kylo, are you still there?’

‘Come back to the ship.’ and with that he hung up.

You were navigating the ship to the landing site when you saw General Hux and Kylo Ren waiting for you to dock your ship. You walked down the extended ramp and greeted the two with the bad news.

‘General Hux, Kylo Ren, I’m sorry to inform you on the failed mission for the search of the droids. They were last seen with a girl and boy and haven’t been spotted since. It was getting dark and I decided to take the soldiers back to the Finalizer as it wouldn’t have made a difference.’

‘Don’t apologise to me, General. You can save it for Supreme Leader Snoke. He wants to see you right this second.’ General Hux informed you.

You look up at Kylo to see him not paying attention to a single word that was just spoken. You started to make your way towards Supreme Leader Snoke, stormtroopers and other working people stepping out of your way in fear. Everyone heard about the failed mission and the fact that Snoke requested an audience with her.

‘Are you mad at me?’ you spoke ahead, concentrating on your footsteps.

‘No. I’m mad that the mission failed.’

You pressed your lips together. ‘Okay.’

When you arrived at the doors, they were opened and you saw that Snoke was already waiting for you. His body projected onto the large seat in front of you.

‘Leave.’ Snoke looked down on Hux. He left the room within seconds and it was just you, Kylo and Snoke trying to bear the tension between you.

‘You failed.’ his harsh tone penetrated your ears. Yet you stood tall and didn’t dare to let him intimidate you. ‘You continue to let me down General Y/L/N, I can’t continue to condone this kind of failure under my order!’

Suddenly you felt an invisible grip around your throat. Snoke was using the force to choke you. You airways closed in every on going second and you head started to feel lightweight. Your legs were kicking the air as you tried to get out of his grasp but it was useless.

‘Stupid girl.’

‘Let her go, Master.’ you heard Kylo demand.

‘What did you say to me?’ Snoke’s grip on you tightened.

‘I said let her go.’

‘You don’t tell me what to do, boy.’ Snoke gritted. ‘You’re nothing.’

Suddenly it felt like someone had turned on the activation button on life support. Your lungs were filled with air as you gasped out for more. Your hands lightly wrapped themselves around your throat, trying to stabilize yourself. From the corner of your eye you saw Kylo approach Snoke with his ignited lightsaber. Kylo had caught Snoke off guard when he pierced through his body—impossible.

Still trying to accustom to the air you heart Kylo yell.

‘You don’t fool me, I knew you were sitting there this whole time, using the projector as a cover up. Pathetic.’

You saw Snoke fall to his knees taking his final breath before his body slammed to the floor. Kylo came running towards you, picking you up.

‘Hey, hey, are you alright.’

‘Yes, I’m fine.’ you croaked out.

‘Come on. Let’s get out of here.’

And that was the day Kylo Ren saved you from the man he feared the most, to become the man the galaxy would fear even more. Supreme Leader Kylo Ren.

[accioxreparo]

entranced | f.w.

synopsis: Fred finds himself taking a different approach to get your attention. Little does he know he already has it. 

pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

warnings: none!

a/n: This idea is straight from the discord chat earlier with my babes! This concept is honestly so amazing and completely inspired by @levylovegood​ and also this picture so hopefully I did it justice 😭💖

The Gryffindor table was uncharacteristically silent as Fred Weasley approached late for breakfast. That was typical though. More often than not he was rushing in right before classes started and just as quickly rushing back out.

What was unusual though, and the source of everybody’s shock, was the pair of glasses framing his face. Glasses he didn’t need. Glasses nobody was sure even belonged to him.

“What?” Fred barely acknowledged them as he started putting food on his plate. “What’s with the staring?”

“What’s with -” Ginny let out a heavy sigh as she shared a glance with her siblings, every one of which was just as confused as she was. “What are you wearing those for?”

“Wearing what for?”

“Those obviously!” George reached across the table and flicked the frame of the glasses, skewing them sideways on Fred’s face. He ducked out of the way before he could retaliate. “Didn’t even know you owned any glasses.”

“Well I do,” Fred answered easily. Now that he was looking up he couldn’t help himself. His eyes scanned the Great Hall until he found you hunched over a book and scribbling something on some parchment.

“Well yeah but what for?” Ron frowned through a mouthful of food.

“To see, Ronniekins,” Fred looked away from you quickly when you glanced up abruptly, almost immediately looking right at him. “That’s what most people use them for.”

“Yeah but that’s not what you need them for,” Ron was oblivious to the fact that Fred wasn’t paying him any attention. His gaze had gone back to you the second you went back to your reading. “Think one of us would’ve noticed if you really needed them.”

“Spill it,” Ginny leaned forward while narrowing her eyes. “I can almost guarantee you didn’t own those before last night. Now why do you need them?”

“Need what?”

A groan resounded between the three siblings, each of them coming to the realization that Fred was paying absolutely zero attention to their conversation.

“Okay new question,” George kicked Fred underneath the table, forcing him to look their way again. “What’s got you so -”

But before he could get the question all the way out Fred threw back his goblet of pumpkin juice and practically tripped over himself getting up from the table. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Well that was something.” Ron shook his head, staring at the empty spot his brother had just left.

Ginny nodded towards the entrance of the Great Hall where Fred had stopped, apparently finding one of the suits of armor very interesting. “Look at that.”

“Makes sense now,” George only shook his head as the three of them watched Fred wait a few seconds after you had left the Great Hall to follow you. “McGonagall changed our seats in Transfiguration the other day and since then our dear Freddie’s been infatuated with none other than Y/N Y/L/N. Has a perfect view of her from where he sits now.”

“You’re kidding,” Ron couldn’t help but scoff at the revelation. “She’s top of her class, always in the library. There’s no way she’d even give Fred the time of day.”

“Maybe that’s why he likes her,” Ginny shrugged, going back to her own breakfast. “Or why he’s intrigued at the very least.”

George hummed before a smirk flashed on his face, leaning in towards his younger siblings a little more. “Place your bets, kids. Do we think Fred’s little glasses plan is going to work or not?”

*

You tried your hardest not to stare, you really did.

Of course you’d noticed Fred Weasley of all people hanging around you for the past week or so, who wouldn’t? The fact that he happened to go out of his way a little to talk to you meant absolutely nothing at all though, you’d convinced yourself of that. Especially not when you knew you’d stuttered through practically every conversation you’d had with him so far.

Finally you thought maybe, just maybe, you were getting somewhere. Maybe you could work up the courage to say more than a few words to him next time you spoke. But then you caught sight of the glasses sitting comfortably on the bridge of Fred’s nose. They framed his face perfectly and it really wasn’t fair how they somehow made his eyes shine more than they usually did.

Any kind of coherent thought you were able to form left your brain when you laid eyes on him from across the classroom.

This really wasn’t you. You were smart, you knew that for a fact. Sure you mostly kept to yourself but there wasn’t a single time you hadn’t been able to think of a quick comeback, even if it was only muttered to yourself underneath your breath. That was how all of this had started after all.

He’d overheard a particularly hilarious quip during Potions one day and his burst of laughter had earned him a detention. He had promised you he didn’t mind when you fumbled your way through a quick apology the next day.

Now, though, you were speechless at the mere sight of him because how was it possible for one human to look that good? It didn’t help that you quite literally had the perfect view of him from across the transfiguration room. You weren’t sure how you hadn’t noticed him in his glasses before. Had he even worn them before?

Just as you were about to search your memories for any kind of recollection of Fred and his glasses you were interrupted. It was then you realized that you were openly staring at him, and apparently not very subtly.

“Would you like to tell the class what it is you find so interesting, Miss Y/L/N?”

You weren’t sure how long Professor McGonagall had been standing there or what answer she expected of you. Before you could say anything she turned around and took a few steps, effectively blocking your site of the very person you’d been distracted by.

“What about you, Mr. Weasley? You seem to be just as distracted.”

Fred, for once, seemed to also be at a loss for words. He’d barely managed to blink owlishly and start with the beginning of an excuse before he was shushed again. McGonagall looked between the two of you for a moment before pursing her lips. “Detention tonight, both of you.”

Frankly, you were too scared to argue. So instead you turned back towards the very thing that had been the cause of your distraction only to find him already looking at you. You could feel the heat rush to your face when Fred offered you a smile as he pushed the glasses up his face a little and mouthed, this should be fun.

*

Much to your surprise, you were in fact not the first one to reach the transfiguration room at exactly seven o’clock that night. Fred pushed himself off the wall immediately upon seeing you walking his way, a look on his face you couldn’t quite read.

“And here I was thinking you were going to ditch me.”

“I think,” You gulped as you looked anywhere but at him. He was still wearing his glasses and you were positive you’d get distracted again if you looked at him for too long. “I think I’d just get another detention if I did that.”

Fred, on the other hand, was looking right at you with a small smile playing on his lips. This detention was more than worth it in his eyes, especially if it meant getting to spend an hour alone with you. Well almost alone anyway. You were fidgeting a little too much though, something he noticed rather easily. “Is this your first one?”

“First what?”

“Detention.”

You frowned then, stopping your nervous movements and looking up at his towering figure. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know really,” Fred shrugged and couldn’t but smile at the sight of you looking at him curiously, head tipped to the side and arms crossed in front of you. “Maybe it’s just cause you’re always so quiet.” The memory of you cursing at Snape under your breath a couple weeks ago made him laugh suddenly. “You do have a mouth on you, though, don’t you?”

You knew what he was referring to immediately and a flush spread across your face once more. “I’m sorry about that, again”

“Don’t worry about it,” Fred leaned against the wall again and slid down until he was sitting on the floor. “So is it?”

“No,” With a sigh you followed his movements and sat down cross legged next to him. “Though I guarantee my reasons probably aren’t as fun as yours.”

“Try me,” Fred turned then so he was facing you, a cheeky smile playing on his lips. “You first.”

Slowly your nerves started fading away. Your gaze however stayed focused on the wall in front of you. “Fine, One was for ditching History of Magic to read in one of the broom cupboards.”

“Well aren’t you a little rebel.”

“Oh always,” That comment made you laugh. You could hear the grin in his voice and finally worked up the nerve to look at him, trying your hardest to focus on the conversation and not on the way his school robes had been abandoned and the sleeves of his button up shirt rolled up his arms. “Now your turn.”

Talking to Fred came easier than you thought it would. A couple well timed jokes had you relaxing completely and soon enough the two of you were laughing together right there, sitting on the floor in a random hallway.

The reason behind you being there had slipped your mind completely. That is until you noticed Professor McGonagall walking down the hallway. Both of you scrambled up from the floor, simultaneously recalling the fact that you had detention.

“Professor,” You nodded and quickly straightened out your clothes.

Fred, meanwhile, gave a smirk as he leaned against the wall once more. “You know I think we ought to give you detention for keeping us waiting, Professor.”  

“Did neither of you get my owl?” McGonagall ignored the comment as she moved to unlock the door to her office.

You turned to look at Fred, both of you sharing a confused look. “Owl?”

“Your detention was cancelled,” Once the door was unlocked she stood in the doorway and glanced between the two of you. You didn’t miss the ghost of a smile that flashed on her face. “Though I suppose it’s just as well. The two of you two certainly got to know each other better. Perhaps you can now find it in yourselves to keep the staring to a minimum in my class.”

Then without another word she walked into the room and shut the door behind her.

Your stare was blank as you glanced quickly between the office, Fred, and the spot Professor McGonagall once stood. “Did she -”

Fred chuckled again and followed as you started walking down the hallway towards your common room. “Did she what? Trick us into going on a first date? I think so.”

You weren’t able to keep the grin off your face as you shook your head a little. “It was not a first date. It was talking.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

“Well in that case how about this weekend? We can try not to get ourselves another detention while sneaking out to Hogsmeade.” Fred stopped when you did and couldn’t help but notice the surprised look on your face, one that faded quickly. “How about it?”

“I’ll agree if you tell me one thing, first.” You challenged, eyes narrowing and arms crossing as you stared directly at him for the first time.

“Anything.” Fred’s answer was just as confident.

Your eyes flickered across his face, taking in the sight of him wearing those glasses just as you had earlier. “You’ve never worn those before have you?”

A beat passed and Fred knew he’d been caught. You could see right through him. “Yes I have.”

“No you haven’t,” Your arms fell to your sides, being able to see his hesitation clearly. “I’d remember.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you look good in them.”

“Do I?” Fred chuckled when your eyes widened at your own comment. One you evidently you hadn’t meant to actually tell him. “Since we’re confessing I suppose I should tell you that you’re right.”

“I knew it!” You were quick to respond and nod in satisfaction. “What are you wearing those for then?”

For a moment Fred only looked at you. This wasn’t where he’d seen his day going. Maybe some more pining, wondering if you’d noticed him at all. Now that he was here beside you, both of you apparently smitten enough with each other for one of your professors to meddle, he was ecstatic. “I’ll tell you but you’re not allowed to laugh at me.”

“I promise I won’t.”

“Fine,” Fred started walking down the hall again but stayed focused on you to see what your reaction would be. “I thought they’d make you notice me more since you always seemed to be avoiding me.”

You tried not to smile, you really did. But the corners of your mouth started turning upwards and Fred stopped again, not being able to resist grinning along with you. “You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

“I’m not!” A laugh really did escape you then and you quickly put a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound. You looked up at him then, a little more serious. “I swear I’m not laughing at you. I just think it’s cute.”

“Well I’m glad you think so cause I quite like these. Think I look rather dashing.” Fred pushed the glasses up a little bit from where they’d slipped and smirked. “And apparently you agree since the whole reason we’re here is your staring.”

“Hey, both of us were staring, thank you very much.”

“Well I couldn’t help myself, darling. You’re entrancing, you know.”

“Entrancing,” You repeated the word and your grin softened, looking away as butterflies formed in your stomach. “Is that right?”

“It is,” Fred gave a firm nod, giving you no room to argue. “You’re beautiful, love, you must know that.”

When you dared to look at him he was smiling at you, a completely genuine sparkle in his eyes as he looked only at you. You weren’t sure yet what the warm feeling that erupted in your chest and fluttered through your body at the sight of his gaze trained on you was. He was looking at you like you were the world and it overwhelmed you with emotions you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Fred on the other hand? You were positive he was definitely somebody you could get used to. Him and his smile that never faded. Him and his laugh that was practically infectious. Him and his eyes that were full of life, showed you entire worlds, and sat behind a pair of glasses he didn’t need.

“Thank you,” You couldn’t help but beam back at him, a flash of confidence suddenly coursing through your veins. “So are you.”

[drarryruinedme7]

kinktober, day 26. tattoos

For @pandaburr024 who’s lovely and is always there to cheer me up and send me drarry’s blessed stuff and being with me in this hell of a site since I had like, 2 followers! Love you darling.❤️ thanks sweet @gallifrey1sburning for the beta :3

“Harry— fuck, bloody hell— somebody call Harry Potter!” Ron was screaming frantically, pacing up and down the front hall, a body draped over his shoulders, blood dripping slowly down his face and chest.

“Sir, he’s getting here, I need your IDs—”

“Our IDs?! I’m Ron Weasley! And this is Draco Malfoy, for fuck’s sake! Bloody call Harry or I’ll—”

“Ron!” Harry called, voice steady. He’d heard the ruckus from the corridor of the Magical Accidents ward. “Calm down, mate. What’s happened?”

“Malfoy, he’s—” Ron’s voice was starting to shake. Harry nodded, levitating Malfoy’s body, placing it on a conjured stretcher. He started pushing it, calling a nurse. Ron followed him, breath laboured. 

“We were on a raid,” Ron choked out. “I didn’t see them; fuck, it’s my fault! They cast something on him, I didn’t even hear the spell, Harry—”

The nurse quickly caught up with them and Harry instructed her to take Ron to be examined in Room 4. When Ron tried to argue, Harry pointed to the blood dried everywhere on him, not taking a no for an answer.

Malfoy was brought to Room 5. He was barely breathing, and his vitals were all screwed up. His lips, eyelids, and cheeks were slowly turning blue as Harry cast healing charm after healing charm, trying to find exactly what had been cast on him.

That was when it hit him— with a whirl of his wand, Harry vanished Malfoy’s Auror robes and started scanning every single centimetre of his body until he found the small wound on the inside of his thigh where the caster had cursed him to a slow death. 

Harry sighed— he’d found it just in time. When the danger had passed, Harry took a deep breath and his eyes wandered unwillingly over Malfoy’s skin. He hadn’t noticed while under pressure, but now, his mouth hung open as he took in the multitude of tattoos that were covering Malfoy’s chest. 

***

That had been the first time Harry saw Malfoy’s tattoos.

“You didn’t tell me,” Harry accused a couple of days later at Ron and Hermione’s place. 

“What, that Malfoy’s tattooed? I don’t see why I should have,” Ron replied earnestly, and Harry felt his cheeks heat up. Ron was technically right, but Harry had a huge kink for tattoos and after seeing Malfoy’s… the stark contrast they made on his ceramic skin, the way they fit perfectly with his scars...

“‘Cause that way Harry would have a feeble excuse to obsess over him all over again,” Hermione said smugly. 

“Oh, not again, Harry,” Ron snickered, taking a bite of his cheesecake. “But, well, maybe I should have mentioned he’s coming here for dinner.”

After Harry’s shocked gasp, the night actually went smoothly enough. Malfoy had been pleasant the entire evening, smiling, sharing his thoughts on recent events with Hermione. And, well. Ending up in Harry’s bed only a couple of hours later.

“Impressive,” Malfoy said, spreading his naked figure on Harry’s bed. “I would have never guessed you’d have such a nice house, Potter. Comfy bed, too. Perfect for rough sex.”

Harry’s eyes lit— he reached for Malfoy, climbing onto the bed, slowly pushing him down onto the soft sheets. “Rough will be for another night,” he said. 

Ron and Malfoy had been paired only six months ago, Malfoy had started being kind enough around a month ago, and this was the absolute first time they’d found themselves in bed together.

Still, Harry knew it wouldn’t be the last one. 

Malfoy smirked. “Oh?”

“Tonight,” Harry said, dragging his lips over Malfoy’s pulse point. “I’m going to lick and trace every single one of your scars,” he went on, starting with the small cut that ran along Malfoy’s collarbone. “Of your tattoos.” Harry’s lips traced lower, his tongue peeking out to trace the lines of the dragon tattoo on Malfoy’s left side. “Of your moles,” Harry concluded, sucking lightly against the mole that rested on Malfoy’s right hip, right next to his cock.

Malfoy’s hands flew to grasp Harry’s hair. “Fuck, Potter,” he breathed, squirming under Harry’s ministrations. “Where’s this coming from?”

“That’s another day’s story,” Harry chuckled against Malfoy’s pubic hairs— they were so incredibly soft and light, Harry buried his face in them. “Just as one day, you’ll tell me every story behind your tattoos.”

A giggle startled Harry, who looked up with knitted eyebrows.

“Sorry,” Malfoy said, amused. “Just. You and me, like this. You’re not like I imagined,” he confessed. 

Harry grinned. “Ah, this is only the beginning.” 

They’d had sex slowly, tenderly, that night. Harry still vibrated with glee remembering it. Remembering how he’d spent hours licking every line of Malfoy’s tattoos, how he’d kept kissing them and tracing them with his fingers as he’d buried his cock in Malfoy’s arse.

How he couldn’t stop looking and touching even after they’d come, hushing their names into each other’s mouths, like they were secrets of the utmost importance. 

“Tell me—” Harry had whispered against the constellation tattoo on Malfoy’s arm, cock spent but heart throbbing with feelings, “—everything about you.” 

Malfoy had looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “You know a lot already. Too much, probably.”

Harry had shaken his head. “Tell me about the ‘now’ you. Start from these…” 

Malfoy had shivered when Harry’s fingers stumbled upon the narcissus tattoo resting on his left hip, and then squirmed when it started blossoming. 

“Once, there was this spoiled kid…” 

[talonwings]

to feed a kingdom- Empires SMP Writing

in which fWhip and his subjects make questionable choices for noble reasons.

(can you tell yet that i am a c!fWhip apologist lololololol--)

It would have been easy to miss the small silhouette of the man against the giant shadows looming over the landscape.

The inky sky seemed to cling low over the Grimlands, as it had ever since the Dragon fell; the stars shone more dimly, those that still shone at all. Clouds scudded frantically across the faint crescent of the moon, pushed along by a harrying wind. The crickets all had fallen silent--indeed, all the animals had gone, hidden away in burrows and holes to shelter themselves from the threat of the corruption. No sound disturbed the stillness of the night, but for the harsh gasps of the lone figure as he raised the scythe and swung it again, and again, and again.

fWhip’s fingers had long since blistered, burst, and blistered again. He had stopped even glancing down to check his hands--the sight of the blood seeping through the fabric of his gloves had averted his gaze some time ago. The pain was a constant companion, enough so that he had become used to it, could ignore it if he gritted his teeth and focused on the rhythmic rise and fall of the tool in his grasp.

He was inelegant with the scythe. It would have been obvious to anyone observing, if there had been anyone around to observe at this ungodly hour; as it was, his lack of skill was evident enough in the ache it left behind in his forearms and shoulders, the torque that yanked at his spine every time he twisted to put his weight behind the swings. He had never been a large man, but he felt his smallness down to his bones here beneath the tower of corruption that still rose into the air above him.

Give up, the rot-red tendril seemed to hiss at him. Its veiny surface pulsated eerily, hinting at something living just beneath the fleshy exterior.

“I’ll die first,” fWhip rasped at it. “Watch me.”

He swung the scythe again. The blade was weathered steel, pocked and beaten from many years of use, but still dangerously sharp. It bit deep into the corrupted tendril, and fWhip was gratified when he swore he could hear a faint scream.

Plash was worried about the Count.

It wasn’t that her lord was acting strange, exactly. Strange, to Plash, was a relative term--she had been called ‘strange’ for most of her childhood due to her fondness for laboratory tools over the company of other children. It was a relief to finally be accepted into the service of the Grimlands’ ruler, who, by Plash’s measure, was a kindred spirit in strangeness. Many people raised their eyebrows at the Count’s eccentricities, but accepted them simply because he was the Count, and who were they to question the man who kept food on their tables and money in their coffers?

No, Plash was concerned because fWhip was acting strange, even for him. He was energetic and filled to the brim with ideas, as a rule--it was what made the Grimlands, under his rule, surge to the forefront of scientific research and discovery. Plash would have never described him as kind, necessarily, or even pleasant, but he was confident and sure and bold.

Until the Dragon fell, and everything changed.

She did not know how to make the dullness go out of his eyes, or the slant from his shoulders, or the heavy, bowing weight from his head, and it frightened her--an uncomfortable experience in itself, for someone as rarely frightened as Plash. In the hours immediately after the Dragon’s end, she had watched her beloved ruler become a person she did not recognize; and that, even before the corruption had arrived.

Plash scowled out the window of the manor at the scarlet tendril hanging ominously in the sky beyond the pane. The damn things had erupted from the ground barely a week after the Dragon’s death, while the Grimlands were still reeling from the arrival of what seemed like half of Mythland’s population. They had barely had enough time to count them all, much less figure out how they were going to feed them. Tents lined every road in Eastvale, and most of the roads immediately outside the town’s wall.

Normally, the Count would guide us, Plash thought glumly. But now…

She didn’t allow herself to finish the thought, close enough to treason as it was. Instead, she made herself continue her trek through the long, high-ceilinged halls toward the Count’s personal study, acutely feeling the weight of the smooth little scroll clutched in her hand, burning a hole through her glove.

She arrived at the tall, paneled oak door, staring for a long moment at the polished bronze knocker before summoning her strength and rapping it twice.

“Enter,” the weary voice called from within.

Plash did so, but stopped just inside the door, barely remembering to close it behind her as she gaped at her leader and mentor. He looked terrible. His eyes were ringed by bruise-purple circles, his cheeks hollow with exhaustion; more bruises were visible on the exposed skin of his wrists where his jacket sleeves rode up, and Plash swore she could see blood staining his gloves.

“Are you just going to stare?” the Count asked. The question was blunt, but his voice was weak and lacked its usual intensity.

“I…” Plash couldn’t find any words, so instead she held up the scroll. “This just arrived.”

“And they sent you instead of a raven?” fWhip gave a dry laugh. “I wasn’t aware that you were doing the job of birds now, Plash Ajax.”

Most people would have been embarrassed by the quip, but Plash shrugged. “A raven brought it, but the raven-mistress said it was too important not to be hand-delivered.”

“Mm.” fWhip eyed her for a moment before he, too, shrugged. “Bring it here.”

She obeyed, crossing the room and depositing the scroll on his desk. Up close he looked even worse than at first glance; his face and every centimeter of exposed flesh were riddled with tiny scratches, like he had been on the losing end of an encounter with a thorn bush. His clothes were wrinkled and disheveled, his gingery hair utterly unkempt. Plash said nothing, only waiting in silence for him to inspect the scroll.

He took it in his hands and unrolled it, eyes scanning it for a second before he let it fall from his grip. It hit the desk with a clack, but Plash barely noticed, fixated as she was on the single tear that trailed down the Count’s cheek before being lost in the tangle of his beard.

“Um…” She chewed her lip for a moment, internally caught between wanting to comfort him and wanting to turn tail and run. She settled for asking, somewhat awkwardly, “Shall I, um...shall I leave?”

“Do what you like,” he replied in a tone thick with exhaustion. One gloved hand came up for a noncommittal wave, the fingers indeed stained scarlet with blood.

Plash stood frozen for what felt like an eternity, although it was probably no more than a minute, trying to decide what to do. Finally, she decided to be as blunt as the man she looked up to. “You look awful. Did someone break in here for a fight last night?”

She thought she had made an awful mistake when fWhip’s eyes locked onto her, his mouth agape; relief washed over her when he started to laugh, the sound hoarse and beaten, but familiar.

“So you can tell,” he said when he finally stopped laughing. “Well, I suppose I did nothing to try to clean up.”

“Wait, so there was a fight?” Plash asked in confusion.

“Of a kind,” the Count replied wryly.

“...I’m confused,” the young scientist admitted.

“Ah, I know how you hate that.” fWhip’s mouth quirked in a half-smile. “All of you young researchers do, though I try my best to beat it out of you.” He stood, shaking his head and then wincing visibly at the movement. “Ack. That’s unpleasant.”

“Can I, er, help in any way?” Plash asked.

“Follow me,” the Count said, beckoning with a gesture toward the door. “I will answer your question, though you must promise to share this with no one.”

Plash followed silently, thoughts spinning through her head as they descended the several floors of the manor and exited into the gardens beyond. From down here, she had a full view of the corruption towering over the skyline of Eastvale, tendrils encircling the town as if to latch on and pull it into the earth, although for now, they remained still. It was toward one of the massive growths that fWhip led her, and as they neared, Plash could see a curious wound in the side of the tentacle. It leaked and bled crimson ooze from the gash, and its flesh seemed to have withered around the site, blackened and decaying.

“What caused this?” Plash wondered aloud. “More corruption? Some new blight?”

“I did,” the Count answered.

“You--?” Plash stared at him, aghast, her eyes dropping slowly to the scarlet-stained scythe that lay abandoned on the ground below the tendril. She hadn’t noticed it until he nudged it with his boot, but now she saw the corrupted ichor dripping from the blade, the red vines hacked to pieces and lying dead beside the tool.

“Did you know I wanted to be a farmer once?”

She was caught entirely off-guard by the question, still enthralled as she was by the sight of the scythe, so it took her a moment to fully process it. “Wh--wait, a farmer? As in…?” She mimed what she thought scything wheat might look like.

fWhip nodded tiredly. “When I was very young, I once had to accompany my parents, the old Count and Countess, on a trip to a Wither Rose Alliance summit in Mythland. They were, of course, ensconced in meetings all day, so I wandered the kingdom with my…” Here he trailed off, a flash of some unreadable feeling crossing his face for a moment before he went on. “With an old friend. We got into plenty of mischief, and one of the pranks we decided on was to unlatch the gate to a field full of cows. Luckily, the farmer caught us before we were trampled to death by the beasts, and although we were royal, he decided to teach us a lesson, and made us help him sow carrot seeds for two hours.”

