#at most he just said vaguely that something bad happened after the reverie

[brookstolemybrand]

On Sabo and Garp:

People keep saying that Sabo and Garp didn't know each other, or that they only met like once or something, but idk, this doesn't read to me as "he's some old guy who beat me up once or twice when I was a kid"

Does Garp remember or care about Sabo? I don't know, maybe he doesn't; we haven't gotten any reaction from him to any news about Sabo. But Sabo doesn't seem to think of him as a stranger, or at least that's not how I would read this

Just because we only saw him visit once doesn't necessarily mean he only visited once

I'm sure they're not particularly close or anything, and no this doesn't really particularly matter because even if they met, it probably wouldn't be any kind of huge drama, but I feel like it's wild to just declare that they have no kind of relationship at all

[wiypt-writes]

Consciousness Of Guilt

Chapter 1

Summary: It’s a year since Ransom was murdered, and you’re settling well into your new life in Boulder. It hasn’t just provided you with a fresh start-it’s brought you a new sense and purpose, an appreciation for the things you took fore grated, and the friendship of a former ADA…

Warnings: Bad Language, allusions to past abuse (Non Con/Dub Con) but nothing explicitly described in this chapter.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar the reader and any other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

W/C: 5k

Consciousness Of Guilt Masterlist // Main Masterlist

A/N- So, here it is! The sequel to Murder, He Wrote . This is the last time I’ll post this note, however, please be aware that the prequel is a Dark series. Whilst this is not, it will contain flashbacks and themes as we progress, however nothing will be as dark as MHW. Chapters will be clearly labelled with appropriate warnings. If anyone is uncomfortable with the themes of a certain chapter, I will be more than happy to post/provide abridged versions which will not deviate from the storyline.

Sunrise. You used to hate the coming of each day. It meant another monotonous day in your young adult life. A 'depends on the day' type of job at the paper in which you got your start, it meant earning little for the slave work you put into each piece or research. It meant another day you'd woken up in fear, not knowing what was coming next. Then, for a little while, sunrises were okay. They were a soft glow across the room, illuminating hard lines and soft curves, whispering words and lingering kisses. And then, they became fearful again, bringing the unpredictable nature of a life in which you were trapped.

But now, over the last few months, since taking up your new hobby, sunrise had become a beautiful thing. The feeling of peace and comfort washing over you like a warm rain, bringing the redeeming nature of a new day as vibrant watercolours paint the new-born sky. Whether you caught it from the East side of your condo; your master balcony and study or your garden, or even your hikes, you appreciated every, single sunrise as if you were seeing it for the first time ever, each and every day.

For this morning's sunrise, you were perched along Boulder Creek Path, a trail that runs from the foothills to across town, a typical recreational getaway for many locals and tourists. You looked out over the bridge as the creek flowed beneath your feet. You were lost in the serenity of it, the bubbling water lulling your mind into a deep mediation that washed peacefulness through your entire body.

A year ago today, your life changed and you were freed. Free of the nightmare that had plagued you, robbing you of nearly a year of your life. The months that followed weren't so easy, but once things settled and the fires were extinguished, you found peace.

You found you.

Your phone buzzing in your pocket brought you back from your reverie, pressing your thumb onto the screen to unlock it. You opened your messages tab and tapped the most recent incoming text.

A smile flicked on your face as you slipped your phone back in your pocket. It didn’t escape your knowledge how Andy didn’t need to even ask what coffee you wanted. But then again, this wasn’t the first time you’d had breakfast in the small, independent coffee place not far from your home and place of work. You knew when you arrived that a large caramel vanilla latte, with an extra shot would be waiting. But no food, your order varied depending on your mood.

Twenty minutes or so later, you parked your sting-grey Jeep Grand Cherokee SRT 4x4 back in your garage to your condo at the corner of 9th and Pine Street and set off on the short ten minute walk to your designated meeting place, centred near the town square, not far from your office which was a gorgeous old red-brick building on the corner of 16th and Walnut Street.

As you approached, you didn’t spot Andy’s black Audi TT in any of the spaces littered around but it didn’t bother you. Barber was reliable, if he said he was going to be there, he’d be there.

And sure enough, as you walked along the side of the cafe you, spotted him at your usual, preferred table by the large window, overlooking the street. He saw you approaching and smiled, giving a small wave.

The smell of roast coffee beans, baked treats and other delicious aromas hit your senses as you opened the door. You approached the table and Andy stood up to great you, smiling. A light grey tee sat exposed under a partially zipped up light weight blue leathered hoodie whilst dark and crisp denim covered his narrow hips and long legs, his go to well-worn black work boots on his feet. His hair was styled and soft looking, his beard always trimmed and neat. He gave you a strong, yet gentle hug, a juxtaposition he managed effortlessly before he turned and waited for you to sit first before he took up his previous seat, nodding to your waiting drink.

“Thank you.” You beamed at him, taking a quick sip. "Of course." He smiled as he took a drink of his own coffee, straight black, before he leaned back a little. His left arm rested over the back of the booth bench, the platinum of his wedding ring catching the early morning sun which streamed through the window. You momentarily glanced at your own hand, bare of the heavy rings which had been taken in the ‘mugging’. Mind you, you wouldn’t be wearing them even if you still had them. Your story was a lot different to his.

“So, where'd you go this morning?" his soft baritone drifted across the table and you glanced back at him. "Fiddled around down Boulder Creek Path." "You seem to be getting around better now." "Yeah, thank God for GPS. Did I tell you that last week I was looking for some store Amber vaguely told me where about it was and ending up like thirty minutes down the highway towards Denver." He laughed, his whole body smiling, radiating genuine amusement. "You have more faith in GPS than me, when I first moved here I got pulled over for going the wrong way down a one way street because it told me to.” You grinned as he shook his head. "And that annoying voice! I want to wring her damn neck." You gave a chuckle but before you could reply, the middle-aged woman, who owned the café, interrupted you both with her usual familiar greeting and the smile she reserved for Andy. “Hey Patti, how are ya?” He smiled back. “Same old, same old.” She winked back. “What can I get you kids today?” “Y/N?” Andy looked at you and you smiled. “Can I get an almond croissant and a granola pot, please? With the blueberry compote.” “Sure honey, and for you Mr Barber?”

“French toast please, all the trimmings.”

A fizzing filled your ears as you were suddenly back on a clinically clean, modern kitchen, nervously scouring a fridge and cupboards for something to make your captor breakfast with. You swallowed, taking a deep breath, counting backwards from five as you always did to keep the memory from swallowing you.

“Hey,” a gentle touch to your hand jolted you back and you looked at Andy who frowned. “You okay?” "Yeah, no, I mean yes, I'm okay. It just…it dawned me this morning that this was the best thing I could have done for myself. Like there's just a newfound peace that's settled with me, you know?" He just smiled as he squeezed your hand before slipping his away. “Yeah, I do.” No more was said about it, and Andy didn’t press. He never did. In the eight weeks or so that had passed since you’d met him that Friday evening in the bar, the pair of you had struck up a friendship that was based on a mutual understanding. You both carried a heavy burden of a traumatic past on your shoulders, but you had an unspoken rule. He had never mentioned Ransom. And you, in turn, never broached the subject of Laurie or Jacob. You understood you were both moving on with your life, both wanting to heal from the past and you wanted to spend the rest of your life never in fear again. Instead, a simple chatter always flowed between the two of you, and today was no exception. You barely stopped to thank Patti for dropping your order off at the table. Current work was never a topic of conversation, although office gossip featured on occasion, but mostly it was always about happenings around town, him asking about you, your parents and your old job, the two of you talking about your favourite places in Boston. You never missed certain facial and eye cues Andy gave off at the mention of certain things, but when you saw them, that sag in his smile or the far off look his eyes would give, you'd change the subject. You ate in comfortable companionship and after another coffee, Andy asked for the bill and then pulled out his card to pay. "Next one is on me, you paid for the last two and coffee all this week." You gave him a stern look as you headed towards the exit. “Well, if you wanted you could grab us a beer later.” He shrugged, pulling the door handle to open it, allowing you to step out before him. “I gotta nip into the office for a coupla hours but...” "Breakfast AND drinks?" You smiled as he fell into step beside you. The July day was starting to warm a little now, the slight chill of the early morning all but gone. “If I didn't know any better, I'd say you actually like hanging out with me." “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. I just find you slightly less irritating than everything and everyone else.” He teased and you laughed. “So... Happy hour?" "Yeah." You nodded “It's a date." Andy confirmed and you quirked your eyebrow, trying not to laugh at the look on his face as he realised what he had said. “A date?” “Well, I don’t mean a date date but...” You felt the heat in your neck a little, so to save your embarrassment and his blushes, you smiled, "it's a date-not-date. Say Oskar’s, 6:30?" "Oskar’s." He confirmed. "I'll save you a tall, cold one." “You’re an angel, you know that?” "I wouldn't go that far. My halo is held up by horns” “Even Prometheus was an angel at some point, Y/N.” He replied as you reached the corner of the street where you would part. Him towards the office, you back home. You rolled your eyes and shook your head. "I'll see you tonight." At that he gave you another quick hug, his hand rubbing your back over the top of your light jacket before you headed your separate ways.

You enjoyed the walk home. It gave you the perfect chance to just mellow out and walk off a bit of your breakfast. You tucked your hands into the pockets for your vest, your white thermal keeping your arms covered. You headed down Pearl Street, watching as the little shops and boutiques began to set up their patios and side walk spaces for their Saturday. You took in the clean fresh mountain air deep into your lungs and allowed a warm smile to cross your lips. 

From Pearl to 9th you went, hooking a right up 9th until you walked to the corner of Pine, and onto the porch of the nice and spacious condo you closed escrow on just weeks ago. 

That deep feeling of home greeted you as you stepped inside, wiping your boots on your door mat just before kicking them off and setting them by the back door you’d come through. The cream walls invited you in, the oak furniture and fixtures, a feature that reminded you of home, the decor you grew up with, a safe place. 

You'd bought the condo outright with the money you'd inherited from Ransom's untimely death and subsequent estate. You knew before you'd even stepped foot into the property initially, that it'd become yours. The week you closed escrow, you and your parents moved you into the three bedroom, three and a half bath condo, never looking back. 

The open floor plan and panoramic views had stolen your breath and it was then, the first night your parents had left you alone, too anxious to sleep alone, you had fallen in love with the sunrise, seeing it from your front garden patio, bundled up with tea and a wool blanket. All three rooms in the space had no adjoining walls and their own en-suites. The master bedroom, your room, was massive. An en-suite with walk in shower, soaking tub and Jack and Jill sinks. Two walk in closets that you knew you'd probably never fill completely, an Eastwardly view and balcony. The two spare rooms, were separated, one on the second floor down the hall from yours where it's balcony looked West, as it were above the garage and the third on the top and final floor with its own balcony. That was your office space, a spot for you to work and to breathe in the fresh air. 

Everything in that condo was yours, down to the logs you'd put in your fireplace and the silly little amenities you'd given yourself from knickknacks to the colour of your dishes. There was one space however you left untouched. And only your parents had been inside to pack away your unused things as storage space. That room was your basement. You didn't need to go down there, you figured if you needed something from there, you'd go buy it anyway. All that was truly stored down there anyway were things from your childhood your mother insisted on you bringing along.

As if her ears were burning, your phone buzzed from your back pocket, revealing your mother calling. 

"Hey, Mom." You answered. 

"Hi, honey. I was just calling to see how you were doing. Check in on you." You could hear the worry in her voice and you couldn't help but smile. 

"I'm really good, Mom. It’s been good here." "You still hiking every day?" She sounded hopeful now.  "Lately it's just been on the weekends. I've been really busy at work, which isn't exactly a bad thing either." You had made your way to your room, looking for some lounge pants to change into while you continued your conversation.  "Well, busy is a blessing. Do you have anything planned for today or...."  "Uh, well I just had breakfast with a friend from work who I'm also meeting for drinks later." You smirked at the thought.  There was a joyful sigh that poured into your ear from the ear piece, "Oh, this friend wouldn’t happen to be the mysterious Andy you’ve name dropped the last few calls would it?"  You hesitated, "y..ye...yeah." Then you heard the tell-tale sound of your mother's chuckle. “We’re just friends.” "I'm not saying anything." You could picture her with her hands held up in defence. "You sound happy." “I am. I feel okay, more than okay even. I’m good.” "Alright. Well, don’t waste your day. Enjoy it. Your dad and I will talk soon." “Yeah, listen Mom, why don’t you come over for a few days in a couple of weeks? You’ve not been since the week you came to help me move in. It would be nice to show you round now I’ve got my bearings.” "We would love that. I'll have your father look at booking some time." “Okay just let me know. Tell Daddy I said hi.” "I will, sweetie. Love you, bye.” "I love you too, Mom, bye." The seventeenth of July, a date that you hope one day will come to mean nothing and be like any other day. But for now, it was a sting that reminded you of all that had happened. Not unlike Halloween, a day in which you'll forever hold in a fearful anxious place in your soul. It served as a reminder of the moment your life had taken a very dark turn, a darkness that you were still, in a lot of ways, finding your way through. Ransom. His name still tasted sour on your tongue. But left a sadness over your heart like a sheer curtain. You had truly hoped he wasn't going to revert back to the beast that held you captive. But you were wrong, and post the revelation of the real reason he had taken you, he’d been far more brutal and cruel than he had with you before, something you’d thought was impossible. And he’d broken you for a second time, or so you’d let him think. Desperate to escape his clutches, you’d done the only thing you could- you’d killed him. Whilst you may not have held the knife, you’d arranged it all. And, even though it had been an absolute last resort, you’d be lying if you said there hadn’t been a satisfaction to watching him bleed out and choke on his own blood. The realisation that had clouded his arrogantly handsome features as he came to understand it was your doing would be forever etched into your brain. That said, it made you feel a little bit queasy when you thought about how taking someone’s life could make you feel a sick sense of pleasure. The nightmares had plagued you for months after. The torture which sleep brought you only ceased around the time things were settled within the system between you and his parents. With a deep sigh and the need for distraction, you set about some spot cleaning in between loads of laundry and by early afternoon you had settled in on your couch with a beer and your latest box set binge. Not two episodes in and your phone pinged next to you.

With a smirk, you snapped a photo of your beer bottle in your hand and a few moments later his response came through.

The angel made you laugh, a direct reference to his teasing before. But before you could reply, you got another text with simply saying “fuck it” along with a picture of a tumblr of whiskey on his desk. With a snort you replied

With a smile you tossed your phone down onto the seat beside you, and resumed your watching.

***** Andy was kidding when he playfully said he'd be there by 6:45, fully intending on their agreed upon 6:30. But, he was late. He'd been so involved with his brief that he'd lost track, and for the first time since meeting her, was late for a meet up with Y/N. She was fully understanding as he'd text her apologizing for the time as he'd rushed out of the office and quickly headed for Pearl Street. He'd gotten very lucky with close parking and literally stepped inside Oskar's Taproom promptly at 6:45. He found Y/N sitting at the bar, her hair down, a nicely fitted black tee and skinny denim jeans, her foot tapping against her bar stool in waiting. Next to her was an empty stool and a full, cold looking tall pilsner on the bar, saving his space.

"Hey," he said as he leaned into her, a gentle hand on her back, getting her attention.

Y/N startled a bit but realized it was Andy and grinned, "'bout time! I was going to get started on yours without you." She nodded to the cold beer.  “I’m so sorry.” He shook his head, “I just got caught up.” "Well, you haven't stood me up yet, so I trusted you'd show." “And I did tell you 6:45 before. You know, on account of you being a cheeky little shit.” She rolled her eyes at him, "whatever." She smirked. He slid onto the stool next to her and took a long pull of his beer, damned it tasted good. He gave an appreciative sigh and turned to her. “So, do anything much this afternoon?” "I did absolutely nothing, well nothing of importance. Talked to my mom, did laundry, you know nothing exciting." “To be honest, sounds like a pretty good afternoon.” He chuckled. “Sometimes there’s nothing better than laying in front of the TV with no where you have to be.” "Cheers to that," she raised her glass to him. He clinked his with hers and returned the smile she had. The blues band that was set to play happy hour was starting to tune up and it gave Andy an idea. "What do you say we find a spot in the patio, little less noise." “Sounds good.” She nodded. Andy flagged the bartender down for another round to take with them. But before Y/N could pick up her glass, Andy took it for her and gestured with her head for her to go on in front. She looked a little surprised at his act of basic good manners, and not for the first time. He'd often seen her look at him in a similar way when he held doors open for her or helped her with her jacket. It made him wonder what kind of asshole Drysdale had been. But, then again, he got the impression it hadn’t been a particularly happy relationship to start. Not that it was any of his business, nor was he one to talk. The last seven months he’d been married to Laurie had been as strained as they'd ever got. They found a spot at a two top near the corner of the patio at the gate that separated it from the sidewalk. Andy waited for Y/N to sit before he set their glasses on the high top table and took his own seat. "So...much better," he leaned in across the table. "Love this place, but it's not always the best for conversation." “Yeah but it has a good atmosphere.” She smiled. “I like it. Not the type of place that-“ she stopped dead and took a deep breath. “Doesn’t matter.” He half smiled, "you know, I've been meaning to tell you, it's okay to talk to me about anything you want. No pressure, no strings. Just a friendly ear." She smiled. “I know, thanks. And the same goes for you too.” For the first time, an interesting silence came between them. They each sipped their drinks in an almost a mirrored like fashion and chuckled when through. "I think that's the first time we've ever not had something to say." Y/N shrugged. He nodded, and then she took a deep breath. “I was just gonna say its not the type of place Ransom would ever have taken me. He’d have thought it beneath him.” "I think that's the first time you've ever mentioned his name." He pointed out. "Yeah, I try not to. It's uh," he watched her as she struggled to start her story, playing nervously with the earring in her ear. "Complicated." He leaned on the table, his forearms crossed and supporting his weight. He wanted her to know she had his full attention. “Well, from what I know about him, which granted is only what I saw on the news or heard around Boston, he certainly enjoyed the finer things in life.” "That's one way of looking at." She chuckled dryly. "It wasn't an easy marriage, despite how short lived." "Well, I was with Laurie since law school and we still had our ups and downs. I don't think marriage is easy in general." Andy admitted. "I was with Ransom less than nine months before we got married. It, uh, lasted three weeks."

Andy paused, “okay, so granted Laurie and I were a whirlwind what with her falling pregnant so fast but... I’ll give you that one.” “A whirlwind?” She asked and Andy nodded. “Yeah, we hadn’t even been together a year when she got pregnant with Jake. Not gonna lie, I shit myself but...” he sighed, swallowing. “Well, he was worth it.” "I'm sure he was." She nodded. Andy cleared his throat. “He was a good kid, despite what he, well what he was accused of.” “I can’t even begin to imagine how that felt, for any of you.” She said gently. “Fucking shit.” He said bluntly. She blinked and then the pair of them laughed quietly. "I'm sorry, Andy. And I mean that in all sincerity." He sighed and gave a soft little smile. “Thanks. You know, for the most part it’s just happy memories. But then sometimes it’s hard...” he trailed off shaking his head, “but of course you’ll know that.” “Suppose so.” She shrugged. “I doubt our marriage was anything near as loving as yours. I, uh...well, Ransom was mentally abusive, very controlling. Getting married wasn't exactly what I'd wanted but, I felt trapped in a way." She paused as he listened intently. "I guess it's harder to explain than I thought." She bit her lip and then shook her head. “Then the asshole went and got himself killed.” "I hate that you had to witness that." She shrugged and her finger swiped at the condensation on the outside of her half empty beer glass. “It was a year ago today.” “Jesus fucking Christ.” Andy shook his head in shock as he took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry.” “I’m not.” She sighed. “And I know that probably sounds awful but... I don’t mourn him, I can’t. Not after everything. I’m just glad to be away and out of it. Fuck, that makes me sound like a really cold hearted bitch.” She scrunched her nose and chuckled a bit. Andy cocked his head to one side, studying her face which was, despite what she said, laced with sadness and he took a deep breath. There was more to her story than she was telling him, he could see that, but he had his own secrets too. And he found himself realising he didn’t care. Moving away post the accident that claimed Jake and later Laurie’s life had been a way for him to leave all that shit behind. And she was trying to do the same. “Okay, let’s make a deal.” He leaned forward. “No reverse gear. We look forward and not back, at least not at the hard stuff.” It took a moment for her to process it, and Andy watched her expression behind her eyes as he did so. Then she smiled, "deal." Andy smiled as she reached for her beer. He watched her pretty face as she drained her glass, setting it down in the table before she leaned towards him. “Have you eaten? Because I’ve suddenly got a hankering for something greasy and very bad for me.” “Sounds like someone I used to work with.” Andy shot before he could stop himself and Y/N threw her head back in a loud laugh. “Lawyers for you.” “Hey, not all of us are jerks.” He pouted and she shrugged. “Jury’s out.” She winked. At that Andy raised his brows, downed the rest of his pint and then stood up. “Something dirty and greasy that isn’t an attorney coming up, I’ll grab us a menu.” They each ordered a greasy, filthy cheeseburger with all the fixings and two smaller beers a piece to go with it. They moved their conversation away from their pasts and talked music as the band played some songs they were familiar with. Y/N finding the perfect moment to joke with Andy again about his age versus hers, despite it being maybe seven or eight years. Neither seemed to mind.  Again, when the bill came, Andy slapped his card down before Y/N even had a chance to grab her wallet, which caused him to laugh loudly at her pout. “You’ll just have to get it next time.” “Oh," she smirked, "so that’s your game? You paid, so I owe you a next time?” He shrugged. “Would that be such a bad thing?” She bit her lip and grinned with a shake of her head. “No, not really.” “Good, I’ll hold you to that. And, as a lawyer I feel obliged to tell you that’s a legally recognised verbal contract.” “Uh, I’m sure there’s a rule that a social agreement made between friends is done so without an intention of being enforceable.” Y/N shot back and Andy felt his mouth curl up on a little surprised smirk. “Therefore no intent, no legal comeback. Your move, Counselor.” He laughed and shook his head. “Nope, I got nothing.” “In that case, I call recess.” She grinned. “Oh faahk off with the legal puns!” Andy snorted and once more she laughed as they stood up, their night at an end. He walked behind Y/N with a gentle hand on her back as she weaved through the tables on the patio, eventually ending up on the sidewalk out front.

"Thanks, for breakfast, dinner, drinks," Y/N shook her head, feigning annoyance. Andy smirked, "thanks for meeting me. You're not walking home are you?" "I can, it's not far." She replied, folding her arms over her chest.

"Absolutely not, I'll take you," he nodded his head in the direction in which his car was. He gave a small wink when she accepted his offer. He held the door open for you as you slid into the passenger seat of his Audi TT. You quickly realized that this was the first time you'd been in his car and the very first time he would see your doorstep. However, the thought of both those things didn't bother you one bit. In fact, you found yourself more comfortable than you'd expected.

All in all the drive was no more than five minutes, and if he hadn’t been going that way already, you’d have felt like a complete fraud, but he assured you it was on his way.

