#i was trapped in an office being chased i was drowning i was being watched i was being bullied

[hecksupremechips]

Had a particularly rotten case of “my dreams are real and trying to eat me” last night and I just don’t know how much longer I can put up with this shit actually

[shimmerbeasts]

Normally, silence was something, Jinx couldn't stand. If a space was too silent, then Mylo and Claggor felt more than invited to fill that silence with their murmuring, gnawing at her with teeth of doubt and spitting upon her with poisonous accusations. It was why Jinx almost always played music in her workshop. To drown out their voices, but also because she needed an outside stimulation.

Her mind was more often than not a fleeting hare as opposed to the stealthy, focused ocelot, she preferred it to be. No, not preferred. The ocelot was who she needed to be. It was the monster, Silco had fostered within her all those years ago and thus she had to be able to access it at a snap of her fingers.

The only place, where silence was even remotely okay for Jinx, was in Silco's office. The powerful shark had an air around himself, which chased her ghosts away. From an outsider's perspective, it must look like only the Eye of Zaun was in his office. The large space had his fingerprints upon it in every spare furniture, which filled the room. From the long, dark maroon couch on one side to the heavy, dark desk, loaded with papers before the window.

Even her father's chair was adorned with cushions of soft, smooth red velvet and framed by the same ebony wood as his desk. The smell of the expensive tobacco, he liked to smoke, laced the air like a rich spice. It wasn't as good as the sickly sweetish sour smell of Shimmer. Jinx much preferred that.

That didn't mean Jinx hadn't left her own fingerprints on the space herself. It was far less visible, but those who knew her could make them out nonetheless. It started with something as simple as his ashtray and mug, upon which the young woman had drawn with crayons words and furious faces, completed with furrowed brows and bared teeth. It continued with smaller elements like scribbles on the wood of his desk, equally mostly words, flashes and teeth.

However, the one space, where Jinx had really left her imprint, was a place, few people bothered to look at. The rafters in Silco's office were her domain. Not even the brutish bear, Sevika, knew of this place. Despite only Silco being the one person to ever look up at them, Jinx had decorated the wooden bars with sparkles and watchful eyes and smiling faces, only giving the smiles barely hinted at fangs.

The scribbles of Silco's fountain pen created a comforting ambience for Jinx as they worked beside each other in their respective spaces. Jinx was nursing something, which looked like a miniature bear trap in her hands. She had wound wire around its screws and forced the trap's jaws wide open, so she could go over the teeth with a metal file. Not to dull them, but to make them sharper, more vicious and hooked. Jinx was idly humming to herself, tongue clicking against her own fanged teeth once every while as if she was miming the sound of the device in her hands snapping shut.

She had heard Silco place the fountain pen down recently as well as the soft groan of wood as he reclined in his chair. However, Jinx did not react towards those things. Neither did she when he rose, probably taking his cigar to take another drag from that stink stick. Why he loved those so much, Jinx would never get. However, as he addressed her with his raspy, hoarse, yet somehow smooth and silken voice, Jinx lowered her hands and leaned over her bar to peer down at him. One of her long braids slipped off the bar, a string of cobalt blue.

"Sort of", Jinx called and swung herself from the rafter. She pounced upon the desk with a low thud, causing a stack of papers to shift dangerously. The Loose Canon waved with the modified bear trap as she explained: "I have an idea for my Chompers to make them even more painful, but I need to test this first. Say, can I vandalise your lunch really quickly?" She pointed a finger at the bowl with sardines in gravy. Each of the fish was thick and juicy looking. Jinx ignored the rumble in her own stomach, too transfixed on her genius idea.

[@shimmerbeasts]

The day was long and seemingly endless. Piles of shipping orders and yet-to-be-renewed trade agreements sat upon the flat top of his desk, interrupted only by the presence of the occasional trinket or desk ornament. Among the objects was an ashtray, long since marked by Jinx's telltale artwork in brights and pastels. Resting in its grooves was a still lit cigar, smouldering with a light trail of smoke that lifted toward the ceiling.

His hands were otherwise occupied, writing down notes along the margins of a recent report from the smuggling rings. Things had not been going according to plan, apparently, and several loads of cargo were at risk of being discovered. It was now left to him to sort out the mess, and what a mess it truly was. He would have to send Sevika to teach the two smugglers at fault an important lesson -- one they might not survive.

Nimble fingers set down the fountain pen with a quiet clatter, and he sunk back into his high-back office chair with an exhale. One hand rested at his jaw, and the other rapped its knuckles against the edge of the desk. His eyes moved to the side, looking out the foggy glass window of his office, intricately decorated with twists of metal. A quiet would have belonged in the room, had it not been for the idle tinkering of his daughter. He didn't mind the otherwise intrusive sounds of her crafting, finding them to be a fitting ambience for his mind to ponder to.