Plash made a face. “That sounds horrid.”

The Count chuckled softly. “My friend thought so, but for me, there was something very rewarding in digging up the earth, placing the seeds, covering them, and knowing that they would someday become food for the citizens of Mythland.”

“...Sort of like finishing a machine that you know will be used to make life easier for people,” Plash said after a moment’s reflection. She knew the feeling--hands oil-stained, face soot-smeared, hair wild, sleep-deprived and exhausted, but overwhelmed with warmth when she gazed at the thing she had created. There was nothing like it.

fWhip nodded. “Yes. And so I told my parents when I was returned to them later that I wanted to become a farmer and grow carrots for all the people of the Grimlands. They laughed, of course, and said that a Count’s son could do more than become a simple farmer, and as it turned out, they were right. But for a long time, I had a secret dream to fill the whole world with fields, to build one every day, as far as the eye could see.”

Plash gazed at him silently for a long time. Finally, she said, “So this is your chance to use the scythe to help the Grimlands?”

His face became hard, almost unrecognizably so. “If I have to tear down every one of these damn things, I will.”

There was silence between them again, the awful, still silence that had hung over the Grimlands in all the hours that had passed since the Ender Dragon’s demise. Plash watched as the Count breathed raggedly, his fists clenched and trembling, the entire weight of their kingdom resting on his shoulders.

“I’ll help,” she said.

He blinked--it was clearly not the response he had been expecting. “What?”

“I said, I’ll help,” Plash repeated. Her resolve was growing now, ideas taking root--like seeds, like kernels that, properly watered, would grow into something that could help them all. “I’m terrible with a scythe, but I know machines and chemicals. If you give me a sample, I can turn it into something that will help us feed the Mythlanders.”

The Count’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. “Feed--with the corruption?”

Plash scowled at him. “Did you recruit me from university because I had boring ideas?”

He looked astonished for a moment, but only for a moment, and then his mouth formed the devious smile that she hadn’t seen in nearly eight days.

“No,” he agreed. “I did not. Very well, Plash Ajax. You will turn Xornoth’s corruption into food for the people of Mythland. But you know, I have high expectations now that you’ve even suggested such a thing.”

Plash grinned right back, cracking her knuckles, her mind already working. “I know. So do I.”

[maatryoshkaa]

young god | chapter 15

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 12.0k

warnings: descriptions of violence, sexual assault, mental illness. dark themes and foul language. all information regarding psychiatric conditions or courtroom procedures are to be taken with a fat grain of salt.

description: As Han Jisung’s trial steadily approaches, Hwang Hyunjin struggles to decide where his loyalties lie. Prosecutor Kang is as ruthless as he is greedy, and a startling confession from Yang Jeongin reveals that the ugliest pasts often lie behind the brightest of smiles. Old scars run deep, and all wounds are finally reopened on the day of the trial.

watch the trailer here!

ryu says: “holy h*cking shit.”

15| the devil’s advocate.

“Is Miroh Heights rallying for the death of a 20-year-old orphan? Is justice always this heartless?

“The only existing psychological analysis of alleged serial killer Han Jisung has now been revealed to the public eye, painting a stark contrast with the image of the stone-cold murderer we were all introduced to before. What else is the prosecution hiding? Is Han Jisung at the mercy of a system that has failed him once — and will it fail him again? More on this complex case, next week.” 

You set the school paper down on the diner table. Across from you, Bang Chan gave a low whistle. “Lee Felix, is it? You really outdid yourself, kid.”

Felix grinned. He was glowing, not just from the detective’s praise, but with a light sheen of sweat — you two had woken up at the crack of dawn to deliver the newspapers around town, Felix on Jeongin’s bike, and you and Chan in Woojin’s police cruiser. The delivery boy had even drawn out a map of all the shortcuts he knew, and so you had all made it back to Glow Cafe — where Hyunjin was waiting with fresh mugs of coffee — before noon.

Jeongin scanned the front-page article again, nodding excitedly. “I read the local press’ papers every day while I was in the hospital — this basically goes directly against everything they’ve been saying.” He still had weeks before he was allowed to be discharged from the hospital, but had managed to bribe a nurse into letting him take ‘short walks for fresh air’ during the day. 

“Why’re we fighting against the local media, though?” Hyunjin asked. The barista looked much better now that Jeongin was awake — the colour had returned to his once-pale cheeks, and he had opened the cafe back up for business again. “I mean, what does the news have to do with the trial? Knowing the prosecutor, he probably doesn’t even care.”

Chan shook his head. “The media plays a huge role in cases like these — mass murder allegations, things that’ll implicate the entire town. In smaller cases, yeah, no one would look twice at the news. But for cases like Jisung’s, they’re going to bring in a jury for the trial — and most times, what the jury agrees on ends up being the final verdict.”

“But the jury isn’t supposed to have heard of the case beforehand.”

Woojin grimaced. “In theory. Miroh Heights is a big town, but it’s old — not to mention it’s a campus area.” When Hyunjin still looked confused, Woojin continued, “That all makes it a close-knit community. There’s only so many people who qualify for jury duty — and I’m willing to bet that there’s not a single person in Miroh Heights who isn’t keeping up with Jisung’s case by now.”

“Kang’s a top-tier scumbag, but he’s far from stupid,” Chan mused, reaching for his mug and frowning when there was no more coffee left. “It definitely wouldn’t be beyond him to pull some strings to make sure he gets to choose the people on the jury: the ones exposed to the case — the news — the most—”

You finished his thought for him. “Students. Professors. Citizens.”

“Exactly.”

There was a brief silence. Chan began a side conversation with Felix, and you snuck a look at Hyunjin. He had disappeared behind the counter, and was fiddling with the cash register with his head down.

You glanced back at the table. Woojin and Jeongin were sitting in a strangely awkward silence — the delivery boy’s expression was oddly closed off, you thought to yourself. It was almost...cold, a side of Jeongin you had never seen before. Shrugging, you excused yourself from your seat and retreated behind the bar to where Hyunjin was standing quietly. The barista was idly unrolling packets of coins to refill the cash register, and didn’t look up at you. 

You nudged him gently. “Hey, ‘jinnie.” Nothing. “Hwang Hyunjin, talk to me.”

The long silence was broken only by the clinking of coins, until Hyunjin finally mumbled, “What d’you mean?” 

You sighed, fiddling with an empty coin tube and trying to find the right words. “It’s— it’s a lot to ask for, I know.” You didn’t have to mention Jisung’s name for him to know what you were referring to — your boyfriend’s case hung over all of your heads like a guillotine every second of the day.

Still, your mind flashed back to his sudden outburst months ago, when he had first met Jisung face-to-face in the cafe. His cold, guarded wariness towards the other boy, and how he’d spent the next two months practically soulless by Jeongin’s bedside. You tried to meet his eyes. “You’ve been through a lot.”

The coins were trembling in Hyunjin’s long fingers. “You’ve been through more,” he muttered back. You didn’t have to follow his gaze to know he was looking at the site of your stab wound, hidden under the layers of your sweater. “How’d they let you out so early, anyways?”

“Hey, I was in there for nearly a month — they said I slept for three weeks straight, you know?” You laughed lightly, trying to ease the tension, but Hyunjin didn’t return the smile. “I’m okay, ‘jin.”

Your eyes searched his face for a response. Despite everything, Hyunjin still looked weary �� like he had gotten older, more tired. He had seen things in the past few months that could never be erased — you all had. And you knew Hyunjin like the back of your hand — he had been one of the first faces you’d met when you’d moved to Miroh Heights, the unlikely first close friend you’d made. With absent parents who ran businesses abroad, Hyunjin had been on his own for most of his life. You knew how he always kept his worries and doubts to himself, how his polite, casual demeanor hid a heart full of emotions he didn’t know how to deal with or express. 

“Are you okay, though?” Hyunjin asked, finally lifting his eyes to meet yours, and you felt your heart pang at how helpless he looked. “Every time you see something wrong — someone in trouble, you stop at nothing until you can help them. And I love that about you, y/n. I really do—but—” Hyunjin gestured his hands wildly, voice wavering as if he was struggling to get the words out, “You can’t save everyone, y/n.” The familiar words made you shrink back as Hyunjin kept talking. “The last time you tried, you nearly ended up— d-dead. I’m worried like hell, okay?. Worried that if you keep trying to save others, you’ll just be the one hurt in the end.”

“Hyunjin—” You reached out to grab his shaking hands, to calm him down, but your elbow knocked over a roll of coins. They spilled across the floor, making everyone jump and look up.

“Everything okay back there?” Chan called, and you nodded, waving him away distractedly as Hyunjin dropped down to pick the change up. As you knelt down to help him, you heard footsteps approach the counter, and looked up to see Jeongin behind you. Back at the table, Chan and Felix were still talking like newfound frat brothers, but Woojin was fiddling with his mug silently.

“Can I talk to him for a moment?” Jeongin asked you quietly, and you glanced back down at Hyunjin. Jeongin had been sitting the closest to the bar counter, you realised — he had probably heard a good chunk of your conversation. You nodded, placing the change on the countertop, and headed back to the table.

Hyunjin watched Jeongin dive for a quarter that was rolling away. Underneath Jeongin’s sleeves, Hyunjin could see fading scratches peeking out — where the skin had scraped away when he’d fallen to the ground, bloody and unconscious, the night of the attacks. They were nearly healed, but the memory alone still made Hyunjin’s gut twist, and he tore his gaze away.

“Do you still think about that night?”

Both Jeongin’s quiet voice and his question took Hyunjin by surprise, and he couldn’t help but look up. The younger boy’s eyes were soft, gentle — a contradiction to his naturally fox-like features — and it was as if he’d spoken Hyunjin’s thoughts out loud. You never had to explain anything to Jeongin, Hyunjin thought. Growing up with no one but his sickly grandmother, Hyunjin had never truly opened up to anyone before — but Jeongin always seemed to understand exactly how Hyunjin was feeling, and there was something about the younger boy that could always calm Hyunjin down. 

He’d always looked at Jeongin like a younger brother, a bright presence Hyunjin wanted to protect and take care of at all costs. 

Now, Hyunjin found himself wondering if Jeongin had been the one taking care of him, all along.

“I see it every time I close my eyes,” Jeongin finally continued, and the question repeated itself in Hyunjin’s head — that night. The night Han Jisung had killed another student, and sent Jeongin into a two-month coma. The night Hyunjin had woken up to find his closest friend bleeding out on his storefront. No matter how many times the memory crept up on Hyunjin, it still made his blood run cold.

Hyunjin could only nod, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat.

“Sometimes...I think about how things might’ve been different. If I hadn’t stopped — no, if I hadn’t even taken that shortcut through the Yellow Wood. Or...if I didn’t have to work the night shift in the first place.” Jeongin huffed a soft laugh, then drew quiet. “But we don’t really get to decide what happens to us, huh? One thing leads to another, and the next thing you know, the world’s turned upside down.” He paused. Something in the younger boy’s voice made Hyunjin think he wasn’t just talking about the Yellow Wood anymore.

“I wonder if he...if Jisung thinks about that, too.” Jeongin continued. “How things would have changed if he hadn’t taken that path that night. Or, if he never had to do the things he did...” Jeongin trailed off, and a question was left hanging in the air.

Where did it all go wrong?

It wasn’t like Hyunjin had never seen Jisung in passing — the kid whose bright smile and boisterous laugh masked his strangely wide, dark eyes. Who seemed to linger alone on the streets and in the shadows of murky alleyways after curfew, just wandering. As if the boy was constantly looking for something he’d lost — but had long since forgotten what it was.

“I just...” Hyunjin’s own voice surprised him, but as soon as he got the words out, he could no longer stop them. “I just want everything to go back to normal. The way things used to be. I—” Hyunjin looked around the cafe, letting out a shaky sigh. “I’ve grown up in this town all my life. Maybe I’ve grown scared of change — scared of how it could make me lose everything. Scared of how it could make me lose you guys.” He put his throbbing head in his hands. “Maybe that’s what makes me a coward. I don’t know Jisung. But I’ve seen the things he’s done, and I can’t — I can’t watch it happen again. I don’t think I could take it.” He looked at Jeongin helplessly. “How do you...forgive someone who could have killed you?”

Jeongin was silent, pensive. He picked up the last coin and slid it into the cash register before saying quietly, “Did I ever tell you about my dad?”

Hyunjin frowned in confusion. “You don’t...talk about your family often.”

“Most of the time, I’d rather not.” Jeongin gave a small smile. “But these days, I keep thinking about them. I know people talk about them behind my back — why a freshman has to work delivery jobs all day, and study all night. Why no one came to visit me in the hospital, except for you.” The younger boy shifted his feet, gaze dropping to his hands. “My dad’s in prison. Third-degree murder.”

Hyunjin’s hands stilled, and Jeongin continued talking. “My mum was your typical office worker — real big company, too. We were never that well off to begin with — maybe that’s why she stayed silent about the...the abuse for so long. About the stuff her higher-ups would do to her behind locked doors, when they’d make her stay overtime in their offices.” Jeongin’s voice wavered, and he cleared his throat shakily. 

“I don’t know how my dad finally found out, I...I could never bring myself to ask.” Jeongin was gripping the count[er, knuckles white and voice barely audible. “I’ve never seen my dad angry before. He doesn’t get angry. He’d always take the short end of the stick with a smile, you know? This was the first time he’d ever...picked a fight with anyone.” Jeongin paused, eyes glazed over in memory. “That night, Mum was staying late again. But this time...my dad showed up at her workplace. Burst in after-hours, like a madman. And that night, neither of them came home.

“The police came knocking on our door the next morning. And they told me my father killed three men in a fight. A fight.” Jeongin looked up at Hyunjin now, smiling, but his crescent eyes were filled with tears. “No one cares about an office woman’s sexual abuse story. Not when you have the families of three rich businessmen bribing law enforcement any way they can to keep their reputations clean. You can guess who the lead prosecutor of the trial was.”

“Prosecutor Kang,” Hyunjin breathed, not daring to believe it, but Jeongin nodded.

“The trial was easy. My dad would spend the rest of his life in prison.”

“That’s not fair,” Hyunjin blurted, voice barely a whisper. “They can’t—it’s not—”

“The system isn’t fair,” Jeongin replied. It sounded like he was quoting someone. “It’s been a long time since the system’s chosen morals over money.”

Hyunjin’s gaze wandered back towards the table, where Woojin was sitting, and thought back to the tense atmosphere between Jeongin and the young police captain earlier. “Is that why you and Captain Kim…”

“His parents put mine in prison. It’s more than a little awkward, really.” Jeongin laughed, but the sound didn’t quite reach his eyes. The younger boy always tried to put on a bright face, Hyunjin realised with a pang, no matter the pain he might be hiding underneath.

“I’m not trying to compare my dad to Jisung. Jisung, everything he’s done…” Jeongin shook his head. “He has too much to make up for, I wouldn’t even know where to start. We all knew that going into this.” He glanced over his shoulder at the table where his friends were seated. “y/n more than anyone. If we make Han Jisung out to be innocent, if we try to get him pardoned...that makes us just as bad as Kang.” Jeongin sighed. “But I can’t just watch them treat him like they did my dad. Make him out to be a psychopath, until even he starts to believe it.

“My mum can’t find work anywhere. She doesn’t sleep, barely eats, never leaves the bed because she’s so sick. The doctors all say she has lifelong trama. I don’t want to watch the system...end another life that doesn’t deserve it.” Jeongin glanced behind him. Hyunjin followed his line of sight towards the table, where everyone was chatting. Jisung’s friends — Felix, Chan, maybe even Woojin; and his girlfriend, you. “I don’t want to see what it does to the people that love him.”

Hyunjin was silent for a long moment. The chatter at the table and the clinking of the coffee mugs seemed like background noise as Jeongin watched the older boy take in everything he had said. Outside, students and citizens were beginning to fill the streets as rush hour approached — it was the end of the school term, and the bustle of summer life was humming beyond the glass windows of Glow Cafe.

Before Hyunjin could respond, though, the cafe doors swung open, the CLOSED sign clattering against the glass in protest and making everyone look up at the sudden commotion. A middle-aged woman in a tweed blazer and pencil skirt was marching straight towards the table you were seated at, a younger woman with a notebook stumbling after her.

Hyunjin straightened up, tone professional despite the weary look on his face. “I’m sorry, but we’re closed today under special circumstances—” 

She cut him off impatiently. “Where is Felix Lee?” 

Bewildered, Felix stood, holding out his hand to attempt a handshake. Instead, the woman reached into her bag and slammed down a newspaper identical to the one you already had on the table — the school paper.

“What is the meaning of this?” Her voice was high and reedy as she jabbed a red-nailed finger onto the front page, where Jisung’s article had been printed. “Who do you think you are to publish these—these baseless stories?”

“With all due respect, ma’am,” you responded tensely, “I think you’ll find that this article contains more truth in it than all the articles the local press has published, combined.” 

She turned on you, sneering in disbelief. “Do you know who I am?” You glanced outside uneasily, where a sleek black car was parked.

“Why do rich people always assume we know who they are? Listen, lady, we don’t care—” Chan began, but was interrupted by a sputtering sound Felix made.

“I think we should care,” your best friend choked out. In his hands was a business card that the woman’s assistant had handed him, and the blood had drained from his freckled face. “She’s the head of the local press.”

Everyone fell silent, and the woman smiled slyly. “Precisely. Publishing articles like these…” she glanced down at the school newspapers on the table, clicking her tongue. “Your school should be ashamed of you. An amateur school newsletter, overstepping their boundaries.” 

You saw Felix’s expression darken at her words, ears red. “A good newspaper reports on all sides of the story. We publish the truth here, and nothing but the truth—”

“Why? So you can all bail your psychopath friend out of prison? Do you even care about the implications? Your truth is hindering the investigation of a convicted murderer. People like him should not get their story told. Your truth will put this town in danger if he walks free, you understand? It will get more people killed.” She fixed Felix with a withering look of contempt. “Let me give you a word of advice, young man, if you even think of surviving in this industry—sometimes, you need to know when to keep your mouth shut.”

Your mouth was burning with countless words to bite back with but your tongue stayed stubbornly tied, mind racing. The woman had spoken out loud what you had all thought of at one point, what you had been most afraid of the public believing. You stole a look at Hyunjin behind the counter. The barista was avoiding eye contact, but you knew he had been thinking the same thing. His stormy, unreadable expression made your stomach churn — you knew he had been the most hesitant and unsure of Jisung’s case out of everyone, but seeing it written on his face now made you feel even worse.

Sensing that things were beginning to get out of control, Woojin cleared his throat. “Ma’am, if you’re finished, I would kindly ask you to leave—”

“I have every right to stay here,” the woman interrupted viciously, snatching up the campus newspaper again, “until your journalist friend revokes these articles—and promises not to interfere with the investigation until the trial has concluded.”

You started in protest. “You—”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Hyunjin’s calm voice cutting through the growing chaos made everyone freeze and turn towards the barista. He pushed the cash register shut with a bit too much force, and leaned down to rest his forearms on the bar counter. “I told you we were closed, yes? You have no more business here. If you choose to continue infringing on my property, we can bring this to the police.” His eyes were still stormy as he stared the stunned woman down — but the words coming from his mouth were the complete opposite from what you had been expecting. “Now get out of my cafe.”

“I—why, you—” The woman could only sputter for several seconds as you all stared at Hyunjin in awe, the most self-assured expression you had seen on the barista in ages — as if he had finally made up his mind about something. Behind him, Jeongin had a small smile on his face.

“Preposterous,” the head of the press stammered, taken aback by Hyunjin’s bluntness. Her mouth opened and closed like a puppet’s, but no words came out. Finally, glaring daggers at all of you, she snatched her bag and stormed out in a whirlwind of nauseating perfume, her poor assistant barely keeping up behind her.

The silence lasted for several more moments. Hyunjin was still staring after her with a reserved expression, his shaking hazel pupils the only indication of how nervous he was.

Felix was the one who finally spoke first, the wide grin in his voice breaking the tension. “Hwang Hyunjin. You are the man.”

━━━━━━━━

Opening the door to Bang Chan’s office sent clouds of dust into the stale air, and the detective into a coughing fit. Chan moved to snap the blinds open, letting evening sunlight warm the musty room.

“Bloody hell, Chan,” Woojin groaned as he patted the dust from the coffee table in the corner. “I was joking about your office being a coffin before, but—how did you let it get this bad?”

You, Hyunjin, and Jeongin followed the police captain into the room, taking tentative seats around the coffee table as the detective tried in vain to open a window and clear the stuffy air.

“I haven’t had any new clients since this case was taken from me by that damn prosecutor,” Chan protested indignantly, grabbing a notebook and pen. “I’m taking a well-deserved hiatus. B’sides,” he added, sighing, “I don’t exactly have the heart to focus on anything else right now.”

Woojin grimaced, and looked around the room. “We’re waiting on Felix?”

You nodded. It had been nearly a month since the first article had been released — a whole month since the head of the press herself had come storming into Glow Cafe, demanding for the publication to be stopped. You weren’t sure if it had been the woman’s biting remarks or the newfound support from Hyunjin, but Felix seemed to have hit the ground running, publishing story after story and going head-to-head with every article the local press put out. 

The articles were beginning to pick up steam, too — as soon as the school year had ended, the entire town had begun buzzing with talk about the contradicting stories. You should have felt relieved that your last-resort plan had even stood a chance — but the longer the fight and investigation went on, the more you could feel the stress weighing down on your shoulders. Though removed from the investigation, Chan and Woojin came to you with more and more bad news they were able to overhear with each passing day. The trial was scheduled for next week, and you hadn’t heard from Jisung since...well, since you had found him, bloody and broken, in the back lot of Mia’s Diner.

“Things aren’t looking too good,” Woojin began, expression grim. “The prosecution’s claimed custody of the camcorder footage and Jeongin’s Walkman tapes. Seungmin’s legally not allowed to touch them anymore—not without Kang’s permission.”

Your heart plummeted to your stomach at the police captain’s words. You, Chan, and Seungmin had all been warned separately to stay out of the investigation by legal officials, but that hadn’t stopped you from gathering what information you could. You should have known Kang would find a way to get ahold of all the evidence, but nothing could have prepared you for the sick feeling the confirmation stirred in your gut. 

Chan sighed, tapping his pen on his cheek. “Far as I know, Jisung still isn’t taking a lawyer. The kid won’t even talk to me now.”

“How’s the trial going to work, then?” Hyunjin asked. “If the kid doesn’t take an attorney…”

“It’ll be his word against Kang’s,” Chan nodded glumly. “It’s a trial held under special circumstances. The prosecution will present all the evidence they choose, the judge and jury’ll listen to all the witnesses who decide to come forward, and then they’ll use that to form the final verdict.” He paused, then added, “And if Jisung chooses to defend himself, he has the right to speak, too.”

“Except he won’t,” you interjected, heart heavy, remembering Jisung’s face when he had told you about his parents’ deaths. Jisung had spent his entire life living in the shadow of guilt his childhood cast over him, a self-induced hell he forced himself to relive every day.

“Kang has the jury, the witnesses, and the evidence,” Jeongin thought aloud, the sentence alone making the air feel heavy. 

“We’ve all been called to attend the trial, yeah?” Chan nodded at you, Woojin, and Hyunjin. “Us, Felix, and Seungmin can only come as spectators. Jeongin’s been called in as an eyewitness.” He frowned, counting off his fingers. “The only other type of witness Kang can bring in would be an expert witness. Medics, psychologists, that sort of thing.”

“Kang’s clever — he’ll probably bring in child psychologists or medical specialists,” Woojin noted, frowning. “It’d be easy for them to cherry-pick the evidence to use it against Jisung — especially since he refuses to speak to anyone right now.”

“Haven’t they found anyone for Jisung?” You asked desperately. “His old social workers, foster families —”

“He was abandoned over a decade ago. None of his social workers have come forward.” Woojin sighed. “But you’re right — they have found a forensics specialist to come testify.”

Jeongin perked up. “Who?”

Chan looked grim. “Head coroner Lee Minho.”

Your heart sank. Lee Minho. No one was willing to address the elephant in the room: that Minho admitting to his own crimes would be one of the easiest ways to avoid a death penalty. Except…

“No one on the prosecution knows what Minho’s done, and we don’t have any incriminating evidence against him, either. They won’t believe us, and there’s no way he would confess,” you muttered, remembering the uneasy conversation you had had with the coroner on the rooftop. Minho had been hiding in the shadows of Jisung’s self-destructive crossfire his entire life. From the coroner’s unreadable eyes to his strange, reserved attitude, you had no idea how to guess his next move.

There was a knock on the door, and everyone looked up as Felix walked into the office, backpack sliding off one shoulder. “I have good news and bad news,” your best friend announced, taking a seat on the edge of the sofa.

“Bad news first,” you answered immediately, groaning. Good news was rare these days. “I want to get it over with.” Hyunjin nodded in agreement, looking at Felix expectantly.

“The head of the press is still up our asses, believe it or not. She’s changed her strategy —  they’re making bribes now.” Felix fished a slip of paper from his bag. “Someone came in today — dressed real proper and business-like — and told me that if I halted publications, they’d be willing to pay a pretty hefty sum.” He flipped the slip over onto the coffee table.

It was a cheque, you realised. Chan whistled as he read out the amount. You looked back up at Felix, holding your breath.

“I took the bribe,” Felix admitted, tone apologetic, and your shoulders slumped. Your last connection to the investigation, gone — but Felix kept talking, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I took the bribe, and we used the money to buy everyone in our department the most expensive coffee on campus. Actually, thanks to them, we pulled an all-nighter and published the last part of your case study this morni—oof!”

Your best friend was cut off when you tackled him into a hug, nearly tumbling backwards as Felix laughed and patted your back. “Felix,” you declared, voice still shaking from how scared you had been, “You are ruthless.”

“One of my many charms,” he grinned, Hyunjin clapping him on the shoulder. Felix pulled away from you, and his hazel eyes suddenly grew serious as he scanned your face. 

Out of everyone at Miroh Heights, Felix had known you the longest — if anything was wrong with the other person, you were always able to pick up on it. Despite your relieved smile, Felix could see how overworked you were — you had been reading up on past cases nonstop, making phone calls, and making notes on the camcorder footage, no matter how much rewatching it traumatised you to the core. From your bloodshot eyes to your pale lips, anyone could see that the upcoming trial had taken the worst toll on you. “y/n,” he said worriedly, “you need to take it easy.”

You sighed, scrabbling a hand through your dishevelled hair. “How can I? I need to keep working on this — I need to be strong.” 

“You’ve always been strong.” Surprisingly, it was Hyunjin who spoke up this time. For the first time in weeks, there was no more anger or bitterness in his voice — only sincerity. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

You tried to give him a small, grateful smile, but even that couldn’t staunch the bubbling anxiety in your gut. “The trial’s in a week. We can’t let up now.”

You could sense the boys looking at you anxiously until Chan finally clapped his hands, breaking the grim silence. “Well, you heard the boss lady.” The detective winked at you. “Let’s get back to work, boys.”

━━━━━━━━

The courthouse lobby was already overflowing with chaos and reporters by the time Prosecutor Kim Seungmin arrived at its doors.

This wasn’t his first time attending a trial, of course, but the scale of it all was what made him uneasy. Citizens of Miroh Heights were huddled outside the gates, catching whatever glimpses of the trial and snippets of information they could. When Seungmin had elbowed his way into the building, he spotted security guards flanking all the entrances.

There was a sign for the bathroom on his left hand side. Seungmin made a beeline for it, pushing open the doors and allowing himself to escape the pandemonium for a couple of moments. As his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, he saw a familiar figure standing by the sink. 

Prosecutor Kang’s eyes met Seungmin’s through the mirror and the older man straightened up, snakelike mouth curving into a smile. “Ah, Prosecutor Kim. Good to see you.”

Seungmin nodded stiffly as he tried to muster up the courage to walk past his colleague. He could feel Kang’s beady eyes watching him contemplatively.