You helped yourself out but Andy waited for you around the front hood and walked you to your doorstep, lit by the lantern porch light your Home Owners Association contract insisted be up. "So, this is me," you sighed. Andy had his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans and he rocked a little on his heels as he waited for you to open your front door. When you'd opened it, he scratched behind his neck and said, "so I'll see you Monday?" "Yeah," you agreed. He turned to go but you called out to him, "Hey, Andy?" He quickly turned back to you, his one foot on your stoop, the other the next step down, "yeah?" In a sudden moment of courage, you stood on your toes and placed a soft kiss to his cheek. His smooth cheek and the slightly rough yet softer than anticipated scratch of those dark whiskers, intermittent speckled with auburn, felt amazing against your lips. And fuck, did he smell amazing. Which you knew already from the tight and friendly hugs he'd seemed to start giving you. The first hit of his aftershave was always the same, dominated by a white-out of bergamot and pepper, a bright flash of sweet, dewy citrus that is both crisp and clean, underpinned by a freshness that was both light and gentle and completely different to the heavy sandalwood based fragrance you’d grown so used to. It was brief, but when you pulled back, you gave a content huff, “Huh.” “What?” He was clearly puzzled. “Your beard. It’s kinda soft.” “What? What the hell did you expect?” He laughed. “I dunno, maybe a toilet brush type bristle.” “You kiss a lot of toilet brushes Y/N?” “Try not to.” She winked. “Thanks again, Andy. I enjoyed today.” He chuckled and shook his head as he watched you turn back to your door and finally stepped inside your home. Before you closed the door, you turned back, noticing he was watching you go in. "Bye."

"Goodnight, Y/N."

**** Chapter 2

[fruitcoops]

Ok so what sbout remus/sirius being too sick to go to an away game so the other one has to go alone, and then tons of facetime conversations and "get well soon" videos from the team?

This is related to this fic about Remus and Finn bonding over terrible reporters--hope you enjoy! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove, and the Loops/ Talker bonding is for @lee-1012!

TW for illness

“You don’t look so good.” Remus frowned as he held the inside of his wrist against Sirius’ forehead. “And you definitely have a fever.”

“Non.” Sirius sat up on his elbows with a groan, then almost immediately flopped back down.

“Yes.” He leaned back on his heels and checked the clock—they had two hours before they had to be at the airport. “Baby, I don’t think you should—”

“ ‘m going.”

“It’s not a good—”

“Gotta go. Games.” Sirius cracked one glassy eye open. “Two weeks away. I’ll take the first couple days off.”

Remus sighed through his nose and brushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes. “You shouldn’t go on the plane if you’re sick. Not just for your sake, but for the rest of us. We don’t need everyone to come down with this.”

He received a halfhearted glare in response, but Sirius finally huffed and curled on his side to nuzzle against his thigh. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too, baby,” Remus said quietly, bending to kiss his temple. They hadn’t been apart for that long since before he was a player, nearly a year prior. Hell, he had never played a game without Sirius, let alone two weeks’ worth. “Lily will check on you, okay?”

Sirius mumbled an incoherent response and cuddled closer when he began combing his fingers through his hair. The second alarm beeped, loud against the quiet of their bedroom; time to go, he thought ruefully. Sirius touched his knee as he started to stand. “Love you. Be safe.”

“Love you more.”

“Love you most.”

“Go back to sleep,” Remus said as his heart clenched. “I’ll let Coach know what happened, but you’ve got to rest and take care of yourself. Hydrate or die-drate, yeah?”

“Yeah. Love you.”

“Sleep,” he repeated, kissing his forehead once more before hauling himself out of bed and tucking the covers around Sirius’ shoulders. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

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

The clouds were a soft, pastel pink around them as the sun rose—Sirius’ favorite. If his phone was correct, Lily would be there soon to let Hattie out and make sure Sirius wasn’t pushing himself too hard. The thought brought Remus a bit of relief, but not enough to quell his concern.

Talker poked his forearm, snapping him from his reverie. “What’s going on?”

“Just worrying.”

“About Cap?”

Remus waved a hand vaguely. “And Hattie, and Lily, and whether he’s got a cold or something worse. Feels weird being here without him.”

Talker hummed his agreement and offered one of his earbuds. “Want to listen to half of Bohemian Rhapsody with me? It’ll give you five minutes and 55 seconds of relative peace.”

“It’s too quiet,” James groaned just before he pressed ‘play’.

Across the aisle, Remus saw Kasey roll his eyes. “Your husband is sick, dude, not dead. He doesn’t talk to you on planes anyway.”

“It’s the principle of the thing, Bliz.”

“Oh my god,” Kasey muttered under his breath, securing his headphones tightly over his ears.

James let his head flop to the side with a baleful look. “Loops, you’re on my side, right?”

“I’ve got you, buddy,” he assured him. Talker stifled a laugh, and the opening chords began as more clouds rolled past. Remus let himself drift with them, taking deep breaths to soothe his worries; Sirius would be fine. He had the sniffles, or at worst the flu, and he would be join them for the second week in top form. There was nothing to worry about.

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

“He’s got pneumonia,” Lily sighed.

“He what?”

“A mild case, but the doctor said it would take a week of antibiotics and rest before he’s close to a hundred percent. No hockey for about a month, too.”

Remus stared at the wall of his empty hotel room, lost for words. “Well, fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck.”

“Pretty m—absolutely not, go lay down.” There was a rustling noise and two grumbling voices. “Sorry about that.”

“Will you put me on speaker real quick?” Remus asked, pinching the bridge of his nose until he heard a faint click. “Sirius? You there?”

“Yes! I miss you, and I was just going to tell you that it’s really not that—”

“Please sit your ass down. Lily, if he tries to fuck around and find out exactly how nasty pneumonia is, you have full permission to sit on him. I miss you too, love,” he added after a short pause.

“He’s blowing you a kiss,” Lily informed him. “Oh, and he’s giving me the puppy eyes.”

“Resist if you can. Love you both. Give Hattie lots of cuddles from me.”

“We will,” she promised.

The second the call ended, Remus groaned aloud and thumped his head against the wall before padding down the hall. Just my fucking luck. The door swung open after the second knock; Arthur’s face fell. “How bad is it?”

“Mild pneumonia.”

“Fuck.”

“Yep. Doctor said he’d be out for a month.”

Arthur rubbed his eyes and nodded, motioning Remus back towards his own room. “Get some rest, then. I’ll let everyone know in the morning. Any idea how he got it?”

“Not a clue.”

“Thanks for the update, Loops. Sleep tight.”

“I will,” Remus lied as he headed back for a sleepless night between cold sheets.

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

Lily sent updates every few hours; most reported that Sirius was sleeping well and looking better with each passing day, but Remus couldn’t help but feel overwhelmingly guilty. If something happened while he was hundreds of miles away, he would never forgive himself. He had sworn in front of their closest friends and family to be there in sickness and in health—what kind of husband ditches their partner for one of a million roadies?

This one. He stabbed a piece of broccoli and shoved it in his mouth. And then he goes and makes an idiot of himself for the world to see.

The interview was supposed to be easy, but he couldn’t let it roll off anymore. Not when he couldn’t answer their questions even when he wanted to, not when he was states away from the love of his life while he was sick, not when he felt helpless and shoved aside in every current aspect of his life.

“So.” The chair next to him creaked as Talker planted his full weight in it and set his plate decisively on the table.

“What.”

“Oh, pissy Loops. Haven’t seen you in a while. Talked to Cap yet?”

“Yeah.” Another piece of broccoli fell victim to his frustration.

“How’s he sound?”

“Better.”

“Sweet.” Talker continued to munch away on his dinner. “Anyone ever told you that you have the general disposition of a wet cat when you’re upset?”

Remus tried and failed to keep down a smile. “I seem to recall you bringing it up on occasion, yes.”

His dark eyes softened and he bumped their elbows together. “He’ll be okay.”

“I know.”

“Really, Loops. Cap’s going to be just fine. Lily doesn’t sugar-coat this kind of stuff, and he’s a tough guy. Mild pneumonia doesn’t stand a chance. Besides, we’ve only got four days left and we need you to kick some ass out there.”

If Remus was a little more emotionally vulnerable, he would’ve burst into tears. Instead, he settled for leaning his temple against Talker’s with a quiet ‘thanks’ and allowed himself to be pulled into a side hug. Across the dining hall, Finn shot him a thumbs-up and a wink. “Love you, man.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Talker teased. “The internet is already coming to your aid, you know.”

“About…?”

“Not only have those asshole reporters become a new meme, you’ve also got a shit ton of people bringing up past mistreatment of athletes in the press room. You’re the face of a revolution, Loops.”

“I’ve been the face of too many revolutions for one person,” he groused, not even bothering to duck out of the way when Talker ruffled his hair.

“Well, one more won’t kill you.”

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

Remus’ heart raced as he stepped off the plane. The logical part of him knew that Sirius would be waiting outside the security gate, but everything else screamed to see him now, now, right now so he could be sure he was alright. At least he had sounded healthier on the phone the night before—Remus wasn’t sure what he would do otherwise.

“Deep breaths,” James reminded him as they walked toward the baggage claim. “I’m sure he’s—”

An excited shout broke through the thick crowds. Remus’ heart skipped a beat, and then he was running, racing through the people that parted for him as his vision tunneled. His carry-on hit the ground with a low thud that he hardly heard as Sirius lifted him straight off the ground and held him tight.

“I love you,” Remus said immediately, locking his ankles around Sirius’ lower back and squeezing his eyes shut. “Are you okay?”

In lieu of a response, Sirius pulled back and kissed him, cradling one side of his face in his warm, warm hand. Two weeks may as well have been an eternity. He broke away after a moment, searching his face for any signs of illness or pain. “I’m fine,” Sirius said softly, as if he could read his mind. “I promise. A little tired and sore, but there’s no lasting damage.”

“Don’t do that again,” Remus said into the side of his neck as he hugged him close. He smelled like home. “Not when I have to leave.”

Sirius’ arms were steady around his back. “I won’t.”

“I’m going to grill you on everything as soon as we get home.”

“I know.”

“But right now, I’m just going to hug you because I missed you and I worried myself into a hole, like, every night.”

He could feel Sirius’ smile against his shoulder. “I know.”

[jeongvision]

unconditional love

synopsis. if you were to ask yourself, ‘when did you realize that you were in love with lee jeno?’, you wouldn’t know how to respond. in fact, there was never a moment where you weren’t in love with him. but what happens when he asks you the same question? you might have to take a rain check, literally.

pairing. best friend! lee jeno ✗ fem! reader

genre. fluff, humor, childhood friends au, friends to lovers au

word count. 1.6k

warnings. none! but highkey though this made me fall in love with jeno :(

song. walking in the rain by chancellor & younha

author’s note. happy birthday @sehunniepotwrites​!​ not sure if this is fluffy enough for you but hope you enjoy this lil blurb! cheers to another one of your milestones and many more in life!

ps. there are two lines in this fic that are from a poem written by e.e. cummings! not going to say which ones or the title of the poem bc it might spoil future plans i have oop

You were one of the few fortunate people on the planet to still be friends with someone from your childhood. To have so many worthwhile memories shared with someone must be cherished at all cost. And many times were you afraid that Jeno might get tired of being friends with you, but being the ethereal person he is, he casted all your worries away and assured you that he had no plans on leaving you any time soon.

And perhaps somewhere down the line, the love you had for him went far beyond what people would label as ‘friendship,’ and dared enough to say, you were in love with him. If a stranger were to describe how you looked whenever you were with him, many would describe you to be enamored.

And if you happened to be enamored for your childhood friend, then so be it.

You fear no fate, for he is your fate, your sweet.

“Can I ask you something, y/n?”

Currently, you two are sat outside of a café near your home: 7 Dreams. It was a beautiful day out, the sun warming the air around you, flutters of clouds scattered throughout the blue sky. You expressed your desires to Jeno earlier that you wanted to sit out on the tables they placed outside their shop. It has been a little chilly from the past few days with occasional rain showers here and there, and you want nothing more than to relish in the warm weather after days of being forced into the solitude of your home.

“Sure. What is it?”

But before you could take a sip of your green tea latte, you’re thrown off by his question.

“When did you first fall in love with me?”

Your fingers stilled at the ceramic handle of your mug. You didn’t know what brought that question to the latter’s mind. Granted, you two have had your fair shares of flirtations and courtship, but never acted beyond past it. It was all done with jest, as you two would put it. You could easily lie to him, saying that you only saw him as a friend, but never to yourself; your heart betrays you with palpitations and inclinations for your best friend from just the mere thought of him.

You forced a stoic expression on your face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He huffs out a breath from your response.

“Y/n, there’s no point in trying to hide it. I’ve known you for almost my whole life, so I know when you’re lying to me. The look you give me is different from how you looked at Johnny when you two were together.”

A snort escapes from your lips.

“And what does my ex have to do with this?” You could see a teasing grin poke through his demeanor, prompting an eye roll from you.

“So you admit that you do look at me differently then.”

“No, Jeno, I am not admitting to anything. And even if I did look at you differently, how would you know if I was in love with you?”

“Because you would’ve denied it by now. And right now, you’re just stepping around the question.”

You squint your eyes a little, to which Jeno does the same back.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy now? How about when I asked you for the name of the person you liked a couple years back?”

And so, his eyebrows rise a little at your bold question, head tilted a little to the side.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he counters.

You couldn’t help but let out an incredulous laugh, your head shaking from disbelief.

“Oh, don’t fake naivety, Jeno. Senior prom, when we were each other’s date because you ‘didn’t receive any prom-posals from anyone’, when I knew fully well that you received many of them from both guys AND girls. You just denied them all.”

You could clearly play the memory out in the back of your head, a movie projector showcasing your youthful-self slow dancing with a bashful Jeno in the middle of the dance floor, your arms wrapped his neck and his hands on your waist. Both of your feet moved in sync with one another, eyes searching within the depths of each other’s soul, oblivious of the whispers and stares around you that spoke nothing short but envy for the sight that laid before them is one worth capturing.

“We were dancing to Hearts Don’t Break Around Here. You know, the one by Ed Sheeran?” you followed.

His smile grows fond at the memory of it.

“Oh, we’re in love, aren’t we?”

“Jeno!” You give a light slap on his forearm and he laughs at your response. “Now is not the time to start saying song lyrics!”

It’s a wonder how you managed to last this long from professing your feelings out to him. You two did almost everything together and experienced many firsts together. First road trip together, first beach date together - you even experienced your first pet purchase together. So what’s stopping you from confessing to him?

“Look, what I’m trying to say is that I have a feeling that you’re in love with me,” you said.

There’s a glint in his eyes filled with mirth.

“And how can you be so sure?”

“Because of the way you look at me?”

“And it’s the same way as how you look at me?”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure.”

“So you admit that you’re in love with me.”

Before you could continue on with your playful banter, you stopped yourself short. You take a moment to process his words in. Wait, did he just? Your words get caught in your throat. Did he just admit that he feels the same way towards me?

He notices your shock and uses this moment to his advantage to continue on, each word laced with certainty.

“If you’re saying that the way you look at me is the same as how I look at you, then that means that you are in love with me, because I don’t know how else to say that I am very much in love with you, y/n.”

Heat resonates all throughout your body. Your heart beats erratically and you’re at loss of words. Flustered you are, but who wouldn’t be? For years, you’ve pinned after your best friend, hoping for the day to come where he reciprocates your feelings. You had an inkling that he had some sort of romantic feelings for you as he always seemed to reject everyone’s relationship proposal, justifying his reasoning to be that there’s already someone he likes.

“Who is it?”

“An angel.”

“What’s their name?”

“Something pretty.”

“Jeno.”

“Y/n.”

And you just drop the conversation like that, frustrated by his vague answers. But nevertheless, you could never get tired of him. Something about him gravitates you towards him, the feelings you’ve harbored in secrecy burning brighter than ever whenever you’re by his side. He’s not perfect, but to you, he’s the best thing to appear in your life. From the crinkling of his eyes to the sweet smiles of his lips to the red tint of his neck and ears.

You want no world, for he is your entire world, your true.

“Look, it’s raining.”

Breaking out of your reverie, you look up to Jeno to see him peering out on the streets. You follow suit to see raindrops falling onto the pavement. It slowly gains momentum, growing heavier and louder with each passing second. Fortunately, you two are shielded from the rain with the veranda attached to the cafe. The sun peaks through the crevices of the clouds, still lighting the world around you with a subtle rainbow blossoming up into the spring sky.

You hear Jeno let out a laugh, bringing your attention back to him. There’s a wistful smile on his face when he asks you, “Remember when we were little, we would always run out in the rain on the concrete and just jump around? Pretend that we were in some kind of movie?”

You mirror his expression, your mind replaying a distant memory you shared with him.

“Our parents would always yell at us for that, saying we’ll get sick if we don’t stop.”

Your gaze trails back out onto the pavements. Then, you felt an itch in your fingers, an itch in your feet. Not literally, but you have this sudden urge to move. To dance. To celebrate. To relive those moments once more.

It’s almost as if the stars were aligned at that moment and heard your wishes, because you see Jeno get up from his seat and take a step forward and immerse himself out into the rain. His entire figure instantly gets drenched from the falling raindrops, not caring for a single second that he might catch a cold from his actions. Before you could call out to him, he looks back at you with a grin, and perhaps it might be your most favorite accessory he wears on himself.

He offers his hand out to you.

“May I have this dance, ma chérie?”

You’re taken back to the same distant memory again. Every single time, without fail, young Jeno would always ask for your hand to dance with him under the rain, to which you would always oblige with, “Well, of course mon cher.” But this time, you decide to switch it up a little.

You stand up from your seat and step closer to your best friend, a push away from falling victim to the rain with him. Your pupil flourishes with adoration for the man that stands before you.

“Only if you hold onto my hand, mon cher.”

He raises an eyebrow at your proposition. Amused he is, for there is a sliver of smirk adorned on his lips.

“Is that a threat, ma chérie?”

If Jeno were to ask you again when you first fell in love with him...

“It’s an invitation, mon cher.”

… you would say that you were always in love with him.

“If it’s like that, then I’d never let you go.”

[mojjisxng]

hold me like you wanna | sunghoon x reader

genre- angst, fluff, sort of enemies to lovers

warnings- a single curse word lmao, angst (themes of self hatred)

word count- 1.3k+

no capital letters intended

a/n- I FINALLY DID IIIIT!!! writer’s block has really been fucking me up lately, so i’m proud that i’ve actually done this. it’s probably a little short and won’t be very good, but i’m not angry with it. this scenario is based off of the song ��hold me like you wanna’ by somebody’s child. i put in some of the lyrics throughout (but they’re not i order). i hope you enjoy it 🥺

- issy💕

[9:35pm]

just another normal wednesday evening at dance practice, you know except the fact that i was crying over- no, having a mental breakdown over the boy i both hated and loved the most. park sunghoon. you see, i’ve had a huge crush on him for so many years, but he’s always been so unreachable due to being the most popular boy in school. his utter perfection really began to peeve me and i let all my frustration and insecurity build up. well, up until we had to work on a school project together anyway; that’s when i totally messed everything up, even though i never realised it in the moment. i was so horrible to him while we were working together, making snide comments here and there. this became a regular thing between us both; it had gotten so bad that we had become the worst of enemies. despite all of this, i could no longer pretend and broke down, alone in that practice room.

You're acting like a kid

“why are you crying, dumbass? you look like a stupid little kid who dropped their ice cream.”

i snapped out of my reverie and glanced towards the source of the voice that i know all too well, tears still streaming down my face.

“oh shit- you’re CRYING crying. what’s wrong?”

“you wouldn’t understand,” i retorted.

“try me.”

And you tried your best, and you don't succeed

and that’s when the dam broke and all my twisted up emotions started to unravel and overflow; “i just hate feelings things, all right! i can’t stand feeling so insecure about myself and how i can’t match up to everyone else. even though i try my best with everything, i’m not pretty enough, not loud enough, not smart enough and not even kind enough to ever be loved by anyone; and i hate myself so much for it!” at this point, i was yelling, more in frustration at myself than sunghoon, my face was wet with bucket loads of tears and my fists were clenched too.

I don't want you to feel like I did so...

sunghoon’s soft voice brought me back down to earth, “hey hey just breathe okay, it’ll help you calm down.”

“why are you even being nice to me sunghoon, have you forgotten that you hate me?”

“i don’t hate you y/n, and you’re struggling right now, i don’t want to see you like this, even though you really piss me off,” he remarked as he sank down against the wall. i was trying to process what sunghoon had just said, when he solemnly added “come here.” i tentatively shuffled over to him, apprehensive of what he was going to do. was he going to shout at me, hurt me, laugh at me- oh, he just pulled me to sit in between his legs. all of my muscles froze because i was so shocked at his newfound tenderness. he clearly noticed how tense i was, as he rubbed a hand on my back and explained himself, “i just want to comfort you or whatever because you just sound so broken. it’s weirding me out, you never act like this. what’s wrong y/n, tell me. like were you rejected or something?”

i absolutely could not tell sunghoon the truth because he’d just despise me even more, so i had to vaguely tip-toe around what i truly wanted to say to him.

“no, not exactly. i’m just feeling a lot of things right now. one of those feelings should be something positive, well it usually is for other people anyway. but for me, it’s not an exciting emotion; it just brings me pain everyday. as it consumes me, it makes me feel nauseous and anxious without fail, yet it will only bring more harm if i act on it. it’s just another thing in life that i’m failing miserably at. i just want to give up, i feel too inadequate for anything good to happen to me,” i lamented, in total dejection, as my silent tears dropped onto the wood floor.

You don't have to say anything

the air was still between me and sunghoon for a beat too long, so i looked up, only to be met with a glassy-eyed sunghoon staring at me in pity. “y/n, stop! don’t say things like that; you’re breaking my heart. i loathe that you can say thing like that about yourself. you’re more than what you say you are, even i know that.”

“why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden? keep being vicious to me, that’s all i’m worthy of. i don’t deserve true happiness because i’m just a bitter and lonely girl, who takes out her own insecurities on other people!” my body was shaking as i cried and i could not look at sunghoon, it was too humiliating.

but even after the lifetime of self doubt that i held inside spilling out, sunghoon only gently tugged me closer to him, so that i was curled against his chest. he then asserted with utmost confidence, “you deserve the world y/n, actually no, you deserve the whole universe. i know you don’t believe me, probably because you don’t seem to like me very much, but i like you. i like you a lot. so when you started to act negatively around me, i was extremely upset so i reciprocated the malicious behaviour. but hey, it never stopped me from liking you and it sucks that i caused you so much inner conflict. my god this is so embarrassing.”

to say i was gob-smacked would be a complete understatement. the knowledge that he actually liked me, whether i believed it or not, made me feel even more guilty so i started to divulge the truth, “no no no you can’t possibly like me, you’re too good for me, like totally out of my league. oh god oh god OH GOD i’m such a mess...the only reason i started being mean to you was because your perfection irked me so much, that it made me enraged at you. i didn’t want to feel so defeated, so i made an enemy of you instead.”

“oh y/n, you were never one for being up front and simple,” sunghoon chuckled, “but at least we both know that our feelings are mutual.” he didn’t even give me a chance to answer, as he caressed my cheek with one hand, and placed the other on the back of my neck to pull my face closer to his, taking my breath away. he closed the gap between us, moving his plush lips against mine. when i realised what was actually happening, i returned the kiss. however, all good things have to end, and let me tell you, the kiss felt like it ended just as fast as it had started.

we fell deep into each other’s eyes, dumb smiles etched onto our faces and a blush painted onto our cheeks. i was the first one to break the silence this time around, “so ummm sunghoon, i know we got off to a rocky start, but would you be willing to give us a go? what i’m trying to say is, do you want to go on a date with me tomorrow, to ummm that popular café down the street o-or s-something?”

“there’s no other way i’d want to spend tomorrow,” sunghoon affirmed, “but right now all i want to do is stay right here with you in my arms and make up for lost time.”

Just hold me like you wanna

[marvelyningreen]

Linger

[Summary: You’d always struggled with your mutant abilities. Now, as doubts and frustrations weigh on your mind, you find encouragement from both a friend, and from a mentor.