It was like listening to her mind at work. One of the few glimpses into her thoughts he savored over their years together. It reminded him of when she was a little girl, sitting at his couch and scribbling faces onto her 'friends'. They never worked, back then, only exploding into small clouds of glitter or paint, but he believed in her potential, and let her mind explore. It had proved beneficial, as she now stood as one of the most dangerous explosives experts in the whole of Zaun.

"Coming along, I assume," he said, breaking the remaining quiet in the room as he stood up to stretch his legs. He plucked the cigar from the ashtray, taking a drag on it and puffing out a few rings of smoke while stepping up to the window to look out at his city. "What is it today, then? Something for the Firelights to enjoy?" He hoped so. That group of youths had been the bane of his existence for the past years.

[convenientalias]

I Rate Cdramas by Whump: Part 2

Two years ago now I made a post rating every cdrama I'd watched at the time by quality of whump. I feel I've watched enough cdramas since then that it is now time for a sequel.

(Note: If you like kdramas, I made two posts rating those by whump as well, for your reference.)

Some notes before I begin:

Yes this is entirely objective. What do you mean??

If the ratings seem a little high, it might be because whump is one of the things that convinces me to watch a show to begin with.

There will be spoilers, but vague spoilers.

I'm only listing shows I've completed and remember well enough to rate.

THE RATINGS.

Addicted Heroin--8/10. This is a gay school romance between surprise stepsiblings, it's not really meant to be whumpy. Despite this, it has some drunk and angsty scenes, some sick scenes, and even a kidnapping!! I would give it a 10/10 purely for going the distance it Did Not Need to Go (although the source material is even whumpier, but that's another story) but I feel I should be honest and say it is primarily a show of comedy, not over the top whump. The whump is definitely there though.

City of Streamer--I'd probably be more into the whump here if I was more into lady whump, as a lot of bad things happen to female characters, both physically and emotionally. Men go through distress but it's usually not as physical as I'd like. Since I'm very picky about lady whump and this show mostly doesn't hit the spot for me, I'll give it a 3/10.

Granting You a Dreamlike Life--10/10, Luo Fusheng's life sucks. People in this show get beat up, threatened with guns, stabbed, arrested, kidnapped, chased by wolves, trapped by an avalanche, literally shot.... "People" here mostly meaning Luo Fusheng but Tianying and some others get a good share of whump as well. Granting You a Dreamlike Life is living the dream.

Joy of Life--I really wanted to see Fan Xian get whumped but by halfway through the show I had to accept that it was more of a power fantasy type drama about Fan Xian being Clever and Competent. If you ever see me complaining about Joy of Life, know that this is a solid part of my sour grapes. 3/10, credit given to the Teng Zjing arc and the couple times Fan Xian gets captured or arrested.

Rattan--9/10. This show has two endings and I swear they did that specifically to deliver two different brands of whump/angst. But more importantly, they put poor Qin Fang through the fucking wringer! In the first fucking episode he gets drugged, arguably kidnapped, and almost dies in a car crash. Then the rest of the show he suffers from a curse, gets kidnapped, gets hurt so bad he falls into a coma.... They really do not go easy on this poor boy. Honorable mention to Si Teng's tragic backstory and Qin Fang's business partner also getting abducted that one time.

Reset--Ehhh the leads are going through it but they're mostly just getting tired. They do get arrested/interrogated a good deal, and die a whole lot. But I'd call this a suspenseful show, not a whumpy one. 2/10, rare nonwhumpy fave for me.

Sword Dynasty--I must begrudgingly admit they whumped the prince in this show pretty good, and they whumped the MC a lot too, I just hated him. This show is bad but I will admit it is moderately whumpy. A very begrudging 5/10.

Under the Skin--Level of whump maybe a bit higher than average for a crime procedural. Police officers being menaced is pretty standard, especially when one is an ~artistic genius~. Shen Yi sure does drown a lot, though, and the flashback revealing his reaction to Lei Yi Fei's death is really angsty. I'd give it a 6/10 bc my standards for thrillers are higher than my standards, for example, for a school drama like Addicted Heroin.

Weaving a Tale of Love--I said my taste in lady whump was picky and guess what, a cheerful crossdressing female lead getting whumped is in fact my taste. I loved seeing bad things happen to Liuli/Xiao Douzi! I would have been up for seeing her get drugged or imprisoned some more!! 7/10 bc while the whump is good when it's there, the majority of the show is cheerful, shippy, or plotty, and not really all that whumpy.

Winter Begonia--Whump is not what I go to Winter Begonia for. I go to it for the slice of life vibes, the slashiness, and the Chinese opera. But, as whump goes, it's actually quite strong. There are opera performers losing their voice, losing their ability to walk, losing their reputations, some even losing their lives. And then there's Cheng Fengtai, friendly and kind of shady businessman who has his own shit going on--most notably he goes into a coma at one point and also is once kidnapped by bandits. Honestly 8/10, I don't think of it as whumpy when looking back on it but objectively there is a lot.