“Are you still beat-up about the case? You must be,” Kang mused, turning back towards the sink and flicking on the tap. “Don’t get yourself too down about losing it. It was only a matter of time.” If Seungmin didn’t look at him, Kang’s tone sounded almost kind.

Almost.

Kang was here on behalf of the prosecution, with his team of carefully selected witnesses and—Seungmin was willing to bet—jurors. Seungmin had barely landed a spot as a spectator in the trial, alongside Felix, the school journalist. If things went Kang’s way, anything and everything that happened in today’s trial would be completely out of Seungmin’s control. 

“Rookie mistakes,” Kang continued, wiping his spectacles. “It’s to be expected at your age, really—”

Seungmin ignored his passive insult and turned back towards Kang, tone pleading as he tried one last time. “Mr. Kang, you don’t have to do this. Han Jisung—”

Kang barked a laugh, cutting him off. Behind his spectacles, his eyes were filled with equal parts amusement and resentment. “I’m not sure why you young people always have such blinded judgement,” he seethed. “He’s a monster.”

“He’s just a boy,” Seungmin shot back, heart pounding at the way surprise flashed on Kang’s face. He had never dared to challenge his colleagues before — especially not Prosecutor Kang — but he forced himself to stand his ground as Kang finally turned around to face Seungmin. He was silent for several tense moments, slowly drying his hands before picking up his briefcase. Then, Kang’s expression smoothed over as he raised an eyebrow at the younger prosecutor. 

“Not in my court of law, he isn’t.”

He had walked briskly out the door before Seungmin could muster a reply. The commotion outside grew louder before it was muffled again by the closing doors, and the younger male was left in the dark, empty washroom, filled with an increasing feeling of dread.

━━━━━━━━

Jisung jerked forward when the prison bus came to an abrupt halt, nearly slamming his head against the front seat. He tried to shake himself out of his daze and turned towards the window, tired eyes adjusting to the morning sunlight. Outside was the town he had grown up in, and yet everything felt so...different. 

As soon as the bus doors swung open, swarms of reporters surrounded its sides. Two policemen roughly escorted him through the crowd, and he could vaguely register the questions being screamed at him from every angle.

“Han Jisung, is it true?”

“Did you kill all those people? Did you set fire to your own home?”

“Will you plead guilty? Will you plead insanity?”

Insanity? Jisung’s mind flashed to the memory lapses every time he...killed, the gaping black spots in his thoughts, the endless throbbing in his temples that never quite went away. His head was swimming, but his body felt numb. Have I gone insane?

Once they were inside, he was ushered further down the hallway into a side room. A stone-faced clerk in a grey suit nodded at the policemen, then fixed his hawk-like eyes on Jisung’s unfocused face.

“This is him?” He asked dubiously, then cleared his throat. He didn’t move to shake Jisung’s hand. “Well, then. You refused to take an attorney or public defender, so, uh...your trial will be held under special circumstances. The judge will hear the witnesses, the evidence, and anything you have to say. Got it, kid?” 

Jisung couldn’t will himself to form any words. Everything sounded as if he were underwater.

The man coughed nervously. “As long as you cooperate, things shouldn’t be too bad, eh? Although from what I’ve heard about you, I wouldn’t keep my hopes up.”

Jisung could sense the official’s eyes raking him up and down in slight distaste at his silence. As Jisung quietly took a seat in the corner, he could hear the man muttering irritatedly to the guard by the door and chuckling.

“It’s always the messed-up kids, huh?”  

━━━━━━━━

You watched as the courtroom slowly filled with people — reporters and spectators huddling around you, clerks and attorneys taking their places in their respective boxes. You were sitting with Bang Chan, Felix, Woojin, Hyunjin, and Seungmin near the bar, watching the members of the jury shuffle in. They were all somewhat familiar faces — students, professors, and citizens, as Bang Chan had guessed — and you felt a small glimmer of hope every time you recognised someone.

The prosecution’s witnesses were beginning to file in on the opposite side of the room, as well: A stocky boy with a swollen, bandaged nose, and a scrawnier one, also heavily bandaged — the only survivors, you realised, shuddering — from that terrible night at Mia’s Diner. Then there was Jeongin, whose face made you relax slightly. Next to him, though, there was a nervous old woman who you didn’t recognise, and an unfamiliar middle-aged man. And of course, pacing back and forth behind them, like a panther on the prowl, was Prosecutor Kang. 

Every time the doors swung open you couldn’t help but look up, heart hammering in your chest. 

You were really only looking for one person, after all.

Sure enough, the heavy oak door in the corner creaked open, and a familiar flash of golden hair made your breath catch in your throat. Flanked by two stone-faced officers, Jisung entered the courtroom. 

You immediately leapt to your feet, and heard Chan whisper in warning. “y/n.”. The detective’s tone was gentle, but you didn’t have to turn back around to imagine the alarmed look on his face. Your eyes were glued on Jisung, and it took every fibre of your being not to sprint up to him, push past the guards, and pull him into your arms. You were shaking with equal parts relief and horror as you took in the sight of him. 

He’d lost weight, his skin was pale and bruised, but his eyes — you felt your mouth go dry. The eyes you had seen fill with both laughter and sadness, light and darkness, were now completely lifeless. As if he wasn’t really seeing anything at all. You felt hot tears prick at the back of your throat and you clapped a hand over your mouth to keep from calling out his name. You had thought you were prepared, that you would force yourself to stay calm at all costs — but now, as the weight of the situation was finally beginning to sink down on your shoulders, you weren’t so sure you would be able to.

You felt Felix’s hand gently tug at yours, the only thing anchoring you to reality, and slowly sat back down, your hands grabbing fistfuls of your cardigan to keep from shaking.

Jisung found you in the crowded courtroom before you did, and the split second he caught your face soothed an ache in his chest he’d been trying to ignore, like a long-neglected wound. Seeing you alive and breathing — when the last memory he had of you had been one where you were bleeding out in his own hands — sent a bittersweet pang through him, the sheer relief overwhelming him to the point that he felt his own knees buckle. To anyone else, you looked almost normal, he thought — but he would have been a fool not to catch the dark circles under your eyes, your shaking hands, the raw worry that had etched itself into your weary features.

As soon as your eyes flickered up to him, Jisung immediately looked away, a voice in the back of his head seething. Coward. 

His gaze wandered around the room and he was instantly met with a mix of hostile glares and fascinated stares — like an animal that had been chained down. Wherever he looked, dozens of eyes were on him, dozens of blazing lights searing through him and pinning him to the spot. It was almost as if he could hear the spectators’ thoughts, the countless names that the local press had called him ringing through his head. The youngest mass murderer of Miroh Heights. A walking psychopath. The soon-to-be-convicted serial killer.

“Order in the court,” you heard a man next to the judge call out, and a hush swept across the room. The judge — a middle-aged woman in sombre black robes —  nodded. “The trial is now in session. The case of Han Jisung, and the Miroh Heights Murders, Your Honour.”

Kang moved forward and cleared his throat.

“Your Honour, today I intend to prove the defendant guilty of nineteen counts of first degree murder, as well as a history of crimes spanning over a period of thirteen years. This includes eight counts of arson, including the defendant’s own home, and five counts of aggravated assault, including the attack of Yang Jeongin three months prior. The numbers are based on the images of the victims we showed him that he recognised.” Kang gave a deliberate pause, flashing a look of disdain over where Jisung was seated. “He has violated Sections 235 and 435 of the Criminal Code, and the prosecution intends to prove him fit to receive capital punishment.”

Capital punishment — the death penalty. Kang was doing exactly what you all had feared, and his words and self-assured attitude made you feel sick. 

“Does the defendant have any opening statements?”

Your eyes flickered to Jisung’s face — had his expression darkened? His features had stiffened into a cold mask — lifeless eyes, sickly pallor, clenched jaw. It was almost as if he was trying to fit into Kang’s description of him, you realised with a sinking feeling. To your dismay, Jisung stayed silent, and the judge cleared her throat.

“Please call upon your first witness.”

You watched the nervous old woman from earlier wobble forward and introduce herself.

Kang had pulled out images of a familiar crime scene — the burnt-down flat on the outskirts of town, where the remains of a woman identified as a local sex worker had been found. The night of your first date, you thought, grimacing.  “Where were you, the night of this fire?”

“I was making my rounds through this neighbourhood,” the old woman began, fingers trembling as she pointed at the images. “I happen to live ‘round there, and I own some of these flats myself. This woman is—was—a tenant of mine.”

“Did you see anything suspicious prior to the fire?”

The old lady paused. “I thought I saw a boy lingering ‘round the alleyways. Holding his head and stumbling around real bad, pacing back ‘n forth like he couldn’t see clearly. ‘twas near the red-light district, so I thought he was just another drunkard.”

“Could you point to the boy you saw, stumbling through the alleyways?”

The old woman slowly pointed at Jisung.

“And what did you see, at around 10 o’clock, sundown?”

“I-I saw the roofs in my neighbourhood go up in flames. Ran as quick as I could, but the blaze was already too big to stop —” She shuddered. “But through the smoke, I could see the figure of a boy in the fire, escapin’ from the house.”

“Could you point to the boy you saw escaping the burning building?”

You watched in muted dread as she lifted another quivering finger in Jisung’s direction.

“There’s no way she could have seen clearly through all that smoke and fire,” you heard Woojin mutter behind you.

“Your tenant had no prior connection to him — no negative relations beforehand, correct?” 

The old woman nodded. “Not that I know of.”

Prosecutor Kang hummed. “We have no reasons to believe this murder was provoked by the victim. And yet, that night, Han Jisung set fire to an innocent woman’s home — in cold blood. She was an outcast, no family or friends — he likely chose a victim that wouldn’t be missed.” He smiled, turning towards the judge. “That is all for the eyewitness, Your Honour.”

You grit your teeth as the old woman sat back down. Kang had called on his next witness — a chubby, red-nosed man who introduced himself as a child psychiatrist.

“The defendant refused to answer questions during the psychological evaluation,” Kang informed the judge smoothly. “We researched his past thoroughly—”

“Bullshit,” Felix muttered.

“—and reached our conclusions by analyzing the nature of his criminal history during his adolescence. We will also be consulting—” Kang motioned for the two boys to step forward, “His former classmates, who will testify on Mr. Han’s character.”

“He’s insane,” Chan whispered in horror, “He’s letting the kids from the diner attack testify on Jisung’s mental condition?”

“Please state your affiliation with the defendant.”

“We grew up in the same orphanage,” the boy in the buzzcut answered, his voice thick from his swollen nose. “Kid always stuck out like a sore thumb.”

“Did the defendant ever exhibit any strange behaviours during his adolescence?” Kang asked.

“He’d be missing from classes for days,” the scrawny boy piped up. “Always hoverin’ in the corner like a little creep. Sometimes even lightin’ things on fire. Never got in trouble though — always real charming towards the teachers.” 

“Changed his expressions like masks,” the boy in the buzzcut added quickly.

Kang turned towards the child psychiatrist. “How would you describe the mental condition of a patient like Mr. Han, taking these testimonies and the defendant’s criminal history into account?”

“W-well,” the red-faced man began, sweaty brow furrowing. “Starting with his unexplained history of pyromanic tendencies — this destructive behaviour indicates the patient harboured violent habits from a young age. That’s often a strong indicator of various conduct disorders in young children.”

“But isn’t it normal for children to be curious, to cause a little trouble?” Kang smiled — he was playing the devil’s advocate, you realised uneasily. “You surely can’t sum up his fascination with fire as a dangerous condition.”

The psychiatrist nodded. “Of course not. But the patient was able to shift between personas from a very young age — like his classmates have said, he could be cold and reserved to them, but charming and cunning towards authority figures. This constant deception in young children, along with the destructive tendencies, is what often leads to sociopathic behaviour.”

“Sociopathy,” Kang repeated, and turned towards the judge. “Oh, dear.”

You looked on in dismay as Kang kept twisting the case like the strings of an ugly puppet, clearly aware of the way the jury and spectators were beginning to lean towards the prosecution’s arguments. With Kang’s carefully crafted questions directed at nervous, unsuspecting witnesses, everything seemed to point to one obvious answer. Han Jisung was a guilty serial murderer, there could be no question of it. Even the testimonies were beginning to blur together:

He went all psycho on us. 

Laughing like some maniac, like he enjoyed it. 

Murdered my friends for no reason. 

At this rate, you didn’t stand a chance.

Kang needed one more witness — one more witness was all it would take for the trial to shift completely in his favour, and for you to finally lose hope. You looked around the room in desperation and spotted Minho seated on the prosecution’s side, the coroner’s smooth and mask-like expression doing nothing to calm your frazzled nerves. His words from the rooftop rang in your head, sending chills down your spine.

There is little you can do with people who don’t want to be helped, y/n. You’re just like how I was. 

Was that why Minho had cooperated with the prosecution? Because he thought that Jisung was already beyond saving? As if he could feel your gaze burning into him, Minho’s eyes darted upwards to meet yours. You were startled to find that there was something unfamiliar in his expression; something that hadn’t been there the last time you’d met him — like a crack in a mask, a ripple in smooth water. Before you could decipher what it was, you heard Kang’s haughty voice calling Minho up to the stand, and the coroner turned away.

“Please state your name and status.”

“Lee Minho, forensic pathologist and head coroner of the Miroh Heights murder cases.”

“Could you describe the autopsy results of the confirmed victims?” Kang held up a remote and projected images of various crime scenes onto a screen. An uneasy murmur rippled through the jury and spectators at the graphic images — some, like the burned body of the woman, and caved-in skull of the man at the Yellow Wood, you recognized, but there were several more you never had the courage to look at before.

Minho glanced at the photos Kang had projected onto the screen, expression unchanging. You remembered his oddly empty smile when you had first met him, when you had asked him if the endless rows of corpses ever made him uncomfortable.

“I’m sure it did, at some point. Sooner or later, they all start to look the same.”

“Yes. Well, as you can see, the victims’ bodies almost always showed signs of excessive force and trauma. Victim #1, Na Jangmin, was pronounced dead on scene from smoke inhalation and respiratory burns from the combustion of various chemicals found in the science laboratory.” Minho pointed to a gruesome image of a peeling, shrivelled corpse that made your skin crawl.

“Victim #2, Park Beomsoo. Died from asphyxiation. The victim had a high dosage of flunitrazepam — Rohypnol — in his system prior to his death.”

“And what is Rohypnol, Mr. Lee?” Kang interjected.

“It’s a powerful tranquilizer drug. Small amounts are sold as sleeping pills, but high concentrations can cause paralysis, or even loss of consciousness. It’s a common date rape drug.”

“Did the victim consume the drug of their own accord?”

“The concentration is too high to have been used as a sleeping pill dosage. The victim’s time of death was around noon, on campus, so there would have been no reason to for him to consume the drug. We detected traces of food in Park’s body along with the drug, but we don’t know where the drug came from.”

Kang turned towards the judge triumphantly. “Shortly after the drug took effect, the victim was pronounced dead. This was a premeditated crime. The defendant drugged the victim’s food, and slowly suffocated Park Beomsoo to death. Taking the defendant’s mental condition into consideration, Your Honour—” Kang gave a meaningful nod, a dark glint in his hawklike eyes, “I would argue that the defendant may have enjoyed the process of committing the murder.”

It took the last ounce of your self-control not to leap up from your chair at his words. Seemingly unfazed, Minho kept talking. “You can also find strange correlations between the victims. We always deduce signs of brute force exerted, and a pattern of victims: people with a history of abuse, adultery, and harassment. You could say that this killer...hunted killers.”

“The defendant’s M.O., Your Honour,” Kang added, nodding. “The constant pattern of victims and killing styles confirm that these were premeditated murders, habitual murders.”

You felt your heart sink, feeling sick. Beside you, Woojin had his head in his hands. Your last hope had gone down the drain. You should have known the coroner would play along, that he would never give himself in; that Lee Minho was the type to always save his own skin before saving others’— 

“However,” Minho spoke up again, “I’d like to add that all the crime scenes are also always impeccably clean. We observed minimal blood spattering, DNA evidence, and even fingerprints. Some wounds on the victims’ corpses didn’t match the hypothesised murder weapons, and were ready to become cold cases.” 

“Evidence that the perpetrator of these murders was also able to plan their clean-up afterwards,” Kang flashed the coroner a strange look. “Ladies and gentlemen, this only shows that the killer is meticulous and calculated in his attacks. As I’ve said, this is an insidious, long-seasoned killer we have on our hands—”

“You might be wondering why the evidence for this case is so scattered,” Minho’s mild voice cut him off, and Kang looked irritated at the sudden interruption but let the coroner continue. “Why the killings are so sporadic, always occurring at irregular intervals.” He paused, thinking. “Why nothing seems to fit together.”

It took several moments for his words to hit you, and you lifted your head in disbelief.

What? You turned to your friends, who all looked equally confused. 

What is he trying to say?

“I remember recording that the deduced weapon at the Yellow Wood attacks was a hammer, or crowbar.” Minho nodded at the papers in the Judge’s hands. “That’s not true.”

All the heads in the room seemed to snap up in shock at the coroner’s blunt words. You felt your breath stop, and looked over at Chan, whose expression was just as stunned.

“The weapon of choice was actually a stone from the Yellow Wood,” Minho shrugged. The coroner set down the papers Prosecutor Kang had handed him, turning to face the jury. “If you dig around in the lake outside Miroh Heights Hospital, you might be able to find it. Then there’s the vodka from the fire, the knocked-over chemicals in the science laboratory, a janitor’s rope from the rooftop. They were all impulsive weapon choices,” Minho nodded at the judge, “all from the scene of the crime. As if the perpetrator had chosen it on the spot, in a fleeting moment of impulsive judgment.”

You saw Kang sputtering behind him, mouth opening and closing uselessly. The Judge was evidently taken aback, too, peering at Minho from over her half-moon glasses. “What are you trying to say, Mr. Lee?”

“That it should be obvious that these crimes were almost never premeditated.” Minho glanced at the pictures of the crime scene. His voice was quiet — nearly inaudible — but exasperated, as if he were surprised at the words coming out of his own mouth. The entire room seemed to be leaning forward, listening to his words with bated breath. “They were done in the heat of the moment, and someone else had to tamper with the evidence afterwards.”

“How could you possibly know—”

“Because I’m the one who’s been cleaning up after Han Jisung for the past thirteen years.” 

Your mouth dropped open in shock as a hush fell over the room, reporters gasping and scribbling in their notepads. Minho had a small smile on his face as he took in the entire room’s response — how everyone had fallen quiet, speechless at the sudden turn the trial had taken. The smile wasn’t gloating or cruel, you realised slowly. It was filled with a simple curiosity and wonder, like a child who had finally tried something new for the first time. 

Even Jisung had looked up, his eyes widened in surprise. “Minho—” His voice was raw from disuse as he called out to his first friend, his oldest friend —  but Minho only smiled at him and shook his head slightly.

The room was shifting uneasily around him. He should have been scared, Minho thought. He could already feel lies instinctively forming on his tongue, a thousand ways he could backpedal and take back what he had just said. It had become second nature to him, he realised — covering up murders first, and his own emotions second; the two things he had always feared the most. He could hear Kang angrily stammering and calling his name behind him, but Minho ignored him.

The judge cleared her throat unsteadily, fixing her piercing gaze on him. “Why are you doing this? You are aware that a confession like this will lose you much more than your job? That it may very well condemn you to a lifetime in prison?”

“I’m aware,” Minho replied softly, eyes wandering across the room and landing on Jisung’s distraught face. The boy he had clung onto as his only family, the boy who he had both loved and feared for thirteen years. There was nothing left for him to lose. “I thought for the longest time that covering the murders were my own twisted way of...saving the boy. I don’t think I had the courage in me to do much else.” He looked around the courtroom, and his eyes finally landed on you. The girl who wore her heart on her sleeve, but was strong enough to challenge him with a steady voice and blazing eyes. The girl who was an unapologetic contradiction, he remembered, almost fondly. The girl who had reminded him what it was like to be brave, to finally start living for himself.

Yes, he thought. This was the least he could do.

“Han Jisung had nothing to do with the cover-ups of the crime scenes,” Minho raised his voice, surprised at the strength in it. Behind him, he could hear the prosecution stirring, and felt two security guards seize his arms to remove him from the podium. “He is not the depraved killer the prosecution wants you to think—”

“Your Honour, this must be a set-up between the coroner and the defendant,” Kang cut him off furiously, shooting Minho a death glare behind his spectacles. The murmuring of the jury and reporters drowned out the coroner’s last words as he was dragged from the room. “Your Honour, do not be deceived—”

“Order in the court!” The judge banged the gavel repeatedly, holding her head in her hand as if she had a migraine. “The—the coroner’s statements will be deemed faulty, and Lee Minho will be dealt with separately. The trial will continue.”

The silence that settled over the room after the coroner’s outburst was eerie. You could feel your heart still pounding, mind racing over the words Minho had shouted over Kang’s, the almost wistful smile on his face as he let the guards drag him from the room. The coroner had been a wildcard, you thought uneasily, your gut churning with a cocktail of anticipation and anxiety. There was no telling which way the trial would go from here.

“Does the prosecution have any other witnesses?” The judge called out, and you saw Jeongin finally stand up. Words and whispers began flying as he made his way forward to the witness box, the citizens recognising the delivery boy immediately. You glanced over at Kang, who looked more relaxed than ever — and you knew why. Everything from Jisung’s camcorder footage to Jeongin’s salvaged Walkman tapes had either been confiscated by the prosecution, or were in Seungmin’s hands. Kang had been meticulous making sure that the younger prosecutor had no power over the case, banning him from interfering with the investigation for good. 

Which meant that all Jeongin had to sway the jury was his own verbal testimony. One young boy’s word against Prosecutor Kang’s. 

“State your name and status.”

“Yang Jeongin. Um, student at Miroh Heights University.”

Kang looked down at his papers, then back up at the judge. “On the night of the Yellow Wood attacks, Yang Jeongin was biking home after closing shift before he was brutally attacked by the defendant with a blow to the skull. He is the only living witness that has come forward to testify, and the only person who witnessed the defendant’s attack firsthand. Luckily, he was able to regain consciousness after the horrific attack.” He turned towards Jeongin, smiling triumphantly. “What he has to say may well turn the entire case upside down.”

He was clearly expecting Jeongin to give away evidence against Jisung, you realised. After they had told Jeongin that his tapes had been withdrawn from the investigation, the delivery boy had hit a dead end in his testimony. No matter what he said, Kang would be able to find a way to use it against Jisung. Sure enough, he was watching the young boy now like a vulture, ready to pick him apart.

But Jeongin only smiled back at Kang. “Actually, it’s not what I have to say, sir.” When the prosecutor’s face contorted in confusion, Jeongin continued, “It’s the things that you’ve said.”

Before Kang could reply, Jeongin reached into his pocket and pulled out something silver. The guards instantly moved forward, but Jeongin set it onto the clerk’s table, motioning for him to take it. After several moments, the low crackle of speakers connecting began filling the tense silence, and you realised what it was that Jeongin had brought with him. 

A voice recorder.

“He didn’t tell anyone to make sure it wouldn’t get confiscated, too,” Chan realised, eyes widening. “Smart kid. But what could he have possibly recor—”

The detective’s awed voice was drowned out by a recording of another very familiar voice.

“Kim Seungmin. As you may have heard, the serial killer — ah, the Han Jisung case, I could say — has been transferred to me.”

Prosecutor Kang.

The room froze. When you looked at Kang, you saw that all the blood had drained from his face.

“Now, now — don’t feel too ashamed, Kim. Everyone makes rookie mistakes. They may have assigned the wrong case to you, but rest assured — it’s in proper hands now.”

“Is it?”

You winced, peeking at Seungmin beside you when you heard his voice on the recording as well. Seungmin had never mentioned the way Kang treated him to anyone, and the younger prosecutor’s jaw was clenched, but his eyes were blazing. 

Still, you weren’t exactly sure why Jeongin was playing a recording of Kang and Seungmin’s conversation. What could he have possibly overheard, that made him look so confident now?

“Have something to say to me, Kim?”

“I’ve just — never understood the way you handled cases, sir.”

“Seungmin.” You could almost see the condescending look on Kang’s face. “Allow me to share a word of advice. They won’t teach you this in law school.”

Seungmin watched realisation flash across Kang’s face like he had been struck by lightning, but it was too late.

“Your job as a prosecutor is not to judge the defendant fairly.”

“Wh—”

“If you want a smooth career...all you need to do is make sure you’re appealing to the right people. In other words, listen to what the public wants. Please the public; don’t waste a single damn about the defendant. You spent all your precious time worrying your little head over the killer’s motives, and now that we finally have him, you’re still worrying over the severity of his sentence? Murder is murder, Kim Seungmin, and actions speak louder than motives. You can show lenience towards a mass-murderer, or you can sweep his sorry past under the rug and bring closure to dozens of families. Which would make you a richer, more popular man?”

“Your Honour,” Kang stammered, face white, “This is—improper use of evidence, this shouldn’t—” The recording cut him off again, the judge’s face stony as she motioned for the clerk to keep going.

“Is that how you got to where you are?”

“Think, boy. As far as anyone needs to be concerned, the cold-blooded killer is caught, peace is re-established, families are soothed, justice is served once again — and I come out the hero. You saw that boy’s wretched past. Even he can’t handle it. So why poke at wounds that aren’t meant to be re-opened?”

You didn’t realise how hard you were clenching your fists until you felt your palms sting from your nails. The entire room seemed to be holding its breath. Kang looked stricken, pale mouth opening and closing frantically like a fish out of water, but no words were coming out.

“You think you’re being kind? Justice isn’t meant to be kind, Kim. Make up the easiest case to solve, and do everyone a favour.”

The judge stopped the tape, her face livid. The room had gone deadly silent, your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. ““Your job as a prosector is not to judge the defendant fairly?”” 

Kang could only shake his head wildly as she continued, raising her voice, ““Make up the easiest case to solve, and do everyone a favour?” From a faulty forensics expert to this — Prosecutor Kang, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“Your Honour, I—” Kang sputtered out, beady eyes darting around furiously — at Jisung, and at Jeongin. “L-lies! It’s all lies, this is absurd!” He laughed, trying to make himself sound nonchalant, but his voice was weak. “This must be a—a fabrication perpetrated by the defendant—” The room was erupting in chaos now, the jury and reporters bickering amongst themselves. 

You had never seen the prosecutor so worked up before as he continued to protest frantically, “Your Honour, the defendant must have coerced the victim to do this, to—to frame me. Please listen to me, we must conduct another investigation—”

There was a deafening bang as the Judge slammed the gavel down, making the room jump. “There will be no investigation,” she thundered. “Prosecutor Kang, you are hereby removed from the Han Jisung case.” 

Kang leapt up from his seat as officers appeared on either side of the prosecutor, seizing his thrashing arms. “Let go of me! Your Honour! Your Honour, you cannot do this. Han Jisung must be condemned — you cannot let this murderer walk free—”

“Silence!” The judge bellowed, and the last of Kang’s words were drowned out, the heavy oak doors banging shut as he was thrown from the room. Jeongin looked evidently shaken. He had been right. His last existing recording — the unlikely trump card — had flipped the case on its head. You heard frenzied whispers all around you as your heartbeat pounded erratically in your chest. 

“Does this mean the prosecutor’s been fabricating all the evidence? Who can we trust now?”

“I’ve never seen a case like this before.”

“What’s going to happen to the trial now that the lead prosecutor’s been detained?”

The banging of the gavel eventually brought the restless audience to a strained silence. The Judge looked weary. “We need to take an emergency intermission. The trial...will recommence shortly.”

━━━━━━━━

You let the sea of people push you through the courtroom’s double doors, your legs threatening to collapse at any moment. Outside was hardly a breath of fresh air — all around you, cameras were flashing, reporters were gossiping, and officials were arguing. You tried to focus — to process what had happened, but the incessant buzzing of people chattering around you made your head pound so hard you swore your skull was splitting.