Warnings: mild language

Notes: Peter Maximoff x reader, featuring Professor Xavier for platonic reassurance (because the world can always use more platonic fluff.) Set in a corner of the multiverse where the X-Men reboot timeline is happening largely as in canon, but the Dark Phoenix storyline isn’t. ]

You shut your eyes tightly. Focus, focus…

           With every fiber of your being tensed in concentration, you have to remind yourself to breathe. You should be able to do this.

           For a moment – for the briefest instant - you think you feel a lightening in your heels. But that realization breaks your concentration. With a sudden jerk – like the falling sensation that comes when you’re about to fall asleep – your heels thud back into the ground.

           You swear quietly under your breath, grateful that everyone else is busy with class at the moment, meaning they won’t see you out in the gardens. It’s enough of an embarrassment to be struggling like this without the added pressure of an audience. You’d better take a break, though, before you burst a blood vessel or something.

           You don’t even have a chance to register the impossibly fast breeze that shoots by you before you hear a familiar voice say:

           “Whatcha doin’?”

           And it nearly makes you jump out of your skin, just like every time.

           “Cripes, Peter!” you gasp, “You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

           Peter’s grin turns a little sheepish, and he shoves his hands in his pockets.

           “Sorry,” he says. “Hang on, let me try again.”

           And then he’s disappeared, and you hear the measured sound of footsteps on the paved pathway. A few seconds later, Peter strolls casually into view around the corner of the hedgerow. He pauses, spreading his arms and tilting his head slightly.

           “That better?”

           You can’t help but laugh. Somehow, even his sarcasm seems cheerful. You feel bad for being short with him, even if you were startled.

           “I’m sorry,” you say, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I was just lost in thought, and you caught me off-guard.”

           “I’ll say. But my original question stands. What are you doing out here?”

           Even when he’s intentionally slowing himself down, Peter still talks quite fast. When you’d first met him, it’d take you a second to process what he’d said. These days, it’s easier for you to keep pace – at least with his conversation.

           “You’re asking me, the groundskeeper, what I’m doing out on the grounds?”

           You give him a wry smile, hoping the answer will throw him off track. You’re not sure you want to discuss your current state of mind with anyone, and especially not Peter Maximoff. You blink, and he’s standing much closer than before.

           “That’d be a fair answer,” he says, “Except for the fact that you forgot to turn the lights off in the cottage before you left, and you only do that when something’s bugging you.”

           Your brows furrow. “Did you just-?”

           “Nah.” Peter shakes his head. “I didn’t know where you were, so I swung by the cottage first. And you weren’t there, and you weren’t in the mansion, so I came looking for you out here.”

           You immediately seize on the opportunity to change the subject.

           “You were looking for me? Why, do you need something?”

           “Nope. I was just bored. But you’re out here looking like somebody took a hedge-trimmer to your rosebushes. What’s got you so frustrated?”

           He’s looking keenly at you with those big dark eyes of his, and you feel your resolve start to weaken. You turn away, trying not to make it obvious that you’re avoiding his gaze.

           “Don’t worry about it,” you say. “It’s nothing.”

           He’s right beside you now, and he nudges your shoulder teasingly.

           “Come on, talk to me. What’s going on?”

           “Peter…”

           He nudges you again. “You’ll feel better if you talk about it.”

           His wheedling is unfairly effective.

           “I was trying to-”

But then you clam up. It’ll sound silly to say it out loud, especially considering your lack of success. Peter waits a moment, watching you expectantly.

“You were trying to…?” he repeats, when it becomes clear that you aren’t going to continue.

You know you can trust Peter. He might be inclined to use his powers for pranks, but he’s not the sort of person who’d mock you for your shortcomings. And he wouldn’t keep asking if he didn’t actually care to hear the answer. You sigh, gritting your teeth.

“I was trying to levitate,” you mutter.

Peter lets out an impressed whistle. “Levitation, huh? You’re swinging for the fences.”

“I’m telekinetic,” you say. “Logically speaking, if I telekinetically push against the ground, it should push me into the air. I mean, Mr. Lehnsherr can make himself levitate while only being able to control metal, right? I should be able to do this.”

Hank would be quick to point out that Mr. Lehnsherr is able to levitate by manipulating the earth’s magnetic field rather than by manipulating metal itself, but that’s hardly the point. And-

And now Peter’s laughing. You cross your arms, nonplussed.

“It’s not funny!”

“No, I know,” he says, “I’m not laughing at that. What’s funny is hearing you call him ‘Mr. Lehnsherr.’ Why do you always do that?”

“It’s not like I go around calling the professor ‘Charles,’” you argue. You feel a little disrespectful even saying it hypothetically.

           “Well, sure. ‘Professor’ is his title. But you don’t call Hank ‘Mr. McCoy.’”

           “That’s different,” you protest. “I can’t call my best friend’s dad by his first name. It’d be too weird!”

           There’s a second of silence as you both process what you’d just said.

           Sure, Peter is your closest friend, but you’d never said it in so many words. Did it sound silly? Did it make things weird? Well, it’s too late to take it back now. Peter grins at you, and he speaks before you can try to backpedal.

           “Alright, then as your best friend, I’m gonna give you some advice. You know what your problem is?” he says, wagging a finger at you. “You get stuck in your head and psych yourself out all the time. Here – I got an idea.”

           Peter reaches down to the Discman clipped to his belt and presses play, then skips ahead a few tracks. He settles one of his ever-present headphones onto his ear, and offers the other to you.

           You hesitate.

           “I’m going somewhere with this. I promise,” he says. He raises his eyebrows inquiringly, and extends his hand again.

           Peter smiles as you finally take the headphone and place it over your ear.

           “Now,” he says, “Just take a second and listen. Relax. Breathe.”

           Well, he might know what he’s talking about. You’ve noticed that live music is one of the few things that can get him to voluntarily stay in one place. You exhale, closing your eyes.

 ‘You got me wrapped around your finger,

Do you have to let it linger?

Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?’

             You’d first met Peter a few weeks after you’d started working here at the school. One morning, this silver-haired young man with pretty, dark eyes and a charming grin had appeared at your door, introducing himself as Peter Maximoff.

           That in itself wasn’t strange. You hadn’t gone more than a day without someone stopping by the cottage to check on you, or just to talk. You were never certain, but you had a hunch those visits were at the behest of Professor Xavier.

           Peter, on the other hand? You’re pretty sure his visit was prompted by the scent of freshly baked strawberry pie emanating from the cottage’s tiny kitchen.

Peter was one of your most frequent visitors after that. He’s always happy to taste-test any and all baked goods you’d whip up. He’s good company, and easy to talk to. And if there are days that you don’t feel much like talking yourself, he’s easy to listen to.

Drifting back out of your reverie, you open your eyes to see Peter watching you. He smiles.

“Little better?”

You nod.

“Yeah,” you say, quietly. “Thanks. It’s just… I’m so bad at this.”

           Peter frowns, confused. “Bad at what?”

           “This. All of it.” You gesture vaguely at your hands, and then at yourself, trying to indicate your own mutant abilities. “People hear I work at Xavier’s school, and they expect me to be like the Professor, or like Jean, or you.”

           “Huh. Not seeing the common thread there. What do you mean, like me?”

           “Like… Well, you know – exceptional. Important. But I’m not, and I never have been. You can do such incredible things, and I struggle more than half of the students. Maybe I shouldn’t have come here. Maybe I’d be better off back out there, pretending to be normal, instead of here, pretending that I belong.”

           Peter’s face had lit up for a moment at hearing you call him exceptional, but the smile faded as you’d gone on. Now he looks frustrated, and almost sad, but he quickly straightens up and looks you earnestly in the eyes.

           “So you’re not as powerful as Jean or the professor. So what? That doesn’t mean you’ll never get any stronger than you are now. And if you wanna talk about me, well,” Peter scoffs and spreads his arms self-deprecatingly, “I started out as a punk-ass shoplifter.”

           You laugh involuntarily. He’s so blunt and matter-of-fact about it that you can’t help it. Peter seems to take your reaction as encouragement.

           “And then I met the professor, and Hank, and Mystique,” he says. “And I came here. Look how much has changed for me since then.”

           You shake your head. “That’s different.”

           Peter cuts you off.

           “Listen,” he says. He steps closer, taking your hands in his. “Of course it’s different. You’re not me, and I’m not you. But don’t think for a second that you don’t belong here, because you do. And I… I want you to stay.”

Still moving at a normal pace – which seems oddly slow for him – Peter reaches up and gently brushes your hair behind your ear.

As his hand lingers, you lean your head against it ever so slightly before you realize what you’re doing. Peter hesitates for a second, and then that grin of his returns.

Slowly, still, he steps closer to you again, wrapping an arm around your waist, leaning in until his face is an inch from yours. He pauses.

“May I?”

“Yes,” you say, breathless.

And then he pulls you close, and your hand settles against the nape of his neck, resting against his soft silver hair, and all you can think is how long you’d been wishing that he’d kiss you. But Peter is a flirt with everyone, right? It’s part of his charm. You didn’t want to let yourself think that you were special to him at all.

But here he is – seeking out your company, kissing you in the gardens like the silly romantic that he is – and just for a moment it seems like everything else is drifting away.

Peter pulls back slowly.

“See, what’d I tell you? The second you stop psyching yourself out, you’re a natural.” Peter grins in response to your puzzled expression. “Just, y’know, don’t look down.”

“What do you mean, don’t l-”

And at this moment you realize that your feet aren’t touching the ground anymore. You’re floating, effortlessly, ten feet in the air with Peter in your arms.

Your heart lurches in an instant of panic, but between the music in your ear and Peter leaning in for a second kiss, you don’t lose control.

In fact, you find that you’ve gained it. In your mind, you press down experimentally, lifting the pair of you a foot or two higher, before gently lowering yourself down until you’re once again standing on the ground.

Peter opens his mouth to speak, and then seems to catch sight of something behind you.

“Oh, hey, Professor,” he says. “How long have you been there?”

Peter manages to keep an arm wrapped casually around your shoulders you whirl around to see Professor Xavier at the end of the hedgerow, watching you with an amused expression.

“Not long,” he says.

Damn it, you can feel your face going beet red. Peter coughs awkwardly, hurrying on to answer a question the professor hadn’t asked.

“We were just doing some, uh…” he catches your eye for a second, “Tutoring.”

You fight the urge to facepalm. Why couldn’t you have invisibility powers instead?

“A unique approach,” says the professor. “Peter, aren’t you supposed to be assisting with a chemistry lecture this afternoon?”

Peter grins.

“What, are you worried that I’m gonna be late? Me?” He leans back in to give you a peck on the cheek. “Bye.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you alone with Professor Xavier. You’re scrambling to figure out how best to politely make your exit when the professor speaks.

           “It’s lovely weather out here,” he says. “Why don’t you walk with me for a bit?”

“Well, I… Uh… Okay.”

You fall in step beside his wheelchair, and the two of you go in silence.

Forget invisibility. At this moment, you wish that you were telepathic. That way, you’d be able to block the professor from experiencing the secondhand awkwardness of your flustered thoughts.

           As you’re stewing, you hear him chuckle.

“I run a school full of teenagers, you know,” he says. “That was hardly a shocking tryst.”

That’s a fair point.

“It’s also hardly the sort of thing you want your boss to walk in on,” you say.  Though the initial embarrassment has faded, you still feel a little nervous.

You’ve always been a bit in awe of Professor Xavier. He’s a kind man, and he has a knack for putting people at ease. But part of you worries about your lack of progress, and the possibility that others might think it reflects badly on him. You don’t want to disappoint him like that.

“I imagine you wonder, sometimes,” says the professor at length, “Why I don’t just use my own abilities to unlock yours.”

Your silence speaks volumes. He’s not wrong, but you don’t want to admit to it in so many words. The professor smiles faintly, and continues.

“I’ve seen what happens when someone unlocks the full extent of a mutant’s abilities in an instant. The results are… unpleasant.”

You don’t have to be psychic to know what he’s referring to. Four years ago, in Cairo, a being that the news had dubbed Apocalypse and his four power-enhanced lackeys nearly destroyed human civilization. It’s not surprising that the professor would be leery of using such tactics himself, and you know he’s right.

“And even if that wasn’t the case,” he says, “I’d be taking away your opportunity to grow into them on your own. And with that, there’s a risk that you might never fully understand and appreciate them, or yourself.”

           You know he’s right, again, but it doesn’t reassure you very much.

           “To be honest, Professor,” you say, “I don’t think I’ve grown at all so far. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. Maybe I’m too old to start learning these things.”

“Nonsense.” The professor’s tone is a little stern, but still gentle. “You know, in many ways, you’re very much the opposite of someone like myself. While I was overwhelmed by powers I couldn’t control, you struggle to access a power that constantly eludes you. You know it’s there, just out of reach – like words to a song you can’t quite remember.”

           You sigh, turning your gaze to the ground. This is something you hardly need to be reminded of. Still, it’s a little bit reassuring that he can understand it without you having to fumble around trying to explain it. But what he says next catches you off-guard.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I’ve been neglecting you.”

           Surprised, you look over at the professor. His brows are furrowed, and there’s something like regret in his eyes. You hurry to contradict him.

           “You haven’t!” you say. “You’ve got so many things to worry about already. If it’s not a crisis, it’s a catastrophe – and running the school on top of that? That all takes precedence; I understand that.”

           You understand, and you don’t mind. Much. The professor shakes his head.

           “It’s been relatively peaceful here for some time. You’re not a child, but you’re still my student, and I’ve neglected to see to your training. For that, you must let me apologize, and let me promise to make up for lost time. But in return, I’d like you to promise me something, as well.”

“Of course,” you say, mystified, “But… promise you what, exactly?”

“This school isn’t simply a place of academic learning,” he says. “It’s a place for people like us to find one another. Though our lives and experiences may be different, we give ourselves the chance to connect with each other, to learn from each other.”

           You’re starting to get his drift. “So… I’ve been neglecting my studies on that front, is that right?”

           The professor nods, but you don’t see disappointment in his expression – merely patience.

           “You have,” he says. “You believe that you’re weak, and because you’re ashamed of that weakness, you hide away and keep to yourself, but that only discourages you more. But if you stop running from yourself – if you were to reach back when someone reaches out to you…”

           “You mean, like… with Peter? Just now?” You sound silly even to your own ears. Your awkwardness seems to amuse the professor.

           “I don’t mean that exact method, specifically,” he says, biting back a smile, “But, yes. Perhaps a friendship like his is exactly the encouragement you need.”

           You fall silent again, considering this. It’s true; you haven’t mentioned your doubts and frustrations to anyone before now. You’d honestly expected to feel worse about opening up to someone, to feel the need to double-down on your self-sufficient attitude to compensate for any vulnerability.

           But you don’t feel that way. You’re still a little hesitant, sure, and you don’t expect that’s going to go away anytime soon. Still… this wasn’t the catastrophic moment of failure you’d anticipated. Peter didn’t laugh at you, or dismiss your feelings. He stuck by you and tried to help. You hadn’t expected that. It’s nice.

“I know you feel that you should be doing more,” says the professor, “But you must understand, what we’re working towards is a time when mutants don’t have to justify their existence through acts of dangerous heroism. What I hope for is a time when our kind is free to simply exist, using our skills to better our communities, our world, and ourselves, just like any other human being.”

You’re not sure how to describe it, but sometimes there’s something about the professor that’s so reassuringly, resolutely hopeful that it makes everything seem a little less dire.

“I know,” you say, smiling faintly, “But I still do want to help.”

“You are helping,” he insists, “Or haven’t you noticed how more and more students come out to the gardens to study?”

Come to think of it, you have noticed that. When you’d started working here, you could go weeks without seeing a soul outside, and now the garden is almost a more popular destination than the library.

“See, I knew it was a good idea to update the patio furniture,” you say. “Those old iron chairs are beautiful, but so uncomfortable to sit on for more than ten minutes at a-”

You break off, looking curiously at the professor, who’s smiling as he shakes his head.

“They don’t come out here for the furniture. They come out here to see you.”

You blink, surprised. That can’t be right. Or…

You think back to your first year working at the school. The students would gather on the grassy areas of the grounds, but generally not in the gardens themselves. You figured this had something to do with the rather austere layout and, after getting the professor’s blessing, you began incorporating more cottage-garden style flowers. It’d brightened the place up considerably.

One afternoon, as you were hauling wheelbarrowfuls of mulch, you came across one of the younger students. Said student literally had steam pouring from her ears as she stared at the schoolwork spread out on the bench beside her.

If only to prevent anything from catching fire, you stopped and asked her what she was working on. It was history homework, and she was having trouble memorizing the names of the important figures in the era.

Now, you may not be a particularly strong mutant, but you were usually good at school. You sat down with the girl and helped her figure out a mnemonic that made sense to her.

You saw the girl in the gardens frequently after that, and sometimes her friends would join her, and they’d flag you down to tell you what they were learning about. The gardens became a favorite study spot for older students, too.

You’d never really thought about it before now, but every time the students would try to catch your attention, it was to talk through a concept they were struggling with. Huh…

“You have a knack for thinking about things from a different angle,” the professor goes on. “Are you quite certain you don’t want to teach?”

You get the feeling he’s only half-serious, and you laugh. “Oh, I’d be useless trying to put together a curriculum. I think I’d better stick to giving freelance advice.”

“Fair enough. I can tell you this much,” says the professor, “There’s much more in you than you know yet. And, for what it’s worth, I’ve never seen Peter so content to pace himself in everyday life.”

           Yup, you’re blushing again. You can feel it.

           You’ve circled back around to the doors. To his credit, the professor seems to understand that he’s given you enough to think about for one day, and takes his leave.

           “Well, it was a lovely afternoon for a turn around the gardens,” he says, “I noticed that the zinnias are getting ready to bloom. Might I trouble you to bring some in for my study this week? They always seem to brighten up the place.”

           “Absolutely, sir,” you say. “And, Professor? Thank you.”

The professor smiles, and bids you good afternoon.

           As you walk away from the mansion, your thoughts turn back to Peter, and you smile to yourself. You know exactly what your next baking project is going to be: a chocolate cake with real buttercream frosting – Peter’s favorite.

           And suddenly, your arms are held out in front of you. In your hands is a little potted tea rose plant – the sort you’d find at a grocery store’s floral department. There’s a note stuck amongst the leaves, written in slanted, hurried-looking script:

           Figured you’d prefer something that lasts a little longer than a bouquet. See you tonight, maybe? <3 Peter

           He really is sweet. Ridiculous, but sweet. If you hurry to finish the last of your work, you’ll have just enough time to bake that cake before evening.

           You can picture yourself putting the finishing touches on the frosting, only to blink and find that a piece of cake is missing, and to turn around and find Peter sitting on your couch, already halfway through the slice.

           The thought makes you smile again. Carefully hugging the little rose to your chest, you hurry along.

[im-frickin-trying-okay]

Hey there, i have maybe an odd fic request for you, or just headcanon if it doesn't grab you that much.

Y/N is a witch/wiccan and offers too help shoto with his hand crusher curse, but after an intimate little ritual he thinks they/she accidentally cast a love spell on him or maybe the spell backfired. Turns out he just has a crush and is being a big dork about it.

Sorry this took so long! It might not be the most accurate, but hopefully it turned out okay. Also, I sorta mixed it with a coffee shop au but that's more as a tool than a plot point lol

Hand Crusher's Crush

I hope I did this justice :) I feel like I'm a bit better at descriptions than dialogue. Also, I did a bunch of research, but if anything's super inaccurate, please let me know!

A knock on your door caught your attention. You didn't tend to get visitors, as sometimes the world felt too 'peopley' for your taste. It's not like you weren't open to them, you just didn't have a lot of friends. Opening the door, you found yourself face-to-face with a striking young man. His hair fell slightly over his eyes, with red and white split down the middle.

"Um, hello," you said, not sure about this curious stranger. He cleared his throat quietly.

"Hello. I'm Shoto from UA," he said. He seemed quite serious, but it came across as a bit awkward. "Shoto Todoroki," he added. "I heard you have a special kind of healing quirk."

"Well, technically no, but I like to think I do," you reply simply. Your quirk is called Vibes. You can visualize, manipulate, and use certain energies. Once you got control of it, and did a little research on how to collect the intentions and energies, you changed your lifestyle. "Are you hurt or sick?"

"Well, no, it's not that I'm hurt. It's that I... I hurt people," he said, remorse bleeding into his voice. He glanced down at his hands, before looking back up at you. "I don't want to hurt people anymore."

For a split second, you wondered if there was some sort of killer at your doorstep, but instead of turning him away, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. "Hurt people, how?"

"Whenever I'm around, people hurt their hands," he said, completely serious, and a bit regretful. "It's like I'm the hand crusher or something." You blinked at him. Hand crusher? Well, at least he's not a serial killer. "I think I'm cursed, and I heard that maybe you could help with that."

"Ohh, a curse, huh? Well, I suppose I could try," you said, opening the door a bit wider.

He walked in, and was immediately hit with the scent of lemons. Looking around your living room, he noticed some things that he wasn't quite familiar with. He narrowly avoided the small black tourmaline towers on either side of the door, and felt his gaze land on the shadowy shelf on which there were three different jars of water. His eyes were drawn in all different directions by all the different things. Crystals on the shelves, tiny jars by the windows, and enough candles to set the house on fire.

"So," you said, gesturing around. "Uh, welcome, I guess. Come on over here." You gestured over to a small table with a few chairs around it. He sat down across from you, not seeming sure of what to do. "Let's start off easy. Who's hands have you been crushing?"

He sighed at the question. "A couple of my classmates', at least. I'm not sure if I've hurt anyone else." He took a bit to explain the situations, and how as far as he could tell, he was the only thing that tied the events together. It sounded a little bit like a coincidence, but then again, it was probably possible, right? And he would know better than you about what happened.

"Well, okay. I can probably help you," you said, still pondering over the stories he'd just told. "How good are you at cracking eggs?"

After an egg test, you found that he wasn't cursed per say, but there was definitely a lot of negativity surrounding him, and it was definitely weighing on him.

"Well... I'm not sure if it has to do with the crushing-of-hands, but there's some stuff I can help with," you said simply. He nodded, fully trusting.

You walked across the room and grabbed a few things. Selenite, rosemary... You counted off the things you needed in your head, before going back to your seat. You explained your plan to him. Cleanse and banish negative energy, and you'd be giving him a selenite crystal. It wasn't a problem, since you already had a lot.

"Will the crystal help stop me from hurting people?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"It's possible," you said simply. "If someone decided to punch a wall while you were in the room, their hand would be crushed, but it's not your fault."

"But wouldn't I have-?"

"Hey, hey, listen," you said gently, putting your hand over his. You could feel his doubt, but you wanted to reassure him. "It wouldn't be your fault. If it still feels that way, maybe try not to identify as The Hand-Crusher. That might be part of why these things occur so often." He frowned slightly, before nodding. He came to you for help, so it wouldn't be right of him to turn it down. "The crystal will basically just help keep your energy clear."

"My... Energy," he repeated, trying to remember if the first hand-crushing incident happened before or after Kaminari convinced him to try a Monster. "Is it bad?" he asked nervously.

"It's not bad, it's more of the things crowding around and onto it." After attempting to explain it, and getting a confirmation of his understanding, you began.

Rosemary smoke began to fill the room, but because of your quirk, it didn't look like smoke. Instead, a soft white light flowed through the space. Shoto watched in what seemed like awe as the room began to glow. Placing the rosemary bundle in a bowl, you continued on.

You clapped your hands, and golden sparks shimmered around them. Shooting your hands up, the sparks flew, before landing in a circle around you, like a dome of glitter. Shoto couldn't seem to pick where he wanted to look. The room seemed completely different now.