Word of Honor--People are slowly dying with nails in their chest. People are mourning their lost loved ones and falling apart. And sometimes getting beaten up or captured in the present as well. 9/10, I could go higher but I always get a sense of restraint from this show. Even if the leads are pushed to the breaking point, it's not quite as gleeful about it as some others on this list; there's generally a sense of "fuck it, I've been through worse, I'm used to this", which doesn't quite push my buttons but may appeal a lot to other tastes. I could be convinced to give it a 10 though? Mixed feelings.

Xiang Long--The urge is to give this a 1000/10 but I'm a principled rater and cannot break my rating system! and yet! this show breaks my brain!! every day I have to get up and remember that Long Xiang shot his own subordinate in the head in an attempt to convince Bai Lusheng to quite a hunger strike and then proceeded to get mad at him for being passive aggressive while eating!!!! every day I go on living in this world. Fuck. He threw the dude's gun down a well, damn it! I will someday find a way to transmigrate into the world of Xiang Long and murder Long Xiang, but anyways: kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome and an abundance of Lima Syndrome, torture, people getting shot and whipped and blown up etc etc etc..... 10/10 bc I'm a principled person and will adhere to my rating system. If you watched this show for a reason other than whump, I'm not sure whether to fear or admire you, but you're stronger than me.

Some final notes:

I said in my last cdrama-whump-rating post that whump and serious drama do not correlate, but I've begun to think whump even flourishes MORE in a less serious/more over the top or tropey show. Xiang Long and Granting You a Dreamlike Life are great examples of this, as they both put melodrama over realism. Rattan and Addicted Heroin have a mostly light tone but can include some extreme whump without a tonal clash bc they aren't super serious about their whump either. In contrast, Reset and City of Streamer generally have a more grounded and suspenseful tone, and their whump level is low--even if people get hurt, it's rarely focused on. Meanwhile, Winter Begonia lies in a weird intersection of melodrama and tragic melancholy, and I think it's because it's whump tends to play more to the serious side of the show that in my head I'm always thinking of it more as angsty, less as whumpy. But maybe this is all due to how I classify whump rather than the inherent characteristics of whump in general. I'd be happy to hear anyone's thoughts!

[bokunosimpfiction]

Yandere!Karl Heisenberg x Reader

Synopsis: Heisenberg kidnaps the reader. And she’s pissed about it. And so is he. Turns out there’s a lot more to it than it seems, tw: kidnapping I’m not tagging for violence because it’s less graphic than even the mild stuff in canon. Like reader gets a concussion and a dislocated arm, that’s it.

A/N: first time ever writing for Resident Evil. I haven’t even played the games, only watched a play-through and immediately fell in love with this hobo. Honestly, there’s a lot of room to make a sequel or some more from this but I have commitment issues and it probably won’t happen.

Oh and one last thing! Do you think I should add resident evil: village to my fandoms I write for or no. Let me know please!

             It’s dark in your small cottage, claustrophobic with the way you stumble to the front door as fast as you can. You try to take deep breaths, but you can’t, not with someone chasing you. You cut through the kitchen, and when he reaches out to grab you, you slam the door to a cabinet as hard as you can. You can hear his pained yell.

             “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, (y/n),” he says.

             “I’ll make it as hard as I damn please!” You put your hand on the handle to the front door, twist and right before you manage to open it, a body slams into yours and you hear your arm pop. Loudly. And it burns at the elbow like someone poured gasoline on it and set it on fire.

             You can hear his heavy breathing and feel the warm air on the crown of your head. “You put up a good fight, I’ll give you that much.” He presses his body further into yours, and you feel everything. The toned muscle under a layer of fat, the harsh fabric of his shirt and jacket, and the bulge that presses into the small of your back.

             “You’re so small,” he coos, like he’s talking to a dog, “I can’t wait to break you.”

             You manage to wiggle one arm free and jab him in the side as hard as you can with your elbow. You hear him say oof under his breath, and you take this as the opportunity to press your foot into the door and push back into him as hard as you can, to at least get him to stumble back.

             It doesn’t work, he just leans his whole-body weight on you and uses one hand to smash your head into the door. He could have done it harder, you reckon, but it still hurts like a mother fucker. “Shut the fuck up before I do something I regret.”

             “Like you don’t already regret breaking into my house and trying to kidnap me? Like you don’t regret slamming me into my door and dislocating my elbow? What are you going to do to me that you’ll regret? Huh?”

             He looks down at you through those yellow glasses of his, light from the glass peephole reflecting off of them but his hat shading the rest of his face. “I said shut the fuck up!” He presses your head even further into the door, and your temple digs into the frame. It hurts, and your eyes water from the pain.

             “Who even are you?!” You end up shouting. His grip loosens a little bit, just enough for you to move your head off the door frame and onto the actual door. “I’ve never met you in my goddamn life and you break into my house, say you love me, and try to kidnap me!”

             Something in him breaks, you can tell, the outline of his features look crestfallen. “You don’t know who I am?”