A firm hand on your shoulder yanked you out of your migraine, and you whipped around to see Hyunjin. You let out a small sigh of relief. 

“Hey, it might be good to get out of this crowd for a bit,” Hyunjin said, taking in your exhausted expression worriedly. “I, uh, lost everyone, but if we step outside—”

Before he could finish, you both caught sight a blond head bobbing towards you in the sea of people. Felix pushed through, cradling his camera for dear life. His freckled face was sweaty and breathless. 

“Kang—Kang’s lost all power,” he gasped out when he reached you. “Detective Bang’s managed to convince the guards to let him talk to Jisung for a few minutes—”

You had already seized your best friend by the shoulders and spun him around. He instantly got the message and the three of you began elbowing through the hordes of people, Felix leading the way.

The clamour died down to a quiet hum as you reached the hallways, Felix ushering you past an OFF-LIMITS sign. The corridors were nearly empty now, and the three of you sprinted to the end until you reached a heavy oak door. It was slightly ajar. You caught a glimpse of Jisung’s expressionless face through the dim crack, and your hand hesitated on the door handle. 

“I told you and Woojin I wouldn’t give you any counter evidence.” Jisung’s voice was cold and lifeless. 

“And you didn’t.” You could hear the growing agitation in Chan’s voice as the detective pleaded. “But you’ve got to listen to me. More people want you — need you — to keep living, more than you give yourself credit for.”

“Stop, Chan. You don’t have to do this anymore—”

“Han Jisung.” You couldn’t help his name falling from your lips, voice louder than you’d intended as you threw open the heavy door. The guards rushed to block you before you could get any closer, but you pushed back, forcing Jisung to meet your eyes. His were flat, dark, horribly cold.

“y/n,” he replied softly, and you felt your heart break.

“Why are you doing this?” You fought to keep your voice steady. “You have the right to speak for yourself. Defend yourself. You know what they’re saying isn’t true. So why are you letting them keep accusing you?”

“How do you know it isn’t true?” Jisung laughed humourlessly, shaking his head. “Don’t lie to yourself. I did kill all those people, and you know that.”

“I do. But you’re not the psychopath Kang is making you out to be,” you protested. “I know you.” 

“You don’t.” Jisung’s voice was bitter. “You don’t, actually. I’ve always — always hidden parts of myself from you. What you’re hearing from Kang is the closest you’ll ever get. He — he knows me better than I know myself.” He smiled weakly, but it fell flat. “I’ve always been like this, drawn to murder and blood and fire. It can’t be fixed.”

Each one of his words pierced through you like bullets, and you searched his face frantically for a sign, anything left of the rain-drenched, smiling boy from the diner; the wounded, soft-hearted boy you had fallen in love with. Your heart was hammering in your throat as a horrible question echoed through your head. 

Did he mean it?

It was as if Jisung had pulled on a mask, you thought. His face was absolutely still — but for a fleeting moment, you could swear you saw a flash of pain

No.

You had grown to know him, grown to know that he was the kind of boy who was willing to play the part of a depraved monster, just so you would push him away first. 

Jisung stared back at you, and for once, the darkness in his wide eyes no longer scared you. Instead, endless memories were flashing through your mind.

Jisung making you laugh until you choked on Chinese food, and apologising profusely for hours afterwards.

Jisung spilling pancake batter all over your kitchen counter, and feeding you blueberries to make sure you didn’t notice.  

Jisung, holding you in his arms until you fell asleep, hands as gentle as if he thought you were made of glass. 

“You need to go,” Jisung broke your long silence. “Stop hurting yourself. You need to let me go.”

You looked up, taking in his slumped shoulders, the note of defeat in his voice, the facade he had pulled on during the trial, and everything hit you all at once. Maybe it was the stress of the weeks leading up to trial or your hatred towards Kang had finally reached its breaking point. Either way, an overwhelming feeling of sheer frustration was washing away the anxiety that had been thrumming in your veins for weeks, and it left in its place an unbearable, burning anger.

You felt yourself push past the guards as if in slow motion, a voice in your head telling you that maybe this wasn’t the best idea — and slapped your boyfriend across the face.

The slap wasn’t hard, but the sound that rang through the room felt deafening.

“Han Jisung, you are such an idiot,” you yelled. Guards immediately surrounded you, dragging you backwards, but you didn’t take your eyes off Jisung. He was staring at you, stunned,  the stone-cold facade he had put on earlier now cracked wide open. “What do you think you’re solving this way? Do you know how many people have been working nonstop to make sure you don’t get yourself killed?” You could feel hot tears of frustration spilling onto your cheeks. “Your friends want you to stay alive. Your mother wanted you to stay alive. I need you to stay alive.” Your voice was hoarse as you screamed over the guards pushing you out of the room, and the heavy door swung shut with a deafening bang. 

The silence in the hallway seemed to swallow you up, the weight of what you had just said and done crashing down on you like a ton of bricks. You felt your knees finally buckle as you sank to the ground, burying your face in your arms and finally letting all your pent-up tears fall freely. 

Hyunjin and Felix were by your side, exchanging worried looks as they patted your back gingerly. You weren’t sure exactly how long the three of you stayed like that, your exhausted body racking with frustrated, mortified sobs, until you heard footsteps running down the corridor towards you.

“There you are— I’ve been looking for you guys for—” Kim Woojin’s breathless voice made you look up, and the captain did a double take. “Bloody hell, what happened?”

You wiped your reddened eyes furiously as Felix shook his head at the police captain, who was kind enough to take the hint.

“The thing is —” Woojin began again, tripping over his words. It was the first time you had seen the police captain so frantic. “It’s — it’s an emergency situation right now. A mistrial. The head prosecutor’s been thrown off the case, people are rioting—”

“This is a fucking mess,” Hyunjin muttered, but Woojin shook his head.

“No, it’s not,” the police captain exclaimed excitedly, “Not for us. They’re calling for a prosecutor who’s familiar with Jisung’s case to step up, asap. If there’s any prosecutor who was also working on the case—”

As if on cue, the intercom buzzed above you, making you jolt. “The court hearing for Han Jisung and Miroh Heights Murders will be resuming in five minutes. All attorneys, jurors, and participants of the trial, please report to the courtroom immediately—”

“Seungmin,” you, Felix, and Hyunjin all said simultaneously, and Woojin nodded. Felix was already pulling you to your feet, and the four of you broke into a run towards the courtroom.

[benasabrina]

Team 7 finds out why Kakashi is always late by spying on him and finding him visiting two graves Rin's and Obito's.

"Move your giant head out of the way, loser," Sasuke whispered while trying to shove Naruto.

Naruto stared at their sensei looking over the onyx stone memorial. "Shut up, Sasuke!" the blonde whispered back. "He's been there for hours. What the hell is he even staring at!?"

Sakura pinched Naruto's cheek. The pinkette glared at her teammate and shushed him. "Quiet! He'll hear you!" Her gaze traveled back to their sensei. "Remember when we first met him? He said that one of his friend's name is on the memorial stone." She relaxed slightly, chin now rested on her hand. "This must be why he's always late. He's paying respect to his fallen comrade."

The blond huffed. "Yeah, but every single day? C'mon. At some point a person paying respect has to... stop, ya know? Especially if his friend died such a long time ago!"

Sasuke couldn't help but agree with Naruto. "The idiot's got a point."

Sakura sighed, not really agreeing with either of them. "Yeah, but, this is Kakashi-sensei we're talking about. He probably cares too much about losing his friend. And who knows if it was even his fault."

The two males on the team glanced to each other and nodded faintly to what Sakura had said. Sasuke spoke first. "You also have a point, Sakura." He paused, gaze going from the pinkette to their sensei. His eyes widened a fraction when he saw Kakashi leave the memorial stone to head elsewhere. "He's on the move, let's follow him."

The squad nodded to each other and quickly and quietly followed him to the next stop, however Naruto stopped to glance at the stone. He scanned the names and saw that that stood out just a bit more than the others.

'Uchiha Obito?'

After a brief pause, he continued onward to catch up with Sasuke and Sakura to the graveyard. Once caught up, he tried to peer over his squad mates. "What's he doin' now?"

"Just... staring at one of the tomb stones. Maybe another comrade lost?" Sakura replied, emerald eyes blinked at the sight. "I hope he's okay though... especially if he pays respect at both sites for this long."

Sasuke sighed. "Think we should lay off of him just a little bit?"

The other two nodded in reply.

The three wait for a few more hours and just watched as their sensei stared off at the stone.

Naruto was fast asleep, boredom was the main cause. That and having to get up early. Sasuke rested his eyes, however still remained alert. Sakura was the one who kept watch on their sensei. She was on high alert and when he suddenly vanished, she jolted the other two awake.

"He's gone! Just vanished!" she exclaimed as she shook them.

Naruto jumped up and looked around wildly. "Wha-What? What's going on?! Where's the fire?" After a moment, Naruto relaxed and rubbed at his eyes, vision blurring. "Where did Kakashi-sensei go?"

Sakura groaned. "If you were paying attention, you would know I literally JUST said he just vanished!"

Sasuke ended up walking over to where their sensei was standing and looked at the name on the grave marker. "Rin Nohara... Must be another comrade of his. Anyone know anything about her?"

The other two shook their heads. "Must be someone really important though..." Naruto added on and crossed his arms. "I don't get it, but come on. I bet Kakashi-sensei is already at the meeting place."

After a beat, the three head to the the training ground to meet up with their sensei.

[blueberrypossum]

Seeing the Opposing Side 

Dastardly Danny x female cop!reader

Hey guys! @greaser-wolf and I are back at it again with trading ideas and our ocs and such. I wasn't going to post this but she wanted everyone to see the story (so heckin nice I swear). For the confusion, shiki is @greaser-wolf oc that is a yokai fire pig cop that has a complicated love story with dastardly Danny, please check out her blog for amazing drawings of her and Danny! Hope you guys guys enjoy!!

⚠️WARNING ⚠️: There will be inappropriate language and themes in this! Along with graphic scenes such as blood and wounds!

Word Bank:

Carrying a torch- Having a crush on someone/ being by someone’s side 

“I won’t let you down, chief.”

Your hands trembled as you took the criminal file your boss handed you, adrenaline rushed through you like a fever as he walked away and you sat back down at your desk. 

The police stations hummed with warm life as you got comfortable in your chair, the only loud sounds that advanced the quiet talk of the officers was the phone calls and the occasional scream from a prisoner.

This was your first case on your own without the other idiot cops that you were placed under, as your boss stated, “you need someone to guide you before you go out on your own,” and then the griffin and the gorilla that was teaching you let out the bloody Mud Dogz on your first day of training. 

Oh that day was awful and you hated reliving the memory inside your head.

Your hooves pulled the file open as you took a sip of coffee, the hot liquid almost spilling over your desk as you read who you were going after. 

“The bloody Mud Dogz?!”

The few yokai beside you looked over and you tried to shrink into your seat, your hooves clinching the mugshots of each Mud Dog. Of course, of fucking course it had to be them, it had to be him!

 Your hooves bent against the picture of Dastardly Danny, the wicked smile he held in the photo gave you shivers down your spine. You’ve had a run in with him a few times, along with watching them leave the prison due to every cop in here not having a single brain cell. Your hands still ached from the cleaning duty you had to do after that.

But not anymore, you were a real cop, and you were going to prove it.

Your eyes strolled through the basic info of him, his age, height, the crimes he has done along with his group. From all the ones you’ve read, Danny’s looked innocent against them. 

In all honesty, The Mud Dogz didn’t really do bad things. They never harmed anyone and they only stole from those who weren’t poor, it was mostly rich people who would call saying they were robbed by them. Of course they would rob places like this, and worked with other crime lords of the Hidden City.

You took another sip from your coffee as you read the last known sighting of him: The Mystic Train Station. You got your gear ready for the long road ahead, with the train station being half way across the city. You strapped your laser gun against your belt and a few portable traps, along with your phone and your badge and headed towards the exit, the other larger and stronger guards almost pushing past you as if you were still an errand runner.

For months you had been one, getting the coffee, getting the files, copying paperwork and not once going out on the field. 

Not a single cop in here believed in you, yokai’s that were as small as you were known to be weak, to be on the backburner without a choice, but that didn’t matter to you. What mattered to you was that the Mud Dogz were going down, no matter the cost.

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You made it to the train station, the underground building poured with life as citizens dove in and out of the train at rapid speed. Security guards were posted around almost every entrance of the metal hole dug in the ground, the dark and damp station was only lit by a few hanging lights and the lights that were inside of the train. One of the many trains came to a screeching halt as you strolled past the other security guards as your eyes examined the area; The Mud Dogz usually wore their signature colors of blue, purple, and orange. You pulled your denim jacket closer to hide yourself from the chilly breeze that drifted into the area. You decided to change before you left your apartment since your cop outfit would attract too much attention, especially since you were on a manhunt. 

The sighting that was described in the file was that the ogre and the rat were spotted here taking the train, the destination they went to was unknown but it seemed they used this way of travel frequently. You took a sip of your second cup of coffee, the heat that steamed out of it warmed your lips in the chilly fall weather. With how many yokai stormed through the area, you didn’t know if you should make a scene or not when you found your target, there were innocent people here and you didn’t want any casualties. Maybe you could find them and sneak your way over to-

Your body slammed into someone else, your back firmly landing against someone’s lower shoulder. A small gasp broke through your mouth as you tried to make sure your drink didn’t spill on you or the yokai you apparently backed into. The stranger’s arms held you firm as they helped you regain your balance. 

“Ah! I’m so sorry! I guess I should be looking at where I am going!” You scrambled out, your face growing red with embarrassment.

“No problem at all, doll. It was nothing more than a scuffle.”

Wait a damn minute.

You swiftly turned around and felt the grip on your beverage tighten as you were face to face with Dastardly Danny, a smug smile curled on his face as his tall frame overshadowed you, his long tail swayed back and forth as if he saw the dots connect in your head. 

You felt your eyebrows raise with shock and then they buried down into your eyes in irritation, your right hand hovering over your laser pistol. 

“Dastardly Danny, you are under arrest! I order for you to come quietly and willingly, or else there will be trouble.”

“Daw, I don’t even get a please, toots?”

“Officers don’t ask.”

“And criminals don’t play dirty.”

He was in your face now, his whiskers close enough to tickle your snout, a smirk navigated his face as his tail wrapped around you and then spun you around, his body easily getting past you and onto one of the multiple paths that led deeper into the train station, his thin figure blending into the crowd as they followed. Once you regained your balance, you threw the drink away and chased after him, your body pushing past the other yokai as the hunt began. 

Your feet stomped against the cemented ground, your eyes caught on the only thing that was unique about Danny against the other yokai: his torn ear that peaked out of his hat. You didn’t pull out your gun though, you couldn’t or else it would freak out the civilians and cause a massive wave of chaos. You couldn’t lose him now, not when he was this close. 

Danny came to a stop as he was face to face with an escalator, his lean body easily going in the middle and slid down the metal slope, his feet landing perfectly as you reached the moving stairs. 

You let out a frustrated grunt and stormed down the stairs, pushing past the civilians as you lost Danny into the several batches of animals. 

Come on! Come on, think Shiki! Think! 

You then leapt up onto the edge of a fountain and scanned the open room, your head darting back and forth as you tried to find the coffee-colored rat.

Hey! Watch it!”

Your head turned to see the criminal rat run into a bigger yokai, the rat politely taking his hat off as he ran by and you hopped off the ledge of the fountain. 

“Dastardly Danny! Get back here!”

“Not a chance, sweetheart! I appreciate your persistence though!” 

His hairless tail was in your sight now, your trained body easily gaining momentum to catch up to him. But the rat knew he was being hunted and he soon started to switch up his walking pattern, his stride crossing in-between different animals and going behind a few pillars that held up the structure. 

While Danny was taller than most normal yokai and they moved when they saw him barreling towards them,  you would almost be run over by the horde of animals that walked past you, almost as if you were the obstacle instead of them.  

Maybe I should’ve worn my uniform. 

“Excuse me! Pardon me! Coming through!”

You shoved past a bear yokai as Danny got onboard the train, his rat tail flicking from side to side as the door closed behind him. You came to a tight halt at the glass door, your enclosed hand hitting against the window, your breaths coming out ragged and sweat was dripping down your brow, but Danny’s composer was calm and his chest barely rose as his arm bent and leaned against the door. 

His eyes lazily looked down at you through the glass, his breath creating a grey shadow over the clear frame and his claws wrote the words “Nice try” in the window as the train started to build up for take off. You desperately looked for a way in, but once the doors were closed there was no way to get in. The railroad blueprint printed itself into your mind and you calculated how far each stop and the different intersections of railroads. 

As the train easily started to make its way down the tunnel, you kept your eyes locked onto Danny’s. His murky eyes traveled up and down your body, as if he was trying to see what you would do next, his hands now going in his pockets and his shoulders shrugged, as if you had lost. But you sent your own sly grin to him as you ducked by the nearest yokai and headed straight for the construction site on the left, the yellow police tape tearing under your hands as you raced through the darkness. 

Your hooves worked against each other until a small flicker of fire grew in your hands, the only sound you could hear was the vibration of the trains grooving throughout the under tunnel system and your heart pulsing in your short ears. You jumped over a bridge that was barely built, your short yet strong legs carried you easily over it, your ears flicking back and forth as you tried to listen for the train. You continued your jog through the inky cave, leftover construction hats and equipment littered the ground as you came to a huge opening to a narrow path, below you was one of the railroad tracks. 

The wind that blasted through the hollowed tunnel blew out the flame that boiled in your hands. 

“Ugh! Come on!”

You kept snapping the edge of your hooves until another dash of life blossomed in your hand and you could take in your surroundings once more. The ground beneath you started to rumble and you bent down to watch as the headlights of the train started to enter the thin subway and then the metal car went flying by you, the roar of the train whistle blistered into your eardrums and you used your free hand to cover up one ear. Your jacket flew around you and you turned on your heel to get a running start. 

You let out a shaky breath as you extinguished the light from your hand and the only thing lightning up your path was the spotty fragments of the train cars.  And you sprinted across the dirt road and then leapt onto the top of the metal animal, your hooves clinging into the scrap as the wind sped into your exposed ears. Your hand felt around for the hatch and your fingers gripped around it and you rose up on the train to pull the hole open. The air from your lungs was being sucked out of you as you pushed every muscle in your body to open it and the metal hatch let out a low hiss as it was popped open. 

You dove in and pulled the hatch with you and everything was black. 

Through the darkness, you could make out the forms of boxes and supplies and you figured you were in one of the supplies carts. You took in a few breaths of air as the adrenaline and the caffeine rocked in your veins and your heart felt like it was dancing throughout your body. You grew another flare of fire in your hand as you made your way forward and to the door that would lead you to the next carriage. You hoped in-between the carts until you got to one that was full of yokai, your light instantly going out as you shoved past the different animals, your mind counting the carts until you got to the one that the rat was on. 

Your eyes narrowed into slits as you prowled the train car, the different species of animals barely even noticing you as you tried to find the plum colored outfit that shouldn’t blend this easily in the row of dull colors. And then you saw it, his tail barely peeking over behind someone. You hid within the shadows casted by the passengers and the purple-wearing rat was in your sight. Your hooves gripped around the pistol and pulled it out, the barrel of it digging into his back.

"Did you really think you could get away from me that easily?” You asked, the stiffness in his posture brought pleasure to your heart. 

Danny looked at you through the reflection of the glass, your red shirt and jacket were scruffed up and the once holeless jeans now had a horizontal tear across your knee. The few tufts of hair that was on your head were whipped lashed and the fur on your face was tangled within themselves. But you were steady on your feet and the gun that dug into his back was handled in a tamed manner. 

You were surely different than the police officers he usually had to deal with. 

“Me? Wanting to get away from you? Never,” he purred to your reflection and you squint your eyes at him. You push yourself in front of him, the gun now lowered to your thigh but still pointing towards him. 

“Now, you listen to me, darling,” you whispered to him, your voice joking around the word darling. “When we get off this train, I am putting your hands in cuffs and taking you to jail. Got it?”

Danny crossed his arms over his chest, “I don’t even get a five-second headstart?”

“You didn’t give me one.”

“Touche.”

You felt skin under your fur relax and you leaned against the pole across from him, the bronzed tunnel foggy behind you as the atmosphere between you two went heavy and silent. 

 “How did ya get on here, anyway?”

You looked at your reflection in the window and how much of a wreck you looked like and you used your free hand to untangle the clumps of fur. 

“Oh, I just intersected the railroad and then hop on,” you said nonclonently, your fingers combing through your short hair and then turned to see the rat yokai staring wide-eyed at you, one singular eyebrow raised. 

“What?”

“You jumped onto this train?”

“Yes?”

“Wow, what a woman you are.”

A pretty blush pranced against your face and you instantly turned away, hoping that your chocolate-colored fur would hide the redness. You were used to men joking to you, you knew the slang in their voice when they did it. But Danny didn’t have that, he never had that when you talked to you. 

Why was he always polite to you? Most criminals would be hollering curse words like there is no tomorrow.

You remembered one of the multiple lessons in your college class for becoming an officer. A lawbreaker will try to persuade you or flirt with you to find a way of getting out of being arrested. Still, it felt good for someone to compliment you on your hard work for once. 

Your father’s image splattered in your hand and for a split second you closed your eyes, pushing the brooding memory out of your head. You opened your eyes to find Danny watching you, his eyes studying you as you came back to your surroundings. 

He has no control over you anymore, Shiki, get over it. No one controls you.

“You remind me of my father.”

“Why thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment, Dastardly.”

“Is that why you’re trying so hard to get me?”

Maybe. Maybe I just want to be told I did something right for once.

You both arrived at the new station, the sigh overhead in the train cart you were in said that you were near the Battle Nexus and the Crying Titan. As the horde of animals shoved past you, you made sure to keep your gun up against Danny’s back as you led him out of the train and away from wandering eyes. Once behind of the pillars you cuffed him, the irritating ring of the metal cuffs caused both of your ears to twitch. 

“No running? No cursing?” You asked, your hands gripping the cuffs behind his back. The tall rat gave a shrug.

“I know when I’ve been bested, and how can I be mad if it's from you?” You pushed him forward and he let out a light chuckle as you presented him to the citizens of the Hidden City.

And the way the public stared and how some families scooted their children away was a confidence boost you needed as you shoved him along, his small grunts barely reached you as you took him up and through the train station until you both made it to the exit. 

It was nighttime when you both made it out of the train station, the already once dark city was now pitch-black, the hanging lights looking like fallen stars. The buzz of life was barely a whisper as stores started to close and the awakening of nightclubs replaced it.

You could see your breath dance in front of you as you continued to force Danny onward, the yokai’s who boarded with you were now heading back to your homes. You thought about calling backup and didn’t have to endure the long walk ahead, but you didn’t want to disturb the station, along with you didn’t anyone take this credit. 

It was silent between you two, and whenever you would almost trip on Danny's tail he would look back with a shit-eating grin. 

Why did you find criminals handsome? Of course the one trait you got from your mother was similar attraction.

“Down here, this alleyway will get us to the station faster,” you ordered, your grip on him forcing him to turn down one of the ghastly alleyways, the bricks covered in graffiti and grime.

“If you just wanted to be alone with me, all you had to do was ask, sweetheart,” Danny chuckled, the desire in his voice almost made you stop in your tracks, but then you stepped right on his tail as payback. 

“Whoops,” you snickered, a smile playing on your lips as you saw his painful expression.  

“Wowza! I’m guessin’ that cops play dirty as well?” He breathed out, his tail swishing back and forth to forget about the pain.

You then came to a full stop, your ears twitching as you finally took in your surroundings. You were used to the silence of the dead part of town, but this was too quiet, as if the animals of the city were in hiding. You looked around the enclosed space you were and then started to hurry the rat ahead. 

“Whoa what’s with the hussle, toots?”

“Something isn’t right, we need to get out of here. Now.”

And then you saw the pair of glowing eyes down the pathway, the blue orbs blinking and the pupils flipping into thin lines as the creature spotted you and Danny. 

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the famous Dastardly Danny,” the voice purred, and a large white tiger walked out of the overshadow, his thin tail curling against his back. 

“Been a long time old friend.”

Danny let out a groan and a small ‘tch’ under his breath. 

“Good to see ya again, Liam, how's the business doing?”

“It was doing brilliant until you and that ridiculous group of yours ruined it.”

You looked up at Danny and then back at the tiger yokai, your hand pulling out your laser gun and aiming it at the white tiger known as Liam. 

“You are interjecting with official business, walk away or I will shoot,” you stated, and then two more yokai joined Liam behind him. You felt your eyes grow wide with fear as a wildebeest yokai and a fox yokai fell into line with their boss, their claws and hooves shined in the dimly lit alleyway. 

Did bad luck just run in my family?

You slowly backed up, your hand clutched over the middle of the handcuffs and you tried to focus in on the scruff noise Danny’s shoes made instead of the peering eyes that looked at like you were a meal. 

“Officer, if you run now, we won’t bother you. We just want Danny,” Liam said, a large paw went over his chest where his heart was placed. 

A thousand thoughts charged through your head as you gazed up at Danny, who almost seemed to lean in front of you like a shield. You could give Danny to them, you could try to take all of them down, take Danny with you, let Danny go and both of you run. 

Anger singed through you. This isn’t how this was supposed to go! You were supposed to get the bad guy, bring them to jail, and be the police officer you wanted to be! The cop you needed to be!

You kept good yokai safe, you kept innocent animals alive and took down the villain in the story, but now, as the gun shook on your hands, you took aim and shot at the men as you pushed Danny out of the enclosed space. 

“Go!” You ordered and continued to shoot at the three criminals, the agile yokai’s quickly dodging the hot bullets. One of the bullets landed in the fox’s shoulder and you sprinted towards them to dodge Liam’s attack and then to knee the horned yokai, your foot then came into contact with his stomach as you spun, sending the male henchmen into the bricked wall. You turned to continue to shoot, but a large hand wrapped itself around your throat and gun and pinned you against the rigged wall, the points and curves digging into your back as Liam’s claws dug into your neck.

“Will any of your fellow officers miss you if you were gone? What about your family?” He questioned, his nails broke past your skin and you could feel the warm liquid stain his hand. A yelp escaped your lips and your legs lifted up to kick him, but the fox held you down. 

“Because with how stupid you act, I can’t believe that anyone out there would care about you.”

You didn’t even realize the tears that were falling down your face until your fur went completely damp on your face. 

Your vision started to get blurry and stars started to sparkle at the corner of your eye, and then a loud grunt came from white tiger strangling you and the claws released you. 

You wheezed for air as your body slid down the wall, your eyesight barely coming back as you listened to the violent grunts of fighting. Your hand was still wrapped around your gun, the strain in your hooves started to pinch your nerves.

“Come on, is dat your best hit?”

Danny?! Danny came back to help? He didn’t run? What kind of criminal is he?

As your vision started to clear, you could make out the figures in front of you. Danny was quick on his feet, his body easily dodging the punches and kicks the yokai’s threw to him. But he was losing, the blood that soaked his suit and his nose, along with his hands still being cuffed. Your throat burned but you took aim anyway, shooting the wildebeest in his chest, sending him flying back. 

The three men looked back at you as you rose up, coughs still escaping your mouth as you checked how many rounds you had left.

 The rat was at your side as you both were cornered against the wall, dry coughs still raging out of your mouth as he looked down at you. 

“Y’know, it would be easier to fight if I didn’t have these around me,” he stated, his hands raising up, the metal shackles showed signs of digging into his fur. 

“I already let you go, you’re the one who decided to come back.”

“You’re pop didn’t seem to teach ya manners.”

“Oh my- fine! Fine!”

Before the last two yokai could attack, you took the keys out and unlocked his cuffs, the metal material falling to the ground as Danny rubbed his wrists, a cat-like smile growing into his face.

“Now the fights even.”