What would've normally been a smoky room and a bunch of stones turned into a beautiful light show, a light filled world with the two of you at its core. Something about the way his eyes sparkled made you feel a vague satisfaction. It made you glad to know that he wasn't bored or anything of that sort. He didn't seem to be a very smiley person, but he was clearly enjoying this.

Once all was said and done, and the lights began to fade, his eyes remained trained on you. "How was that?" You asked. "How're you feeling?"

He blinked out of his reverie. "Actually, much better," he said, seemingly surprised. "Thank you," he added.

"Happy to help," you replied, completely genuine.

"How could I repay you?" He asked, already reaching for whatever was in his pocket. It didn't take a genius to figure out he intended to use money, and really, you were financially comfortable. Your YouTube channel was decent, and considering that working at a coffee shop meant constantly being around coffee and tea, you didn't mind it. Besides, you didn't feel like you did as much as you probably did.

"Oh, no no," you said. "It's okay. You can repay me by trying to tune out negative people in your life," you said matter-of-factly. "It'll probably help delay any bad-vibes buildup." He hummed, nodding, but it wasn't hard to tell that he already had his mind on a specific someone.

"I know who I need to keep away from."

• • •

Over the next few weeks, Shoto was aware of the way that his mood had been lifted. He hadn't realized that he was feeling bad until he started feeling better. He was also vaguely aware that Midoriya hadn't broken his arms recently. It really worked! He felt glad that the curse was gone, as long as whatever else may have been wrong.

Then it began. He would occasionally think of you, think of what happened, and look back with a feeling of gratitude. When he held the selenite and felt his mood and thoughts balance out, he thought back to when you gave it to him. He couldn't help but think that you truly were magic.

After a while though, he noticed something changing. He'd look back on the same events, but instead of gratitude, he felt nothing but longing. He wanted to see the way the room lit up, he wanted to see your face, he wanted to hear your voice, he wanted you to hold his hand again... These new thoughts were more frequent, and you were always on his mind now! You were stuck in his head, and now he found himself missing this perfect stranger, always wishing to be in your presence. At first he couldn't identify these feelings, but then... Oh no.

You must've accidentally hit him with a love spell or something! He'd only seen you once, so that had to be the explanation, right? He'd have to go to you so you could fix it! Or was that the spell talking? Could it just be that he wanted to see you again? Maybe he just wanted to hear your explanations, to see the way you smiled if he said something that sounded like a joke but really wasn't, to see the way that your eyes lit up when you used your quirk, and oh, those eyes- No, bad Shoto, focus.

Things were complicated to say the least. It actually made him happy to think about you, and considering that the crystal didn't do anything to take away the feelings, he wasn't overly worried about the love spell's effects. However, over time, he realized how problematic it could be. Spacing out in the middle of an English lesson just to think of you was probably the most common reoccurrence. It wasn't like he didn't know the topic, but it was confusing to be asked a question and not even know what was being discussed.

He wasn't used to losing focus like this. Occasionally it would happen, but everyone's mind wanders. This felt different. You'd populate his mind, even narrate his thoughts, and he wasn't sure how to prevent it.

He had to put a stop to this. He tucked the selenite into his jacket pocket, and went to go get some tea. Yes, tea. Contrary to popular belief, he could still enjoy the stuff. Right now, he just wanted to pick some up before going to see you. Hopefully it would help get his thoughts in order, and calm him down. He walked into the shop and stared at the ceiling for a good thirty seconds before getting in line. He pondered if he should go talk to you directly about the love spell. Should he imply it? Did he want to fix it? It was hard to tell. He didn't dislike it, but the things that it caused weren't the best. He thought this over until he got to the front of the line.

"Hello, welcome to- Shoto?" came a familiar voice. His gaze snapped up to meet yours, and his heart jumped into his throat. The incessant fluttering in his stomach and chest made it hard to string words into a sentence. "Wow! Didn't expect to see you here," you said, pleasantly surprised.

"Hello," he blurted out, a mix of embarrassment and confusion swirling around in his head. He tried to come up with something more articulate, but was suddenly drawing a sudden blank. "Spell worked," he said, before immediately feeling like that was an understatement.

"Oh, well that's good," you said with a smile. You glanced up at the clock. "I'm off in like, 20 minutes if you wanna talk, but for now, how can I help you?" you asked. He blinked, before firing off the order he only remembered because he'd said several times before.

A bit later, he sat at his own table, a small one in the corner, and thought. He thought about how his mind was clouded with everything about you. He thought about how he finally got to see you after so long. He thought about how he'd only seen you once before. He thought about this love spell, and how he didn't exactly dislike it. He thought about how you might react when he told you. He thought about how it would be better to go into this slowly, and how- "Shoto!"

He popped his head up, before running over to grab his drink. He forced an awkward smile, which kinda looked like a grimace, before heading back to his seat, lost in thought once again. He didn't want to scare you off, of course, but did he even know you well enough to bring up this topic? He could say that he loved you right then and there, but he didn't even know your birthday! He barely noticed the time passing until you sat in the chair across from him.

"Hey," you said, smiling. "So, how've you been?" you asked. His mind went completely blank and he had no memory of what language it was that he spoke. His heart pounded in his ears. I can't do this, not yet- Idiot, that's what you're here for! Well, that and tea. Dammit- Say something! Once he wrangled his thoughts together, he tried his best to respond.

"I-I've been good. Well? Well. Grammar. Um, how about you?" he managed, the tips of his ears already bright red. He was embarrassed by the lack of his usual composure.

"I've been decent," you replied shrugging. "Thinking about you," you added. He choked on his drink, his face turning bright red.

"What?" he asked, trying not to seem flustered. This spell was getting troublesome.

"Y'know, just how you've been doing and stuff. So, you said that the stuff we did worked?" you asked. He nodded. "That's great!"

"Y-yeah," he said, frowning slightly. "Question. Er, is it possible for me to lo- No, is it possible to accidentally cast a love spell?" His heart was pounding.

"What? Not that I'm aware of, no. Why, did something happen?" you asked, slightly confused. Those things have to be intentional, don't they?

"Ah. Can they be a result of a spell backfiring?" Shoto asked, trying to think of what else could've caused it.

"I mean, I guess that would probably depend on the spell, but even then, I don't think so," you said, now a bit concerned. "Are you alright?"

"Me?" he asked incredulously. "Of course I'm alright," he said. If a spell didn't cause this, then what did? He tried to run through the possibilities. Should he tell?

"Hey, look at me," you said. He did as you said, meeting your eyes. "If you think something happened, you can tell me."

"Oh, no," he said, shaking his head. "I'm fine." The warm and fluttery feeling didn't give him time to think before he said his next words. "I just thought it might be a spell, since I'm falling in love as we speak."

About five seconds of complete silence followed. In those five seconds, a lot happened. Shoto could've sworn his heart stopped, but the blood rushing to his face proved otherwise. You seemed to be in a state of shock, not able to respond. Your heart thudded in a he's cute, yeah, but how did this even happen kind of way.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out.

"Are you for real?" you asked at the same time. Your head was spinning. What's happening right now?!

"What? I'm right in front of you," he said. When you laughed, he took a moment to reconsider. "Ah, right. Well, yes, I am, but I didn't mean to say it like that." The nervous buzzing in his head was one of the strongest emotions he'd felt in the past who-knows-how-long. "I thought it might be a spell or side-effect, since I don't know you all that well."

Holy shit, he's completely serious.

The situation would've been concerning if it weren't so funny. You found yourself laughing, and trying desperately not to in order to not hurt his feelings, but oh my gods, he really thought this was a spell?! He seemed bewildered, and that just made it funnier.

"I'm- I'm sorry," you said, gasping for air, "You thought I cast a love spell?"

"Unintentionally," he added, as if that made it better. "I don't think you would have done that without telling me first." His face was still red, but he seemed calmer.

"Well- You're- you're right about that part," you managed through the laughter. "I can confirm for you that I didn't cast a love spell," you said, just barely able to sound calm.

"I see," he said, not meeting your eyes. The second-hand embarrassment was a lot. He stayed quiet, not sure what to say.

"Shoto?" you called, once you managed to calm down.

"Hm?" came his wordless reply, his mind clearly somewhere else.

"That was adorable," you said, simply stating your thoughts out loud. He's so painfully genuine all the time that it's hard to not to think so.

"Wh-what?" he said, as light embers flew from his red hair. Or rather, the red part of his hair.

"I mean, it was!" you said, before suddenly backtracking. "Not in a weird way, it just is, y'know?"

After stumbling through awkward conversation for three minutes or so, Shoto asked a question. The question almost killed you.

"If I'm not under a love spell, then what is this?" he asked. You choked, really not understanding how you'd have to explain this.

"You... Is it possible that the, er, feelings developed naturally?" You asked, trying to phrase it as professionally as possible.

"Don't you have to know someone for a long time for that?" he asked in response.

"N-not necessarily," you said, trying to decipher if he was still being serious. "One interaction can be enough, and as of now, we've had two," you added. He seemed thoughtful for a moment.

"Alright, then I suppose that makes sense," he said, nodding. After a beat of silence, you laughed.

"Well. Uh. If your concern was too few interactions, we could always just talk more, if you want," you offered, head still swirling with the awkwardness of all this.

"I'd like that," he replied, the blush never leaving.

• • •

It had been five months now, and Shoto could now say for absolute sure that there was no love spell involved. The two of you were much closer, and he liked getting to call himself your boyfriend. He enjoyed getting to know you, and was surprised at how much better he knew himself. He was still a dork, and still a bit fast to jump to conclusions, but that's just who he is. However, you did help him change, and it was in the best way possible. You showed him how to change his definition of love into something healthy, and he couldn't be more grateful.

From the day you met, you lit up his life in more ways than one.

Could anyone blame him for loving you?

[wrienne]

My Cheating, Amnesic Fiancé

Chapter 8: Wrath

It was your parents.

“Sweetie? We’re sorry we haven’t been able to call you back until now - Jungkook’s parents have been in an uproar ever since noon, trying to find a cheap ticket back to Seoul. We didn’t make you worried, right?”

Your father’s soft, low, humming voice comforted your ear. You had admittedly been slightly concerned when they hadn’t answered even at lunchtime. You had left a voicemail that you had something important to tell them, but not had the time to consider it any longer due to school and battle planning.

“Did you know their boy was in an accident yesterday night?”

Your mother’s sharp voice pierced through the line, making you grimace. She was a lovely woman, strong, determined and the female you admired the most in the whole world, but her voice could seriously cut diamonds.

“Yes,” you said, holding the phone slightly away from your ear as you lowered the volume. “I was with him at AMC and he’s--”

“Good Lord,” your mother exclaimed, interrupting you. You could already see her shocked expression and her clutching her cross necklace. “Was it so bad he had to go to the hospital? What happened?”

“Well, he--”

“I thought he was supposed to be performing with his band yesterday.” your father added.

You sighed. Whenever you spoke with your parents, they were like this. Stuck by the heads, knowing the other so well they could complement as well as end each others’ sentences. They were even equally skilled at interrupting you.

“Hush, darling,” your mother said. “She’s trying to explain. As you were, (Y/N),” she prompted you.

“As I was just about to say before both of you interrupted me,” you began, stepping aside to let an old woman past, “he somehow miraculously survived being hit by a car and only broke his arm. However--”

“There, I told you,” your mother said to presumably your father. “That boy has more vigor than a cat with ninety-nine lives and more luck than is humanly possible. He must have an angel guarding him.”

“Stop dad,” you said before he could voice his input. “Jungkook is alright physically. It’s just that--”

“Did he scratch that handsome face of his?” your mother asked. “Or did he get any other unsightly marring on his body?”

Her tone made it sound like you had told her the Louvre had been set ablaze. She loved expensive art and was particularly fond of old European artistry. The burning of the Louvre would have broken her.

“No, mom,” you said wearily. “But he’s gotten amnesia.”

“What is that?” your father asked after both of them had paused for a beat.

“It means he cannot remember the most recent years of his life.”

“So...?”

“He doesn’t know anything about his company or his members. He is kind of skittish also, and has a hard time trusting people, even the doctors.”

“But he’s quite fine? You’ve met and spoken with him?”

You nodded, even though you knew they couldn’t see you. “Yes, he still knows and trusts me.”

“What about his career?” your mother asked.

“That’s the trickiest part,” you told them, feeling strangely relieved to have someone to share your concerns with. Even if these someones were your parents. “There was a specialist at the hospital who spoke with his manager, who in turn told me. There is a kind of unconventional way to get his memories back, but there’s no guarantee it’ll work. I am going to try and make him remember the past five or so years through...” You hesitated, not really certain what you should call the sloppily written list you had tucked into your back pocket. “...various techniques,” you decided finally.

“I see,” your father said. “I don’t understand why they’re in such a rush back home then.”

“Well, he did get hit by a car,” your mother said pointedly.

“Very well. Now, (Y/N), what was it you just had to tell us?”

You stiffened. It was time for you to tell them you had broken the engagement. You opened your mouth to speak, but found your throat constricted. You swallowed hard, then tried again. To your parents' credit, they didn’t try to push you. Perhaps they had heard the tension in your mere gulp.

“Jungkook…” you began slowly. “He has a girlfriend.”

Your voice broke. Your chest ached. You hated it, but the image of Jungkook and Park Yi-Jae resurfaced in your mind for what felt like the hundredth time. Even though it felt like your heart was threatening to break out of your body, you couldn’t lie and pretend everything was alright. You wouldn’t intercept their love.

Silence. Deafening silence.

“Are you certain?” your mother suddenly asked.

Surprisingly, your father didn’t step in to add something to the conversation.

“I saw them yesterday, before the accident,” you answered. “They looked very happy together.”

“Is it someone you know? Do you know her name?”

“Does he remember her?”

“Park Yi-Jae,” you managed, even as you frowned at the third question. “No,” you told your mother.

“That Park Yi-Jae?” Your father almost raised his voice. He never raised his voice. “The girl always prancing around on TV?”

“Shush, you hypocrite. You always watch her shows."

“I do not!”

“So that’s why they’re in such a hurry back home,” your mother muttered, ignoring your father. “They’re probably going to try and do some damage control and get you back with Jungkook. I told you I didn’t hear it wrong.”

“Wait, you knew?” you wondered incredulously. You felt your fingers tighten around your phone. “Still you wanted me to tell you?”

“We didn’t know what to believe until we had heard it from you, sweetie,” your father said in an attempt to calm you down. “Your mother heard it only faintly. She’s grown so old, we can no longer rely on her magical ears solely.”

Your mother did have eerily good hearing. Not necessarily when she and you argued over some petty things or whenever you told her you needed to bring food for an outdoor trek or something as a child, though that could have been because she stubbornly refused to listen or was too busy working. But she could hear gossip from the other side of a fully sat and vibrantly busy restaurant and hear the first few drops of water before a rainfall.

“You need to get back together with that boy, (Y/N).”

“No,” you said automatically, woken out of your brief reverie.

“Yes you do and you will. It is absolutely imperative.”

“He loves her,” you said stiffly. “Even though he can’t remember, I know he does. The way they were, just, it was--”

“It doesn’t matter, (Y/N). You and Jungkook have to marry.”

“Perhaps,” you said sharply, getting ever angrier. “But not to one another, we don’t.”

“Don’t be childish, of course you two will marry each other. You’re perfect for him and he’s perfect for you. There’s no question you will make a beautiful couple.”

“We don’t want to,” you said coolly. “I don’t want to marry him.”

“Darling, perhaps--” your father began.

“No, don’t you try,” your mother snapped at your father. “(Y/N), this marriage was decided the year the two of you were born. You will not undo it just because Jungkook hurt your feelings by sleeping with another woman.”

“No!” you shouted suddenly. Your eyes stung and your voice sounded wrong, harsh, and the bleak interior of the hallway made for awful acoustics. “It’s nothing like that, don’t you get it? Don’t answer it, by the way, I have homework and other stuff to do, so I can’t talk anymore.”

“We will talk about this when we get back, (Y/F/N).”

Without exchanging goodbyes, you ended the call abruptly. Still, you heard your mother’s voice, as if on repeat inside your skull. The words coiled around you and cut into your skin, like cold metal wire, and you seriously considered punching one of the mailboxes. Deciding that it would cause ten times more harm to you than you could ever hope to inflict on it, you leaned your forehead against the cool, concrete wall and tried your best not to scream in fury, frustration or whatever else the enormous swirl of emotions stewing about in your stomach could be called.

You heard the double glass doors open behind you and two or three pairs of feet hurry inside, probably eager to get in from the cold. You didn’t consider the vague familiarity of their voices as they immediately began whispering loudly. You didn’t even notice someone approaching you until they touched your shoulder lightly.

“Excuse me?” asked a light male voice. “Is everything alright?”

You spun about as you wiped your eyes. The guy recoiled sharply, his eyes widening first in surprise then in something else. He was shorter than the other two guys standing by the elevator with grocery bags in each of their hands, both at a safe running distance toward the entrance doors should you have shown yourself to be some weirdo. All three were dressed casually, like typical guys about your age, and with their faces and hair covered, you almost didn’t recognize them.

But they recognized you.

“(Y/F/N)!”

It was V, or perhaps more accurately: Kim Taehyung. You recognized him for his low voice now and because he was Se-Eun’s favorite member after Jungkook, something she had reprimanded you very heavily about during lunch when you had guessed her “list” completely wrong.

“What is she doing here?” The guy who had approached you on his own looked from his friends to you, obviously confused. You were fairly sure he was Park Jimin.

“Don’t ask me, ask her,” mumbled the third one. He hadn’t taken off his mouth mask so you couldn’t see anything except his eyes. You couldn’t tell who he was, but he was shorter than Taehyung yet taller than Jimin.

Taehyung caught you off guard by approaching you with solid determination, passing Jimin, who had backed a few additional steps, without even a glance. He stopped almost directly in front of you, his eyes hard, his eyebrows knitted tightly together.

“What did you do to Jungkook?” he demanded.

“I--” Your voice broke, and you cleared your throat. “I did nothing to him.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Taehyung strained to lift the hand he held the drooping grocery bag with and pointed a surprisingly long, elegant finger at you. He didn’t touch you, merely hovered it in front of your chest, yet you could feel the tension in the room suddenly skyrocket. “You told him something or did something that made him... angry like that. It’s your fault he can’t remember any one of us and might never be able to perform again. Don’t you get it? It’s your fault!”

It was as if his words breached the dam of guilt you had felt growing larger ever since you got the first call from Kim Sejin. Now, you weren’t about to cry in front of people you barely knew, at least because of the absurdity in the whole situation. Your second way of dealing with emotions seemed much better however, since, unlike the mailboxes, Taehyung’s jaw or nose probably could break without you breaking, too.

“Damn it, Taehyung!”

The guy you hadn’t been able to identify dropped his grocery bags and stormed toward you. He stepped in between the two of you as he firmly pushed Taehyung away, then tore off his mouth mask. Though, from this angle, you could still not see much else than the back of his head and his shoulders.

“It’s nobody’s fault!” he barked. “It was an accident. Jungkook was drunk and wandered a bit off the pavement, while the driver was tired and perhaps shouldn’t have driven. This isn’t really anyone’s fault, least of all (Y/N), who wasn’t even there!”

“Hoseok-hyung is right,” said Jimin quietly. “We can’t just put the blame on something or someone because it’s easy. It’s not right.”

Hoseok. Jung Hoseok. J-Hope. Now, you knew who Taehyung’s nose or jaw savior was.

Taehyung didn’t even seem like he had heard what the other two guys had said. He glared at you, ostensibly furious, and you suddenly wondered what would have happened if Hoseok wouldn’t have stepped in. You doubted an idol would have the folly to harm a civilian, but one never knew.

Then finally, Taehyung broke away from your gaze and went surly toward the elevator. There, he leaned against the wall beside the buttons and checked his phone after placing the grocery bags on the floor.

Hoseok turned around and, noticing how close you two stood together, quickly took a step back. He gave you a friendly smile.

“Sejin-manager told me you slept at the hospital with him,” he said carefully, like he was worried you would snap. “I presume he recognizes you?”

You nodded. You didn’t trust your voice just yet.

“I’m glad to hear that,” said Hoseok, genuine relief filling his eyes and smile. “How is he?”

“He’s annoying,” you couldn't help but say, and was glad to find your tone steady. “He won’t eat, wear the hospital gowns or obey the professionals. I was practically forced to stay there over the night.”

Hoseok chuckled almost hesitantly, as if he didn’t know whether you were kidding or not. “Ah, well, he’s always been a proud kid.”

“Too proud,” you agreed.

“What are you doing here?” asked Jimin. He crouched by the grocery bags Hoseok had dropped and carefully put back the items that had spilled out.

“I came here to pick up some of Jungkook’s clothes.” You held up the largest duffel bag you had found at home, which, if not for the brand name plastered all over it, would have looked like a body bag. You couldn’t wrap your head around why people found stuff like that fashionable. But then, perhaps only morbid people had the means to spend thousands on something as ugly as that bag. Your mother had bought it years ago. “I was just about to call one of you and ask which floor you live on.”

“Sejin gave you our numbers, huh?” Hoseok curled a finger around his chin. “I’m not sure about how I feel with our manager giving our numbers to an unknown girl.”

“I did consider auctioning them out,” you admitted. “Not for the money, but merely to see which type of people believed me and how much they would be willing to spend.”

He frowned, again a bit suspicious about the nature of your words, before he laughed. “Not exactly what I would have done if I were in your shoes, but that’s interesting to hear. Jungkook never told us about you, so I had no idea you had humor like this. Actually… have you eaten dinner yet?”

“No,” you replied before you realized what you had said.

“Great. Eat with us.”

[ashes-in-a-jar]

A Double Date at the End of the World

Melanie, Georgie, Jon and Martin have an interesting conversation in their journey through the tunnels.

Cw: second hand embarrassment and lots of teasing (I guess)

Melanie took the lead. Because of course she did. Martin made sure not to get in her way, still feeling awkward after offering help.

She was right. He didn't fare any better than her and most likely worse. The tunnels were darker and damper than he remembered, smelling faintly of earth and... Gas? He didn't dwell on it too much. He found it was better to file those bits of ominous details away until they inevitably come back up on their own.

On his fourth or fifth stumble around a corner Jon caught his arm to steady him. He was walking behind him and Martin was pretty sure he was clutching his backpack for support himself.

"You alright Martin?" He asked softly, his voice just below the level of echo.

"Y-yeah. Thanks Jon. How are you feeling?" Martin asked, his tone changing to worry. He noticed how Jon was during the conversation as they entered the tunnels. All of his worries from the last days in Salesa's home came back, along with the despair at finally having reprieve and knowing Jon won't remember it. Maybe this time it's different, he thought desperately. Maybe the effects will not be the same. God, he hoped so.

"I'm fine, I think. No different than before. It's not getting worse this time... Yet." Jon answered with a hopeful squeeze at Martin's bicept. It was a bit awkward, given they were practically going single file but Martin raised his hand backwards and gently stroked the hand that clutched him. It was dry and cold and all he wanted to do was turn around and warm it properly in his palms.

"Good. I'm glad to hear. Let me know if you start to feel any different."

"Okay. Thank you Martin." He murmured, and Martin could hear the fondness seeping into his name.

He recalled the frustrated argument they had right before Martin stormed away to cool off only to be found by the girls in the tunnels.