             “No… I don’t. And here you are in my house, chasing me around like I’m some goddamn animal you’re hunting.” Your eyes water. “I know you don’t mean a damn word you said this entire time.”

             “Shut your goddamn trap woman!” His grip on your hair tightens. “I love you and we both know it; I know everything about you.”

             “So, you’re a stalker? Huh, didn’t think I was pretty enough to have one.”

             “I knew you had a mouth on you, and it was attractive till it was pointed in my direction.” His voice is low and gravelly at this point, like a thin string that’s pulled taut and about to snap.

             “Well get used to it you fu-” You don’t get to finish your sentence, because a piece of metal from his hammer slams you hard in the face, knocking you out cold.

             When you wake up, it’s hard to open your eyes. It’s too bright and the room is spinning when you move your head up. That must be one hell of a bump on your forehead. You go to feel it, only to find you hands chained up to a metal pipe on the wall. Your feet are too, but that chain is a lot slacker.

             You’re lying down on the floor, a cheap scratchy blanket separating you from rough, worn down cement. It’s still hard and cold, but it didn’t scratch up your skin, so that’s something to be grateful for. You look around the room, only to find an old tv, that’s on, and playing static. That’s what was so bright, you realize.

             Suddenly the noise from the t.v. stops, and you hear a voice. It’s still sounds like static, but it’s audible enough to understand the words and recognize the voice. It’s the same guy who kidnapped you. You don’t really process what he’s saying, it’s just noise to you, and you close your eyes and curl up as best as you can. Maybe you’ll wake up, and everything will be okay.

             “Quit ignoring me girlie.”

             You snap out of your daydreaming. The days of that warm bed and leaky bathroom faucet are over, and this cruel situation is your reality for the time being.

             “Okay. Okay. But just quiet down my head hurts.”

             “I’d be sorry, but you brought that upon yourself,” he says.

             You can’t help but be snarky, you’re tired and already sick of this shit. “I’m sorry you don’t have the self-control to not kidnap people and knock them unconscious via flying pieces of metal.”

             “Touché.” You hear back.

             “Can you at least get me some Tylenol for my head or something.”

             “Why should I? After all the attitude you’ve given me, I should just leave you in there to starve.” Looks like he knows how to be snarky too.

             “Because you were the one who hit me in the head and locked me in here?”

             “Apologize and I’ll consider it.”

             You go back to your curled up position. “I guess I’ll just starve down here then.”

             The t.v. cuts off again, or you just tune him out, just run your hands along the chains to try and find a lock. You find the one attached to your left ankle and begin to plot your escape. Maybe you could pick the lock with a bobby pin? You run your hands through your hair, not only to find that it was down, but all of them were removed.

             You run your hands down your pajama pants. Maybe you have something in your pockets? They also turn up empty.

               “Are you looking for something to pick the lock with?” You hear from the t.v. You turn back to look at it, only to see his face. He’s not wearing his glasses, and he’s taken off his worn-out bucket hat, so you can see his untamed salt and pepper hair. “I took the liberty of searching your person while you were knocked out. I highly doubt you’ll find something to pick the lock with.”

             “You’re an asshole, you know that.” You find yourself saying. To be fair, you probably shouldn’t, considering that he: is holding you hostage, threatening to leave you to starve, and is clearly a psychopath, despite his claims that he loves you.

             “Calm down, you know it makes me upset to see you mad.”

             You can’t help but raise your voice at him. “Quit fucking taunting me! You won this stupid ass game. You kidnapped me! You can come down here and kill me now!”

             “You think I wanna kill you?” He asks, you can tell he’s just as furious as you are. He chuckles lightly. “You know I love you. I did this for your own good! There are people out there. People who want to taint you and your innocence! People who want to hurt you!”

             “I can handle myself just fine! I had before your psycho ass came along and kidnapped me!” Your furious, desperately searching for a weak point on the pipe with your hands while you yell at the t.v.

             “And what would have happened if I didn’t?” He asks you, “lady supersized bitch in the castle would have gotten to you first… I can’t have that.”

             “I’m sorry who?” You ask. Suddenly things have gotten more confusing.

             “I’m not the only one who’s after you,” he clarifies. “You think I’m the one who’s a psychopath, there’s a woman out there who wants to drink your blood and eat your flesh! And monster that wants to drown you and swallow you whole-”

             “Slow down! I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about!”

             “Don’t interrupt me! I want what’s best for you!” You can hear him take a deep breath. “I’m going to bring you upstairs and explain everything. And you’re going to behave, am I clear?”

             You just nod your head.

             “Good. Now stop trying to find a weak point on that pipe to get loose before I get down there. It has carbon monoxide in there, you’ll poison yourself before you get to that door.”

             You immediately stop twisting the connector and drop your hands to your sides.

             “Good girl…” His praise makes you want to vomit. “Now stay still while I come get you.”

             When he comes down and opens that iron door and unceremoniously tosses you over his shoulder, you can’t help but comment on it. “Am I a bag of potatoes to you?”