Danny picked up the fallen cuffs and curled them into his hand, punching them in Liam’s face as you continued to shoot at the fox yokai, his fast and quick body dodging almost every shot. But his shoulder was weak from the last shot and when he pounced you lifted the butt end of the gun and slammed into his injured shoulder. The orange mammal let out a yelp and your elbow went into his stomach, and then a fist in the face made him flip backward and plant face first into the ground. 

One down, one more to go. 

Danny ducked as the white tiger swiped at him, his claws tearing into the bricks behind him and almost into the rat’s hat. A growl ran its way through your throat and you shot at the tiger, one laser point going into his back, his body rapidly moving away, his icy eyes landing on you. A low snarl rumbled in his neck and he punched Danny down the alleyway, the large crash echoed back towards you as his body and trash cans came in contact. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you continued to shoot at Liam, and then the clicking of an empty slot reflected throughout the area. 

Of course.

The white tiger charged then, knocking the gun out of your hands and you stumbled away, your arms raising up to dodge the hits he threw. But he was a tower compared to you, you had to face guys like him in the academy, but this was your first fight alone. You ducked as another hit came towards you, fear became power as you decided to strike. Your hooves swiped at him, the curve cutting into his cheekbone, and then another one into his stomach. 

Liam let out a roar and his claws went into your leg, the razer-like talons dug into your jeans, quickly breaking past the fabric and into your fur and flesh. A scream raged through you as the nails shredded into your leg muscle and then with a long and antagonizing slowness, he threw you to the side. You could taste the salty blood in your mouth and your leg was feverish and wet, with the loss of air and blood, your vision once agains went blurry. The night was cold against your damp fur, and before you blacked out, all you could think about was your father, and how he was right about you.

You were a failure.

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You woke you with a start, sweat pouring through your fur as you blinked several times to take in your surroundings. You were on someone’s couch, the black leather under you was worn and old. You took in the apartment around you, the grey walls were dim against you and the area seemed to be clean, seemed.

A hiss of pain passed your teeth and you looked down, your jeans were completely cut off until it was to your wound, which was now bandaged and cleaned. Your neck still burned and it was wrapped as well, the calmly ointment stuck to your fur. A bottle of water and medicine laid next to you on a stool and a blanket was curled around you. 

Where am I? What happened to Liam and Danny?

You tried to lift yourself up, but the pain that blasted from your right thigh brought you right back down. Shouldn’t you be in a hospital, not in someone’s apartment?  Then you heard it, the small chatter of voices in the room next to you and you went for your gun, but it was gone. You checked your whole belt and everything you had packed for this hunt was gone. 

Alright, whoever touched me is done for. 

You looked around and saw the coffee table stuffed with medical gear, ranging from antibiotics and pills. You spotted the scissors that were used to cut your bandages. You lifted yourself up on your elbows and let out a shaky breath and leaned over to the wooden table, the tip of your hooves barely grasping the blade before you completely rolled off the couch. 

A violent grunt came out of your throat and your hand went to your side, the row of bruises under your fur ached against your body. 

The voices went still and the patter of footsteps rushed into the room with you, your free hand going for the scissors and hiding it under yourself. 

You watched with half-closed eyes as four pairs of legs came into view, your head felt hot with fever as someone helped you up and back on the couch. Through the lights of the ceiling you could barely make out the figure that felt against your forehead. 

“How ya doing, doll?”

“Danny?”

The significant details in his face came into view as he smiled down at you, his tall figure no longer in a suit but in a regular t-shirt and pants, a few wraps were around his arms as well. 

“Ohhhhhh, I would have rather been beaten to death,” you groaned as you placed your hands over your eyes, the urge to scream out weighed heavy in your lungs. 

“Well that’s a weird way to say thanks.”

More anger bubbled in your stomach as you recognized Loathsome Leonard’s voice, so that meant the whole Mud Dogz group was here, and that you were in their home. What will your boss think if he finds out? What would he do to you since not only did you let the Mud Dogz get away, but you were wounded and taken to their hideout. Maybe you wouldn’t get to leave, maybe they wanted to get rid of you so you no longer bothered them. 

You opened your eyes with a sigh. 

No, if they wanted you gone, if Danny wanted you gone he would have left you on that street, he wouldn’t have brought you back here, he wouldn’t have bandaged you up…

“Okay, who ripped my jeans?”

A female cat came up from behind the ogre, her thin tail swishing back and forth. 

“Sorry about that. But it was the only way to get to your wound without undressing you. Also I’m the one who stripped you of your weapons, Danny’s orders that no guy touched you,” she said, her eyes going over the medical table, her eyes narrowing. 

You felt a large pressure release from your shoulders that a girl looked at you, even if she was working with other criminals. The cat yokai looked over at Danny and then eyed the table, his eyes following hers. That pressure was replaced with panic as you pushed your back further into the couch, the cold blade digging into your shirt.

“Luckily for you, that leg didn't need stitches. They should heal on their own time with proper care daily. ”

“I know.”

The brown cat raised an eyebrow and walked past you and to the kitchen, her eyes flicking over you as if you prey. 

“Okay, little piglet, then you don’t need my assistance anymore.”

You puffed out a gust of air and placed your hand over your wounded leg and groaned as the long gashes moved under your touch. Leonard and Mickey looked over at Danny and he gave them a curt nod and they followed the feline into the kitchen, their bodies disappearing. The rat was about to follow, but your voice stopped him in his tracks. 

“Why?”

He turned back to look at you, to look at little and weak you. But you held yourself strong up on your elbows once again, the sweat dripping from your eyebrow showed the strength you were using to get yourself up. For a while, Danny just believed that you were just another cop, too dumb to notice and too native to care. But you were persistent, you chased him down with every last tooth and nail you had, you jumped onto a bloody train to catch up to him. 

You were unique. You were stubborn. You fought for what you wanted.

 So, when you left him go to save him from Liam and his gang, he knew he had to come back for you. When Liam sank his claws into you, Danny took him down and carried you back to the Mud Dogz apartment, instantly calling up Leonard’s feline friend to patch you up. 

He knew about the scissors under your back, but he sat on the end of the couch from you, his body relaxed against your paranoid one. 

“Why what?”

“I’ve been chasing after you for months. You know it, and yet, you’re nice to me, you make jokes when your life's on the line. And when you had the chance to run, when you had the chance to get rid of me once and for all; You didn’t. What kind of criminal are you?!”

The rat’s tail twitched and he gently leaned towards you, his eyes interested in the words you were spilling out. You went stiff under his gaze and you fully lifted yourself up, your back now leaning against the armrest of the couch. 

“You said I reminded you of your father, is he a criminal as well?”

You clenched your teeth in your mouth and you crossed your arms over your chest, the blade you sat on now was calling your name to pick up and attack. You were talking to a felon, someone who broke laws and ruined yokai’s lives, but his file came back to your mind. He never stole from the poor, he never hurt anyone, and he reminded you nothing of your father. 

“Yes, but I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

The luminosity of the ceiling lights appeared over you as Danny took in a full look of you. You were pretty, gorgeous even, your dark coffee fur shined brightly in the room, the outline of your fur dusted with gold. He wouldn’t admit that he found your snout and the few tufts of fur on your head cute, nor that he found you attractive, but he would admit that you were unlike anything he had ever known. 

“You seem real conflicted, doll. Something on yer mind?”

You let out a breathless chuckle as you looked up at the light.

“You are so different from what I was taught to go after. My father, other criminals, I’ve watched yokai’s kill for money, I’ve watched families be torn by murder. My father was the same, but you, the Mud Dogz, are not. They don’t teach you that there are different criminals.”

You balled your hands into fists and held the tears that were trying to build back. 

“But I can’t rise to the top without following orders. I can’t get the respect I deserve without taking out the criminals I was trained to hunt for! And since I failed at protecting my mother and siblings from my father, a bloody criminal, I guess I feel like I need to save the city from criminals! But who are even the criminals anymore?! Yokai like you or the ones who step over me like I’m nothing!!”

You were gasping for air now, the blade now in your hands, every muscle in your body pushed against the tip of your hooves as you held it with every fiber of your life.

“That tiger was right, no one sticks around me when things start to fail.”

 You wondered if the other members of the Mud Dogz had heard you, but for once you didn’t care. You were failing, just like he said you would, the years you trained to become better, stronger than most was worth nothing in this moment. 

Danny hadn’t moved a muscle as your panic sizzled over you like an electric wave. The conflict that seemed to control you was something he hadn’t seen from other officers. Most broken animals were because of a missing or abusive parent, and to hear that you had to become the hero for your mother and siblings made more sense with how unbreakable you were, but you were already broken so many times that there was nothing left to break.  

“Do you feel like yer doing that?” Was all he asked. 

“Doing what?”

“Saving people, helping the city?”

You were quiet for a second and you rested your head on your stable knee. 

“….No.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m being told to go after men like you, when real criminals are getting away.”

You then flipped the scissors over until the handle faced Danny, the tears gone and a newfound determination in your eyes. Danny gave you a smile and took the blade. Danny felt something in his heart twitch when your hand lightly touched him, the hard crack of your hooves and the softness of your fur. But he ignored it and threw the weapon onto the table

“ I will put you in a prison these days though, Dastardly Danny. I’m the type to not know when to quit.”

“If it’s you, then I’ll be honored.”

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

You woke up the next morning sore and uncomfortable.

After you and Danny had your chat, you were given your weapons back and the feline cat led you out of the apartment blindfolded. You were skeptical at first, but the sheek cat stated that it was that so then the cop standing in front of her wouldn’t know where they lived. It was a few minutes of walking until she untied it from your eyes and gave a wave goodbye after handing your black jacket back. 

“I cleaned it and patched up a few holes in it.”

“Oh! Ah, thank you.”

You wondered if you would see that cat again, but if she hanged out with the Mud Dogz, then you beat every dollar in your bank account that you would. 

You went straight home and fell asleep, and then called off work once you were awoken by your alarm. 

Yet when you called, the pride in your boss’s voice was noticeable.

“Good job with the arrest last night, I’m guessing you’re taking the day off due to injuries?”

Arrest? 

“The arrest?”

“Liam Asad and his gang. They had been terrorizing store workers for weeks now.” 

You then got a notification on your phone and it was a message from one of your colleagues, you opened up the message while your boss mumbled on about it and saw that Liam and his two other goons were tied up out front of the police station, a note with your name on it stuck against the ropes. 

Shiki Chibana.

Your mind jumped back and forth with confusion and you went back to talking to your chief. 

“Anyway, good job again, Miss Cibana, enjoy your day off, you deserve it.” And then he hung up. 

You were still staring at the image of the yokais tied up when your room went silent. The mammals were beaten to hell, the blood stains from either fists or your laser pistol, and the penmanship on the paper wasn’t your handwriting. You recognized it instantly on every Mud Dogz calling card you studied.

You rushed as quickly as you could to get your jacket on, barely even seeing the piece of paper that flew out of it. You limped over to it once you spotted it and picked up the crumbled paper, coffee stains dotted against the sides.

“I’ll be carrying the torch for ya while you believe you’re failing.”

A little heart was curved into the word ya as you read Danny’s handwriting over and over, your hooved thumb brushing over the word torch. 

What did it mean? Danny used so many slanged words that you hardly knew what he was saying half the time. 

He turned Liam in, before you even had the heart-to-heart to him since you had this letter in your jacket pocket. You looked out your studio window and opened it, taking in the crips air and the busy sound of the city below. You continued to reread the letter over and over, your lips unknowingly curling into a shy smile. 

You weren’t afraid to admit when you were wrong, and maybe you were wrong about Danny. Or maybe you were just into bad boys with soft hearts. 

[flamehairedwritings]

Roses

Characters: Evelyn Carnahan x Rick O’Connell

Words: 1k

Rating: M

A/N: Hello! Welcome to the second day of my 7 Days of Valentine’s Drabbles, the 2021 edition! Let’s carry on with something sweet, shall we. 

This story includes pure sweetness, mentions of death, and Rick O’Connell just absolutely loving his wife.

Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites; credit does not count.

—

Roses

“... ‘And in 1285 saw the painting of the Judgement of Hunefer before...’“

Evy trailed off, her gaze dropping from the thick book in her hands to what her green silk slipper had nudged against. Her brow dipping, she stared down at the crimson rose, the stem a lush green, both colours standing out starkly against the brown Moroccan rug.

Snapping the book shut and holding it against her chest, she reached down to pick it up, holding it carefully so she wouldn’t prick herself.

“What...?”

Straightening, her gaze scanned the long hallway before and behind her, the walls covered with artwork, and stands here and there displaying artefacts. No other flowers, no vases, nothing out of place.

“Hm.”

Her nose wrinkling, she continued on down the hallway after a moment, keeping the rose held between her fingers. Maybe one of the gardeners had passed through earlier and dropped it.

Roses in the garden, that’ll be nice. Hopefully they won’t look too garish against the lavender. Then again, what do I know about gardening, Maggie and Drew are geniuses, that’s why we hired them—

Evy paused again as she turned the corner, finding, in the centre of the landing before her on one of the dark wooden slats, another rose.

Her black satin robe swished quietly around her legs as she strode towards it, stooping to carefully scoop it up.

Now, what’s going on here?

History had told her that coincidence wasn’t exactly something that happened to this family.

Lifting her head, she saw a slight flash of red against the darkness of the wood ahead, and moved towards it, before she suddenly paused again, her lips parting.

A single crimson rose petal lay before her, and, a few feet beyond that, was another, and then, closer, another, and then another, and then another, until what looked like a thin trail of them led towards an archway on the other side of the vast landing that wrapped around one of the foyers of the manor.

Biting at her lower lip, the corners of her mouth started to lift as she followed the petals along to and through the archway, knowing where they were leading to.

It made tiny butterflies flit around in her stomach, some giddy, some rolling their eyes at the others.

Clearing her throat as she stepped over the carefully formed trail, her eyes rose to the heavy oak door that led to the largest bedroom in the house, finding it ajar. Music quietly floated through, and even though she was hopeless at remembering titles, she recognised new singer Louis Armstrong’s unmistakable voice crooning gently. Nudging the door open a little more with her elbow, Evy’s smile widened into a beam as the petal trail reached its destination.

That destination being Rick O’Connell, lounging across their bed, long legs hanging off the end, twirling a rose between his fingers.

A grin broke out across his features as he met her gaze, tilting his head.

“Well, hello.”

“Hello to you,” she answered, trying desperately hard to regain control of her mouth, biting down on her lower lip again. Raising her eyebrows, she tried to pull herself together a little. “Roses?”

Rick inclined his head, grin unwavering. “Roses for my English rose.”

She knew he caught the twitching of her lips, a laugh on the tip of her tongue. “Very clever, O’Connell.”

“Thank you, came up with it all on my own.” Pushing himself up, he sauntered towards her and she felt her cheeks flush as the blasted things always did when he held her gaze.

Eight years they’d been married, eight, and he still made her feel like a silly, giddy girl, not a woman who had fought off an ancient villain who had come back from the dead and his cronies, twice, survived death herself, and also given birth to a sweet boy who seemed to want to give his parents a heart attack every few days.

Tossing the rose over his shoulder, he very purposefully held her gaze, eyebrows slightly lifted, as he took one rose from her, then the other, both of them following suit behind him, and then extracted the tome she’d been enjoying from her arm.

He went to throw it over his shoulder too because, hell, the thing would probably damage the floor more than itself, when her eyebrows shot up and he received that look.

“All right, all right...” he murmured, setting it down on a small table beside her with utmost reverence.

He thought he heard her snort, but she’d quickly recovered when his attention returned to her. And, boy, did she have his full attention. His gaze drifted over her, from her soft, brown waves, whisky-hued eyes, rosy cheeks, to the rise and fall of her chest under the satin robe. It rose and fell a little faster as his gaze lingered for a few moments, and then trailed back up, meeting her own.

Reaching behind her, he gripped the door handle and pulled the door closed. He watched her swallow lightly as the wood met her back, effectively trapping her between it and him. Not dropping his hand, the expanse of his thumb resting against her lower back, he cocked his head.

“Very brave of you to follow a strange trail in your own home. Curiosity killed the cat, y’know.”

There was still a trace of that look on her features, but he could see a hint of a smile on her lips.

“Well, it seems I have nine lives.”

Teasing vanished from his intentions as he swallowed lightly, his fingertip gliding along her jaw.

“You know I don’t like joking about that.”

“I know,” she murmured softly, hands coming up to settle on his chest. “Sorry.”

As always, he recovered quickly, wanting to swiftly move on from the subject that tore at his heart. Heaving a faux-sigh, he shook his head, finger settling under her chin.

“See, that just didn’t make me feel any better.”

She pressed her lips together, suppressing a knowing smile.

“Do you want me to kiss it better?”

He paused. “My... feelings?”

Tutting, she resisted the urge to roll her eyes as he grinned.

“Be quiet, O’Connell.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

His grin swiftly vanished as her arms slid around his neck and he lowered his head, capturing her lips in a tender kiss.

God, she’d just never, ever get tired of this.

Evy hummed softly, allowing the tip of her tongue to gently touch against his lips. His hand instantly lifted from the handle and his arm slide around her lower back, pulling her tight against him as his other hand slid into her hair.

“Mmh...” she hummed again, rising up on her toes slightly as she leaned into him. “... Where’s... Where are the—”

“Both outside,” Rick answered instantly, a little breathless as he kept a firm grip on her. “... Jonathan’s teaching Alex how to shoot—”

“What?” Her head drew back and he released an involuntary sound of disappointment.

“Shh, it’ll be fine...” He chased after her lips, feeling her smile. “... Alex already knows. He’s probably better, actually...”

Her laughter was music to his ears as he swept her off her feet and carried her towards the bed.

—

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[itsmelaurel]

Begin Again

Summary: When your best friends move away for college, you think life is officially over. However, you find yourself making new friends including the blonde surfer from the other side of the island.

—————————————————

three.

The first time you physically see the boys again is a whole month after they move.  It was prospect weekend at their university which meant all high school seniors who were interested in the school were invited to tour the campus and attend a football game.  For most high school seniors it was their first taste of what college would be like next year.  

For you, it was just another weekend at your parents alumni college. It was where they met and fell in love. They had been bringing you to sporting events here every year and basically assumed you would follow in their footsteps.

When you got to campus, they boys met you outside their dorm. Each took a few extra seconds to hug you with Topper actually spinning you around. It felt good to see them, to hug them. This was the longest any of you had gone without seeing each other.

You were currently sitting at the tailgate they dragged you and Sarah to. Ward and your dad had left you both there to visit the alumni tailgate, which was probably a bad idea since Kelce immediately poured you a shot as soon as they left.

All of them had promised not to leave your side, professing that they wanted to spend as much time with you as possible while you were here. That didn’t last long though as they were quickly swept up into a game of beer pong with their fraternity brothers.

Since they were preoccupied, you and Sarah had been people watching from the side of the tent. Several people who graduated from Kildare Prep also went to school here. It was the most popular college choice for Kildare's finest.

“Is it just me or does this feel like a KP reunion?” Sarah asked looking around the tent.

“Definitely feels like a reunion.” You agreed with a grimace.

It’s quiet for a moment as you watch people taking shots, shotgunning beers and quickly becoming blacked out drunk.

“I don’t think I want to go here.” Sarah rushes out quickly and you whip your head around to look at her with wide eyes.

“I- I don’t think I do either.” You stutter. It’s the first time you’ve ever admitted it out loud to anyone. It had been a small thought in the back of your mind for a few weeks now, but you kept ignoring it.

Your parents had been planning on you attending this school since you were a baby. The boys didn’t even think there was another option for you because wouldn’t you want to be where your best friends were?

It was where you always thought you would end up, but it didn’t feel right all the sudden. It didn’t feel like home.

“I haven’t told anyone- well, except John B.”

“Me either minus the part about John B.”

Both of you just stare at each other for a moment, letting the reality of your words sink in.

“Y/n! Sarah!” Kelce was shouting your names as he made his way over to you. Your eyes quickly glance back to Sarah’s, a silent understanding passing between y'all. “Come on, I called next for y'all at pong. You're up against Top and Rafe.”

After winning two games of beer pong, both you and Sarah let another team take over your spot. You were a little tipsy even after switching to water during the second game. All of the guys around the table were in awe of you and Sarah sinking almost every shot.

“That’s my girl!” Rafe shouts when you made the shot to win the first game, even though he and Topper lost because of it.

You and Sarah head towards the coolers to get more water, bending down to open the cooler when a heeled bootie slams the lid shut.

“What tha-” your eyebrows wrinkle in confusion as you look up to see three girls standing on the other side of the cooler.

“Um, can we help you?” Sarah asks as you stand up straight next to her.

“The prospect tailgate is on the other side of the quad.” The blonde in the middle says, her nasally voice like nails on a chalkboard.

“We’re here with friends.” You say, eyes scanning the area for Rafe, Topper or Kelce. Of course they are nowhere to be found.

“Oh really? Who?” The brunette on the left asks, trying to catch us in a lie.

“Topper Thornton, Rafe Cameron and Kelce-” you don’t even get to finish before all three girls are cackling. You and Sarah share an annoyed look.

“No way you're friends with them.” The other blonde on the right says.

“Actually, I’m Rafe’s sister and this is their best friend, y/n.” Sarah says. All of their smiles falter for half a second before they turn their gaze solely to me.

“They’ve never mentioned a girl best friend-”

“Maybe you don’t know them that well.” You taunt. It causes all of them to chuckle again.

“Honey, we’re with those boys literally every single day. They’ve never mentioned you.” The one in the middle brags.

“They call themselves the three amigos. I’ve never heard them utter anything about anyone else.” The brunette chirps.

“And you aren’t on their instagrams anywhere. I would totally remember if you were.” The other blonde adds, all three girls now wearing similar smirks.

A frown settles on your face. You know for a fact you are all over their instagrams. From prom pictures to spending the day on the water, you know you're on all of their pages hundreds of times. Your whole lives have pretty much been documented on their social media accounts.

Thankfully, Sarah has the complete opposite reaction of you. She laughs out loud, hand on her stomach as she leans back slightly - intentionally mocking the girls. People are starting to look at the scene near the edge of the tent.

“Can you imagine trying to intimidate two high school girls because of who they're friends with?” Sarah says loudly so everyone on this side hears. The girls' faces fall at her words.

“Because bitch, we can’t relate.” Sarah throws her hand up in the middle girl's face, a clear dismissal of their childish behavior. She grabs your hand and drags you behind her, away from the tent and the three wicked bitches from hell. She doesn’t stop until a small clearing opens up next to the brick stadium entrance and you're all alone.

Once stopped, the first thing you do is pull your phone out. Opening up Instagram you check all three of the boys Instagram pages hoping that bitch was lying. Your heart sinks when you realize she wasn’t.

There isn’t a trace of you on any of their pages. Tears well up in your eyes and you clench your eyes shut to prevent them from falling.

“Don’t cry, you are way too pretty to cry over those assholes.” Sarah says gently, pulling you into a hug.

“How could they erase every single picture of me? Like I haven’t been there for every moment of their lives.” Your voice cracks a little as you try to keep the emotion from spilling out.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to beat their asses. Then I’m going to roundhouse kick Peggy, Susie and Betty in their faces for messing up our day.” Sarah pulls back slightly to look at you, the determined look on her face makes you giggle.

“Hey! There you are. We were just headed to the boys tailgate to get you so we can head into the game.” Ward says as he and your dad walk up to you.

“Everything okay?” Your dad asks, head tilting as he notices your watery eyes.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You lie, pushing down every single emotion your feeling as the four of you make your way into the game.

When you find your seats, Sarah asks her dad to take your picture. He takes a few then she holds her phone up for some selfies.

Your phone is blowing up, so you take it out to see who it is. There’s at least ten texts in the group chat asking where you went.

Then there’s two texts from a certain blonde haired, blue eyed surfer. The first one asks if you made it and the second one is a picture of the pogues all with sad faces at your and Sarah’s absence.

You send him a picture of the field to let him know you made it, then you make Sarah take a picture just like theirs and send it with a red heart emoji. You immediately regret sending a red heart, but he sends one right back.

Sarah is staring at you as you stare at those little red hearts, her eyebrows raised as she watches you smile.

“What?”

“Just wondering if I look like that every time I text John B.” She shrugs before looking back out to the field. A blush graces your cheeks as you roll your eyes, both of you giggling which catches your dads attention.

“Hey, there’s no giggling in football.” Ward says, snapping his fingers to get both of you to stop. It only fuels your laughter on more.

—

After the game, the original plan was to meet the boys back at their tailgate before getting on the road. All four of you are headed that way, talking about the big win when you look up towards the tailgate. Through the crowd of people, you can see those three girls from earlier talking to Kelce, Topper and Rafe. The site makes you falter your steps until you are completely stopped.

As much as you want to go over there and prove that your friends with the boys, you can’t and it’s not because of those girls. You can’t face the boys right now. All of the emotions you pushed down earlier start to bubble up and you refuse to let them see you cry.

“Um, actually, can we go get the truck?” You ask nervously, eyes trained only on your dad as he stops a few steps ahead of you. He squints his eyes at you, confused at your behavior.

“We need to say bye to Rafe.” Ward comments as he looks back to the tent. Sarah also looks towards the tent, noticing the scene before looking back at you and your glossy eyes.

“We'll go say bye to the boys, y’all go get the truck and pick us up on the corner. It will probably save us all some time.” Sarah makes a plan before y’all go your separate ways.

It’s quiet as you and your dad walk side by side towards his truck, the only noise between the two of you is a faint sniffle as you try to keep yourself from crying.

“So, you want to tell me what’s wrong?” He asks softly. He stops walking, turning his whole body to look at you. His face is full of concern and you can’t hold it in anymore.

You tell him about those bitches at the tailgate, the fact your best friends practically erased every memory y’all had together and then you accidently let it slip that you don’t want to go to school here anymore. He pulls you into a hug, repeatedly telling you that it’s all going to be okay as he rocks you back and forth.

Both of you stay like that for a few minutes until your crying slowly fades into a few tears and hiccups. He sweetly dabs the tear stains with the sleeve of his shirt.

“I promise it’s all going to be okay, sweetpea.” He whispers reassuringly before he pulls you into his side and continues on to the vehicle. His words are comforting, but it does help the ache you feel in your chest.

When you pick up Ward and Sarah, she is practically glowing when she climbs in the back seat with you.

“You should have seen those bitches-” she begins but Ward shoots her a look at her word choice. She rolls her eyes but continues on “they looked like they were going to throw up when we walked up. When the boys kept asking where you were, their faces paled.” She laughs and even Ward chuckles from the front seat.

“Did they say anything?”

“Oh yeah, they said they were just joking around with us. So I told the boys everything they said. I honestly thought Rafe was going to punch their little blonde leader. When the girls left, Topper said they’ve only seen those girls twice at swap parties.”

“You should have seen them leave, total embarrassment as this one actually laughed.” Ward says from the front seat pointing back at Sarah. That little bit of information makes you feel a little better.

“Did the boys say anything about Instagram?” You ask, unsure if you really want to know. She shakes her head no.

“They were too hyped up on shutting those girls down. I’m sure they are blowing up your phone right now though.” She points to your purse. You can feel it vibrating repeatedly from the inside.

When you pull it out, the amount of texts and calls popping up is causing your phone to go slow. You decide to put it on Do Not Disturb, not ready to talk to them yet. Plus, they’re probably still drunk. The conversation that needs to be had would be best sober.

When you get home, you quickly shower to wash the tailgate and stadium funk off. You just finish putting on pajamas when there’s a light knock on your window.

You slowly approach the window, peaking through the blinds to see who it could possibly be. The only boys who have ever snuck through your window don’t live in the banks anymore.

“JJ?” You're completely confused, but you pull the blinds up and open up the window anyways.

“Hey” he whispers as he stands on the roof landing outside your window. His eyes rake over your face before taking in your light pink silk pajamas.

“What are you doing here?”

“John B had to drop something off at Sarah’s, so I thought I would come see you.”

“Well, come in.” You whisper stepping back so he can move inside. He doesn’t, but he grabs your hand pulling you back to the window.

“I can’t stay long. He told me to meet him back at the van in a few minutes.” He explains, his thumb running across the back of your hand.