He recalled the quiet and uncertain way Jon said his name then before telling him he might be more focused after getting out a statement. It was a tone that made Martin stop his venting to really listen and look at Jon. God he looked so scared. It was the first time in a while he saw Jon like that. He instantly regreted his tirade and felt that same fear that he himself tried to suppress begin to make its way to the forefront of his mind. He realized that tampering it down by fantasizing of the violent ways they'd exact revenge on Jonah was doing exactly what he warned himself against while in his own domain. Sinking into his expectations instead of facing reality. So he went to cool off, get his head in order again and think realistically how to solve their problem instead of kicking walls and squishing sentient cameras (he shuddered at that memory).

He should apologize to Jon for his behavior. He knew Jon understood but still. Once they get a bit of privacy again he should make sure they talk it out. Clear the air so the bad feelings won't hang over them when they need to make a difficult decisions again together. Because that will come eventually and they cannot afford to falter because they weren't on the same page.

Having made that decision, Martin's reveries were interrupted by a noise of someone clearing their throat behind him.

He noticed that Georgie, who was bringing up the rear behind Jon, was trying to get their attention. He also noticed he had slowed down and had reached to fully grasp Jon's chilled hand in his.

"So," Georgie began and immediately Martin became worried. "You too, huh?"

Jon chuckled and as Martin started, reflexively pulling his hand back to quicken his pace. But Jon just held onto to him tighter.

"Yes Georgie, we are together now." He said and Martins heart soared the same way it did when Jon affirmed it in front of the Boneturner. It felt good that Jon wanted others to know. It felt so good to validate their relationship with an outside perspective when they have been alone for so long now.

"How long?" Georgie asked, a little too eagerly.

"Um, a couple of weeks before... all of this?" Jon said vaguely. Their time in the safehouse was interesting in regards to the buildup of officiating their relationship. The actual conversation about it took a while to happen even though they were already very much attached to each other from the moment they left the Lonely.

"Wait, what?" Melanie called out from the front, her voice echoing around them.

"Hah! I told you!" Georgie cheered.

"No way! I was so sure Jon would never have the guts. Surely not before the world ended."

"Wait. What's going on?" Martin was confused.

Georgie, still amused, explained. "Melanie and I had a... Wager when exactly you too would get together. She thought you both were too gutless to take the first step. I thought your unbelievably daft pining, at least from Jon's side of things would eventually become too much for him to handle."

"Georgie," Jon admonished, clearly flustered.

The explanation caught Martin off guard. He knew Jon had some semblance of feelings towards him after the coma. Some bits of chased conversation, vague massages in recordings, his offer to literally run off and become blind together. It wasn't blatantly obvious though it was far from subtle. But Martin never learned how much Jon actually wanted it during those months. Jon spoke about it more generally and didn't seem to want to go into specifics.

"What? You were so obvious about it even before your coma. And then you came over to try to pull us back in to help him... Well, I mean, come on!" Georgie said defensively. "It was pretty hard to miss."

"you should have seen him in the institute." Melanie jeered. "He brooded all day every day. You couldn't even say Martin's name without making him look like a kicked kitten. It was brutal."

Jon let go to cover his face while Martin started chuckling in hidden glee. "Melanie please. I wasn't brooding, I did not mope! Besides, we were all having a bad time."

"Yes but you were so melodramatic about it, like a heartbroken teenager. You should have seen the faces he made whenever Peter's name came up. Oh boy that was something."

"How do you mean?" Martin was struggling to keep his voice straight, every new morsel of information giving him more joy.

"It was the type of face you make when talking to a Tory. The type you want to strangle or punch and are debating which you should do first." Melanie was thoroughly enjoying herself.

"Jon was always good at faces." Georgie giggled.

Martin couldn't help but laugh at that out loud. I was true, Jon did not know how to school his expressions.

Jon groaned "Martin don't encourage them please."

Martin half turned around to grin at Jon "They're not wrong though, are they? It is pretty funny."

Jon grimaced at him "Shut up."

Martin let the Eye contact linger a moment and in the dark he mouthed 'I love you' to Jon, hoping he could see. Judging by the affectionate huff he heard, the message was received. He turned back smiling and quickened the pace to catch up to Melanie's confident strides.

"God you guys are sappy" Georgie sighed. "At least it's an improvement to the mess you two were before."

"Truer words have never been said" Melanie seconded. "I'm glad I was wrong about how assertive you two are. It seems I need to reevaluate my impression of Beholding's baby and his lover boy."

Martin and Jon sighed simultaneously. "Please stop" Jon muttered, mostly to himself.

"Um, how about we change subject, hm? Yes, we're finally together and so are you and this is basically a double date at the end of the world so let's just... Conclude it at that." Martin said, hoping this assertion will work.

"Alright, yeah let's change the subject, shall we?" Georgie said in a dangerously mischievous tone again. "Jon, is that my What the Ghost merch you're wearing? Have you been wearing that the entire time now? You know I'll be needing that back. Our wardrobe is wearing pretty thin."

The tunnels were filled with Jon's groans and Melanie's roaring laughter as they continued onwards towards the survivors' camp to meet the others, finally take a breather and regroup to plan for their fateful future.

[ellaenchanting]

Hypnovember Day 18: Monster

Ellen sat in the back room of the coffeeshop quietly sipping her tea. The other members of the hypnosis meet up group were slowly gathering after their break,  chatting and catching up before practice portion of their group officially started. She strategized about what it would be helpful for her to practice tonight. Her traitorous brain eagerly supplied some silly power fantasies. She quickly suppressed them. That kind of stuff wasn’t fair to think about here. It wasn’t everyone else’s fault that she was so warped.

Ellen both loved and hated the group. She wasn’t just into power fantasies- she was genuinely interested in hypnotherapy and doing hypnosis for fun. She had been very surprised to find a local hypnosis practice group existed at all where she could practice her skills and learn more . (It was tiring having to work up the nerve to bug her friends to volunteer to be practice subjects.) Of course, she was the youngest person there and usually the only woman but- that was OK. She had long ago accepted that that most actual hypnotists were middle aged men and she was an odd aberration.

She felt like an aberration in other ways too. Few of the hypnotists here seemed to struggle with nerves in the way she did. Group practice often brought those nerves on . She hated the way they would make her words come out stilted and wrong, her gestures awkward, and her metaphors so mixed up until they ultimately went nowhere. When it got really bad, Ellen’s childhood stutter would return in full force. It felt important and meaningful to her that she got it wrong so often- like she had failed to perform in some cataclysmic way.

 It also felt meaningful when she got it right. Ellen would feel proud of herself  for her mastery of something and then almost immediately the thought would sneak in- “if only they knew”. It’s not that the hypnosis she was doing with the group had a sexual charge- group members ranged from kinda- to very- not-her-type- but she could only imagine the disgust her subjects would feel if they knew the full range of thoughts she had about hypnosis internally. Or, even worse, if they could see her web browser history. How would they feel being taken advantage of by such a perverted monster?

In a lesser but still meaningful way, Ellen also felt annoyed that she had never quite been hypnotized yet despite many, many attempts. Usually practice time involved pairing up and switching turns being the hypnotist and the subject. Ellen would usually go along with others’ inductions and give them some technical feedback afterwards, but the truth was she rarely felt anything besides plain, comfortable relaxation. She knew there was more- she could see it in the reactions of some of the people she hypnotized and the incredible mental feats they performed. She had evidence that this kind of deep hypnosis existed. She just couldn’t access it herself. 

Ellen was shaken out of her reverie by a voice.  

““Hi! I heard your name was Ellen?””

She looked up to see the group’s newest member. He was a little older than her- probably mid- to late-twenties- and had a nice dark beard. When she replied with the affirmative, he extended his hand and shook hers confidently. 

“Hi, I’m John.  Do you have a practice partner yet?” 

Ellen and John socialized a bit before starting their practice. This was normal at the meetings- partially because of mutual nerves but also because everyone  welcomed the  opportunity to geek out about an unusual personal interest. John said that had been doing hypnosis for about 5 years- around the same time she had- but he had already started a stage show and was planning on turning it from a hobby into a career. She was impressed. She found herself feeling surprisingly connected to him. She wondered if he had that effect on everyone he met. If so, it was a neat trick.

When they finally got down to practice, Ellen started by doing a modified Flowers induction. She had come in with the intention of throwing in a lot of language patterns into her induction- she had been drilling her Zeebu cards lately- but an odd change of mood happened as she watched John start to sink into hypnosis. Something about the way he responded to her words, melting and  seeming to almost to throw himself into trance, triggered something in her. She found herself hovering closer to him, her voice going softer as she spoke closer to his ear.

She almost reached out and touched his arm when she remembered- no. That would be inappropriate. She caught herself and reminded herself to be professional. She gave John a few generic positive suggestions and then brought him back up out of trance.

John took a surprisingly short amount of time to recover, his expression showing alertness almost immediately. When she remarked on it, he told Ellen that he was actually a very practiced subject- that he had purposefully worked on his ability to be hypnotized. Ellen hadn’t even known that was possible to do- the research she had read strongly suggested that someone’s ability to be hypnotized was pretty static and unchangeable. She confessed to John that she always had difficulty being hypnotized and envied people who could access that state easily. She worked to keep the longing out of her voice as she described her desire for the experience of knowing she was deeply and truly hypnotized. 

John paused for a moment after she spoke.  He gave her a curious, searching look. Then his face cleared as he seemed to decide on something. 

“Hey, do you mind if I try something a bit different?” he asked.

Ellen nodded. She switched positions with him and made herself comfortable as per his instructions. 

“Can I touch you?” John asked.

All things considered, Ellen thought she hid her spike of excitement quite well. She nodded again.

John started steadily and confidently speaking to her as he traced a finger lightly up and down her hand. He wanted her to focus on the feeling of the finger going up and down, he said. Ellen gamely focused her attention. It felt nice, that light touch.

John continued to talk to her, telling her she didn’t have to worry about going into trance or getting sleepy or being hypnotized- all she had to do was focus on his touch. That was good- Ellen had historically bad luck with those concepts.  She dutifully focused, even as she had some stray thoughts about how amazing John’s voice sounded. John’s fingers started to move to trace her arm up and then back down, all the while continuing to talk to her about focus and enjoying how the touch felt. Ellen still noticed some of the clever words he said, but the specifics were fading. It was all beginning to feel like a general wave of instruction washing over her. She was vaguely aware he was speaking to her more directly now and telling her how good she was doing and enjoyed how pleasant those things were.  Suddenly-

“Sleep!” 

John’s hand grabbed her arm and pulled it gently downwards. Ellen felt her eyes close as her head nodded forward. Her whole body slumped. Fortunately, John was kneeling in front of her and waiting to catch her. Once he did, he took her shoulder and rocked her deeper and deeper into trance with his words and his touch.

It felt amazing- just like she had always hoped that it would. John finally stopped rocking and took her hand. That gesture felt so right and lovely and perfect that Ellen felt herself quietly moan in response.

And then....she noticed she had done it.

Suddenly thoughts flew back into her mind. What was she doing? Did everyone else hear her? Were they watching her now? Were they realizing what a creepy pervert she was?

Ellen violently sat up, opened her eyes, and yanked her mind awake. Shaken, she took a moment to clench and unclench her hands, reminding herself that she had power over them. She was up. She had control of herself. She was OK. 

After a few breaths, she looked around the room and noticed that no one else seemed to be looking at her. She resisted the urge to cry in relief. 

She finally noticed John was there, still on his knees and giving her a concerned look. “Ellen?” he asked firmly. “How do you feel? What happened?”

She took a moment to respond. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to....I made a noise and I didn’t mean to be...awkward. I’m really sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he replied, going back into a more soothing voice. “Being hypnotized feels good sometimes, yeah? It’s ok to enjoy it. Is that what happened? It felt good in..in a way you weren’t expecting?”

Ellen nodded. “I’m sorry. I’m..weird, I didn’t mean to be weird,” she replied, still very flustered.

He looked at her gently. “You’re not...you’re not that weird. Listen, I get you might not want to talk about this here but- we could talk about it after practice maybe? I think we may have some things in common.”

Ellen thought about everything she had seen about erotic hypnosis online. All the misogyny. All of the shame and degradation people wrote about. She pictured the sexy stage show she had downloaded parts of and how much the hypnotist seemed to relish in people’s genuine embarrassment. 

She remembered that she didn’t really know John at all. 

“No!” she replied sharply. Then gentler-  “I mean, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s OK. I’m OK.”

He nodded. “You are, you know. And it’s OK if you’re....if you’re not ready yet to talk about it. But- “ He made sure she was looking at him as he said the next part. “There’s nothing wrong with you. And- if you do ever want to talk more about it or even ask questions, here’s my card. Call me anytime, ok? I mean it.”

He produced a business card out of his pocket. Ellen hesitated, then took it.

Just then, the leader announced that their practice time was over and moved onto wrapup. Ellen waited for everyone’s attention to be gathered, then snuck out the back on the building. She needed some fresh air. She was done with hypnosis for tonight. 

But she thought of the card, still in her jacket pocket, the whole bike ride home.  

[rons-hermiones]

Come Find Me

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Fifteen

“It’s him.” Ron says darkly, praying Harry can keep him out. 

Bill is rushing to the floor to help the writhing boy, until Ron’s shouts stop him, “no!” He warns making him stop. 

The entire room freezes at the yell as the ginger takes it upon himself to fall to his knees and console Harry. Carefully, he shakes his shoulder and turns him over, just trying to make him comfortable. 

“A pillow! Someone get me a pillow!” He instructs pointing wildly to the sofa. 

Someone, Fleur, he thinks, places a crocheted pillow onto the floor as Ron takes the liberty to prop the cushion under Harry’s frantically shaking head. 

“Come on Harry. Come on mate. Fight it.” He pleads quietly from his spot above his thrashing friend. 

And like Harry heard, he complies. His body begins to relax as the jolts of pain subside into a dull ache and subtle twitch. 

“Harry.” Ron says gently. 

As he floats back into consciousness, the chosen one's hand finds the scar on his forehead, which is now brandished into a cold sweat. Without realizing it, he groans, the memories of what occurred coming back to him. 

The ginger takes notice of the sounds of pain pushing past the dark haired boy's lips and dares to question it, “Harry, what is it? What did he want?” 

One word it’s all the Boy-Who-Lived can manage and it’s enough to evoke an immense amount of fear throughout the room. But none more prevalent than in Ron. 

“Hermione.” Harry all but cries out, as his green eyes meet wide blue ones. 

...

Once the dizziness passes along with the urge to be sick, the first thing that resonates is the ground. It’s hard and cold, sending a chill down her spine. The next thing is the darkness. She can see virtually nothing. Her hands viciously scour the stone for any sense of where she is. 

The roughness of what appears to a book rubs against her palm. Seemingly forgetting her situation, she pulls it close, that is until a voice breaks her reverie. 

“Lumos.” Bellatrix spits out as the edge of her wand ignites a small light. 

Quickly, almost instinctively, Hermione cowers into the corner, the book, whatever it is, hidden between her body and the wall.

“I am tired.” The witch regards, eyes roving over to Greyback who shuffled outside the small chambers confining Hermione. 

Lestrange however, was hovering over her scarily, “traveling with such dead weight takes a toll on me.”

Without realizing it, Hermione scowled at the comment. Bellatrix acted as if she was begging to join them. 

And then before she could realize what was happening a terrible pain blossomed over her rib cage. The very spot where the dark haired witches heeled boot had seemingly kicked her. 

“You ought to learn to teach me with respect, Mudblood! You should be grateful, such filth is usually prohibited from a place so sacred.” She shrieks, spitting wildly as she does. 

At the words Hermione does allow a moment to try and piece together where she is. It’s no use, all she can make out is four walls of dreadful grey stone and a cut out for an iron barred door. She just prays that there’s a window to offer light in the morning. 

Her voice drops, “now I shall leave you. You are of no use to me now as it is too late to disturb the Dark Lord. You better rest Muddy, you have a big day tomorrow” she giggled madly, turning to the just outside the iron bars. 

Her eyes flick to where Greyback is standing, he’s grinning and licking his lips as his dark eyes bore into hers. Hermione squirms uncomfortably. 

Satisfied with the interaction Bellatrix slams the door, then saunters away, Fenrir in tow, as she hums to herself. 

Finally finding her strength, Hermione slings herself at the iron bars, ignoring how the impact hits her ribs she screams. 

“Let me out!” The seventeen years old yells. 

Bellatrix stops dead in her tracks. Greyback does the same, but she waves him to go on. 

Stepping over with her dimly lit wand, she faces Hermione, noses almost touching through the rungs. 

“I can’t help you.” The tears finally hit as the brunette cries to her captor. 

Then, Bellatrix points her wand right at Hermione’s throat. Frightened, she tries to protest but soon realizes words can’t come out. 

Frantically, she grabs at her throat, she can’t manage anything but pitiless heaves. 

“Save your voice Mudblood.” Lestrange smiles, “there will be plenty of time to scream tomorrow.” She pauses, “better yet, the Dark Lord will make you sing.” 

At this, the light fades out leaving a horrified Hermione behind. 

It just hit her, tomorrow she’d do the most terrifying thing in her life. Something that Harry has done a multitude of times and barely made it out alive, even with a wand. 

Tomorrow she would face Voldemort. 

Collapsing against the wall, she sobs into her hands. Praying that this is all some sick twisted dream and soon enough she’d wake up on her camp bed in Ginny’s room. 

Her cries are silent, prevented by Bellatrix’s silencing spell, she just wishes she could scream. 

Scream for her ill grandmother. Scream for the fact she can’t remember the last time she saw her parents. Scream for Harry, that another bad thing happened to him. Scream for Ron, for treating him the way she did. For never saying goodbye, to say what she wanted to. 

Crying for who knows how long, Hermione finally collapses completely, letting her body drop onto the floor. 

She prepares for her head to make an impact with the cold stone, instead, it falls on top of hard, rough, and worn cloth. 

Picking up her heavy head, she feels at the thing. Parts of it are torn, the edges frayed with what seems to be wrapping paper. 

Then it hits her. 

This is Ron’s gift. She must’ve grabbed it when they apparated. 

Scrambling to her feet, with the thing she assumes to be a book in her hands, she goes to the bars. There’s a faint glow from a candle down the hallway and if she strains her eyes hard enough she can vaguely make out the words on it. 

Hogwarts, A History, 

She swears she reads in thick black letters. 

Not that she’s ungrateful, but it’s a peculiar thing to gift her when he knows she has her own copy. Nevertheless, she opens the book, slapping her in the face is a long body of black messy scrawl. That which she knows to belong to Ron. 

It’s loopy and barely legible, especially under the lack of light. The only thing she can make out are words like, sorry, Christmas, her name, and the word forgive. 

It’s not much but her eyes are strained to the point of hurt. Her tears absently stain the pages as she flips through the book, slowly she begins to realize that on each margin are little notes. They’re too small to read in the darkness, but she knows the writing to be Ron’s. 

She soon remembers a fifth year version of herself crumpled under a window, with Ron at her side. She recalls telling him she’d love it if he read Hogwarts, A History, and much to her disappointment all Ron said was: ‘I’d need a bloody good reason to pick this thing up.’ 

Yet, he had. 

Falling to the floor again, the book clutches in her arms like a teddy bear, she goes to speak aloud. 

Realizing she can’t, she repeats the words in her head over and over, praying that by some miracle they’d get back to him. 

Come find me. 

Soon she finds exhaustion, her head filled with nothing but those three words and fiery red hair. 

Not even realizing she fell asleep, Hermione wakes up to loud footsteps coming down the nearby steps. 

She isn’t sure how much time has gone by. If it’s daytime, she wouldn’t know, there’s just black around her. 

Whoever is approaching has a lit candle as they stomp into the room. 

“Get up.” A voice hisses. 

Hermione doesn’t move. 

“Get up now or I’ll come in there.” As he steps forward, she notices a metal hand coil around the door and throws it open. 

The sight that meets her is a hunch backed, disgusting looking man. The witch even opens her mouth to say his name, but nothing comes as the silence charm remains. 

Peter Pettigrew walks in and grabs her arm roughly, forcing her on wobbly feet. 

“Bet you didn’t think you’d see me again did you?” Wormtail was clearly feeling rather confident, usually he was cowering somewhere. 

She wanted to tell him that she was surprised he was trusted with such a difficult task, but was physically unable to. 

Before she knew it, Wormtail had led her up a flight of stairs and what seemed to be a space as large as a ballroom. Above was a lavish chandelier, but it was covered in dusk. As was everything else in the room. 

Too busy taking in the dark wood floor, she failed to notice the figures lurking in the corners. 

“Ah Wormtail, thank you for gathering our guests.” 

He bowed, his cowardly behavior soon returning, “of course my Lord.” Peter said shakily. 

And then suddenly, the coldest, soulless eyes she’s ever seen find her own. 

Slowly, the pale figure comes toward her and begins circling her like a shark would to its prey, his snake following. 

“I’ve heard much about you, Mudblood.” Voldemort spits. 

She says nothing. Even if she could, she doesn’t want to. 

“No greeting? That’s no way to treat someone superior to your filthy blood.” He says angrily. 

Hermione opens and closes her mouth, unable to speak, looking much like a fish gasping for air. 

Nearby, Narcissa Malfoy seems to take note and takes sympathy for the girl. 

“Bella the silencing charm.” She nudges her sister. 

“Oh!” Bellatrix exclaims stepping forward, “excuse me my lord, the thing is under a silencing charm.” She bows nervously to her master. 

At this he flicks his wand and dismisses Lestrange with a wave of his unkempt, dirty hands. 

“You may speak now.” He tells Hermione. 

Again, she doesn’t want to. 

“Cat got your tongue? I had you yelling last night.” Bellatrix pipes up, stepping behind Voldemort. 

Then, You-Know-Who raises his wand at her and just as she shuts her eyes waiting for the impact, something stops him. 

“Sorry we’re late my lord.” Fenrir Greyback sounds from the fireplace, bowing as he says this. 

Behind him are two death eaters. One she doesn’t recognize, but is known as Scabior. The other, she does know. 

“Beautiful.” Scabior comments before he can help it. 

She cowers under their dark gazes. 

“Seems as if someone remembers you Dolohov.” Greyback comments with a grin, speaking to the other man. 

He steps forward, making Hermione stumble back, causing laughs to fill the room. 

“It seems as if you’ve forgotten,” Voldemort’s voice booms, making them all stop, “but the thing is mine first and foremost.” 

Choruses of agreements sound the room as a few of them offer a low bow. 

In a nearby corner Lucius Malfoy whispers to his wife to go upstairs. A request she’s more than happy to fulfill, not wanting to see what’s to come. 

“Now, address me properly and tell me what you know filth.” He demands of Hermione. 

She stands up tall, chin pushed forward and proud look on her face. She says nothing. 

“I thought I’d taken the silence charm off of you, no matter, Bellatrix, would you do the honors?” He asks the eager woman. 

“Of course my lord!” She leaps at the chance, “Crucio!” The witch bellows. 

A stream of red light shoots to Hermione and she falls to the floor in pain. The witch does her best not to make any noises, biting her lip so hard she draws blood in the process. 

Soon, the effects of the curse die down as Voldemort comes over and presses his barefoot to her cheek, pushing it into the floor. 

“Tell me what you know Mudblood!” He screams at her.

Briefly, she peers into his sunken eyes. 

At the sight, Hermione’s mind flashed to that book. The one she found on prefect rounds late one night whilst escaping from Ron. It was buried behind several books, in the restricted section. 

She knew how wrong it was, she shouldn’t even have been there, but she couldn’t help it, like it was calling to her. And for some odd reason, Hermione just knew a boy who once went by the name of Tom Riddle had picked up this very book. The very man standing in front of her now. Or what’s left of him anyway. 

Surely he couldn’t be talking about the horcruxes? Could he? How would he even know she knew such a thing? 

Despite that, she remains strong and silent despite the curse. 