             “Don’t complain, I could be like that Dimitrescu bitch and turn you into wine.”

             You shut up immediately and grasp the back of his coat for balance. You don’t know why, but his empty threats scare you immensely. You watch the hallways blur into one another, trying to see if you can find a window, or an escape rout of some sort, hell, even a vent he couldn’t fit in but you could would work well.

             He smacks your thigh. Not hard, but enough for a slight sting and to get your attention. “We’re in the center of the factory, there’s no need for you to be tracking an escape route, especially because you won’t be leaving any time soon.”

             Eventually, you end up in a small office like space, with a desk, a cork board with several pictures of people on it, and a large grate that leads to a tunnel downwards. He pulls the metal chair out of the corner with his powers and places you in the chair. “Stay.”

             “So…” He turns towards the cork board. “Since your out of town, I’ll explain the run-down-“

             “I don’t really care for the details.” You stand up from the chair and go to walk towards him, but he crosses the room in a second and slams you back down.

             “I told you to stay in that goddamn chair!” He opens his mouth to explain but a whirring noise starts out of nowhere. It’s loud, obnoxious, and coming from the vent. He opens it. “Shut your goddamn trap!”

             “Anyhow, (Y/N),” he starts, “the other three lords decided that they’re interested in you, for whatever their reasons are. I’m assuming they want to kill you.”

             “That’s a veeeeeery extreme assumption.” You roll your eyes, and prop your head on your hands.

             “Well two of them are well know for turning people into dolls and drinking their blood,” he says casually, “it’s only a fair assumption they want to do the same with you.”

             “I’m sorry they what?”

             He turns to you, surprised for a moment that you don’t know what he’s talking about. “Super-sized bitch over here,” a sharp piece of metal lands on the photo of a pale, middle aged woman with bold red lipstick and a black hat, “is one of the other three lords, known for drinking the blood of girls like yourself. Wouldn’t suggest meeting her, she’s not that pleasant.”

             “Known for?”

             “Sort of, most of the towns people don’t know,” he turns to you and leans on the table by the cork board, “they’re too busy worshipping Mother Miranda.”

             “I’ve heard her name before,” you say, “doesn’t she protect the town?”

             You can sense the anger you caused before you can take it back.

             “That Miranda bitch doesn’t protect anybody from shit. She’s the one causing all the issues, kidnapping people and mutating them, killing them and throwing their lives away like table scraps.” You slams his hand on the table and you visibly flinch. He quickly apologizes.

             “You keep mentioning ‘the other three lords’ how many are there, and who’s the one your excluding in that statement?” You question as soon as you get the chance. He’s talking, loudly, quickly and it’s filling up the space in the room with an anxious sort of white noise.

             “Pardon me,” he says, and waltzes over, almost over-dramatically. He brings your hand to his lips and places a light kiss. You can feel his stubble and chapped lips on the top of your hand. He desperately needs to use chap-stick. “I’m Heisenberg, one of the four lords, but you can call me Karl.”

             “Okay… Karl.” You test the name out on your tongue. “What are you going to do with me, now that I’m here?”

             He gets down on one knee in front of you, still holding your hand. “Oh (Y/N), I’m going to treat you how you deserve, like a princess.”

[germvity]

RISES THE MOON

leon kennedy x reader // 1 // a new ending

being a survivor that's outcasted and ignored by others hurts more than anything. when a cop gets close, you have to distance yourself. to hurt, and to not get hurt.

genre: angst with (attempted) fluff

tags: dbd universe, being left behind and leon trying not to leave you behind, leon literally being the only one who cares for you, maybe a new series??

warnings: bullying, death and violence, angst, swearing.

the generator slowly stirred to life, you heard rumors that a new killer and two new survivors had arrived. adjusting your hair carefully, you continue working as the oily machinery slowly pumped with newfound energy. "hello?" a soft voice called to you. a new voice. turning quickly, you see a blonde man in a police uniform approaching you carefully. "i didn't mean to scare you, i'm leon." the man smiles, a comforting sight that didn't last long. "you can't be near me." you whisper and the police officer furrows his brows. "why not? what's wrong?" leon asks, and you sigh. "the others will give you shit if they see you with me. just go, i'll finish this." you explain, keeping your voice hushed. "why would the others-" "just go, leon. please." you plead, and the blonde shakes his head. a stubborn one. "let me help you." he crouches next to you. "it's almost done there's really no need to." you huff, glancing around for anyone who could be spying on you.