You don’t even realize your pouting at the fact he has to leave so soon until his other thumb brushes across your bottom lip before moving up your jaw. He drops that hand quickly as if he's been burned and lets out a shaky breath.

“Did you have fun today?” He asks quietly, frowning when you only shrug in response. Before he can question further, his phone beeps.

“That’s John B letting me know my times up.”

“Thanks for stopping by.” you reply softly.

“Anytime, sweets.” He says making you giggle. He backs away from the window before turning around to climb off the roof making you close the window then the blinds.

You haven’t even moved from the spot when another knock makes you jump. You reopen everything to see JJ standing there again.

“I forgot something.” He whispers as he gets closer to the window.

“Wha-” you don’t even get to finish the word when his lips land on yours and his hand comes up to cup your jaw. The kiss is soft, almost tender as your lips move against his sparking electricity between the two of you.

It only lasts for a few seconds before his phone goes off again. He reluctantly pulls away, leaving you both wanting more.

“I’ve got to go.” He says against your lips and you nod in understanding.

“Goodnight J” you whisper as he backs away for the second time.

“Sweet dreams baby” He says with a wink before climbing off the roof.

The kiss is the only thing you can think of as you slowly drift off to sleep, completely exhausted from the long day. Not mean bitches, shitty best friends or anxiety of your future.

Only JJ Maybank’s lips on yours.

taglist: @dreamsndior @rafej-cambanks @prejudic3 @katiaw2 @sometimesicryintheshower @bibliophilewednesday  @edgymuffin @stargazingandmoon @rae131415 @httpstarkey @k-k0129 @sunshineitsfine44

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, ravenclawkward-art!

For @ravenclawkward-art. Happy Christmas! I hope you enjoy!!

Read On AO3

*****

Derek catches the first hint of the scent as he fits the key into the lock. Traces of vanilla, cinnamon and the earthy tang of petrichor hang in the air— it’s a scent he’s become thoroughly acquainted with over the last few years.

He pushes open the front door, prompting the scent to waft through and envelope him like a warm hug.

“How did you get in?” He asks, not even looking at the figure sprawled across his couch. Moving through to the kitchen, Derek sets down his paper bag of groceries. “Actually, how did you get here?” He asks, turning. He hadn’t seen the Jeep on his way in.

“Oh, you know.” Stiles wanders in after him, hopping up onto the counter beside the fridge. “Magic.” He punctuates the word with jazz hands.

Derek huffs fondly, rolling his eyes and reaching for the milk. “Don’t you have friends you can annoy instead?”

“Good try big guy,” Stiles teases, helping Derek by handing him things out of the bag. “I’m here for the pack meeting.”

“You’re three hours early.”

“I’m super punctual.” Stiles swings his legs, knocking his heels into the cupboard door beneath him. “Oh.” His legs still suddenly and he drops down from the counter. “You got mail.” He disappears out of the room for a minute, returning with a letter, still talking. “Like, who even sends mail anymore? I swear werewolves live in the stone ages.”

Derek snatches the envelope Stiles is waving in his face, tearing it open to scan the letter inside.

“It’s the Robertson pack.”

“The who pack?” Stiles peers at the letter over Derek’s shoulder, trying to read along. Saving him the effort, Derek passes it over when he’s done.

“The Robertson pack took me and Laura in after the fire,” Derek explains, moving to lean against the bench. “Their Alpha, Sarah, knew my mom when they were young.”

“Why didn’t you stay with them?” Stiles asks, folding up the letter. “You and Laura lived in New York on your own. Wouldn’t it have been better to stay with another pack?”

Derek shakes his head. “I wanted to, but- Laura had just become Alpha. It made things difficult. So, we left. We kept in touch for a while, but after coming back here, after Laura’s death and everything that happened with Peter… we just lost touch.”

“Until now?” Stiles hands back the letter. “They’re asking permission to enter the territory.”

Nodding, Derek takes it, unfolding and refolding the paper carefully in his hands. “I’ve never hosted another pack before. Mom did it a couple of times.”

“What does it involve?”

“It varies depending on the pack. We would offer them a place to stay and a meal. The Robertson are old family friends so it will probably be a little more informal. More like… what does your dad do when extended family comes around?”

“He hides the good whiskey,” Stiles jokes. “But seriously, this is awesome and, as your emissary, I can help you plan.”

With a roll of his eyes, Derek turns from the kitchen. “You’re not my emissary.”

“Why not?” Stiles whines, trailing behind the werewolf. “I’d be so good at it.”

“At planning or being my emissary?”

“Por qué no los dos?” Stiles says it with an exaggerated wink, dropping back down onto the couch.

***

By six pm the rest of the pack have arrived, and the house is full of loud voices, lively conversation and laughter.

It’s taken a long time to reach this point—a point where the pack trust Derek as their Alpha, and each other. A point where a pack get together feels like… family.

Looking around the room, something swells in Derek’s chest at the sight of Kira and her swollen belly. Sandwiched between Stiles and Erica on the couch, she’s guiding their hands to feel the baby’s kicking.

His gaze flicks across Stiles, laughing at something Erica says, his head thrown back exposing the long line of his neck. A lot of this was Stiles’ doing.

Stiles was the one who had instituted pack night. He’d called it compulsory fun night. He’d begged and bullied every single one of them into gathering at the site of the old Hale house and had turned up with Lacrosse sticks and movies. He’d forced Derek to use his words when he was feeling frustrated and encouraged communication with the pack.

Derek had wanted nothing more than for the pack to bond together properly, so he had done as Stiles told him and in doing so, he’d built his confidence as an Alpha.

Stiles looks up suddenly, catching Derek’s eye from across the room, and winks, before turning back to Kira without even breaking from their conversation. Derek feels his face flush and ducks back into the kitchen to finish cooking.

This was something Derek had initiated. Everyone takes a turn providing for the pack, whether it’s a home cooked meal or take out.

Derek’s made tacos. He sets out meat and salsa and guacamole on the counter so that everyone can serve themselves and starts building his own before the literal wolves descend.

It becomes a free for all after that. Derek snatches his plate and his beer and escapes to the living room. The rest of the pack follow suit, finding places to perch and eat. The house has a more formal dining room, but they really only eat in there on special occasions, preferring to sprawl out in front of the TV.

“Hey.” Stiles drops down onto the couch beside Derek, almost toppling his tacos off his plate. He rescues one, jamming it onto his mouth and crunching down. “So, I spoke to Lydia and she said she can help with planning this pack get together thing.” He continues to talk around another mouthful of food, and it should be gross, but it’s just so Stiles.

“Uh huh.” Derek rescues Stiles’ beer before he sends it flying. “So, if Lydia’s in charge I guess should I be pulling out the tux?”

With a snort, Stiles retrieves his drink and drains the bottle. “You own a tuxedo? I don’t believe you have ever worn a suit in your life.”

“Hey, I have hidden depths,” Derek counters. “I could own a tux.”

“I’d like to see that.” Stiles smirks and brings his beer back to his lips, seemingly forgetting that the bottle is empty. He lowers it quickly, face flushing—though, maybe that’s just the glow from the TV.  Derek tries not to dwell on it.

Sometime around midnight the pack start to either filter out or upstairs. The house is big enough for everyone to stay over if need be, Derek made sure of that when building it, but he’s the only one who lives there full time—most of the pack have houses closer to town.

Derek doesn’t mind that they’re all spread out. There’s always someone over at any given time—usually Stiles. Speaking of, Stiles is sprawled out on the couch, snoring gently.

“Hey.” Derek wakes the spark gently. “You want to crash here?”

Stiles stretches on the couch, his shirt riding up to reveal the pale skin of his stomach. “Wha’ time izzit?”

“Almost one.”

“Oh.” Stiles sits up slowly, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah, thanks.” He shuffles off towards the downstairs bathroom and Derek finishes unpacking the dishwasher. “Can I borrow a sweater?” He asks when he returns, his hands wrapped around his body to ward off the chill in the air. It’s two weeks until Christmas and winter has finally settled across Beacon Hills.

“Sure, come on.” Derek puts the last plate away and leaves the kitchen, heading to his bedroom. Stiles follows him upstairs, taking a seat on the edge of the bed while Derek digs through his drawers. “Here.”

Stiles takes the sweater and shrugs it on over his head. They’re the same height, but Stiles is not as broad as Derek so the sweater hangs, just a little, on his lanky frame. He paws his hands up in the sleeves and flops back onto the bed.

“I’m so tired,” he whines.

“Then go find your bed,” Derek tells him, nudging Stiles to move. “This one’s mine.”

“Can’t move. Too sleepy.”

“Stiles.”

“Can’t hear you. I’m already asleep.”

With a quick shove, Derek sends Stiles tumbling to the floor.

“Rude.” Picking himself up off the floor, Stiles sticks his tongue out at Derek and trots off to his room.

***

Three days later the whole pack gathers at Derek’s house.

Lydia, as always, has outdone herself with the spread. There is enough food and meat to feed a small army and she has the wolves all rotating through shifts on the spit. The rest of the pack are put to work moving tables and chairs out onto the wide green lawn.

Up on the porch, Isaac has set up speakers to play music while they work.

“One of the wards just triggered,” Stiles says, grinning as he sets down his armload of plates and cutlery. “Must be them.”

Twenty minutes later Boyd is the first to cock his head to catch the faint rumble of a car turning on to the winding track that leads up to the house. By the time their visitors pull up onto the grass, everyone (bar Scott and Jackson on spit duty) is gathered around on the porch.

“Alpha Robertson,” Derek greets walking up to the newly arrived group.

“Alpha Hale.” The werewolf’s mouth ticks up in a smile. “It’s good to see you Derek. It’s been too long.”

“It has.” Derek returns the smile. “Sarah, this is my pack,” he says, turning and gesturing to the curious faces lining the porch. He almost knocks his hands into Stiles, who is hovering a half-step behind him.”

“Stiles Stilinski,” he says pushing forward, arm outstretched in greeting. “Pack emissary.”

Derek barely restrains rolling his eyes in front of the older Alpha, turning to hide his face under the guise of beckoning forward the rest of the pack. After they’ve made their introductions, Sarah introduces the pack to her husband and three children, Alex, Mark and Lilah.

��So, what brings you out our way?” Stiles asks as they all walk back up to the house.

“My eldest joined the Thomson pack earlier this year,” Sarah explains. “We’re heading up to visit for Christmas.”

“She’s gonna have a baby,” the youngest kid, Alex, offers shyly from behind his mom.

“Oh, that’s cool,” Stiles tells him. “So, you’re going to be an uncle. I’m going to be an uncle soon too,” he says with a conspiratorial whisper and a head nod towards Kira.

“We’re not much for flying,” Sarah continues, “and we thought the trip might be a good opportunity to visit.”

Nodding, Stiles leads the way into the house. “Derek said you were friends with Talia.”

“We’re actually related.” Sarah grins when Stiles skids to an abrupt halt. “Third cousins?”

“Through Dad,” Derek confirms.

“What?” Stiles turns to Derek. “But you said- I thought your dad was human.”

“He was.”

“Huh. Cool.”

They show their visitors to their guest rooms so they can put down their bags and then take them outside.

Dinner is a rowdy affair.

There are fifteen of them crowded around the two long tables that have been dragged onto the grass. Once the younger members of the Robertson pack, namely Alex and his older brother Mark, get over the shyness of meeting strangers it’s every man for himself as the food is laid out.

“So, who’s manning the fort back home?” Stiles asks, leaning across Derek to talk to Sarah.

“Stiles,” Derek warns, nudging the human away from his plate. “You can’t ask that, it’s not polite.”

“Oh, sorry,” Stiles says, looking genuinely apologetic, but then he barrels on anyway. “I didn’t mean anything by it, it’s just this guy here-” he pauses to bat at Derek’s shoulder “-keeps telling me we can’t leave the territory unguarded whenever I try to suggest getting away for a few days.”

“It’s fine,” Sarah is quick to reassure them. “My sister is looking after things while we’re gone. And Derek’s right when it comes to new packs.”

Derek raises his eyebrows at Stiles as if to say, ‘I told you so’ and ducks another playful swipe.

“But you’ve been Alpha for what, seven years now?” She asks. “And Beacon Hills has been Hale Pack territory for, I don’t know, generations, not to mention those wards we passed on the way in.” Sarah points to Stiles. “That was you?”

Stiles nods quickly. “Yep.” He accepts the bowl of baked potatoes from Boyd. “So, what you’re saying is that Derek needs to get out more? ‘Cos that’s what I’m hearing.”

“I’m saying that it’s okay to take a break occasionally.”

Stiles laughs, his knees knocking into Derek’s under the table. “Derek doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”

***

The full moon falls two days after the Robertson’s arrive and Derek invites Sarah and her family to run with them through the preserve.

It’s a Saturday and most of the pack have taken the weekend off, so they spend the day at the pack house, working off the restless energy that comes with a full moon. As the afternoon rolls on the games get rougher and someone digs out the lacrosse sticks.

“Count me in.” Stiles jogs over with Scott and Isaac and snatches up one of the sticks, twirling it in his hands.

“Is that a good idea?” Mark, the middle Robertson child, asks. “A human playing against werewolves?” He looks to Derek, tone dripping with cocky arrogance but Derek just shrugs.

“Oh, to have the confidence of a fifteen-year-old werewolf,” Stiles sighs, scooping up the ball. “I could have used some of that as a teenager.”

“Could have used some of the athleticism too,” Derek quips, knocking Stiles with one shoulder.

“Oh, you can shove it,” Stiles grins stumbling away, still in possession of the ball. “You playing or what kid?”

“Fine,” the young werewolf shrugs. “It’s your funeral.” His eyes flash gold.

“That’s not that impressive,” Stiles tells him. “I can do it too.”

“But you’re not a wolf.”

“So many doubters today.” He closes his eyes for a moment and when they re-open they shine bright with the power of his spark.

“You going to play or just keep showing off?” Boyd asks.

Stiles grins, playfully baring his teeth “Oh, it’s on.”

The moon finally breaches the horizon just after four pm. It’s not yet dark enough to go running through the preserve, but some wolves start shedding clothes and skin, sprouting fur as they shift from two legs to four.

The lacrosse game is forgotten in favour of chasing each other around the clearing.

“Don’t even think about it,” Stiles warns, backing away from Derek. “We will not be playing chase the human tonight.”

Grinning wolfishly, smile wide and full of teeth, Derek makes a big show of slowing kicking his sneakers off.

“I’m not kidding Der, I will end you.”

“Better start running,” Derek teases, pulling his shirt up over his head. From the corner of his eye, he can see the rest of his pack watching with various shades of amusement.

“Fuck you buddy.”

Derek can tell there’s no heat behind the words and Stiles is trying to hold back a smile. He’s bolting off around the house before Derek’s shirt has even hit the ground.

“Go on then,” Stiles says once it’s finally dark enough to enter the preserve. “Pick on Stiles time is over; I need a nap after that.” He sprawls out on his back in the grass, staring up at the sky. It’s a clear, cool night.

Derek stands over him, nosing at Stiles’ hair then swinging his head towards the trees. He takes a half step, waiting for Stiles to follow.

“I think I’m going to hang here with the women and children,” Stiles says, craning his head back. “I’ll just slow you down. You have fun though.” He reaches up to tangle his fingers in Derek’s coarse fur before giving him a gentle shove towards the forest. “Go on.”

With one final glance over his shoulder, Derek trots off into the trees.

***

By the time they return to the house, everyone is exhausted. Derek immediately searches out Stiles as he re-enters the clearing. He’s easy enough to find, sitting by the dying bonfire chatting to Kira. The red glowing embers illuminate their faces and cast deep shadows across the lawn.

Derek pads over to them, drawn to Stiles like a moth to flame, flopping down in the grass beside Stiles.

“Good run?” Stiles asks, slumping back so that he’s half leaning against Derek. The werewolf lets out a soft contented rumble. “Mm, glad to hear it,” Stiles mumbles around a yawn.

“Ugh, it’s late,” Kira complains from where she sits. “I think I’m going to call it a night. I’ll see you boys tomorrow.” She stands with Scott’s help, and waddles back towards the house.

“I think I’m going to call it too.” Stiles pats Derek on the shoulder and stands slowly, taking the time to stretch before heading inside.

Derek waits until he’s inside before he heads off in search of his discarded clothes, still sitting and collecting dew on the grass. He shifts, picking up his sweatpants and shaking them out. He pulls them on and makes his way towards the porch.

“You should be proud of what you’ve created here.” Sarah joins him at the top of the steps. They lean against the porch railing and watch the wolves still sprawled out in the grass after the run. “You’ve built a strong pack. I know Talia would be proud of you.”

Derek ducks his head. There’s a warm feeling in his stomach at the Alpha’s words. “I didn’t think I’d find this again.” He confesses, voice low. “And, for a while I didn’t think deserved it.”

There’s a familiar footfall behind them and the comforting scent of cinnamon and vanilla.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt.” Stiles wanders up beside them. “Can I borrow a sweater?”

“Did you return the last one you ‘borrowed’?” Derek asks.

“Hey,” Stiles leans against him, one arm slung across Derek’s shoulders. “It’s not my fault your clothes are so damn comfy. If you didn’t want me taking them, you should have bought cheaper, scratchier sweaters. Ever think about that Der?”

“Fine,” Derek gives in quickly, waving Stiles off before he can launch into another tirade on the superiority of Derek’s sweaters.

“Thanks.” Stiles trots off, letting his hand trail across Derek’s back.

“You guys are good together,” Sarah says, her voice warm. “You’re lucky to have found a mate like Stiles.”

“Mm,” Derek nods, eyes following Stiles back towards the house. The words sink in and he freezes, mind frantically replaying every interaction he’s had with Stiles over the last few days, wondering how they could have possibly given her that impression.

Stiles is- he’s Stiles. He’s funny and smart and kind and— they’re not mates, no matter how much Derek might wish otherwise.

Still, he doesn’t correct her.

Instead, he makes some mumbled excuse about being tired and escapes to his bedroom.

That, at least, is the truth. It’s been a long night and now the sun is just beginning to peek up over the horizon. Derek feels as though he could sleep for a week as he climbs the stairs to the second level and throws his bedroom door open ready to crawl beneath the covers.

“Stiles.” He nudges the lump half hidden under the covers. “This isn’t your bed.”

The younger man murmurs something unintelligible and rolls onto his side.

With a sigh, Derek pulls back the covers, and climbs into bed.

***

He’s warm when he wakes.

So, very warm.

There’s a line of cinnamon scented heat pressed down the length his chest. Lying there in the soft space between sleep and wakefulness, Derek feels more comfortable that he ever has in his life.

And then the warm body in front of him shifts and Derek is suddenly very aware that Stiles is that warm body. He must have pulled him in to his chest at some point while they slept.

Carefully drawing back the arm that had been casually slung across Stiles’ waist, Derek wiggles back on the bed so that he’s no longer pressed up against his packmate. The sheets are gathered around their waists, hiding Derek’s rather unfortunate issue, but it doesn’t hide the pale expanse of skin where Stiles’ sweater has ridden up over his side.

With a bitten-off sigh Derek rolls out of bed and stumbles across to the bathroom.

He stands, head bowed beneath the spray and lets the pounding water rinse away the dirt and sweat that still clung from the full moon run. He tries not to think about the fact he’s still hard, and lets his mind drift, but his thoughts keep coming back to Stiles, stretched out in Derek’s own bed.

With one hand coming up to brace against the wall, Derek palms himself with the other. He allows a single flash of guilt before letting his thoughts drift back to the bed, to the hollow of Stiles throat. He starts slow, working up to a quick rhythm and biting back a soft moan.

He’s close, the pleasure starting to pool in his gut and Derek increases the pace. His mind wanders to the dip of Stiles’ hips between the ruched-up shirt and the low-slung sleep shorts. His own hips jerk in short aborted thrusts and he comes with a swallowed curse.

After washing away the evidence, Derek cuts the running water and reaches for a towel.

Stiles is still asleep when Derek re-enters the room, so he dresses quickly and slips out the door. The house is quiet, with most wolves having only gone to bed a few hours ago, but there’s a soft clatter of someone moving about downstairs.

“You’re up early,” Derek says, stepping into the kitchen.

Scott stifles a yawn with the back of his hand and gestures to the coffee maker that has just beeped. “The baby is awake,” he mutters, reaching for the pot. “Which means Kira is awake, which means I am awake.” He pours himself a generous serving, filling the mug up to the rim, then passes the pot over. “Why are you up?”

“Sarah thinks Stiles is my mate.” The words come out in a rush.

“Yeah? And?”

“What do you mean ‘and��?”

“I mean…” Scott looks uncertain. “What’s the problem? Was that all she said?”

“She said we’re good together.”

“Okay.”

“Scott.”

“What?” Scott leans back against the counter. “You are! You’re like the pack mom and dad.”

Derek waves him off. “Stiles doesn’t even like me like that!”

Scott scoffs against the rim of his mug. “What are you talking about? Stiles is crazy about you.”

“No, he’s not.”

“Dude, can’t you smell it? He’s like, super aroused around you, like all the time.”

“That’s just Stiles’ scent. He always smells like that.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

Derek’s expression goes blank. “He doesn’t?”

Shaking his head, Scott continues. “It’s only when he’s around you… or talking about you… or thinking about you. It’s super gross.”

“I didn’t know.”

“He’s over here all the time! He’s asleep in your bed right now- don’t give me that look, you reek of Stiles.” Scott refills his mug and moves to pat Derek on the arm. “He likes you man, like, really, really likes you. Honestly, you’d have to be blind not to see it.”

***

The Robertson pack head off the next morning once everyone is well rested. There are fewer people around to see them off— Scott had been called in to an emergency at the vet and Erica had dragged Boyd off to visit her parents.

“It was really good to see you Derek. Please don’t be a stranger.” Derek lets himself be bundled up in a hug before Sarah moves on to say goodbye to the rest of the pack. “Stiles, you make sure to remind that stubborn mate of yours to take a break every now and then.”

Watching from the corner of his eye, Derek can’t quite read Stiles’ facial expression. If he’s surprised, he certainly doesn’t say anything, just returns the Alpha’s hug and cheerfully waves until the car disappears down the driveway.

Once they’re gone, Derek makes his excuses and escapes to his bedroom. Despite Scott’s assurances, he still hasn’t said anything to Stiles.

“We need to talk.”

Derek starts so badly at the voice in his room. “How do you keep getting in?” He asks, turning to face the doorway.

“Magic.”

“Still not funny.”

“Uh, it’s hilarious,” Stiles says, grinning.

“The door was locked Stiles.”

“I know, figured you were either moping about something or jerking off. Decided to take my chances.” He walks into the room, shutting the door behind him and leans against the far wall. “Anyway, you’re dressed, so you probably weren’t jerking off, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“You’ve been avoiding me since yesterday, something’s wrong.” He’s still smiling, but Stiles’ scent has turned tart with concern.

“It was nothing, just something Alpha Robertson said.”

“I like her.” Stiles gazes at Derek thoughtfully. He pushes away from the wall and crosses the room to sit on the bed. “She seems like a good Alpha.”

“She is.”

“You’re a good Alpha too.”

Derek smiles, ducking his head. It’s high praise coming from Stiles.

“A little clueless sometimes...”

The smile drops from his face.

“Let me guess.” Stiles leans forward, his arms braced against his knees. “Your current mopey face has something to do with what Sarah said before?”

Derek can’t look at him, he stares at the patterns in the carpet instead.

“The other night, she called us mates and you didn’t correct her.”

Derek’s stomach drops as his head jerks up. “You heard that?”

“It wasn’t exactly whispered. She said it right as I was leaving. Why-” Stiles swallows audibly. “Why didn’t you correct her?”

Letting out the breath he’s been holding, Derek asks, “Why didn’t you?”

He watches Stiles’ face carefully, scrutinising every little expression that flickers across his face in that second, reading the exact moment he makes up his mind with the slight lift of one brow and the uptick at the corners of his mouth.

“I wanted it to be true.”

Derek can only imagine what his own face must look like, caught someplace between shock and joy at Stiles’ words. His grin is probably bordering on manic when he says, “me too.”

“Oh. That’s-” Stiles licks his lips and tries again. “Good. That’s good. I’m, uh-” His gaze flick from Derek’s eyes to his lips. “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

“Yeah.”

Stiles’ hand hooks into the Derek’s shirt, drawing him in. Fingers tangle in his hair and then Stiles’ lips are on his, warm and urgent.

When they pull away from each other Stiles laughs, knocking his knees into Derek’s.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so fucking long.

*Epilogue*

The glare from the window falls right across Derek’s face and he shifts, slowly surfacing from the depths of sleep. He drags his arm up to cover his face, provoking a grunt from the person who’d been using it as a pillow.

Stiles shifts, rolling over to blink up at Derek.

“Morning.”

“Morning.”

Derek throws his arm over Stiles’ hip, dragging him in so their bodies are flush. “You’re in my bed.”

“Nuh uh, it’s my bed now,” Stiles teases sleepily, stealing a quick kiss before tucking his head under Derek’s chin.  “Oh.” He pulls away suddenly and rolls to the edge of the bed, leaning over to rummage around underneath it. Sitting back up, he holds out a present wrapped in brightly coloured paper. “Happy birthday.”

Derek sits up against the pillows and takes the parcel. “Thank you.”

“I got you a Christmas present too,” Stiles says. “But you can’t open it until we get to Dad’s.” He gestures for Derek to unwrap the paper. “It’s not much.”

“It’s perfect.”

[whenihaveyouromione]

When I Have You - Chapter 4

Read on Fanfiction.net or ao3 if you’d prefer.

Don’t forget to follow the instagram account for this story (without spaces): ‘whenihaveyou . romione’

Chapter 4

It was the day Ron had been dreading more than any other. He'd been trying not to think about it, trying to distract himself as best he could. But after two weeks, he knew that he had to face it. They all did. 

Saying goodbye to Fred. 

The funerals had started yesterday, the first being that of Colin Creevey's. The young Gryffindor had had quite the turnout, including all of the Hogwarts staff, his friends, and even Kingsley Shacklebolt, the newly appointed Minister for Magic. 

It was the mission of the Ministry to have at least some of its members attend each funeral in honour of those who had died fighting valiantly. Every person would be awarded an Order of Merlin, First Class, and their names would be forever etched in two monuments — one at the Ministry, the other at Hogwarts. 

Ron hadn't known Colin all that well, but he'd gone to his funeral anyway, preparing himself for what was to come next. It was sad. Colin’s Muggle parents looked overwhelmed, yet honoured, by the impact their apparently average son had made in a world they weren't even familiar with. 

There had been many tears.

Harry had shown up, but he kept his distance. He didn't even acknowledge Ron or Hermione, which had upset Hermione. After the funeral, she’d made an attempt to speak to him, but Harry had stood away from them, watched the funeral, and then left the moment it was finished. Many people hadn't even seen him arrive, but by the sad look Ginny had on her face after he'd gone, Ron knew she had. Ron placed an arm around her, offering her comfort in the best way he could. 

Colin's funeral had been bad, but Ron knew that it wouldn't even come close to Fred's. Not for the Weasley family. It was due to begin at eleven o'clock, and the time seemed to go both fast and slow at the same time. Fast, because he didn’t want the moment to come, slow because he just wanted to get it over with. 

Ron felt lost as he stared at himself in the small mirror in his room. He was wearing dress robes borrowed from Percy (who, with his former job, managed to buy multiple sets of nice ones), but it didn't feel like enough. Fred shouldn't have even been gone. No one should have. It simply didn't seem fair. 

He was just contemplating changing when a shriek from the kitchen below drew Ron’s attention. A moment later, he heard his mother sobbing.

With a heavy sigh, Ron left his room and headed downstairs to see what had happened. It really was going to be a long day. 

To his utter shock, Molly's tears were not from sadness, but from joy. Standing in the kitchen, tears streaming down his own face, was George. He allowed himself to be engulfed in his mother's arms, and the two stood there for ages, hugging and crying. 