Then, he crouches to the floor. Running one long nail, he pushes back her wild hair to see tears streaming her face. 

“So you don’t want to talk then?” He whispers sourly. 

Hermione remains perfectly still. 

“Nevertheless, you’ll be screaming.” The dark wizard says with a venomous smirk before standing. 

“Crucio!” He yells. 

And like his magic is stronger than Bellatrix's, the curse feels ten times more intense. It feels like her body’s burning from the inside out. And before she can help it, she screams. 

A horrible sound. 

As the effects of the curse wear off, the dull buzz in her ears fades, but the pain remains. 

“Want to talk now?” Voldemort asks, circling her again as the room smiles at the scene. 

Tears absently run down her cheeks as she manages the strength to shake her head. She has to stay quiet, for Harry, for Ron, for the entire fate of Wizarding Britain. 

“Very well,” he raises his wand again, she braces for the impact, “Cruc-” 

Before the words can leave his mouth, a loud thud sounds as Hermione’s blurry vision clears and she makes out someone writhing next to her, like she was moments ago. 

Bellatrix rushes over, placing her hands atop Voldemort’s trashing form. 

And Hermione knows that somewhere, Harry is doing the exact same thing. She just prays whatever he sees, will lead them right to her.

[bangtanreadingcorner]

all this time • kim seokjin

plot – you and your best friend, seokjin, drifted apart after he became a famous actor. years later, you find your way back to each other.

words – 3.5K

When your best friend Kim Seokjin got the lead role in a movie when you two were eighteen years old, you were ecstatic for him. What you were less ecstatic about was the fact that you grew apart to the point where you didn't even greet each other if you happened to cross one other in the street. Something that didn't happen very often because he moved to the city, but it still happened, each time he visited his parents in your hometown.

You, on the other hand, could never leave your home. Not forever, at least. It's not that bad, despite what some of the teenagers might say, it's a really big town. Big enough that not everyone knows everyone, and nobody poked their noses where it didn't belong. There is a lot to do, too, if you're a local and you know where to look. You love this place and you'll never completely leave it. You left years ago, to study and become a doctor, but then you came back. Now you live in an apartment and your work at the local hospital. It's not glamourous and glittery but it's home and it's what you've always wanted. It makes you happy and content, to help people and to heal physical injuries, get parents and children alike back on their feet, curing someone who's sick.

Sometimes there is a hollow place in your chest that aches, somedays more than others, but mostly you ignore it. You know what's missing from your life, you know what belongs there. You also know you're never getting it back, so you push past it and deal with it.

But beyond that, life was good.

A scream startles you out of your reverie and you come back to earth, looking around the small coffee shop you were in from where to were seated by the window, nearly rolling your eyes when you saw what it was.

It was Kim Seokjin, famous actor who had most woman's heart skipping a beat, who had just walked into the coffee shop, who used to be your best friend. It was two girls who spotted him and was now giggling while pointing - at least discreetly - at him with wide smiles on their faces.

You wonder with vague amusement what they would say if they knew that when you were thirteen, he stuck an olive up his nose because you bet him that his nose was to small and he wouldn't be able to do it.

Your eyes suddenly met Seokjin's, and you looked away immediately, missing the way his face fell into a cherstfallen look. But Seokjin, ever the professional, quickly wiped his features into a charming smirk, even if he felt like he was breaking inside. He wondered, not for the first time, if stardom was worth the price of losing you.

You ignored his presence as best you could, finishing your hot chocolate and the rest of your breakfast. After paying for your meal and getting ready to leave, you couldn't help but take another look at him, because he was your best friend Jin for long before he was Kim Seokjin the Actor and despite what you try to convince yourself of, you still miss him.

You looked to where he was seated and found him already staring. Instead of immediately looking away, you let your gaze linger, long enough that he gave you a hesitant smile and a little wave. You finally adverted your eyes, turned around and walked out of the cafe.

***

"I heard Seokjin-ah is back in town." Your mother said conversationally when you went to visit your parents that evening for dinner.

"Yeah, I saw him this morning in Misses Jung's Diner." You answered, making sure to keep your tone disinterested, not wanting her to get into this topic.

Your mother brightened, as she bustled around the kitchen. Your father was in the living room, watching television. "Oh, and how is he doing? The star life treating him well?"

"How would I know? I didn't talk to him." You shrugged with a light frown. "I told you, we're not friends anymore."

"And who's decision was that?" Your mother asked, rounding on you with narrowed eyes.

"No one, it was just life. We drifted apart, that's it." You answered honestly. You really did drift apart, but it could have been prevented, if Seokjin put in more effort. You did everything you could to keep your friendship, but eventually he stopped returning your calls and texts, and it wasn't until he finally didn't even send you a text on your twenty first birthday that you gave up completely. When you got a new phone from your parents, you didn't save his number again.

"Maybe now that he's back, you two can patch things up again." You mother suggested with an excited smile. "You know, you aren't getting any younger and I want grandbabies."

"Mom!" You gasped in a little exasperation, but not surprised at all. This has been going on since you turned 25. You suppose you're lucky that she's not like Mrs. Kwon next door who tries to set her daughter up with any willing man, that she just teases you with Seokjin every now and again. Probably because she knows you're in love with him, even after all these years. "I'm 28, not 48. Also, Jin and I were just friends. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"You can never tell me enough times that I'll be convinced." She said with a pointed look in her eyes as she grinned at you. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, regretting the night you showed up at home and cried your eyes out because you realised that you are in love with Seokjin and he's gone and you never got to tell him. You almost went to Seoul that weekend to tell him.

"Just because I have feelings for him, doesn't mean he has feelings for me." You reminded her.

"Hah!" She scoffed, muttering under her breath about 'stupid children' and 'won't know unless it hits them in the face'. You shook your head with a fond smile as you watched her until the door bell rang.

You frowned lightly, "Are you expecting someone?"

"Yes." You mother nodded, brightening up significantly, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. "Oh, that must be Minji and Seokjin."

"You invited Jin and his mom to dinner?" You hissed at you mother, only glaring slightly. You assumed Seokjin's dad wasn't coming because he isn't home, probably on rotation - a military man through and through is how you'd discribe Mr. Kim, if ever asked.

You got a whack with the dishtowel behind the head, "Y/N, behave."

Dinner was a boisterous affair, but not from your part. You didn't know if it was thanks to your mother - but you'd bet a month's salary that it was - that you and Seokjin end up sitting next to each other, but you did. He looked at you, a lot. You could feel it, his gaze like a brand on your skin.

"Seokjin-ah, your mom tells me you'll be in town for a while." Your mom said with a bright smile and you breathed a little easier when he moved his eyes away from you. Your heart was still unsteady.

"Yes, Ma'am, I'll be staying for a month before my next film's production starts." He answered politely, voice deep and soothing and everything that you want. You clenched your fists in your lap, swallowing thickly as you reminded yourself that you couldn't have it.

"That's wonderful." Your mother said.

After finishing your dinner, you had to get out of there. "Excuse me, I'm feeling like swinging."

"Me too." Seokjin said with a cheery smile, rising from his chair as well.

"You're not invited." You snapped and felt guilty when he flinched.

"Y/N, this is not how I raised you." Your mother said with a slight glower on her face. You look to your dad for help, but he just smiles at you before stuffing his mouth with more food.

You sighed in resignation, "Fine, he can join me if he really wants."

You walked to the backdoor without looking to see if Seokjin was following you. You wanted to leave so you could get away from him, clear your head and get your bearings right.

The swing you talked about wasn't an actual swing - although you do like going to the swings in the park a few blocks from your house - but a swinging bench that your dad hung for you from the tree behind the house years ago. The swinging bench held countless memories of you and Jin, playing and having fun. You sat down and wait for him to sit down too before kicking with your feet against the ground and swinging.

It was dark and quiet outside, just the sounds of the night animals waking up. It was soothing in a way that little else was. The comforting and safe presence next to you hasn't been there for a decade, and you soaked it up, knowing it wouldn't last past tonight.

"How have you been?" Seokjin eventually asked, breaking the silence that settled over you two.

"Do we have to talk?" You asked and it's not meant to come out that sour or mean, but there's a lot of resentment in you towards him for just letting fifteen years of friendship go down the drain for fame. The friendship between you was something you cherished most in this world and before you were in love with him, you just loved him. Losing a loved one always hurt. And it did. It hurt like hell when you lost him and your friendship.

He flinched from your words, again, and you felt guilty again. He looked at you but you didn't look at him as he spoke. "I'm sorry, that I ever hurt you by leaving."

"It's fine, it's been ten years. I'm over it." You waved him off, when really it isn't fine and you aren't over it.

"Still, I never wanted to hurt you." Seokjin said, sincere and open.

You sighed, closing your eyes and leaning back on the bench. He had the right idea, by apologizing, but he was apologizing for the wrong thing. "You leaving didn't hurt me, Jin. Cutting me out of your life did."

***

A few days later on your day off, you were riding your motorcycle, on your way to the mall - the bookstore had finally let you know that the medical journal you ordered had arrived - when you heard it. Voices screaming 'Seokjin- or Jin-oppa'. Your head automatically swivel in that direction and you didn't know whether to laugh at the sight or feel sorry for Seokjin, who was being chased by five girls. You wanted to just drive away.

But then you caught sight of the slightly terrified look on his face and your heart twisted violently. You swore, and revved your bike before turning around and making a U-turn, riding to where Seokjin was. Both him and the girl's stopped in their tracks when they noticed you were driving straight at them. They all froze, not moving or running like most people would have.

You braked and slowed down until you were infront of Seokjin, idling as you flipped open the visor and called, "Hey, Kim Seokjin! Get on!"

He didn't hesitate, climbing on and wrapping his arms around your waist tightly before you took off. You drove him to his house, not making any detours because you wanted to get away from Seokjin before he could realise the fast pace of your heart was not because of adrenaline but because of his close proximity.

"Can we talk?" He asked after he got off, placing a hand on your forearm to prevent you from taking off.

You took a deep breath, then turned off your bike and took off your helmet, looking at him expectantly while flattening your hair. "Talk about what?"

"Anything, I don't care." He answered, tone bordering on pleading. "I just want to talk to you."

"You were the one that shut me out." You said, voice just this side of cold as you rested your feet on the tar road.

"Because I wanted to make something of myself and I couldn't do that if all I thought about was packing up and coming home to you." Seokjin defended himself, hoping that you'd see reason.

Instead, you scoffed at him. "Well, you did. So, congratulations. I hope you're happy and I hope it was worth it."

"I missed you." Seokjin said out of the blue. Your body tensed and you wanted to look at him, but you didn't. Too afraid that if you did you'd cave and forgive him. "Everyday, for the past ten years, I've missed you. I never stopped, not once."

The words was like a healing salve to your sore and bruised heart that never quite healed right. You swallowed thickly. "What do you want me to say, Jin?"

It was quiet for a while, before he finally asked. "Do you really hate me that much?"

You laughed a little, as if. How much easier would your life be if you could have just hated him after he stopped talking to you. If you did, maybe you could have moved on, had those grandchildren your mother is always nagging about. You shook your head, "No, I don't hate you, I never have. I never could."

"Can we try to be friends again?" He asked, bright and hopeful and you hated to be the one to destroy that, but you didn't have another choice.

"Just so we can drift apart again?" You challenged, scoffing a little. "No, thanks, I already lost you once, I'd rather not do it all over again."

"It's different this time." Seokjin insisted earnestly.

You opened your mouth, to give a harsh remark, but when you saw the honesty and seriousness in his eyes, you asked instead, "How?"

Seokjin smiled at you and you ignored the way it made you feel like you could melt into a puddle of goo. "Well, for one, we're both grown up this time around. And two, I've decided that maybe it's time to start putting roots down."

"Haven't you done that in the city?" You questioned with a frown.

"Not really, no." Seokjin shook his head. "There's just no place like home, you know?" He asked, giving you a look

You looked at him and smiled slightly, "Yeah, I know."

"Can I show you something? Tomorrow?" Seokjin asked, and seeing your hesitation, he added on a gentle, "Please."

"Okay." You agreed, watching as he gave you a brilliant smile. Your heart singed and your stomach flip-flopped.

"You can come by tomorrow at 11." He said and you nodded in agreement.

"See you tomorrow."

You started your bike and drove away, anticipation and excitement for the next day knotting your stomach.

***

"Why did you bring me here?" You asked the next day, heart full of bursting emotions as you looked at the house. It wasn't just any house, it was your dream house. The house you fell in love with when you were fifteen years old, it wasn't a mansion, but it wasn't a small house either, at three stories high. It was an old, fixer upper, but you've always loved it. It was a little secluded, being just out of town and in the woods, and it was where you planned to stay one day.

Seokjin knew all of this. You two sneaked here many times and he listened to you rant about the house and how perfect it is even more times. So, why bring you here now?

"Remember what I said about putting roots down?" He asked and you hummed in confirmation, nodding slightly, a bit confused. "I bought it."

Your eyes widened and you gaped at him, completely thrown off by his words. "You- what? Why?"

Suddenly, his demeanor turned nervous, hands trembling slightly and voice shaky when he spoke, "I was hoping that, maybe, it could be a home. For us."

"Jin-"

"Just let me talk, okay? Because if I don't say this right now, I never will." Seokjin said, holding up a hand to silence you, and you nodded, a little greatful because you had no idea what the hell to say to that. "I've been in love with you since I was thirteen years old and ten years ago I left because I had nothing to offer you, I had no money, no way to give you your dream house. But now? Now I can give you everything you deserve."

You still didn't know what to say. You stayed quiet, thinking about what he said and how to respond to that because this - Jin telling you he loves you back - is everything you've ever wanted.

"Jin, I didn't need this, it was just a dream. You-" You broke off, emotions choking you up. "You were what I really wanted."

"I know, Y/N. I've known you almost all my life, and I know material things isn't what makes you happy, but I wanted to be able to give them to you." He said sincerely, looking at you with his chocolatey depths that made your heartbeat speed up. He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "These last ten years, they were hell with out you. I tried to stay your friend, but it got to hard to talk to you everyday and not be with you, not being able to tell you what I feel. So, I started putting distance between us, promising myself that one day, I'll come back and tell you everything."

Your mouth felt dry, heart thundering in your ears as you looked at him. Your voice was a whisper when you spoke, "Do you know how much you hurt me? Do you have any idea?"

"I do, because it hurt me too. I'm sorry, Y/N, so truly sorry and I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you'll let me." He said, taking a step forward but you took one back, needing space to think.

"How do I know you won't just leave again?" You asked him, challenging and a little mean.

"Because I love you and I want a life with you." Seokjin said, then much more hesitant and softer, he asked, "Do you want that too?"

You stared at him, heart beating wildly, eyes stinging and chest constricting. You didn't think it was possible to feel this much all at once. Finally, you nodded slowly. "Yeah, I do."

Seokjin sighed in relief, shoulders slumping over as he nearly kneeled over with the force of his relief. He took a step closer and when you didn't move away from him again, he stepped closed until he was near enough to pull you close, hugging you tightly to his body, the way your body fit against his familiar, but at the same time it was new because he'd never hugged you before while knowing that you reciprocate his feelings. He dreamed, wished, hoped but never fully believed it. His whole life, everything he built, was done on nothing but his love for you. He didn't know if you felt the same or if you'd even still be here by the time he came back or even if you were, if you would still be single then. All he had was his love. His love that burned brighter than ever before.

"Hey, stupid." You called softly, cheeks aching you were smiling so wide.

"I'm not-" He cut himself off with a resigned sigh. "What is it?"

"I love you."

"I love you too." He said, and you could hear the smile in this voice.

"It's not going to be easy." You warned him, because there was at least sixty different ways this could go wrong. You held him a little tighter and he squeezed back.

"Nothing worth having ever is." He retorted smugly.

"Smartass." You huffed, slapping lightly against his back, more fond than anything else.

"Your smartass, though."

"Yeah," You nodded with a happy smile, lifting your head from his chest so you can look into his eyes. "Mine."

Seokjin cupped your cheeks, leaning down and pressing a quick and gentle kiss against your lips. He pulled away, cheeks a lovely shade of pink. You could feel the heat spreading to your own cheeks as well. "Sorry, I should have asked before I kissed you."

"You call that a kiss?" You huffed, watching as realisation spread in his eyes. He smirked down at you and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, you yanked him down and pulled him into a deep and passionate kiss, because really, it's been over a decade since you've wanted to do this. He didn't hesitate to respond to your kiss, just as eagerly and you realised that this was finally happening. After all this time, years of pining and hurting and thinking it never would, it was finally happening.

Your mother is going to gloat all the way into the next century.

the end.

[hypnoticwinter]

Down the Rabbit Hole part 25

“Jesus,” Erica breathes, “you weren’t kidding,” and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

I’ve managed to keep my heartrate under control all the way down to the barrows but now that we’re here I’m able to let my breath out and relax a little, ironically. The place is a graveyard, a grisly butcher’s workshop of stinking ichor and dismembered copepods. It is unearthly quiet, even down here in the middle of the Pit’s guts, with the only sound being the dripping of glutinous white phlegm-like vital fluids and occasionally a far-off groan from the Pit’s musculature.

The copepods are everywhere, strewn all over the place like ragdolls, and very few of them are intact. The majority have had their arms ripped off and a ragged hole bored straight through the middle of their armored faceplate that looks like it goes several feet deep at least. Here and there there are dead leeches, the only trace of the leechman, the only thing giving any clue as to what might have happened her. I briefly wish that I still had my camera with me.

Saying goodbye to Elena had made me acutely aware that I may not have been prepared for what I was getting myself into. I had helped her out of the cot and she had stumbled and cried out and then I caught her, prepared for the worst, already starting to panic – had I done a bad job? Had I hurt her somehow while I was tending to her wounds and only now was she able to feel the effects of it, getting up and moving around?

Elena had looked at me, lips already curling into a sheepish grin, and then she must have seen the look on my face and stopped, stood there straight without any assistance from me and then put her hands on my face and cupped me to her and kissed me so long and so hard that I felt a little faint. Erica had coughed behind us, a little uncomfortably, but when we finally broke apart I really had eyes only for Elena, I couldn’t stop staring at her, at the freckles across her cheeks, at the way one of the corners of her lips lifted slightly higher than the other when she smiled, at a dozen little things like that that I wanted to fix in my mind.

I don’t think I really knew, not consciously, at least, why I made such an effort to keep a clear image of her in my head then, to get every detail down in as complete a manner as I could. It only became apparent to me once we had walked out to the Cord and Elena had opened the door and turned around and waved to me before disappearing that I had been so concerned with her safety that I had had no concern at all for mine.

The door clanged shut and Marcus had spun the wheel to seal it tightly and then Elena was gone. Before she left we had hugged again, there in Oyster’s Shame, amid the glistening walls and the sounds of more of the tiny pearly deposits falling here and there like a soft distant rain. “You come back to me,” she had growled, right into my ear, and I could feel her leave a wet spot on my cheek from where she had begun to cry, and I wanted so badly to go with her but I didn’t see any way I could.

“Well,” I had said to Erica, forcing myself to sound brighter than I had felt, “let’s get this over with.”

So we did.

Marcus kicks one of the dead leeches and it rolls a little. It looks like it has some weight to it, some heftiness that isn’t immediately apparent from how slender it is. It’s about the length of my arm. “What the hell is this, E?” he asks, looking up at her, and Erica shakes her head, getting down on her haunches to examine it.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” she says. “It’s a little bit like a gastric bristleworm but not as…I don’t know, bristly.”

I’m standing there in the back with my arms folded, waiting. Next to me is the stinking corpse of a copepod; this one has been crushed, its insides, ropy and white, flooding out in a great mass from its burst sides. Even with the helmet up I can smell it; Erica and Marcus must have cast-iron stomachs. Erica does, anyway; when we first made it down to the barrows we’d had to stop for a moment to let Marcus vomit.

The tracking PDA had lead us almost exactly the way we’d gone the day before, back before everything had gone to hell. I still don’t know exactly what had kicked it off to begin with; my best guess was that the Leechman had showed up and gone on a rampage just after we’d left with the crystal, and the copepods, they must have assumed that it was our fault, that we’d drawn it here or were somehow working with it. Did they know what it was? Did they recognize it? I wish the Big Guy were still around to ask but we had passed his desiccated, punctured corpse, recognizable only by the stump of one of its wrists, as we had made our way through the central chamber. Marcus is carrying the Sergeant’s slug rifle but he does so nervously, as though he’s afraid of it. He clearly isn’t familiar with the thing. I wonder what’ll happen if he does have to fire it, if it’ll just put him on his ass or if it’ll actually break a bone.

The two of them have been decent to me so far. Erica seems genuinely regretful about hitting me earlier; she doesn’t look at me most of the time, and if she does need me for something, mainly to use the suit computer to look at a map, she asks for me politely and in a soft voice. I thought that Marcus might curse at me or harbor some kind of ill-feeling; after all, Elena – after all, my girlfriend attacked him, and I have no doubt that if she had been able to get away with it she likely would have shot the both of them and washed her hands of it.

The thought makes me shudder very slightly, but not of fear or anger but just vague baseless exhilaration, of minor and muted joy that things are finally happening, for better or for worse, for good or ill, that great capital-letter THINGS WILL CHANGE finally rolling over and putting muscle behind its epitaph.

I had been terrified on the way down that the copepods would have torn us apart, would have eaten us. I had no confidence in Erica and Marcus’ ability to protect this little illicit expedition. They have no plan, no notion of what might be waiting for them. And I don’t know what they intend to do if they do actually manage somehow to get their hands on the crystal. Break it? But that’d be counterproductive, wouldn’t it, as if what Erica’s saying is right, that’d just give us that psychic illness.

If I don’t have it already. Was that dream a dream or the start of it? Is it –

No, stop. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s the perfectly normal sort of dream to have when you’re under this much stress, in these conditions. Once you’re out of here, once you’ve – Christ, I don’t know, gotten Elena some vacation time or sick leave or whatever the hell and spent the rest of your savings taking her to fucking Tahiti or somewhere, if you’re still having the dreams then, you can worry about it.

I could tell them, I could tell Erica and Marcus. It’d be easy. I could just say something like, ‘hey, uh, so there’s this giant fucking ogre made out of leeches wandering around down here and it’s got the crystal you’re after, and it killed all these copepods. Oh, and the crystal weighs about a ton and we had to get a robot to carry it, which I notice you guys didn’t bring with you. No, you can’t use our robot, it’s probably smashed to bits somewhere.’

They wouldn’t believe me. There’s no way in hell they’d believe me. Even if I did want to save their asses, which at the moment is not very high up on my priority list. I’m still maintaining the faint hope that they might actually find the damn Leechman and try to get into a fight with it, which would be my cue to run like hell.

“Roan,” Erica asks me, again using that mildly infuriating soft and considerate voice, “have you seen one of these before?” She’s holding the body of the leech out to me, grasping it like one might hold a snake, right behind the head. Its mouth gapes insanely wide and round and the body hangs limp. I can’t stop myself from taking a step backwards.

Goddam it, Erica.

“Leechman,” I say, and then I cough. Our eyes meet for the first time in a half hour. “The leechman’s here.”

Erica’s eyes seem to grow instantly deeper. Her mouth is open slightly, and she stares at me in silence until Marcus nudges her, his eyes flicking between her and me. “What’s the leechman?” he asks, and Erica, broken out of her reverie, licks her lips and glances over at him.

“Nothing,” she tells him, getting to her feet quickly. “A fairy tale. Like the boogeyman.”

Marcus doesn’t believe this; I can tell from the way he looks at her, but he doesn’t question it, just gets to his feet as well and follows her as she pulls out the tracking PDA, taps at the screen a few times, and then points down at one of the darkened vents. “That way,” she says, and where she points we follow.