"no it's not. i may be new but i'm not dumb. let me help." leon laughs softly, flipping up the side panel before connecting a few wires deep in the belly of the generator. "i've never seen you at the campfire before, y/n." leon points out, and you only nod in answer. with a silent minute between the two of you, the generator finally gets finished and you get up to walk away from the officer. "wait!" he jerks forward, going after you and catching your arm. you gasp, bracing for hurt but nothing comes. "what's wrong?" leon whispers, stepping in front of you to see if he could see make eye contact with you but you turn your head away. "nothing. just go away before the others see us." you sigh, turning away fully before being spun back around. "we'll be safer together." god why was he so stubborn? you think as you dip your head down. "just leave me alone, i don't want the others to-"

"well, well. look who it is. nice find, rookie." david's voice chimes in, and you cringe. "david, we were just going to find another gen to do." leon speaks, still not letting go of you. "yea not interested. more interested in what you're holding." david eyes you with malice and you sigh. "just leave me alone." you croak softly, barely having enough confidence to run in the moment you have. "oh! how funny, the slut's getting confident because the rookie's here. is he your prince charming now?" david spits, words burning your heart. "david, shut up." leon sighs, just believing the fighter was in a bad mood. king snorted, "nah. move it rookie, let's show you some tradition." striding towards you, david reaches for you but leon steps in front almost instinctively. "david. go find the killer or something." the blonde deadpans, and your eyes widen. "move, rookie." david snarls, trying to go around the cop to get to you but leon doesn't let him. "last chance, king."

david huffs. "i'll get you later, whore." the british man glares at you, turns on his heel and storms off. leon deflates slightly and turns to you. "are you okay?" the blonde asks. "you shouldn't have done that." you whimper, pulling your arm from leon's grasp and running away from him. despite chasing after you, you had more of an adeptness of your surroundings and lost him quickly. "what the hell is going on here..?" the cop whispers to himself as he trudges off to find another task.

another generator popped thanks to jake, who was walking over to where leon and david were starting on another. with the trapper patrolling the area nearby the cop was getting worried as he hadn't seen you since the beginning of the trial. "do you guys think y/n's okay?" he asks, glancing at jake first. the woodsman tenses, and looks at david over the generator. "don't really care, mate." david shrugs. "they could die for all i care. right jake?" the fighter looks at the other man, and so does leon. jake sighs, but doesn't give another response. "what have you got against y/n?" leon looks back at david, "they're a cheap whore that doesn't care about anyone but their self." david snaps, angrily pulling at some wires. jake doesn't seem to agree but doesn't openly object, just silently works. but leon isn't like that. "seems a little biased to me. they helped me finish the first gen and were concerned about my well-being." leon shoots back, and jake tenses, glancing between the two men.

david suddenly sits up a bit more. "oi, y/n!" he calls over the generator, and the others turn to see you freeze and turn to look at them. "come help us with this yeah?" the fighter demands, and the woodsman gives you a small wave. "watch this." david mumbles to the other two men as you head in their direction. leon's confused, watching you carefully vault the window but then sees it. "watch out!" he calls, moving from the generator to try and help you, but he's too late.

you squeal with pain as the bear trap springs up, biting your ankle and not letting go. tears are quick to drip down your face as the blonde slumps to his knees beside you and works on setting your leg free. your heart pounds in your ears as the trapper grows nearer, drowning out david's laughter and leon's concerned questions if you're alright. eventually, your leg comes undone, blood dripping down your deep wound. "hey." leon's soft hand grabs your face, and you jolt back to reality. "c'mon, we gotta move and get you healed up." the officer says, and you try to stand using the window. "c'mon rookie!" david calls over the roaring of the gen and the sound of the horn from the exit gates powering up. jake's already hauling ass towards one so he could get out already. "but y/n's hurt we can't just leave them here!" leon argues, grabbing some spare bandages he was planning to use on himself if the time came. "just leave the bitch, i don't care. c'mon!" the fighter snatches leon's wrist and pulls him away.

"y/n!" leon calls out, still trying to help you, and you just watch as the cop is lead away against his will. "y/n." a gravelly, calmer voice speaks up, and you sigh. "evan." you respond, staring after the blonde who was glancing over his shoulder at you. "sorry, doll. just business." evan says, his machete coming down hard on your shoulder. grunting with pain, you screw your eyes shut. "stay here. knowing david i'll at least get 2 easy kills out of this." the trapper says, storming after the scratch marks. yet, what you didn't see, was evan turn the opposite way to observe you instead. he wanted to see you stand up for yourself, wanted to see you get out. he craved the answer to his question. did you still care about yourself? about anything? did you value yourself?

leon stayed in the gate, pacing anxiously and watching david vault the pallet to no avail. the trapper wasn't coming and the trial ticked down. "fuck it. i'm going out there." leon snapped, going to march past the fighter who snatched his arm. "stay there. he'll come." david rolls his eyes. "it's not the killer i'm talking about." the cop sighs, pulling his arm from david's grip. "leon. you'll learn how things go soon enough. y/n dies every trial. they're more of an asset on the ground than on their feet." the brit crosses his arms. "maybe if you gave them a chance, they would perform better." the blonde snaps angrily. "move." a new voice cuts in and you limp towards the two of them. "oi!" david yells, "you're supposed t'be dead already!" the man growls, going to lunge for you. before leon reacts, you punch david harshly. the blonde blinks and smiles at you as david crumples. "oh fuck.." you gasp, and leon takes your hand. "c'mon, let's get out of here." the blonde leads you through the gate and in the distance, evan smiles, lurching in for his kill. 

leon regenerated before you, and he started looking for you in the tree line. eventually catching sight of you, the two of you made eye contact, but you didn't come to the campsite. instead, you ran off in another direction, and leon had to follow you into the fog.