Ginny and Hermione, who were already dressed, stood nearby, tears in their own eyes as they watched the reunion with a mix of sadness and joy on their faces. 

George was home. It had been his mother's most desperate desire, to have all the family back together. Till now, George had refused. Despite some attempts made by all of his brothers in the beginning, George had shut every single one of them out. He had kept his flat door sealed to any magic, and no one wished to use a charm strong enough to break the enchantments. So they had left him to grieve on his own. 

Ron was pleased to see him, because he knew no one had been sure if he'd make it to the funeral at all. 

Tears still falling from his eyes, George pulled away from his mother. He looked around. Everyone was in the kitchen watching, silent. And he hugged them all, one by one. Fleur and Hermione included. 

Afterwards, there was some light talk, but mostly everyone remained silent. The funeral was to take place in the village below, protected from Muggle intruders by magic. It was where Fred had grown up, and it was where he was going to be buried. 

They could have walked, but Ron doubted anyone had much energy for that, so they went to the nearest Apparition point just outside the boundaries of the Burrow. Ron watched everyone turn on the spot, disappearing into thin air. Ginny grabbed Arthur’s hand, and they, too, vanished.

Beside Ron, Hermione gripped his hand. "Ready?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. 

He swallowed. Would he ever be ready? But he nodded, and he felt the gentle pull of her Disapparating them both down to the village. They landed within the confinements of the enchantments that had been placed there earlier. 

Ron felt sick. So many people were there already; most he recognised, but some were strangers. He saw Lee Jordan, Angelina Johnson, Neville was there…

He felt himself sway on the spot, the only thing stopping him from falling over was Hermione gripping his arm. 

She'd said nothing to him for most of the morning; she didn't need to. Her presence told him enough: she was here for him, no matter what he needed. 

All he needed was for this day to be over. 

They walked forward, Hermione's hand still on his arm. They found two seats near the front, behind his parents. Bill and Fleur and George sat next to Ginny and Percy. Once seated, Hermione linked her fingers with his and they just sat in silence. 

It didn't even occur to Ron to look for Harry until he heard Hermione's gasp. He looked up; Harry had slid into the vacant seat beside her without speaking. He reached across and patted Ron's knee. 

Ginny stared, and he gave her a small smile. Tears rolled down her cheeks. 

As Bill made his way to the stand, a piece of crumbled parchment in his hands, Ron realised that he had been wrong. Getting to the funeral had not been the hardest thing — listening to everyone speak was. Bill had volunteered on behalf of his devastated mother, Arthur said a few words, and Fred's friend Lee Jordan spoke on behalf of George. 

Halfway through Bill's words, hot tears formed, silently sliding down Ron’s face. Once started, they wouldn't stop.

He could no longer see his brother standing up at the front; he was just a blur of shapes as Hermione's arms found him. They were warm and comforting as he buried his face against her shoulder and cried silently against her. His whole body shook, but she didn't let him go. She sat beside him, her arms gently caressing him in comfort, her own tears running down her cheeks. 

His mother's loud sobs echoed throughout, while Bill's voice cracked a number of times while he ploughed on with his speech. Ron barely noticed any of it, lost now, to the despair that he'd been holding back for two weeks. 

Fred was gone. His brother. How could his brother be gone? It just wasn't fair. 

Eventually the funeral ended and Fred was buried in a cemetery filled with so many others. It almost felt as if he was too good to go there, with people who'd probably had a much less remarkable life. 

Hermione stayed by Ron's side the whole time. Even after the tears stopped, and then came again, she didn't let him go. Not once. Not when Fred was buried; not when Ron couldn’t leave the cemetery long after most of the others had; not when Ron could only watch the headstone be placed on top of the freshly covered earth. Through everything, she stayed. 

The sun was just beginning to set when he came to himself. He didn’t know how long he’d been there, watching the grave site, hoping for something that he knew wasn’t going to happen. It was just him and Hermione… and George. 

Hermione finally let him go, her arm running soothingly along Ron’s arm as he made his way to his brother. George knelt by Fred’s grave, head bowed and tears streaming down his face. They hadn’t stopped since Ron had seen him that morning. 

Looking back at Hermione, who smiled sympathetically, he knelt by George and together they stayed like that for who knew how long. Despite summer being very close, the evening air was still cool as the sun completely disappeared and the moon came out. It was a rare clear sky, and Ron liked to think it was Fred’s way of saying one final goodbye. 

When his knees began to ache, and Hermione had long been gone, Ron spoke, his voice hoarse. “Let’s go home.” He dragged George to his feet by the arm. “He’ll be here tomorrow.”

They returned to just outside the Burrow’s boundaries, walking silently through the night, over the hill, until the dim light from their family home flickered in the distance. Like Hermione had done for him throughout the day, Ron kept a hold of his brother, making sure he made every step, catching him if he stumbled. 

When they reached the Burrow, they were greeted by a sullen silence. Everyone was gathered in the kitchen, some holding mugs of tea, others staring at something that wasn’t there. But George’s presence woke them. They all looked up, and Molly stood, running to him and throwing shaking arms around him. 

Hermione walked timidly over to Ron. “How are you?” she asked. 

Ron nodded. He couldn’t find the words to explain, but he was alive, he was coping… more than George, more than his mother. That was something. 

His eyes scanned the room. “Harry…”

“He went back to Grimmauld Place,” she said softly. “But… Ginny went with him.”

It was then Ron realised that his sister was also missing. Without any reason, more tears sprang to his eyes. Hermione wrapped her arms around his waist, her head resting against his chest. His tears rolled down his face and onto the top of her head, but it didn’t seem to bother her. She only held him tighter, lifting her head and whispering so softly that even he struggled to hear her. 

“I love you.”

Those words, as simple as they were, were enough to bring a smile to his lips, and a thought — as horrible as it made him feel to even think it — in that moment, standing in the kitchen with his family, he felt grateful that it wasn’t her funeral he had just come back from. A loss such as that might just have ended him. 

[risingsouls]

Recruited: Chapter 11

[Another chapter in the books! This one runs parallel in time to the last (which will be pretty obvious) and has a little more action! So enjoy, have fun, etc.

And don’t forget: you can find the rest of this series and soem of my other BS for this blog here!]

Nabooru

Their trio of space pods burst through Noya's atmosphere and slammed into the surface, a triangle of craters left in their wake. Nabooru replaced her scouter on the side of her face, a press of the button causing the yellow characters to flash across the orange glass as it started back up. She opened up the door and floated out of her pod, touching down on the maroon dirt. A teal, creeping vegetation sprawled over it as far as the eye could see. In the distance, she noted the silhouette of a city or village  and a range of mountains beyond it.

She stretched and glanced to her side as Nappa and Raditz joined her, both working out the kinks in their own joints from the long trip. "Awfully quiet here. Where do you think that team is? Hope they didn't kick the bucket before we got here," Nappa said, popping his knuckles. "Maybe it means we'll get a good fight out of these guys if they're calling in reinforcements."

The repetitive pings of a scan sounded from Raditz's scouter. "I wouldn't get my hopes up," the other Saiyan replied, turning around to check the other direction. "I'm not getting a single reading, save for five decent ones off in that direction."

He nodded opposite the mountain range. "Make that three."

Nabooru raised an eyebrow and began her own scan, Nappa following suit with a huff. "You're fucking with us. Why the hell would we be called here if they didn't need us?"

"No, he's right. I'm only getting those three readings, too. That must be the team we're meant to rendezvous with."

Raditz flew up several meters and gazed around. "Looks like something went down over there," he called down to them. "Might have been a settlement or something. Doesn't look like there's much left now."

"Let's go check it out. Something feels off here."

Nabooru followed Raditz and Nappa to the site of what could have potentially been a compound of sorts, a decent sized village, or something else entirely. The damage sustained in the area made it difficult to tell, the edifices reduced to little more than a half foot of wall at best. Scorch marks and craters dotted the area, and they could hardly walk a few feet without finding a corpse or the remnants of one. Each had a variant of blue skin, ranging from near white hues to navy. A few wore what she guessed were plain clothes, while most sported a sort of white armor. Soldiers. Most of the bodies were heavily mutilated, physically torn or shot with concentrated ki blasts to pieces, others sporting deep gashes as if from claws. Maroon soil was stained with emerald blood. Fresh.

"I thought I recognized that power level." Nappa squatted down next to a corpse missing every limb. The lower half of its skull had been crushed as if beneath someone's foot. "Looks like Shikoo and his team's work, don't you think, Raditz?"

"Seems that way. Doesn't seem like they need our help, though. And they never have before." His frown deepened. "Maybe it's some kind of trap."

Raditz vocalized Nabooru's growing fear as each piece of evidence seemed to confirm the theory. "Who's Shikoo?" she asked, turning her attention from the massacre and back toward the direction in which their scouters pinged the readings. Two of the power levels weren't much and would hardly be a challenge for even Raditz. But the third was more powerful, and while only around Nappa's power level, her insides squirmed. Why would they be sent here if this team had everything under control? Was there some secret of this planet they weren't privy to that presented a danger they couldn't handle?

"One of Frieza's favorites, and I'm sure you can see why. What the guy lacks in power he makes up for in brutality and dirty tricks," Nappa told her, folding his arms over his chest. "Makes us Saiyans look soft. But I'm sure you've seen the guy. He's bigger than me, looks like a cross between some kind of reptile and a dog. Red fur and scales. Loud and brags constantly."

Nabooru's brow furrowed and she clicked her tongue. "Mm, yes I've seen him around the base once in a while. Never considered him important enough to learn his name, especially after he and his idiots tried to force themselves on me back when I first started on the force." The corner of her lips quirked upward in a malicious smirk. "He didn't take being turned down very well. But I took care of him and made it clear he should leave me alone."

Raditz chuckled. "Good. The blowhard deserves all the beatings that come to him. Especially for that shit. Nappa and I may have heckled you for a romp in the sack, but he's so full of himself, of course he would try to force his ugly ass on you. I hope these guys took him down a peg or two."

"Confirms the rumors anyway," huffed Nappa. "Guy's disgusting. Pretty pathetic when you gotta resort to force to get off. Guess he ain't much of a charmer, no surprise there."

She kept her surprise about their stance on rape to herself. Considering the violent nature and disregard for life, their history of taking what they wanted by force, rape didn't seem like it would be far off the table for them. Both the Saiyans with her had taken her refusals without much hassle, so she supposed it shouldn't have with at least these two. A point of respect for them, at least, considering the rampant trouble they had with men attempting such with her people back home. As a race of all females and how their style of dress revealed far more skin than Hylian garb, men had a sense of entitlement to Gerudo women, and seemed to believe that meant they were asking for it. 

"I suppose we should contact Frieza," she said at last, reaching up to her scouter and selecting the proper channel. "Let him know what we found and what we're meant to do instead."

Once the scouter connected successfully, Frieza greeted her before she could open her mouth to speak: "Ah, what good timing, Nabooru. You have landed on planet Noya and met with the other team there?"

"Yes, my lord. But we are confused. When we landed, we found the planet had already been successfully purged of its in--"

"Yes, yes, I am aware of the success in purging the planet. The instructions to rendezvous with the soldiers sent to Noya were...purposefully vague. The task for you and the Saiyans is to kill that team. Don't worry your pretty head over why, dear. It's unbecoming of a soldier. Their punishment has been a long time coming."

He broke the connection before she could confirm her understanding, but by the questioning expressions in her comrades' faces, her own revealed her opinion on the troublesome news. Surprised wasn't the right word for what she felt. Frieza was known for orders that felt out of place or cruel. Unwarranted and harsh. But piecing together their situation, Nappa's words, and the fact that they had been split from Vegeta only further impressed upon her a sinking feeling of dread. She less suspected a trap for them than viewing it all as one for Vegeta, a "favorite" of Frieza's like Shikoo. Or if it was one for them, was this a precursor to the orders Vegeta would be handed? To end his team and allies in the rebellion they plotted?

"What'd he say?" Nappa asked at last, snapping her out of a spiral of paranoia and back to the task at hand.

"He means for us to kill Shikoo and his crew."

"Really?" Raditz's brow furrowed. "What did they do?"

"He didn't say. Just that their punishment was a long time coming."

The Saiyans exchanged a look of disbelief with a hint of concern. Nabooru wondered if they considered the same possibilities as her. If they wondered if some other team or Vegeta and Frieza themselves lay in wait to off them, too. As much as she wanted to ask, she didn't know who could be listening. And they had a job to do. If anything followed this, they would have to face it once they dealt with Shikoo and his cronies. The memory of them offering to help her find her way back to the barracks and then cornering her, how they tried to touch her anywhere they could reach and tugged her hair, their taunting words from how pretty she was and how good she probably felt to insulting her lack of control of her ki yet. Maybe she didn't back then, but her strength proved enough to subdue the three of them and send them to the hospital ward. She escaped their disgusting behavior, but how many hadn't, if what Nappa said rang true?

Back then, she still tried to cling to her no killing rule for her sanity and her ignorance to the sort of backlash killing fellow soldiers would have. But now she not only had permission, she had the will to do it. If not only for her own revenge, but for the horrors they inflicted on others, too. This time, she wouldn't hold back. She didn't have to.

Three scouters beeped to signal approaching power levels, and Nabooru couldn't help but snort as the hulking beast Shikoo and his cohorts landed before them. 

"Come to see how real soldiers work, apes?" Shikoo grinned at Nappa and Raditz, showing off sharp, yellowing teeth in his elongated, canine-like muzzle. A forked tongue flicked out to taste the air. "Where's your diminutive leader, huh? Someone finally give the prince with no subjects the licking he deserves?"

His cohorts snickered and Nabooru noticed Nappa's fists and jaw tighten with the flare of his temper. "You idiots won't be laughing in a minute." The Saiyan general smirked and cracked his knuckles. "I've been waiting for a chance to stomp you."

The smaller two--an orange skinned male with a too-blonde Mohawk and a weedy, birdlike soldier with beady black eyes--shifted in obvious discomfort under Nappa's threat, but Shikoo remained unperturbed. "Please. You wouldn't dare. Not with my favor with Frieza. The alliance my people have is too precious for him to allow a couple monkeys to pick a fight with me."

Nabooru snorted, but his claims had her mind shifting back to her people. The fate of the Saiyans. "That explains a lot. But too bad for you, Frieza seems to think killing you is more important than whatever deal you and your people have with the empire."

Yellow eyes snapped to her, slit pupils dilating for a moment in recognition. His hackles rose and hair surrounding a line of spikes along his back stood on end. His aggravation melted back to sick amusement and he laughed. "Well, well. I remember you. Come crawling back for that fun I promised you after all, huh?" His attention fell back to Nappa and Raditz. "Taking orders from women now? You Saiyans really are a joke. Guess it is a step up from short, angry, and overcompensating. Easier to look at, too."

"Can we get this over with? This guy's voice is making me sick," Raditz complained. "I'll take the two wimps in the back alone if I have to."

"You're still on that?! What did I tell you?!" Shikoo snarled. "Frieza will have your heads if you try anything!"

"And what did I tell you? Frieza himself sent us here to kill you." A smirk curled Nabooru's lips and she turned her attention to Nappa and Raditz. "You mind if I take him? I'm really kicking myself for not finishing him off all those years ago."

Nappa huffed and folded his arms, making a show of his indignance. "Damn, guess I can't argue with that. Much as I wanna bury this mutt myself, I think you've got a bigger stake." He nudged Raditz. "You take the orange one and I got bird brain." Without waiting for a response, the larger of the two surged forward and slammed his leg into his opponent's side, sending him sailing with a squawk. The general laughed and swept after him. "Try and make this fun for me, birdie!"

Raditz shot a series of magenta blasts toward the other minion who, more prepared for the onslaught than his companion, dodged backward nimbly and blocked what he couldn't with raised arms. "Give him a few good ones for me, won't you Nabs?" He shot her a wry grin and pursued his opponent with ruthless abandon. 

“Stupid move on their part, leaving you alone with me,” Shikoo snarled, vicious grin back on his mug. “You don’t have the stomach to kill me. I saw it in your eyes then, and I’m sure you’ll falter again now. And that’s when I’ll finish what I started all those years ago. Maybe I’ll make your monkey friends watch.”

Nabooru rolled her eyes skyward. “Please. I feel so bad for you, I’ll give you a free first hit.” She beckoned him with her index finger. “Come on, big guy. Let’s see if you can do more than just flap your ugly mouth.”

As she hoped, Shikoo snarled at her taunt and lunged. Black claws extended outward and he swiped them toward her throat. Nabooru’s hand shot up and she grasped his wrist, her hand barely covering half of its circumference. He grunted and struggled against her strength. “So you’re a whore and a filthy liar…”

Her grip tightened, and bones crunched beneath her hand. “I’ve kind of proven the first one wrong by turning you down, haven’t I?” She caught his opposite fist. Her smirk widened when his eyes flashed in rage. “But I suppose you’re right about the liar thing.”

"I'll kill you, bitch!" he roared, tugging back in an attempt to free himself. 

She held fast, orange energy flaring up around her. After a few more tugs, she released him, forcing him to stumble backward when he lost his balance. Nabooru shot forward and buried her fist in his scaled belly. Shikoo wheezed and doubled over. Head at her level, Nabooru wheeled back and kneed him in the face with bone-crunching force, whipping his head back and sending him wheeling backward once more. Blue blood oozed from his nose and mouth.

"This has been fun." Shikoo seethed as he raised his head again and spat blood on her boots. He shook with his rage, and Nabooru only wished Nappa and Raditz had remained with his crew to witness his embarrassment. She flexed her hand, forming a cylinder of ki in her palm. She wrapped her fingers around it like a hilt and willed it outward, curving and widening it into the shape of a blade similar to those she favored back home. "But I'm tired of playing. You're not really worth breaking a sweat over."

Using his shock at the sight of her ki blade, she shot forward again. She swept the blade downward, tip aimed at the ground between his feet. She brought it back up in a swift arc, between his legs and through his skull, splitting him vertically in half. His responding punch halted mid-swing, and his body fell apart with a stomach-churning squelch and a pair of thuds as each half fell to the ground.

"Geez, Nabs. Did you have to go crotch up? You made me cringe."

Her ki blade dissipated and she rested her hands on her hips. She turned to face Nappa as Raditz rejoined them, neither appearing to have taken too much damage. Raditz looked slightly ruffled with a bloody lip, but otherwise, both defeated Shikoo's goons without issue. "Of course. A disgusting bastard like him deserves it. If I wasn't supposed to kill him, I might have stopped at around his belly button."

Raditz wiped his mouth and grumbled. "Has anyone told you you're terrifying? You've been around Vegeta too long."

"I didn't realize you two were so squeamish," Nabooru snorted. She glanced at Shikoo's split corpse, the glee from her victory short lived as she remembered his claims. How Vegeta was within the tyrant’s clutches and, if Frieza knew what they planned, could be in danger.

 "Speaking of Vegeta, what do you think Frieza has him doing?" A subtle attempt to probe their thoughts on the matter while potentially gaining some reassurance. "He's done this before right?"

“Sure. And I didn’t realize you were such a worrywart.” Nappa and Raditz exchanged knowing glances. “I thought Vegeta was just messing with us, but you two really are up to more than just training when you’re left alone with free time, huh?”

Her posture stiffened and heat rushed to her cheeks. “What is that supposed to mean?” She narrowed her eyes and marched over to them. Their grins only widened and she prodded both of them in the chest with her index fingers. “Just because the two of you can’t keep it in your battle suits doesn’t mean we’re a couple of horny teenagers who can’t handle being alone together. We actually want to get stronger unlike you slackers.”

“I have noticed he’s been in a better mood than normal once in a while,” added Raditz, ignoring her. “Sort of confirms that his smug attitude when he told us ‘maybe, maybe not’ last time we asked wasn’t just him messing with us.”

“Makes him a damn hypocrite though. He told us to quit trying. Guess he didn’t want to share.”

“We’re not sleeping together! Ever! Not even once!” Nabooru could kick that idiot for basically bragging to the other two Saiyans. She had faith neither of them would spread it around whether they believed it or not, but their insistence still pissed her off. “We train. That’s it.”

“It’s not a big deal. In fact, I approve. It’s about time the two of you got laid.” Nabooru slapped Nappa’s hand away before he could plop it on her shoulder. He winced. “Besides, it’s beneficial for us all because, like Raditz said, it puts Vegeta in a better mood for a little while. We all win.”

“Maybe he’s just in a better mood because you two aren’t bothering him as much.” She flipped around on her heel. “Can we please just get out of here? Seeing that ugly bastard again did nothing for my mood, and if you two keep this up, I’ll do the same to you as I did to him and make up the most embarrassing stories for your deaths I can think of.”

She heard the two snigger, but they joined her in flight without more of their incessant teasing. It at least distracted her from her paranoia and concern for the prince’s wellbeing outside of the usual sort of abuse or inanity he would suffer in Frieza’s company. A premature assumption, perhaps, but she decided to take at least Nappa’s lack of concern as a good sign. Or enough of one to keep her from fretting until she knew otherwise. 

[kilyra]

You Work for Him?

A/N:  I’m carrying on with the Eric Northman arc because I love him, and other people are gathering here that love him as well. Yay! So this follows all the other fics. I’m not really doing one long story, but it is all connected one shots I guess? 

While you’re unwinding at Merlotte’s Eric shows up to your horror.

Warnings: None. I do have some Swedish between Pam and Eric and I just used Google Translate, so if you know the language and can send me corrections, please do! No spoilers though (I myself am only on S3 or 4, so this is an early Eric style fic…also, please don’t send me any spoilers).

If you want to be on my tag lists, (all or just a character) just let me know! (Credit for this amazing gif goes to @bonniebird​​. Thank you SO much!)

It was hard not to laugh and spit your drink back into your glass from the look Hoyt shot across the table. “Hey, don't look at me! I don't choose the job sites!”

Glancing between you, a wide, lopsided grin broke across Jason's face before he piled on. “Well, see, you say that, but it's your dispatching what sends us out.”

Chuckling, Hoyt bit half of one of his fries before tossing it back onto his plate and looking up. Truthfully, after such a long, crappy day, you were happy to see them both laughing.

“Well yeah, but I don't control what catastrophes happen that you need to swoop in and fix!”

Grabbing another fry, Hoyt used it to point as he frowned. “An overturned manure truck ain't exactly a catastrophe.”

“Oh come on! It is when it's blocking the heart of downtown.”

“Yeah. All three cars had to go a block over. Almost had to shut down the whole town.” Jason's voice was flat but there was a twinkle in his eye as he kept his laugh in.

“Again...I didn't want to send you guys out to clean up a bunch of cow shit. But it had to be done!” The grin that overtook your lips was so wide your cheeks hurt and you were just a hair away from laughing about it all over again.

And it felt nice.

“You were none too broke up about...” Hoyt jumped in but as you noticed the door to Merlotte's swing open with purpose, his words turned to muffled background noise.

Before you even saw who it was, your heart started beating faster. Although you'd only met her once, you immediately recognized Pam's stiff posture as she stepped in and cast a sightly disgusted glare over the room. Moving to the side and pausing, she made space for the person following. Your blood ran cold as you threw up a prayer that this was a dream. That you had just spontaneously passed out at your table and none of this was real. But the slow hush that crawled over the bar made it all too real.

Eric Northman.

Unlike Pam, he didn't waste time scanning over the room. Turning your direction, his eyes fell directly on you, as though he knew exactly where you'd be sitting. Your heart sank.

Eventually, Hoyt realized you had stopped listening, and both he and Jason turned to follow your stare. His eyebrows furrowed together in a quiet mark of confusion as he peered over the back of the booth, but Jason's forehead smoothed as his face dropped.

Eric stayed zeroed in on you as he and Pam strode toward your table. A feeling of dread grew with every, unhurried step. There wasn't a single soul that you had mentioned any of your Eric-related moments to and sweat started on your palm at the thought of anything happening so publicly.

How could anyone understand? You didn't even understand...

As he arrived, Jason's mouth hung open. “M-Mr. Northman...”

Pausing, Eric seemed to notice Jason for the first time as he eyebrow arched high. You knew Eric was giving him the only chance he'd give for Jason to finish his thought, but your friend fell quiet. Amusement lit Pam's eyes as her gaze darted between Jason and her maker. A small curl tugged at the corner of her mouth, but she stayed quiet.

You couldn't watch the panic grow on Jason's face for long before you stepped in. “Eric? What...are you doing here?”

Jason swallowed as he turned towards you wide-eyed. Hoyt's eyebrows furrowed deeper.

With a long blink, Eric turned his focus back on you before an unnatural smile snaked over his lips. You weren't sure if his attempt to look friendly was sincere, or if he was trying to make you uncomfortable. “I'm here to talk to you, sweetheart.”

Although the entire bar had fallen silent – staff and patrons alike – everything felt loud. It was almost hard to hear Eric over the rushing in your ears and people's stares felt like they were noisy somehow. Even Sam Merlotte stood motionless by the bar, his bar towel hanging from his balled fist.

Your eyes narrowed like that could block everything out and let you think. “W-what?”

“But not here,” he finished simply as his eyes bore into yours. Clearly uninterested in explaining himself, his stare intensified and your cheeks suddenly felt like they were on fire. Between his scrutiny and the attention of everyone in Merlotte's, you just wanted to crawl under the table and take a breath.

And yet, through all of that, your mind raced. What the hell could be so important?

The room stayed frozen until Eric leaned your direction. It may have been to whisper in your ear or grab your arm, but the sudden flurry of motion around him stopped whatever he was about to do.

On his feet, but still in the booth, Jason was already reaching across the table towards you as if he could magically shove himself between you and Eric. “Whoa, hold up there a minute.”

“Hush up, hot stuff. Grown-ups are talking." Taking a smooth step to the side, Pam moved against the edge of the booth, completely blocking in Jason. Her stance was relaxed, lightly leaning her knee along the seat, but she was completely immovable.

Trapped but still half-standing, Jason's hands clenched tightly as he shot Pam an unnoticed glare. Frustration, confusion, and anger swirled over his features in a quiet dance of emotion as both vampires ignored him.

Meanwhile, Hoyt shuffled next to him, hauling up short when he realized Jason wasn't moving. But, the tension that rippled up his arm proved he was ready to spring into action as soon as shit went down. Swallowing heavily, his eyes trailed back over to you as though he were trying to decide how bad the situation was.

Guilt surged across your chest at how willing they were to help even when they had no idea what was going on.

Pam grinned, her amusement clear as Eric quickly swept a sidelong gaze at the pair. His eyebrows raised as he let out a soft huff through his nose. Looking back at you, the good humour slowly drained from his expression as he nodded towards the door.

Under the table, your knees had turned to jelly. You weren't trying to make it all worse, but the sheer panic of being outed was running its way through your body. Slowly, your lips parted and you softly gasped for air. It was stale in your mouth.

And then Sam was suddenly there. His back visibly bristled as he pushed himself between you and Eric with his hands spread apart. The bar rag still hung from his fingers as he held his palms out. “Whoa...hey...what's uh...what's going on here?”

Not backing up, Eric loomed over the shorter man. His expression remained dispassionate, but there was a harder edge to his tone. “It's none of your concern.”

Squeezing his eyes closed in a pronounced blink, Sam relaxed his hands slightly. The one in front of you, however, remained protectively outstretched. "Well, actually, I get entirely concerned every time you step foot in my bar.”

Tilting his head, Eric cocked his eyebrow and loosely gestured to the rest of the room. “Do you not welcome all patrons here?”

Following his hand, you realized everyone was still staring. Some people dropped their gaze when you caught it but you weren't sure if it was from shame or fear. The one table that matched your look with an open glare was a group of muscle-bound, younger men with short sleeves and suspiciously-clean trucker hats. Quickly, you looked away.

“I do. Right up until they start causing shit. Which, with you, seems to happen almost immediately." The slight shake to the edges of Sam's shaggy hair was the only giveaway that he was full of adrenaline. As he stood toe to toe with the vampire, using a firm but exhausted tone, nothing else hinted that he recognized the danger he was putting himself in.