We make our winding way through the ass-end of the barrows, the part we hadn’t gone through yesterday, and then the trail takes a corkscrewing, winding path downwards. We are very clearly in a section of the Pit that people have not been in very often. Even in the sections leading up to the barrows, where the flesh of the vents is left bare and uncovered, there are still lights strung here and there, little radio repeaters and every now and then a tiny, cramped-looking ranger station, mostly mothballed and closed-off, but still evidence that someone had come before us. In the barrows, though, this stopped entirely. There were little trails of cleat-marks here and there, but I think the majority of them were from us stomping through earlier, they looked too fresh, too new.

We only saw a couple of copepods, and these from far off, across vast chasms of flesh, scarred here and there like cliff-faces. I couldn’t divine their purpose, just – anomalies of anatomy, no meaning, no clear analogue I can draw. Just places where the flesh falls away and vague misty nothing takes its place. As I stand on the precipice looking over and down into darkness, watching the way my flashlight beam peters out depressingly soon, I swear that for a moment I can see something moving around, something large, fluttering and flapping and swooping like some kind of giant bat, but if anything was there, it vanished so quickly as to not leave an impression on me other than a brief glimpse of size and frantic motion.

I turned back to see if Marcus or Erica had seen any of it but they were huddled together, deep in conversation, hunched over the PDA. After a moment I traipsed over to join them. With each step on the way down I had felt my weariness building, both in my body and in my heart – I had shoved so much out of the way down somewhere inside of me where I didn’t have to feel it, and it was only now that it was beginning to creep back out at me.

We’d passed some things I’d recognized from the rest of the squad – there was a torn piece of a suit there, in a small knurled corner, dirty and speckled with red matter that might have been blood or bits of flesh. I didn’t look closely enough to check. A boot, cleated firmly into the ground. Nothing as definite as a body; the closest I saw was a great foaming gout of blood splashed across the floor and up part of the wall of the vent, but no indication as to whether it came from a person, from a member of the team, from Klaus or Euler or – or Peter, or whether it was just natural, some artery in the floor being clipped during the fighting and spraying everywhere until capillary action cut it off.

If I think about it I won’t be able to go on. I can’t bear to –

Alright, Roan. Easy girl. Deal with it later. Right now just focus on staying alive. Get back to Elena and then you can cry about things. God, poor Peter, though; and poor Makado, waiting for him. How would I feel if it had been me up there and Elena down here?

I think of her, alone, making her way up the Cord, no weapon, still hurting, probably, as the painkiller starts to wear off, and I bite my lip, hard. Goddam it, I’m not going to cry. Not down here. She’s fine, she’s going to be perfectly fine. She knows how to handle herself.

I focus instead on the ache in my knees, in my back, in my arms. We’ve been going for so long, it feels like; hours upon hours. I’d check the time on the wrist computer but these damn gloves - !

Erica and Marcus look tired as well, at least. Maybe they’ll want to rest soon. We’ll be able to eat, sleep perhaps…they have to have some kind of tent, or sleeping bags, or something, even if it’s not one of the fancy hexagonal ones the squad used. I think about pointing out that we’re all dog tired, we might as well take a break before we go further, but I nix that idea quickly – I don’t want to seem weak. Erica’s given the impression that she won’t push me but Marcus is still a wild card, I don’t know him, how he handles stress, how he’ll act in a couple of hours when he’s even more tired and hungry.

They gesture and lead on, and I follow, dead on my feet but still forcing myself to continue.

And then, after fifteen minutes of walking, down treacherous polyped inclines, past outcroppings of redundant, keratinous spines, we find, laying in a slump with his neck at an awkward unnatural angle, his eyes terribly bright and aware, Euler.

I cry out when I see him; my stomach makes a horrible lurch as I take in the gnawed markings dotting his once-bright ranger suit, round and puckered and blood-crusted. The leeches have been at him but left him alive for some inscrutable reason. He coughs as we shine our lights on him and shifts feebly but he is unable to move more than an inch or two – his spine is clearly broken.

I hadn’t expected to find any bodies; somehow I had guessed that one way or another, anyone lost down here would be utterly irretrievable. But there is Euler, the one person I would never have expected to survive – I guess I underestimated him.

Or perhaps his current condition isn’t really surviving in the main sense. Once I’ve gathered my senses I rush to him and kneel there beside him. I have nothing to offer him, no painkillers, no first aid, nothing besides companionship, but it’s better than standing and gawking as Erica and Marcus seem to be satisfied with. I wipe his forehead with my gloved palm lightly, the sweat shining on the rubber in the wake of my flashlight, and Euler’s eyes shift up to meet mine and he croaks out my name in a hoarse voice. He says it wrong, like it were one syllable, but hearing someone I care about even infinitesimally say it is like breathing after being underwater.

“Euler,” I tell him, and my voice breaks just a tiny bit right at the end. I lick my lips and try again. “Euler, what the hell happened to you?”

“I’m – it’s bad, Roan,” he says. Rone. Should have changed my name in that rebellious phase, added that accent mark I always longed for. There’d be less ambiguity. I smile to myself in spite of everything and he grins at me, just a little bit, but his eyes stay wide and frightened. They flick over to Erica and Marcus, and I look back at them as well, and then give an exasperated sigh.

“Don’t you two have any damn medical things? A first aid kit?” They glance at each other. “Anything?”

“I thought you might…” Euler coughs. “Might have come to rescue us.”

I frown. Us?

“Euler, are there…more people from the squad down here? Hurt somewhere?”

He shakes his head minutely, then winces. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know where to touch him without hurting him. I tear my glove off with my teeth, just lay my hand against his cheek. It feels like an awkwardly intimate gesture but I don’t know what else to do, I don’t know how else to help. If it were me I think I’d – I think I’d want human contact, something skin to skin. I think it might be a comfort.

“What happened?” I whisper.

“The Leechman,” he says, “it – it grabbed me and then it –“

He cries out, gently, and I move my hand downward and grab his. He clutches at me desperately. The last time I had seen him the leeches had been streaming into his open mouth, writhing against him, wrapping him like a hundred pythons at once. I bite my lip and glare back at Erica again. “Will you two fucking do something?”

“He’s clearly past any help we could give him,” Erica says, and Marcus nods.

For a very brief moment I am so intensely angry I feel as though I might burst into flame. Euler cries out softly again and I realize I have squeezed his hand too hard, and I jerk my hand back from his, muttering a stammered apology. He shakes his head.

“They’re right, I’m done for,” he tells me. “You should – you’re going down further?” he asks, frowning, and I nod.

“Those two want the crystal,” I tell him, lowering my voice a little.

“It went…that way,” he says, glancing to the right, further down the vent and into the Pit’s depths. We sit there in silence for a moment longer and then finally work up enough nerve to ask him the question I wanted to.

“Are you in pain?”

He thinks about it for a moment. “It feels like I should be but it’s just dull.” He breathes heavily. “I’m afraid.”

“Euler, don’t –“

“I’m going to die down here,” he says, and there is a terrible layer of finality in his voice that makes my heart fall.

“No, Euler, you’re not –“ I start, but then cut myself off. Because he’s right, isn’t he? I can’t argue with him, there’s no way in hell that we’re going to be able to get him out of here. If he has a broken neck there’s no fucking way we could stabilize him well enough to carry him out of here, and even if we could, I’d need Erica and Marcus’ help, which they don’t seem incredibly inclined to give me. I look back at them and start to get up, but Euler catches the cuff of my suit and I stop, hunkered over awkwardly.

“Roan, I saw – “

He coughs; I can see his chest heaving. I wonder about those leeches; I know I saw them flooding into his mouth, forcing their way down his throat…what would have –

“I saw inside it,” he tells me. I frown.

“Inside what?”

“The Leechman,” he says. His eyes are boring into mine with a horrible intensity, practically bulging outwards. “I saw inside it and – and it was so bright –“

“Euler, I don’t know what you –“

“Don’t leave me down here,” he says quietly, and then lets go. There is a pleading in his eyes that stops me dead. I’ve let my mouth fall open slightly, but there is no mistaking what he means, there is no ambiguity in the quiet desperation in his tone. He wants me to –

I get up quickly. My hands are shaking and my arms and legs feel like I’ve been whipped with a coil of lightning. I walk over to Erica and Marcus, and Erica nods at me. “You ready to go?” she asks, and I shake my head. I open my mouth and try to talk but I choke a little, then cough and try it again.

“Erica, Euler, he –“

“What is it?”

I shut my eyes. “Kill him,” I tell her. “He asked me to but I can’t – I can’t do that. He’s scared and he doesn’t want to have to lay down here unable to move for a couple more days before something fucking eats him or he dies of exposure. Please.”

Erica’s eyes are very dark. She glances at Marcus, then back at me, before she reaches down to her belt and unsnaps the holster there, then hands me the revolver. I nearly drop it; it’s heavier than I had expected. “Do it yourself,” she tells me. Her voice is like glass. “We’ve wasted enough time here already.”

“You – “ I start, but I choke it back. She’s trusting me giving me the revolver; this means something to her. This is a test. But what am I supposed to do? Can I –

But you already did once before, some part of me whispers at the back of my head. Remember Rey? He’s dead because of you. And before that -

Marcus is covering me with his own slim little pistol. I swallow hard and try not to feel the imprint of its muzzle, covering me from five, seven, ten feet away from me, my back itching as I half-expect to hear a report and feel a sharp shock –

But nothing happens. I make it to Euler; he’s watching me, his eyes rolled upwards in a manner that somehow distinctly reminds me of a dog, somehow, and I hate myself for thinking so, but he’s looking at me in the same way a dog will look up at you, not moving its head, its eyes wide and hopeful.

I thought the gun might feel better in my hand after I’d had it there for a while, but it’s still awkward and heavy and purposeful. It’s much heavier than the pistol they’d given me to practice with during qualifications back on the range a few days ago; that one hadn’t even felt like a gun, it hadn’t felt real. This one most certainly does.

Euler nods at me infinitesimally. “It’s…alright,” he says. He seems to be laboring a bit more now; maybe he hadn’t been expending very much energy until we came across him. I certainly didn’t hear any cries for help on the walk up. If he’d been there the whole time, for hours, listening to the Leechman and the copepods duke it out…

“Euler,” I say, “what did you mean when you said you saw inside the Leechman?”

“Roan,” he says. His eyes are fixed on the revolver. I’m stalling, I realize; I’m putting it off so that maybe somehow this responsibility will be removed from me. The inside of my mouth is very dry and I swallow hard, willing some moisture to return to it.

“Okay,” I say quietly. Okay, I think to myself. I take the revolver, hold it in two hands, one on the handle, the barrel resting in the palm of my other hand. I look at the cylinder, fumble for a moment before that trip all those years ago with my dad comes back to me and I find the catch and swing it outwards. Erica hasn’t reloaded since she shot Elena, I note, some dull part of my mind logging the information without any further comment. I can see the tiny mark of the struck primer on one of the cartridges. But I won’t find any salvation here, there are still five more shots that are perfectly serviceable.

I click it shut, remembering, as my dad told me, not to flick it closed, not to spin it. You aren’t a cowboy, he’d said to me gravely, pressing the gun into my chest. It had smelled like oil and metal, like something functional, like when you open the hood of your car. And I had trembled then as I am now, and I had looked out across the flat open expanse of grass –

Even then I couldn’t bear to think of it after I’d done it.

I’m stalling.

Goddam it, Roan, goddam you and your willingness to stick your neck out.

Euler makes a small noise beneath me and I look down at him. “Are you sure?” I ask, willing him to say no, to rethink it, to give me a reprieve. He nods.

“Just do it,” he says. “They won’t come get me, they won’t care. Just do it.”

“Okay,” I breathe, and then I hold the gun in two hands – why does it come back to me so easily? – and put it up very close to his forehead, and Euler shuts his eyes, and I shut mine as well. I inhale and then exhale.

Five minutes later I hear feet squelching up behind me and then Marcus is crouching next to me and prying the gun from my nerveless hands. “It’s okay,” he says, not unkindly, and then he is gently pushing me out of the way. I get to my feet, not knowing what else to do. I meet Euler’s eyes and I start to say something, then I stop. There is no blame in them, or maybe I don’t want to see blame. So instead I turn around and hunch myself against the wall, and when the gunshot finally sounds I flinch, and then I finally let myself cry.

When I turn back around I can’t bring myself to look at him. I instead watch Marcus hand the revolver back to Erica, watch Erica slip it back into the holster, watch Marcus shove his pistol into the waistband of his heavy-duty jeans. I blurt out the only thing that comes to my mind and tell him that he shouldn’t carry one in the chamber like that, it’s dangerous, and Marcus gives me a pitying look and says nothing. When I meet Erica’s eyes they are lighter than before and I realize, with a shudder as another wave of tears rolls soundlessly down my cheeks, that whatever test there was, whatever reason made her give me the revolver, I passed.

And then we stomp off into the darkness and leave poor Euler behind.

 * * *

 The next day I feel better. I slept better than I thought I might have, sandwiched between Erica and Marcus in their tent, cramped and with not enough air mattresses or sleeping bags, but I managed. They shared some of their food with me, MREs scavenged from some surplus store somewhere, which I found faintly comforting, and then the next day, when someone’s alarm blared and woke us, I was disconcertingly and surprisingly fresh-feeling. All the pain and sorrow I thought might have come boiling out of me when I let my guard down never did, and instead it was replaced with a calm, warm, faintly comforting deadness. I was, I realize now, preparing on some level to die. I had arrived at a zenlike state that had me convinced I was either dead or dreaming, a fragile state of mind that I had tried so hard to reach at that dojo in Oklahoma but which constantly eluded me.

Since Friday I am complicit now in two murders, one arguably and one less so. When I think of myself the person I am is thorny and sharp-edged and armored and I do not recognize her when I hold her in my arms. I blow out a breath and pop my eyes open as Marcus nudges me and hands me a cup of bootleg espresso made from two freeze-dried pouches, and I take it gratefully and even manage to smile at him. I feel…clean.

We’ll see how long that lasts.

More walking, more bypasses across stinking rivers of digested slurry, more crawling across meter-wide cords of banded muscle. The anatomy gets stranger and stranger, more open, more wild. Nerves like waving cilia, waggling at us like anemones, retract at lightspeed at our approach. Everything is luminescent down here, everything glows, but what glows brightest of all is the rectangular blocky backlight of Erica’s PDA, guiding us forward like a north star. She seems less certain of it, less sure; she stops and consults with Marcus every now and then and I feel fairly frequently like I have simply been forgotten, like I am an insurance policy for the return trip, a hostage kept in waiting to be revealed and used as leverage later on.

Will Makado care, I wonder, when she knows that they’ve taken me? I hope she will. I think we got close enough that she would. I think she likes me.

Does she like me enough to send a team after me? I’m sure there’s some kind of tracking device in this suit but will it even function this deep down? I don’t know.

I stub my toe on a bloated adipose swelling and it belches a gout of rank, sticky fluid on me. We pause again for Marcus to vomit.

Eventually we make it to a curled, winding passageway, a tight intestinal-feeling loop that circles in on itself over and over again, the tissue struggling against us at every turn, that we have to claw and scrape and crawl through but that the PDA swears is the right way to go, the simplified arrow logo spinning back around and directing us back in every time we think of turning around and trying someplace else. We push through and through until finally it vomits us out, breathing hard and covered in blood and strands of pale-white membrane, and then we stop, eyes wide, staring up and up and up at the space we’ve found ourselves in.

It’s enormous, the size of a stadium and at least twice or maybe three times as deep, great gnarled coils of sparking nerves weaving in and out of the fleshy, irregular walls casting macabre light in regular snaking patterns across the broad flat plate of bone that divides the space nearly in half, knotty and bulging and thick, honeycombed and dripping with thick resinous marrow.

There are things moving, I realize, on the far-off floor of the chasm, great writhing worms or – no, no, they have legs. Squat lizard-like figures, then, moving in fits and starts, their flesh a glistening pale sickly color, like milk that’s gone off. They must be simply enormous for us to be able to see them from this distance. I glance back at Erica and Marcus; their mouths are open, dumbstruck as well – they must not have known this was here. Could we be the first to find this place?

I watch a shadow, a patchy midnight cutout, detach itself from the bone plate and fall swooping to the floor of the chasm, and then it wings its way back up, one of the lizards caught in its claws, dangling beneath like a rabbit caught by a hawk. I watch, overwhelmed, as the – the thing, whatever it is, I want to call it a bird but it can’t be, it simply can’t be – flutters ungainly and graceless back to the bone and vanishes with its prey into a whorled hole in the side, ragged and uneven.

“What is this place?” I mutter to Erica, after I’ve regained enough of my senses to think to speak, and she shakes her head faintly.

“I have no idea,” she tells me, but before I can say anything else I hear a noise from above us; a subtle noise, like a whistling, drawn-out swoosh, and when I look upwards I can only see a diving, dark-furred silhouette with outstretched, foot-long claws and a hungry, slavering mouth.

I don’t have time to scream.

Continue with Part 26

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[divineluce]

An Impasse || Solomon & Luce

Timing: November 13th

Location: The Outskirts

Tagging: @shroomsbysolomon & @divineluce

Description: Solomon and Luce officially meet for the first time. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

For the third night in a row, Luce laced up her shoes and exited the Vural home. Her homecoming had been… rocky at best. A shitshow at worse. And, what with all of the bullshit she’d found out regarding Nadia, Remmy giving her shit for leaving, and the goddamn menagerie of animals in her room, sleeping was pretty much out of the question. Which left her with two options-- hit up Soul and risk running into frankly Frank again, or go for a run. It was a no-brainer. Jogging into the woods, she made her way through the familiar trails that wound their way behind Bea’s home. She’d run them so often that, even after spending a month out of town, she still remembered every curve and turn in the path. It was easy, it was simple, it was going through the motions. She could do that, right? And then, once she could do that, maybe things would get better. As she ran, Luce noticed a figure off the path, illuminated in the waning moonlight and she slowed to a stop. “You lost there?” She asked, squinting through the darkness.

Solomon had a bad habit of losing himself in whatever he was doing, hyper-focusing to the point that he’d forget the world around him until something demanded his attention. In this case, it was an unexpected voice, jarring him out of whatever reverie he’d fallen into and urging him to whip around, clasping his hands behind his back to hide their wooden appearance as he stammered and stalled. “Oh! No, I, uhh…” His struggle to find the right words seemed to lose importance as he took in the visage of the woman on the trail, and something inside of him got all twisted up. It took a few beats for him to be able to place the sudden rush of emotion, not knowing who she was or why he should suddenly feel… fear? But then it came to him, and all at once, that fear was intermingling with anger. “You,” he grumbled, standing up from his crouch and taking a step toward her. He’d seen what she had done in the forest… and the only reason she still stood was because he had also witnessed her pitiful attempt at making amends. It was enough to stay his hand, but the bitter tang of resentment never left his tongue. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, burning the woods like you did.” His typically soft voice was harsher now, still low in volume, but it carried a distinct edge. “I’m still trying to repair the landscape. What’s your problem?”

As the man stammered for a moment, Luce rested her hands on her hips, waiting for him to finish his sentence. It was a bit too dark for her to get a good look at him, but she could tell he wasn’t some lost hiker. For one, no one came hiking around here, not at this time of night. For another, if he wasn’t dressed like one. No backpack, no water bottles, nothing like that. But, then he rose and took a step towards her. Instinctively, Luce’s hands curled at her side, the flames that danced in her blood ready to be called at a moment’s notice. “What the fuck is your problem?” She shot back, startled. Burning the woods? For one thing, how did he know about that? For another, which time was he talking about? One of the many rainy nights when she’d hiked out into the middle of nowhere, to practice her flames? Or when she and Anita had run from the shitty moose creature and she’d lit the brush aflame to escape? Or was it the time she’d razed the ground around her and Adam in the wake of Bea’s death? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Luce lied smoothly.

“Ooohhh, yes you do,” Solomon snapped, his dark eyes narrowing. “I saw you… fleeing the scene, leaving the poor forest in such a state…” It made his heart ache as he recalled the pain he’d felt that night, the sorrow that rose from the ground as it mixed with ash and embers. He was so in tune with the familiar landscape, so very much a part of it, that any damage it suffered bled over to him. It’s why most things never escaped his knowledge, and why he’d had to bloody his hands over the centuries, stopping men from cutting deeper and spreading further. What he couldn’t mention was how his fear had held him back for the first time — seeing that the woman was controlling the fire and not merely setting it free had stopped him in his tracks. If he died, who knew what would happen to the woods? It was too risky, and the damage had been done, so he’d decided to let her go and tend to the charred earth. Letting out a shaky sigh, Solomon appeared to be trying to calm himself, eyes closing while he regained his composure. “But… I saw you trying to make amends, too, so… I suppose it’s a start.” Peering at her once again, the disguised Leshy lifted a finger to point it at her. “Got my eye on you, though…”

As the man glared daggers at her, Luce kept her gaze level. She didn’t give a shit who this guy thought he was, she’d make his night real fucking bad if he decided to try and pull something. But, when he started yelling at her about fleeing the scene, she blinked in confusion. Was he talking about when she’d blown up the Ring with Erin months ago? Or when she’d tried to blow up the shitty mime restaurant? Christ. She really needed to narrow down her arson attempts. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And, even if I did, you’re gonna have to narrow it down.” She said with a shake of her head. The man seemed to be… restraining himself? Like he wanted to move against her? Which would be a bad idea on his part for sure. “What the fuck are you talking about? Are you some kind of stalker? Because you picked the wrong girl for that.”

Stalker? Oh. Solomon drew another weary breath, shaking his head as he pushed his anger aside. “The specifics don’t matter, what does matter is your lack of care when it comes to this place.” He gestured vaguely at the trees that surrounded them, letting his gaze slide away from her for the quickest of moments. “Look, I’m just… all I’m asking is for you to please stop burning it down with your fire… hands.” Whatever you’d call that, he wasn’t sure. He’d never really encountered anything like it before, and he didn’t exactly want to make a habit of it, either. “Lot of things live around here, you know, myself included… and we’re not exactly keen on having our home scorched on the regular.” Truth be told, it was something that half the damn town seemed to need to hear, given their track record. It was exhausting work, trying to keep up with every new threat.

“Uh, it sure fucking does if you’ve been following me around like some kind of creep.” Luce said as she continued to stare at the stranger. As he waved around at the forest and then mentioned her firehands, her eyes narrowed. Had he seen her use her magic before? No, he couldn’t have. For one thing, she covered her bases pretty fucking well. And even if he had, why the fuck was he only just now stopping her. “My fire hands? I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, dude.” She said, shaking her head as though he was speaking nonsense. “I don’t know what you think I’ve done or what you think you saw, but you’re mistaken.” She replied. She wasn’t sure what this guy’s deal was, but it was easier to deny this than to deal with the repercussions that came with someone finding out she was magically inclined.

“I’m not following you, I live here,” Solomon grumbled in return. “I see most things that happen, whether folks want me to or not.” Her continued rebuttals only made him growl in frustration, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You make fire. I don’t know how, but you do it in a way that… normal people cannot. Your denial does not change this fact.” He considered for a moment that perhaps she was like him—inclined to keep that aspect of herself secret. “And personally, I’ve nothing to gain from knowing that, I would just like to formally ask you to please stop setting fire to my forest. Take your flames someplace else.” Exasperation radiated off of him, but his gaze was steady. A hundred and fifty years ago, he’d have just slain her on the spot. But… he was trying to be a little kinder about it in this case, especially since she’d come back later to plant seeds. The gesture warranted recognition. 