[lawslessons]

Tea Time - Crocodile x f!Reader

Hello my dears! I am coming here with a special request from a dear friend of mine, @simpymcgee​ and while this was originally written for her character, with her permission I modified it for you all to enjoy! 

Warnings: NSFW, Rough play, smoking 

Synopsis: His hand tensed as he blanky stared forward at the woman in front of him. She was alluring, beautiful and so, so innocent. His mind could only think of one thing as he forced himself to drink the tea she had brought him; corrupt her. And oh, corrupt her he did. 

His breath hitched in his throat, his blank, unstaring eyes looked forward at the woman in front of him with a primal sense of interest. Her curvy figure and the warm, delicious smile on her lips was slowly drawing him in. His mind was hazy, a thick fog clouded his mind like the cigar smoke in his lungs. The murky background of the water for his banana gators proved to be an elegant backdrop for the woman. The deep blues and grays of the water brought out the colors in her hair and the warmth of her skin. He wondered how it would feel under his hands, the warm flesh under his calloused fingertips. Would she enjoy it? Would she laugh like she did with the gators? Or would her sounds be more intimate, more alluring, more sensual, more -- 

Crocodile let out a sharp inhale of his smoke, the smoke was dark gray and looked angry, his lungs were as agitated as his mood as he watched the woman carelessly play with her hair and laugh at the gators jumping on one another and yipping at each other. His eyes weren’t innocent, they glanced down at her soft hands petting the rough scales of the gators, clearly she wasn’t opposed to alligator skin, maybe she wouldn’t oppose him too? His attention shifted back over to his cigar and he did his best to focus on the item in front of him. It was packed into a small package, it was thick and warm… his mind began to wander again and it irritated him, he crushed the cigar in his hands and watched with no satisfaction as the ashes fell to the ground and pitifully shriveled up. Pathetic, why was he getting so worked up for nothing? This was nothing, wasn’t it? He wasn’t so sure anymore. He glanced over at the woman and noticed how she started to walk over to him, his breath hitched in his throat once again and he watched as she leaned against his desk, her hands pressing her forward as she smiled up at him with her expressive smile. Her skin looked so supple, so close, Crocodile would give his other hand to be able to reach forward and caress it just once, just to drown in her deep eyes, kiss those lips of hers. He bit the inside of his cheek when she giggled and looked up at him with those inquisitive eyes of her. Her hair was shiny, almost fiery in its glimmer, it was exactly like her, it suited her well. He was stalling, he was trying not to focus on the way her breasts were pressed forward against the desk and how she had to stand on her toes to be at his eye level even when he was sitting down at his desk. 

“May I help you?” His deep, dry voice asked the woman in front of him. He was the definition of his devil fruit, dry and slow, methodical and raspy. His voice held no amusement but she could tell that he enjoyed talking to her, his eyes gave it away, they always seemed to do so. 

“You forgot that it’s tea time,” She reminded him, the warm smile she had was enough to sweeten his tea, it was like honey and sugar and everything sweet he craved. He watched as she sat down on the edge of his desk, her legs crossed over each other as she held the small teapot in her hand. Where did she get that? His mind was dazed at the sight in front of him that he didn’t even focus on the logistics of what was happening. Her deft hands poured two cups of tea into the china cups that Crocodile had purchased during one of his more recent missions that required his attention. 

“Tea time, right,” he grumbled as he held the cup close to himself and slowly sipped the hot beverage. Normally people would frown upon having warm drinks in the desert, but she seemed to be the exception to that ideology. She was fire and he was the desert, they were both made to enjoy the heat, so the hot tea didn’t seem to perturb either of them in the slightest way. Crocodile watched her legs, the way they swug lazily off his desk as she sipped her own tea. Her mind seemed to be occupied, it always was, Crocodile wondered what the woman in front of him was thinking about, worrying about. He would do anything to make it where she didn’t have to worry anymore. He didn’t drink much of his tea, he barely sipped it and before he knew it, the beverage was cold and undrinkable, unpalatable. His mouth tasted sour from the aftertaste of the tea, he chased away the taste by lighting up a cigar and placing it between his lips, he took a drag and watched as the woman began to put the tea stuff away and clean up after herself. 

“You,” His voice drew out, he was commanding even in his laziest moments. She snapped to attention and quickly turned to look at him, her eyes were wide in curiosity and her hair playfully bounced over her shoulders as she looked at the much taller man. 

“Yes?” She asked, that simple word was enough to make Crocodile melt, his mind blanked on what he was going to ask her, a smoke filled sigh escaped his lips and his eyes stared at the woman in front of him with tremendous interest. 