It was Eric that finally broke the staredown with a faint smile briefly ghosting his lips. The cold look of disinterest he shot Sam seemed to find a heated spark as he put his focus on you. "As entertaining as this is, I don't have time for these games. We need to leave."

Your heart pounded as he fell quiet. Something was wrong. If nothing else, you needed to tell your friends to stand down, but the words were trapped in your throat. Trying to swallow back the lump of sand in your mouth did nothing.

Not being deterred, Sam leaned towards the table, momentarily blocking your view of Eric. “Doesn't look to me like she wants to go anywhere with you.”

“I don't care,” a slight growl entered Eric's tone, betraying his passive features.

Violently, your stomach started to lurch. It was getting hard to see.

“She's...”

Please don't.

“My...”

DON'T

Adrenaline burst through you so fast, you were instantly shaking as you silently screamed for him to stop. The panic was so thorough that it took a moment to realize he had paused.

Risking a glance, you found his expression had grown stony as he captured your eyes.

He could feel your fear.

Lowering his chin, he continued to hold your stare as he finished flatly. “Associate.”

“She's your...?” Sam stopped as he turned to you. His deeply furrowed brow creased even deeper as he blinked at you. “You're his what?”

Associate​?

“Uh..." It was all you could get out. Reaching for your drink, you stopped short of trying to lift it to your lips when you saw the tremble in your hands.

Watching you closely, Eric's tone was gentler as he nodded to the table. "Do you always have trouble with glasses, or is it just when I'm around?"

A twitch in the corner of his mouth was all the smile he offered. That, with the sudden softness in his tone, felt like a kick to the gut. Did you actually hurt his feelings?

“You...work for him?” Jason's voice grew higher as he struggled to understand. Frowning at you, he was rooted to his seat, no longer trying to push past Pam. Hoyt stayed quiet as his gaze shifted between you and Eric.

“N-no. I don't. I just...we..." The words trailed off into silence, your mind going blank. How could you explain it? He called you his once but...what did that even mean?

Eric turned his head towards Jason so slowly that you weren't even sure he had heard him at all. The colour drained from Jason's face while the vampire's eyes flickered over him before doing the same to Hoyt. His face did nothing to reveal whatever assessment he made about the tense pair.

Without acknowledging that you even spoke, he smoothly replied. "No. But there is an issue at Fangtasia that requires her attention."

With all the intensity of a confused puppy, Jason looked over at you. “But...she works for the town of Bon Temps, not Shreveport?”

Scoffing loudly, Pam rolled her eyes and shot a pointed look at Eric. His lips pursed together in a tight line in reply.

“I can't argue with that. You keep smart company, Y/n,” he finally replied as he took a step back from the table and nodded towards the door.

“What?” Pam finally broke her silence as her eyebrows shot up in equal parts irritation and surprise.

“More trouble isn't going to help anything.” Eric had dropped his voice, but you picked it up all the same.

Trouble? Although your adrenaline hadn't slowed, your heart pounded even harder. Clutching your hands tightly in your lap, your knuckles turned white.

“Jag trodde att vi var tvungna att få-”

“Vi ska. Senare.” Eric snapped.

Swallowing back whatever she was about to say, Pam clenched her jaw as she stepped away from the booth. Jason didn't make a move to get up, even once he was free.

Moving back from Sam, Eric shot you one more quiet look before Pam flanked him. It twisted the knots in your stomach and if it wasn't for all the eyes on you, cementing you to the spot, you would have dashed after him.

Not sparing another look back, the pair left Merlotte's.

Leaning forward, Jason tilted his head. “Is he why you wanted me to train you?”

Fighting past a layer of stunned numbness, you managed to shake your head. But it wasn't exactly convincing. “N-no...”

Still not convincing.

A firm hand on your arm pulled you out of your shock a little further as you looked up and saw Sam pouring all his concern through his soft blue eyes. When he spoke, there was a surprising gentleness there. “Are you okay?”

Reaching up, you set your hand over his, offering what you hoped was a reassuring squeeze. "Yeah...thank you, Sam."

With a noticeable blink, he nodded before patting your shoulder. As he returned to his place by the bar, he waved his hand dismissively. “Alright, show's over folks. Get back to drinking those looks off your faces.”

You didn't notice it, but the table of trucker hats didn't stop eyeing you.

Still grasping at every attempt to understand what happened, Jason's voice brought you back. “But, how do you even know Mr. Northman?”

Pressing your fingers to your temple, you would have laughed if you weren't so unsettled.

“You...you really don't talk to your sister much, do you?”

Swedish translations according to Google 1) I thought we had to get- 2) We will. Later.

Taglist:  @foreverfaeries  @flower-two  @getlostinyourparadise​   @selfishkiddo  @angelicshinigami  @parkersbabey @thatchampagnebitch @mysteryoflovve  @edweirdoddlepot  @divadinag  @crazy-fandom-girl1  @givemeabite @breanime @shondlenoodle @hermionesalvatore84   @dyingformyships   @divadinag  @dreamers-wonderland @adriellej  @bitchader

[everamazingfe]

You Can Ride On My Rocket 69 - Chapter Eleven

A Song About Memories

Fic Summary: Jeremy has recently awoken in this strange world, 210 ten years after he was put to sleep, and is now the lone survivor from his vault. Trevor's a radio host from Diamond City who's barely left the station, lonely in his own right and isolated from the rest of the Wastes. When they meet, Trevor finally gets a chance to see the rest of the wasteland like he's always wanted, though Jeremy becomes more of his bodyguard than Trevor does his companion. They meet various people along the way, some being friends like the odd throuple they meet in one of the neighboring city, or foe like a certain Diamond City guard. Both are wary about bringing up their pasts, but the wasteland has a strange way of bringing people together.

Chapter Summary: Jeremy remembers something he immediately wishes he could forget about all over again. Trevor gains a memory he never wants to forget. This chapter's song is "Happy Times" by Bob Crosby.

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Words in this chapter: 4817 Pairings: Jeremy/Trevor, Michael/Gavin/Lindsay, Jeremy/Matt Warnings for this chapter: Minor violence, references to Ian

Notes: There’s a link to the first chapter of this fic as the source of this post! Click it to go read this fic over on A O 3, or you can search up the title or ‘everamazingfe’ on the site! Also, I still need to go back and edit chapter 10, however I have made the decision to change Detective Nick Valentine into Geoff for this fic.

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Convincing Jeremy to leave the Third Rail and actually go to the Memory Den was a hell of an undertaking, even though he had only had a single drink. He simply did not want to relive any parts of his past, and he wasn’t sure that there was anything *to remember while he was on ice. As far as he was concerned, it was the longest shot in the world, and his aim had never been that good. But the bar eventually had to open up, and the crowd began to file in for Lindsay’s show. He could no longer sit in quiet contemplation as Trevor talked to the trio, so decided to finally listen to the man’s pleading and go. Ultimately, what choice did he have? If he couldn’t remember anything else, Geoff wouldn’t be able to help him and he’d just be back at square one.

“I’m really not sure how I feel about this, Trev.” They were standing inside the entry hall of the Memory Den now, and even in the dim mood lighting Jeremy looked visibly nervous. His hands shook and he was starting to draw blood from how hard he was biting his lip.

“I know. I’m not sure I feel that good about it either, but… What else is there to do?” Trevor asked, leaning back against the wall as he looked over at the other. He was sympathetic, he certainly wouldn’t want to go reliving his own past either, but this had all been Jeremy’s idea in the first place. What had been the point of it all if it just amounted to nothing? “If we learn anything, we’ll know where to go from here.”

Jeremy scoffed quietly, shaking his head. “Where we’ll go is back out into the wastes for days and days of wandering.” That’s all this journey had been so far, and it was wearing Jeremy out. His eyes were gaunt and dark from a lack of restful sleep, and his body ached all over. Trevor wasn’t in much better condition either, even after his week of rest. He could just tell that he was starting to get tired of all of this, and honestly he couldn’t blame him for it. “Okay, you know what? I’ll do this, on one condition.”

Trevor frowned, crossing his arms as he looked down at Jeremy. “What’s that?”

“You do it too.”

The suggestion made Trevor’s frown turn into open-mouthed surprise, and he looked downright offended by the suggestion. “Absolutely not!”

“Then I guess I’m not doing it,” Jeremy said after a moment of contemplation, seemingly unbothered, but Trevor was less than pleased. 

“Why should I have to? I’m not looking for anyone, he’s your husband, and I don’t have some cushy pre-war life to look back on.” Trevor was a child of the wasteland, born and raised in a world that had actively tried to take him out of it from day one. He didn’t have any happy memories to remember, and he made sure to let Jeremy know it. The rant continued for several moments before he was interrupted, cut off by Jeremy turning away and walking down the hall. “Where are you going?”

He paused, letting Trevor catch up to him before speaking quietly. “I was only fucking with you. I wasn’t actually going to make you do it.” It was a poorly executed joke, he should have known that the past was a sore subject for him. 

“How was I supposed to know that?” 

“I don’t know, I just-... You know what? Nevermind, it was stupid. It was a stupid joke.” He paused and took a few breaths, counting to ten. “I’m sorry. Let’s just get this over with so we can get the fuck out of here.”

“Finally, a plan I can get on board with.”

They turned the corner into the Memory Den proper together, surprised to see Geoff already there, speaking to a woman lounging luxuriously on a couch in the back of the room. Her dress was beautiful and clean, something that was rare these days. It came in stark contrast to Geoff’s dingy and tattered trench coat. She waved as they approached, the detective turning to face them as she acknowledged their presence. 

“Well, look what the cat dragged in. Geoff here was just telling me all about you two.” Her eyes scanned Jeremy up and down, and she let out a soft laugh at the way he squirmed. “I was most interested to hear about you, though.” Her voice was sultry and sweet, but she had no interest in seducing anyone into anything but sitting in one of her chairs.

It was Geoff’s turn to wave her off now, hissing a quiet, “Knock it off,” before clearing his throat. “It’s about time you two showed up, what kept you for so long?” he asked, trying to hide his displeasure, but it was hard to do. Early models of synths didn’t have a great handle on hiding their feelings like humans did, they weren’t quite that advanced yet. When they felt something, it showed, and seeing Geoff look so displeased made both Jeremy and Trevor hang their heads in shame.

“I’ll be honest, I didn’t think you were gonna be here, it kinda seemed like I was on my own until I could remember more about what happened. Plus, I stopped at the Rail to pick up Trevor, and you know how Gavin likes to talk.” The beady and bright eyes of the synth made it very easy to feel like Geoff could see right through his story, like he could just tell that that wasn’t all of it. “And I was uh… I was having some doubts,” Jeremy confessed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as he turned his gaze to the floor. 

“Doubts?”

“Like… What if I can’t remember anything? What if this was just a big waste of time?”

The woman behind Geoff laughed again as she stood, approaching Jeremy with swaying hips and tipping his chin up to make him meet her eyes. “With the amount of caps I’m paying her, Dr. Amari better be able to make you remember something. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.” She patted his cheek. “You’ll find her downstairs, Geoff’ll show you the way and make the introduction.”

“Yeah, c’mon boys. Let’s leave Irma to her very important work of watching over empty loungers. We’ve got a man to find.” He walked off before the woman could retort, Jeremy and Trevor hurrying to follow.

The basement wasn’t nearly as posh as the main area, furnished with some big computer equipment along the walls and two loungers in the middle of the room. There were some items that made it look like a sort of living area, a bathtub that seemed out of place and a couch held up by burned books, but ultimately it was dingy and dank. Dr. Amari herself was standing at a terminal in the back of the room, looking very professional in a lab coat and slacks, and too focused on her work to even notice them until Geoff started to speak. 

“Amari, I’ve got two new clients for you, but this one,” he paused and clapped a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder, “Is gonna be a tough nut to crack.”

“Oh? Is he now? Please, the two of you, have a seat.” Dr. Amari motioned to the pair of loungers, but Trevor just shook his head quickly, hiding himself behind Geoff. Jeremy himself wasn’t as resistant, walking over to one of the open chairs and walking circles around it to inspect it. Unsurprisingly, he couldn’t figure out how it worked, but it looked complex. “Do you not want to?”

“Uh, no, not really,” he answered, following behind Geoff as he moved towards the couch. He sat down next to the synth, hands folded in his lap and eyes on the pods. “Remembering the past… It’s not really my thing.” 

Dr. Amari frowned, but nodded in understanding. “It’s not for everyone. Remembering can be painful, if you have things you’d prefer to leave buried.” She was used to stumbling across rather surprising and upsetting memories, it came with the territory of poking around in people’s heads. But if someone didn’t want those memories to be stumbled upon in the first place, who was she to argue? 

Jeremy gave Trevor a quick smile after he gave up on his inspection of the pods, taking a seat in one of the loungers. The seat was old and worn in from many people sitting in that same position, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Still, he didn’t know what the remembering process itself was going to be like. “This isn’t going to hurt at all, right?”

She chuckled, shaking her head as she began to tap at the keyboard. “No, not at all. You won’t feel anything. Maybe a slight headache, I am probing around in your brain after all, but no worse than a mild hangover. It will fade fast.” With that, the hydraulics hissed and the cover to the pod shut overtop of Jeremy. There was a small television in front of his face showing the ‘please stand by’ symbol that lingered on every channel now, and every sound that came from outside the chamber sounded muffled. Trevor was speaking to Geoff, he could see their lips moving, but he couldn’t make out what was being said. The only voice that came through clearly was Dr. Amari’s, and that was only because she had a mic that broadcast right into the chamber. “How are you feeling?”

Jeremy shifted a little, uncomfortable as he looked out of the chamber at her. “A little cramped… I didn’t know this was part of it.” It reminded him too much of the cryopods, and he’d just never been a fan of tight, enclosed spaces in general. At least he had hope that he would come out from the other side of this having found some answers, though. “I didn’t think it would close like this, I sorta hoped it was just… Not part of it.”

Geoff said something and Trevor laughed, but Dr. Amari cut them a look that had both of them shutting up. “I apologize. I did not realize that you would be claustrophobic, but that should not matter soon.” 

Before he could even ask what that meant, Jeremy’s vision was filled with a white light. It was so blindingly bright that he thought it should hurt, but it didn’t. It was just like if he’d closed his eyes, but instead of black, the back of his eyelids were pure white. When his vision cleared again, he was inside Vault 111.

“Can you hear me?” Dr. Amari’s voice seemingly came from all around him, and he turned around to search for her. “Ah, good. You can. The simulation seems to be stable, but the memories are quite fragmentary. This is the best I could do. Geoff told me what to look for, it only took a little digging. We got lucky with this one.” It felt weird and disorienting to be seeing a memory he hadn’t even known that he had, and Jeremy was certain that when he came out of this he would be feeling a lot worse than if he just had a hangover. “You weren’t awake for long, and the failure of your life support made certain that your conscious mind could not remember it, but your subconscious? There was quite a bit to find in there. You are very lucky.” 

He could see the pods, he could see himself and his husband inside of them, but most importantly, he could see a trio of people standing in front of his husband’s cryopod. “What the fuck?” There were two people, presumably scientists, dressed in lab coats and other protective gear. One of them was a woman, the other a man. There was another man as well, who wasn’t dressed like the two scientists he had with him. He wore something akin to raider leathers and was bald, like Jeremy. The most distinct feature was a scar across his left eye, clear as day. Over the speakers, Jeremy could just barely hear Geoff say, “That’s Kellogg,” but he was far too focused on the man himself for his ears to properly register it. 

The man, Kellogg, pointed at the pod that Jeremy knew held his husband. “This is the one, here. Open it.” The scientists didn’t hesitate in following their orders, the man hitting the manual override as the other got ready for... something. Jeremy couldn’t quite tell what she was doing.

As the pod opened, the man inside coughed as he came back to life. But as one pod thawed, so did some of the others. “Is it over?” he asked, gruff and confused. Hearing his husband’s voice knocked the air right out of Jeremy’s chest. He hadn’t heard it in so long. “Are we okay?” The man stepped out from the pod slowly, and Jeremy could only stare. It really was him, probably in the last moments he was alive. His hair was still as long as the day they’d gone into the pods though the colorful streaks of dye had long faded, and his glasses fogged up from the sudden temperature change causing him to squint behind the glass. His beard had small icicles hanging from it, but they quickly began to thaw and drip water down the front of the vault suit.

The woman smiled kindly, offering a hand of help out to him. “Almost, everything’s going to be fine.”

“Come with us,” Kellogg ordered, his voice considerably less kind than hers. He sounded annoyed and impatient, though he had only just arrived in the vault. 

“What? No, I’m not leaving. I can’t go.” The man looked at the pod across from him in panic, where Jeremy remained in stasis, frozen solid. Or so he thought. “I can’t leave without Jeremy.”

“You don’t really get a choice in that. Now, come with us.” Kellogg spoke as the other scientist reached out, her hand of assistance now firmly on his arm to start pulling him away from the pod despite the insistent protests that only grew louder. “We’re only gonna tell you once.”

“And I’m only going to tell you once. I. Am. Not. Going. With. You.” 

There was no verbal retort from Kellogg, he instead only huffed in frustration before he hit the man over the head with a stun baton. He crumpled in an instant, knocked out cold and bleeding from the impact. Luckily, the scientists managed to catch him before he hit the floor, but only just.

“Let’s go,” the one said, glaring at Kellogg as he adjusted his hold to help support his weight. “At least we have a backup in case you hit him too hard. We weren’t supposed to hurt him, you know.”

Kellogg only shrugged, turning around now to look at Jeremy that was still in the pod. “Doesn’t matter now. Like you said, at least we have a backup. Let’s get out of here. And when’s that other team coming in?” 

“You might as well be one of them, god.” They both cast him looks of disgust before turning, slowly making their way from the cryo-room with the unconscious man in tow.

The scientists were no longer paying any mind to Kellogg, but he didn’t seem to care. He was just as done with them as they were with him. His eyes were also no longer on the empty pod, instead he’d turned around to look at the one across the way. “You… You’re going to come in handy someday, I’m sure. Or you’ll just be another thorn in my side.” He tapped on the glass with the stun baton, tilting his head to meet Jeremy’s eyes. “Let’s make sure you go back to sleep, shall we?”

The robotic voice saying ‘Cryogenic sequence re-initialized’ echoed loudly in Jeremy’s head, and he closed his eyes and covered his ears to try blocking the sound of the pod re-freezing out, though it was unsuccessful. The sounds weren’t really coming from around him, they were coming from inside of his head.

“That’s the end of the memory. But… Wait, there’s something else here.” Dr. Amari spoke now, and when he opened his eyes back up, he was still in the vault. 

There were two scientists at his husband’s pod again, but instead of opening it up to take him out, they were now putting him back in. But he knew now that it wasn’t him. It was a decoy. A fake to convince anyone who came searching that he was still in there. 

That same robotic voice came over the loudspeakers again as the pod sealed back up, but it wasn’t saying the same thing. This time, it was saying ‘Critical failure in cryogenic array. All vault residents must vacate immediately.” 

Jeremy watched as the two scientists looked at each other in confusion, about to write off the announcement as just another piece of vault weirdness, until the pod behind them hissed and clunked as it began to open up. 

“That… That wasn’t supposed to happen, he told us everyone in this vault was dead!” the one said, watching as a cloud of fog covered the floor, the ice hitting the warm air of the vault and instantly thawing much faster than anticipated. She looked to the other in fear, trying to figure out what to do, but this was the only pod that was opening.

“They are,” the other one hissed, busting the manual controls to ensure that the now sealed pod could never be reopened. It didn’t take him too long to regret his words though, as Jeremy fell forward onto the floor, barely able to catch himself in time before his face hit the concrete. He coughed and heaved, lungs suddenly filling with air and every system in his body forced to jump-start all at once. “Shit, go, go!” He grabbed the arm of the other scientist, all but dragging her out of there before Jeremy could get his bearings and stand up. 

“Get me out of here,” the real Jeremy said, his voice strained as he fought back tears. “Doctor, please… Get me out of here.” Trying to process everything that he’d just seen, the truth of everything that had happened in the vault to him, to his husband, but he didn’t feel any better for knowing it. Instead, he just felt worse.

“Are you sure? If there’s something else you’d like to see-”

“Get me out!”

“Amari, please. Just get him out of there.” Trevor’s voice was in his ear now, and he sounded concerned. Scared, even. It made Jeremy’s heart ache as much as his head.

Outside of Jeremy’s brain and outside of the memory chamber, the three of them had been watching the memories unfold through his eyes on Amari’s terminal screen. Geoff had a notepad out and had been jotting down thoughts and observations on the whole ordeal, unphased by Kellogg’s cruelty, but Trevor was quite the opposite. He was in a similar boat as Jeremy, unable to process what he’d just seen but knowing that it made him uneasy. He bit his nails as he listened to keys clacking on the keyboard beneath Amari’s nails, eyes fixed on Jeremy's face to make sure he would actually wake up. The second the pod was open and Jeremy could sit up, Trevor all but launched himself at the other, wrapping his arms around him. Jeremy was in no shape to push him away, just clinging to him and hiding his face as his body began to tremble. 

“That was… That was horrible,” Trevor whispered, hugging him tightly. “I’m so sorry.”

Jeremy just laughed, but it was dry and without any humor. “Yeah, I… I wish I didn’t remember now.” He lifted his head to look at Geoff, who was still jotting down notes. “Did you find out everything you needed?”

“More than,” Geoff said, flipping his notepad shut and meeting Jeremy’s tear-filled eyes with a smile. “I know exactly what our next step is. Kellogg, he used to own a house back in Diamond City. It’s been abandoned for a while now, but… I think if we can get ourselves in there, we can figure out where he went.”

Trevor stood up then with a soft huff, offering a hand to Jeremy to help him stand as well, pulling him close once they both had. “Doubt it. It’s probably been picked clean by Crazy Myrna by now,” he muttered, “She’s always looking for stuff to sell.”

“Maybe so, but I know he had someone with him when he stayed there that fits the bill of the missing husband. Pretty tall, long hair… Most guys tend to keep it cropped pretty short these days, and no one that tall has come through the city in a long time.” Geoff laughed quietly. “Trust me, it’s always a spectacle when they do. I’ll meet you back there. You two… You two take your time. I’ll talk to security, make sure someone gets stationed there to keep Myrna, and everyone else, out until we can get a look.” He waved at the three of them and thanked Dr. Amari before heading out. 

Diamond City wasn’t exactly far from Goodneighbor, but Jeremy felt like garbage after all of that, and he was sure that Trevor wasn’t exactly up for the journey after all of that either. All he wanted to do was curl up in bed, or maybe get another few drinks at the Third Rail. He couldn’t make up his mind, so he settled on both. “I’m gonna go get us a room at the Rex, can you go get us a few bottles to go from Gav?” he asked, fishing a small pouch of caps from his armor and offering it to Trevor, who swiped it from him without hesitation. They both could use a few drinks.

“Gladly.”

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

They were several beers in each before they decided to call it quits, pocketing the caps and dropping the empty bottles to the floor to join their discarded armor with satisfying clinks. Jeremy wasn’t really feeling much better, his head was still swimming and now his stomach was churning from the alcohol, but at least it was harder to focus on the day’s events and on the newly uncovered memories. And Trevor was definitely having a good time, singing along to the songs on the radio that he knew every beat of by heart. He could’ve listened to that forever without complaint, elbow resting on his knee and chin on his hand as he sat cross-legged on the creaky old bed, eyes closed as he listened to him. 

“Hey Trevor?” he asked softly, opening his eyes slowly. The singing stopped, and Jeremy almost felt bad for interrupting it, but he felt like he had to say what he had on his mind. “I know… I know I was kind of a dick when we first met, and even earlier today, and I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay-”

“No, it’s not. It’s not okay. You said before that you have no happy memories, that you have nothing you want to remember, and… And I’ve definitely contributed to that, but I also want to change that. Everyone deserves happy memories.” 

Trevor smiled softly, though the words would have been a lot more endearing if they weren’t half-slurred together. But Geoff had always taught him that it was the thought that counts. “What’s your happiest memory, then? I gotta know what to strive for here.” 

“My happiest memory? Shit, I don’t know. Probably… Probably my first kiss? It happened later than it should’ve, not ‘til I met my husband and I was *old by then. Not as old as I am now, but… Older than most people have their first kiss. And he was a real shit kisser at the start too, but… It was still sweet.” Jeremy smiled fondly as he thought about it, swaying back and forth from the good feelings it filled him with. “Pretty much any memory I’ve got with him is my happiest… ‘Til the end, at least.”

He nodded slowly, letting out a soft sigh. “Should’ve seen that coming. Dunno why I even asked.” 

That made Jeremy frown. Trevor never seemed to like it when he talked about his husband like that, but it wasn’t like he was going to stop. His life pre-war was still something near and dear to his heart. “You’ll have that too, one day.”

“Doubt it. Best I can do so far is Ian, and… He’s not really a catch,” he muttered, huffing as he laid down on the bed. It groaned under the shift in weight, and the pillow smelled musty beneath his head. It was a miracle this place didn’t have bed bugs. “But it’s fine, you know? Not like the wastes are meant for finding love. If you make it past twenty without getting bit in half by a Deathclaw or beat down by raiders, you’re doing pretty good. And I think I’m doing pretty good.”

“People aren’t meant to just do ‘pretty good’ though. You can’t survive off of just ‘pretty good.’”

“Can’t I, though?” Trevor asked, propping himself up on an elbow to meet Jeremy’s eyes. “I’m doing fine. I don’t need some pre-war ghoul telling me how I should live my life. Things are different now, Jeremy. If someone’s doing ‘pretty good,’ it means they’re a hell of a lot better than everyone else.” 

They stared each other down for a few minutes, the tension building until Jeremy was the first to look away, reaching down to the floor and grab one last beer. He popped the cap, holding it out for Trevor. “I’m sorry.” The peace offering was rejected, and Jeremy just tucked it into his own pocket instead. “But I still meant what I said. Everyone deserves happy memories, even you.”

“Maybe. But saying that won’t magically give me any.” 

Doing and saying stupid things while he was drinking was a staple of Jeremy’s personality, whatever thought processes that made him only do slightly dumb things while he was sober seemed to disintegrate after a few beers. After four in quick succession, it was just gone entirely. So maybe that was why he set the bottle aside and leaned in, a rough and calloused hand cupping Trevor’s cheek oh so gently as he leaned in and pressed their lips together in the softest kiss he could muster. It lasted for only a moment before he pulled away, smirking a little. “Won’t it, though?”

“God, Jeremy, just… Shut up,” Trevor stammered, sitting up fully now and leaning in to kiss him again. He let his eyes slip shut as Jeremy held his face with both hands, not to forcefully keep him in the kiss but to just hold him, to give him the soft and loving touch that he didn’t even know he’d needed as badly as he did. 

The kiss lasted for quite a while, but it didn’t go further than that. Neither of them wanted, or needed, more than that. Trevor got his happy memory, Jeremy got the satisfaction of knowing the other man now had at least one to look back on, and they both got the affection that they’d desperately craved.

“We should get some sleep,” Jeremy whispered, his forehead against Trevor’s as he reluctantly broke the kiss. He could feel the other’s breath fanning over his face and could see that his cheeks were now bright red, and he was sure that his own were the same way. “C’mon,” he urged gently, moving to lay down and guiding Trevor to lay down with him. 

Trevor was practically in a daze, his mind had begun to shut down as he waited for the kiss to turn forceful and for the other to start pushing him for more, but it never came. Jeremy was nothing but gentle, even as he made him lay down, and they shared a few more sweet kisses before agreeing that it was time to get some sleep. Jeremy’s arms wrapped around the other securely, holding him close and making him feel safe, and Trevor had an arm slung over Jeremy’s middle, face tucked into his chest. It was, hands down, the best sleep either of them had gotten in a long time, the bags under their eyes receding and bodies aching a lot less than they had the night before. Neither of them would acknowledge the other’s reluctance to move away in the morning either, because they both just wanted to stay put. They’d needed this. Better yet, they’d earned it.

“Geoff’s just gonna have to deal with us showing up late again.”