He lived here? In the fucking woods? Because that was any less creepy than the fact he’d watched her here. Luce bristled a little as he continued to speak. He’d seen her conjure the flames. How? She’d had run-ins with people before, but she’d always been careful to make sure there was nothing that could ever tie her to the blazes she started. People could look for the ignition point, search for the match or the lighter that didn’t exist because she was the spark. And yet, this fucker seemed to know exactly what she could do. “Let’s say I can do what you say I can do.” She said before gesturing around to them. “Where else would I do shit? If I could make fire, I’m not exactly going to just light up the Common.” She said, though the corner of her mouth turned at the idea. That would be funny, if only for the irritation it would no doubt cause her mother. 

Solomon was, by every account, a very calm and level headed creature. That being said, there was one thing he had almost no patience for, and that was the petulance of a young firestarter.  His entire existence revolved around a singular purpose, and he could only bargain for so long with people like her. His anger flared at her casual, careless remark, dark eyes widening slightly in disbelief. “Anywhere else, girl. Have some respect for the natural world — you’d be dead without it.” He’d taken another step toward her by this point, and something in his body language had changed. He moved less like a man, and more like… well, it was hard to say in the dark of night. “Stop killing things and find a way to be useful with your talents, won’t you? You came back to plant seeds, so I know you must feel some amount of remorse. Hold on to that, remember that, and do not light another blaze in these woods ever again. Do you understand me?” He was being rather generous, he thought, but if she pushed him further still, he couldn’t see himself keeping his composure.

At the sound of the word “girl,” Luce’s eyes narrowed. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? Folding her arms across her chest, she felt the heat of her body begin to grow and rise with her increasing anger. “Respect for the natural world? You think I don’t have respect for it?” She said with a growl. “Fire is just as natural as anything else here. What happens to a forest that’s overgrown with brush and shrubs? What happens to the trees when they get overcrowded and parasites begin to take over? Overgrowth saps the life right out of the soil just as much as my fire does.” She said before shoving her hand into the soil beneath their feet. Pulling up a handful of loamy soil, she let it sprinkle from her fingers back on the ground. “Ash feeds the forest, makes space for new things to grow. I planted those seeds because it was what should have happened. Death. Rebirth. Life. And death again.” She spat.

“Fire may be natural, but you are not,” Solomon snapped in return. “Forest fires at the hands of humans are anything but natural.” His relationship with humans had been… a bit tumultuous, over the years. While he found them to be an interesting sort, it was true that they had, time and time again, shown him that they cared not for the earth that had so lovingly lifted them from their evolutionary cradle and taught them how to walk. “It is not for you to decide when that cycle will happen, purely because you have no place else to play with your magic. Insolent… insolent, the lot of you!” His voice had raised in volume and boomed unnaturally around them, anger rushing to the forefront as he relived the countless times he’d seen the land ravaged by humans. All across the continent, as he moved from home to home, he’d encountered ones like her. Or at least, the picture of her that was piecing together in his mind’s eye. He’d slaughtered a whole village for poisoning the nearby river, and while that level of unhinged rage was rare for him, it was far from impossible. His glamour flickered, his focus waning as he became more irate with the woman standing before him. “Humans have been nothing but a blight on this world—you’re parasites, feeding off the land while you expand your rotten towns and cities, razing whole forests to the ground without care! That is not the life of someone who has respect for it.”

Unnatural. Yes, because she was unnatural. Who was he to say these things anyways? Obviously not human, but what was he? “You think I play with magic?” Luce said, temper flaring once more. Magic wasn’t a game, it wasn’t some toy to be played with, something casual to be used and forgotten. “Oh, you couldn’t be more wrong about that.” Magic lived in her, it breathed in her, it was a grounding tether of power that challenged her and demanded her to rise to that challenge. His voice rang through the woods, but Luce held her ground. This man-- no, not exactly man, obviously not. Whatever he was, he yelled at her and she resisted the urge to let her flames ignite. It would be so easy, so, so easy to let the blue flames lick the ground and spread. But. It would only be proving him right. Watching him, Luce caught the shimmer to his appearance, saw it shudder and caught a glimpse of what looked like… mushrooms? She couldn’t be sure, because the image disappeared almost as soon as she saw it. “If I’m a parasite, then what does that make you? If I’m so beneath you, what are you?” She asked, goading him on. What did he think he was, some kind of god?

Upset as he’d become, it didn’t matter to Solomon whether or not he’d accurately judged her entire character; he’d seen what he’d seen, and she seemed to think that setting his wood ablaze was a perfectly acceptable way to kill time, so he had no further words for her. His gaze was fixed steadily on her, eyes narrowed into slits as he stared her down furiously. It wasn’t until she called him out, questioning the authenticity of his appearance, that he faltered. Well, it wasn’t so much that she’d seen something—that was happening increasingly often, as of late—but it was her question that had him tripping over his own tongue. “I don’t—that doesn’t matter,” he growled. He didn’t rightly know, since he’d been forced to live alone as little more than a sapling and had never met another of his kind. “We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you…. and how you really ought to find a better hobby.”

Quirking her eyebrow, Luce heard the misstep in his voice, the falter in his words. “It doesn’t matter?” She repeated, incredulity mixing with venom in her voice. “Oh, so you can dish it but you can’t take it? You can go around, accusing me of being unnatural, calling me out for ‘playing with magic’ but when it gets turned back around, suddenly it doesn’t matter?” She said, nodding. “Well, now, we’re talking about you. Who made you holier than thou? Who crowned you king of the forest? You don’t know anything about what I am, who I am, or what I’m capable of. Because, if you think that me coming out into the forest and setting fire in the middle of thunderstorms is a hobby, you don’t know me as well as you think. Fucking creepy forest stalker or not, you don’t know me.” She shot back. 

Frustration was coming off Solomon in waves, brought to life by both his anger with the individual yelling at him, and his own personal battle of not knowing who—or what—he truly was. He always told himself it didn’t matter, but in situations like these, it certainly seemed to. She was right, he didn’t know anything about her, and he’d never allowed himself the patience to try and change that before judging someone. Perhaps… perhaps he ought to give it a try. New millennium, new Solomon, and all that. Waiting until she was done, his gaze averted for the first time since their heated exchange had begun, Solomon interjected with a wavering voice. “If I had a word for it, I’d tell you,” he muttered, the defeat in his tone barely masked by indignation. “All I do know is that I’ve been alive for almost a thousand years, and I’ve always felt compelled to protect my home and my innocent neighbors from people like you.” On the last, accusatory word, Solomon flicked his dark eyes back toward the woman, brow furrowed. “So tell me… why shouldn’t I see you as a threat to the forest? Why should I give you a pass, when I’ve cut others down for smaller offenses?”

“Sounds to me like you should figure your shit out before you go around throwing words like “unnatural” around.” Luce fired back, not giving up any ground in this verbal sparring match. She really didn’t give a fuck who-- or what-- this guy was. She was tired of being used as someone else’s punching bag. She was tired of being the who had to make amends, who had to apologize, who was wrong. “A thousand years? Well, it seems you’re hardly a judge of character if you’ve been around this fucking long and can’t tell the difference between a pyromaniac and someone who gives a shit about this place. Because, this is probably really fucking surprising to you, but I do. I actually do give a shit about this town and this forest and the people who live here. I know these woods, I know the forest, I know the animals who call it home. Maybe not the way you do, but I know them.” She held up her hands, an innocent gesture. “I owned my shit. You saw me plant those seeds, you said it yourself. I destroyed that part of the forest the night that--” She caught herself. This person, creature, whatever. He didn’t need to know why she’d burnt the forest down. Why it had been grief and fear and sorrow that had turned her flames blue, that kept her flames blue.  “It happened. And that wasn’t right. So, I went back to make it better as well as I could.”

She was a persistent one, and Solomon could feel that it was wearing him down. This conversation was exhausting, and not doing much more than running in circles, so he caved. Deflating, the fae brought a hand to his forehead and let himself slump against the tree behind him. “Fine. Fine,” he muttered in annoyance, shaking his head. “While I can’t imagine that something would ever drive me to hurt this place like you did, I suppose I’ll have to just accept that fact and deal with it. Just… try to refrain from doing it again in the future, alright? It really does take a lot out of me, trying to fix messes like that.” Heaving a sigh, Solomon waved his free hand in the direction she’d been running when they first encountered one another without looking up at her. “Get out of here, go finish your run. You’ve given me a headache.”

“Yeah, you can’t. And, honestly? I hope you never do.” Luce said, remembering the grief that had overwhelmed her that night, when she’d thrown herself into the forest and done her best to run away from the reality of her situation. She’d started running that day and she’d never really stopped, not even now, when it was over. But, it wasn’t over, was it? Shaking her head, Luce focused her attention on the man who was waving her away. While she was glad that this guy was at least giving up with the whole “protector of the forest” act, she wasn’t a fan of the fact that he was telling her what she should do. Hands still up in the air, she flipped him off, the triangle tattoos on her knuckles a nice added touch of irony. “I’m not in the business of making promises to people. I do what I want. But,” She lowered her hands, and offered a single nod, “noted.” With that, Luce turned and continued on her run, not caring what he thought of their encounter. As far as she was concerned, all this meant was she’d discovered a new self-righteous neighbor.

[delectablycoolscientist]

False Vyper’s amazing texting storyline, the pool part

The False Vyper has this incredible LadyNoir texting comic on her IG and the most recent one was so adorable and emotional, I had to write the scene in my head out.

The Pool

“Girl, are you ok?”

Marinette was brought out of her reverie by Alya unceremoniously dropping onto the bench beside to her.

“I- I’m fine! I’m great! Why wouldn’t I be fine?”

“Uh, because Adrien frickin’ Agreste asked you to hand him a towel while dressed in nothing but the swim trunks from the latest Gabriel line and you just handed it to him without even looking up?”

She did?

Marinette glanced around, spotting the man in question climbing up on the diving board, and yeah, she could see Alya’s point. Adrien was hot to the point of spontaneous combustion, and Marinette hadn’t even noticed.

She turned back to her best friend.

“I’ve just… had a lot on my mind.”

Alya softened.

“I know, babe. I’ve seen it in your face for weeks. I wish you would talk to me about whatever’s going on with you.”

Marinette fought back the tears that threatened to form in her eyes.

“Hey! Hey girl, none of that! I didn’t mean to make you cry!”

Alya wrapped her arms around her, and Marinette took a deep steadying breath, feeling secure in her best friend’s embrace.

“Thanks, Alya,” she whispered. “I promise, if there were something you could do, I would tell you about it, but…”

“Ok, sweetie. I trust you. But you tell me if I can help. You know I just want you to be happy.”

“Thanks,” she said again, sitting back up and wiping her eyes. “I really appreciate it.”

“You gonna be ok?”

“Yeah. Thanks. I’m just… I’m gonna… I don’t know. But thanks.”

“Want me to stay?”

“No, go have fun with Nino. I’ll get myself together and come in a few minutes.”

“Don’t be too long or I’m coming back for you.”

“Yes ma’am. I’ll be there soon.”

As Alya took off for the pool, Marinette sighed. Here she was on this long-awaited day out with her friends, and all she could do was moon about in the corner. Wrestling with her feelings versus her responsibilities was getting seriously old.

“Alya just wants me to be happy. I just want to be happy. Why can’t I just be happy?”

“Oh Marinette,” Tikki’s sweet voice piped up from her backpack on the table. “You can be happy, if you choose it.”

“But what about all the dangers?! None of that has gone away!”

“And they won’t. But you really can’t keep running yourself around like this, Marinette. It’s not fair to yourself, or to Chat.”

“I just… I want to be happy!”

Marinette sat up, squaring her shoulders. She took several calming breaths, trying to shut out the people around her.

She reached past Tikki for her phone, turned her back on the friends that were still at the water, and pulled up the messaging app with trembling fingers.

“Ok. Here goes nothing.”

-       LB: Okay, I have an answer

She pushed send before she could change her mind again, and dropped her phone to her lap, willing her heart to calm down. He probably wouldn’t see the text right away anyway; it was a beautiful day, he was almost certain to be busy.

She jumped a mile and fumbled her phone when it buzzed in her hands.

-       Silly Kitty: Ok wow, okay, we’re doing this now

-       Silly Kitty: Okokok I can do this

Oh God he was freaking out. I mean, she was freaking out too, but she hadn’t meant to cause a spiral in HIM.

Before she could reply, he’d texted again.

-       Silly Kitty: Is this like, going to be a really bad answer and that’s why you’re texting me instead of waiting for the next time we see each other?

She wrote back quickly, trying to put him at ease. But she supposed he did deserve an explanation as to why she was doing this over text.

-       LB: I’m texting you because I can’t stop thinking about it

(And it’s affecting my every-day life, she didn’t say)

-       Silly Kitty: Oh… What we talked about yesterday or… the kiss?

Marinette’s face flushed in a way that had nothing to do with the sun.

-       LB: …both

-       Silly Kitty: Oh

She put her phone down and took another deep breath. Ok, she could do this.

~~~

Adrien watched Alya walk away from Marinette with some concern. If Alya hadn’t been able to get Marinette to join them, something must be really wrong. She probably wouldn’t want to talk to him about it if she wasn’t talking to Alya, but he could still be supportive. He hauled himself out of the pool and made his way towards their group’s table, intent on just giving her a friendly greeting, to make sure she felt included, but as he approached, he heard his phone buzz in his bag.

Sighing, he pulled his gaze from the swoop of Marinette’s ponytail. Hoping desperately that it wasn’t Natalie about to tell him his father had scheduled a last-minute shoot that would ruin his day, he dried his hands with his towel and pulled out the device.

His whole demeanor immediately brightened seeing the app in his notifications, but then sunk as anxiety pooled in his gut, recalling the precarious state of their relationship. He sat down before opening it.

-       My Lady: Okay, I have an answer

Oh God. It was happening. His life as he knew it was about to end right here at the pool. He tried to answer, but couldn’t stop himself from rambling into his keyboard.

Bless her, she tried to calm him down. But…

-       My Lady: I can’t stop thinking about it

-       My Lady: … both

Oh. That was the only thing he could come up with. Oh. Really eloquent, Adrien. But what did this MEAN? He stared at his phone desperately, willing it to chime again. After a moment, her three little dots popped up on the bottom of the screen.

-       My Lady: I actually… I’ve realized that I’ve been thinking about us a lot recently… even before I kissed you

The dots came back. Adrien sucked in a breath through his teeth.

-       My Lady: And I’ve already told you why this is such a bad idea and all the risks we’re taking if we do this but…

His heart went on a rollercoaster ride down to his stomach as he read the first part of the sentence, then swooped back up and lodged in his throat on that little ‘but…’ at the end. He gripped his phone so hard that it hurt.

-       My Lady: I really like you, Chat. I want to see if us being in a relationship will actually work

Adrien choked as the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding forced its way past the obstruction in his throat. He tried to swallow it back, with limited success, as his emotions bubbled up from his stomach.

There it was. The words he’d waiting years to hear. Read. Whatever. It somehow didn’t seem possible.

-       CN: Wait really?? Are you being serious right now? Are you sure?

-       CN: This isn’t a joke is it? I’ll actually cry

-       My Lady: Lol no, this isn’t a joke

Of course it wasn’t. Ladybug wasn’t cruel like that. She was kindness and softness and LOVE and she wanted to be with HIM. He blinked rapidly as tears pricked the corners of his eyes, chuffing a watery laugh.

-       CN: Ok never mind, I’m still crying

-       My Lady: Pffft you’re such a dork

Of course, she thought he was joking about crying. She didn’t seem to realize how much this meant to him. He would have to show her. Yes, he was a dork, but he didn’t give a damn how stupid he looked because LADYBUG wanted to give a RELATIONSHIP with HIM a chance! Adrien clapped a hand to his mouth to keep from actually crying out loud as he continued to stare at the beautiful words on his screen.

“I really like you, Chat. I want to see if us being in a relationship will actually work.”

The tears were coming back.

“Dude, are you OKAY?”

Adrien looked up to see Nino giving him a bemused, vaguely concerned look. He hastily turned his phone over.

“Yeah! Yeah I’m fine!”

“Are you CRYING?”

Adrien gave him a watery smile.

“I just got some REALLY good news, and I’m a little emotional about it.”

“Aww, bro! That’s awesome! What is it?”

Nino dropped onto the bench and put his arm around Adrien’s shoulder in a side hug. Adrien bumped his shoulder affectionately.

“I can’t say yet. I promise, as soon as I can, you’ll be the first to know.” Adrien wiped the moisture from his eyes.

“I’d better be. If it’s got you going like that, it must be really special.”

Adrien smiled, letting his gaze go distant over the pool, wondering where his Lady was right now, and if she was as happy as he was.

“It is,” he whispered.

She is, he thought.

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Give them what they want ch. 5

A split mushroom/pepper pizza or just allowing Aziz and Lonnie to make their choice of portobello mushroom pizza. That was the question of the day.

Ever since, she arrived back in Auradon, she decided to put in action her plan to give people what they want. The girl everybody liked and desired. Not just for her powers. How?

If there was anything that she learned from being used that there for every question, there were three things lying underneath. 1st. What he said he wanted. 2nd. WHat he secretly wanted but didn't have any telepathic powers to convey it. 3rd. What they would most desire yet knew was unlikely to happen.

She was going to be that 3rd option. For once she was going to use the idea that a genie was to sup pose to give people their biggest wishes to her own advantage. She wouldn't grant wishes, but she would definatly act personable and generous enough that no one would dare critize her for being selfish and bitchy.

"Jord? Still here?" Aziz snapped his fingers in front of her face.

"Yes." She snapped back, "I'm just thinking before I answered."

"Dude, not a life or death decision."

Jordan inwardly scoffed. Sure, not a life or death decision. But wars had been commited for less. Relationships and friends still left her for aN unknowable (unknowable to her at least) reason lying in her personality.

So while Lonnie and Aziz were allowing the option to split the pizza, she knew they would much prefer to eat a whole pizza filled with mushrooms.

"You can have the mushrooms." Jordan answered.

"Cool!" Aziz grinned and slapped her on the back.

Lonnie placed the order to the cafeteria lady to the dorms and they spent their free gorging out while Jordan daintily nibbled at the edges of the pizza not occupied by the mushrooms and their disgusting smell.

So she barely ate. The smell kinda ruined her appetite. After she accidentally swallowed one of the portobellos when she was trying to take off the crust, she pleaded a rain check. Rushing early to her next class to stuff her face with cherry-filled chocolates before anyone else arrived.

At twelve on the dot, Fauna arrived to start her class, Fae and Humans Throughout the Ages. It was a simple class, try to take notes, read the homework and be able to argue persuasively. At the end of each chapter Fauna assigned, she put two theories on the cause of what had happened.

There was a correct theory and those that got it had full credit (as long as they gave a proper reason why) and those who chose the incorrect theory got half credit depending how good their argument was.

She heard her stomach grumble, and almost regretted her decision not to split the pizza.

"No. Don't think so selfishly. That is exactly why people can't stand being around you." She reprimanded herself.

She knew better than to try to please everybody. So she just stuck to those that she wanted to keep around, that it would hurt too much if they left and reviled her.

But it still exhausted her. Up till now, she didn't know how many requests and questions people asked of her in a day. And taking the time to think of the option that the person really wanted actually took more concentrating than she liked.

An almost instinctive, subconscious part of her wanted to give up trying to figure out what people wanted and to please them. It was too hard. She just wanted to scream, "Please just tell me what to do! Be honest, and tell me exactly what you want. Be the master and tell me so I can do it for you."

"Tell me what is so horrible about me so I can change myself!"

She couldn't make decisions on her own. Obviously she sucked at them. She somehow kept missing the important things, the things that influenced people to stay or leave her.

But she knew she couldn't say that. It would give more of a reason for people to see her as a genie. She had to repress it, she had to stick with what she was doing.

Thinking, analyzing, weighing what people SAID they want, the undercurrent of what they would desire but not say, and what action or words that make them happy and be pleased with her.

Yet every time a decision, a question was thrown her way she felt a small primal paralyzingly fear.

She would say the wrong thing, something insignificant to her, but big to them. And then it would be the last straw, and they wouldn't forgive her, they would leave her. It was stressful, she wasn't used to all the mental gymnastics but she would stick it out, and follow through.

Because when she did they would smile at her and praise her, and for a brief moment, she would be safe. Safe in the knowledge that for the time being, they wouldn't think of leaving her alone. That she worthy enough for them to stick around in the long run. She was good, and nice and useful.

They wouldn't see the ugliness that was so obvious to everyone else. Though she wondered what it was.

"I think Theory A is the correct one. I mean, you agree that the Salem Witch Trials were obviously started by evil witches as to get rid of witches that stood against them. Come on stand by me on this one." Doug nodded eagerly at her from the seat over, snapping Jordan out of her mental reverie.

In truth, she didn't. She thought it had beev made up by human girls who wanted attention and exasperated by superstitious adults. No wizards or other fae had been involved whatsoever. That had been confirmed by some history books written by fae that witches rarely populated areas where superstitions were rampant. Nor would they really try to hide that they were witches in the first place.

But...she liked Doug. He was so sweet. She wouldn't mind to keep hanging out with him and learning some chemistry dooda from him or video to his musical talent.

If she agreed, he would be pleased. It would keep up his high grades in Fae and Humans Throughout History and improve his GPA that much more. Plus with a high GPA, he would get what he most desired. Being accepted to a collage and going on to a occupation not in the mines like his forefathers and the rest of his family.

So she bit back her convincing argument that would have knocked most of his case away and coyly nodded her head. "I agree. Doug is right. After all witches are well-known for keeping their status as number one and jealous of other competitors."

Jane raised her hand, "I disagree. The right answer is Theory B. According to the chapter you assigned last night, most fae didn't even live in the area. And if they did, witches are not known to hide the fact that they are witches as the status of a witch can lead people to come to them for help in healing and other good magic arts."

Fauna nodded her head at Jane's answer, "Class take note, Jane has the right idea..." and so on went her spiel. Doug, then passed her a note.

I didn't think you would completely agree with me on Theory A without offering more of an opinion to support it. Usually you are good at this class. Did you space out on last night's homework?

Jordan quickly scribbled her own note. I thought you wanted me to agree, and support you. Let you take the lead.  From the corner of her eye, she saw Doug opening the note and look at her curiously. Like she was an abstract picture he just didn't get. Once class was over, Doug stopped her on the way out. "You want to support me?" He said dubiously.

Jordan's chest squeezed with anticipation. The anxiety that he would insult her for her stupid decision, that she was useless in helping him. Another calculation. What did he wat to hear from her? What would make him happy with her?

Some flattery would probably work here. "I think you do have good ideas. I already say my opinion enough, I was letting the teacher see that yours could stand on their own." It sounded awkwardly phrased and vague to her ears, and she could see from his reaction that he was even more confused than ever from her answer.

"I'm sorry that I didn't support your argument well and made you wrong in front of everybody." Jordan whispered softly.

"It's not a big deal." Doug told her. He opened his mouth to say something else but she interrupted.

"Good." Jordan chirped brightly to keep Doug from asking further questions and she ended up making a bigger mistake. "So we're cool." "Yeah..sure?"

"I'm glad. You're a nice boy, Doug. I'll see you around." While Doug blushed at the unexpected compliment, Jordan walked away thinking. Okay, she said things that she never would have done if she acted like she normally did.

Which kept her in his good graces. He still liked her. She must have done something right.

Which only proved one thing, there must be something horribly wrong with her usual personality. She was right. She was a bad person as herself.

She would just have to change that. Do what people wanted to hear. After all, it was better to be good, and beloved than alone as herself.