“Nevermind.” This cycle repeated itself for days, weeks, months. Crocodile would stare, his breath would hitch, his palms would become sweaty and soon he wouldn’t be able to contain himself and he would have to excuse himself to have a moment alone to gather his thoughts or to smoke more than he should. While the routine was agonizing to Crocodile, he slowly became accustomed to the monotonous lapse of time and even relished in his hunger for the woman. He was like one of his banana gators, always starving, never sated, his appetite could only be fed with her. 

That was when that day happened, the day that changed his life. The routine was normal, no straying, nothing out of the ordinary, but that was when it happened. When he reached the room with the gators, he noticed how she wasn’t playing with them like she usually was. Worried for her safety, he quickly glanced around the room and stopped when his eyes caught sight of her cuddling one of the gators close to her chest. It was one of the gators that had recently been born, it relaxed against her chest while she slept on the cool tile. His world seemed to stop, the room went out of focus and all he was able to concentrate on was her, her and her peaceful expression, that delicate and innocent expression. How he wanted to destroy it. He wanted to wreck her, he wanted to see that innocent expression break and crack until he peeled her apart to the most lecherous parts of herself. He forced himself not to think any further, he really was a devil to think of such things when it involved an angel like her. Annoyed at the lack of attention he was receiving and exhausted at his intrusive thoughts, Crocodile went back to his office to just waste away the rest of his day. 

His rough hand was filled with papers, his head was throbbing in a headache, he never knew that he became so reliant on having tea everyday, or maybe it was something more. Maybe he was becoming more reliant on her? He tiredly put his papers down and rubbed his temples with his hand and stared out at his wall. He was bleary and unfocused, his attention was shifted towards the girl who was sleeping with the gators in the other room. He wouldn’t allow himself to think about it anymore, for that was when his door was forced open. He barely had time to register who came in when two hands found themselves pressed up on his desk.

“I’m sorry!” She gasped out, her tired eyes looked forward and stared into Crocodile’s exhausted orbs. Her lips were parted as she tried to catch her breath, her cheeks were flushed with the warmth of the sun and she had a small sheen of sweat over her brow and neck that looked sinful to him. His mind became even more clouded, darker than it ever had become when he felt the way she was seducing him without her even knowing. His frustration had peaked, his want and desire shoved away any sense of reason he may have had in that moment but he didn’t care: he had one desire, and it was her. 

“I need you,” his low voice growled out, the older man’s dark eyes became possessive and wide, the woman seemed to be confused as he got out of his chair and moved to walk over to her. 

“Need me? Need me to what? Make your tea?” She asked as he stood over her. He was a looming shadow in the midst of the sunshine, it irked him. “I can make it if you want, it’s really no --” 

“No.” Crocodile snapped, his jaw was tense, he was practicing self restraint as he stared down at the girl in front of him. “I need you for myself, I need to feel you with my hand and to have you need me back. I want you,” Crocodile smoothly said as he leaned forward and trapped her against the table with his hips pinning her in place. 

“Oh,” She breathed out, and that was all it took. In moments, Crocodile’s mouth collided with hers and deeply began to savor her lips in a kiss. She gasped, her smaller hands dragged up his elegant coat and up to his shoulders before they found themselves lost in his deep locks of hair. Crocodile shrugged off his coat and let it fall on the ground before his hand reached behind her and grabbed her rear. To hide her noises, he deepened their kiss and lifted her up so she would be sitting on the desk. He stood between her legs, his hand dragged up her  thighs and stopped at the waistband of her pants. He relaxed in the kiss, it became slower, more methodical but not loving - teasing. He smirked when she whined, he was punishing her for all the times she had teased him and left him wanting more, this seemed like just revenge to him. He wasn’t even close to being done with his revenge too. He broke the kiss and felt a shiver go down the lower part of his spine when she pouted at him. Her lips were glistening with his and her spit, they were red and slightly bruised from his previous ferocity and he loved it. 

“You’re in trouble,” he said as his hooked hand went to tug at her skimpy bra, it barely hid anything, that was one of the reasons he required her to wear it when she was working, that and the heat. With a simple flick of his wrist, his hook managed to rip the material and he had it tossed to the side in seconds. Before she could protest, he pressed two of his fingers against her lips and darkly grinned at her. “Suck,” he ordered, and oh, she did. She eagerly took his fingers into her mouth and licked the appendages before she began to suck. She got them nice and coated, she bobbed her head lazily and gently grazed her teeth on the underside of his fingers. If she was this amazing with his fingers, he couldn’t imagine how her mouth would feel around his prick. But that was for another time. 

“For someone who hates to be ordered around, you seem to like this,” Crocodile teased as he pulled his fingers out of her mouth and moved to use his wet fingers to trace her nipples. Her voice shook, her breath came out shuddering and hot as he continued to tease her. 

“S-Shut up,” she whined in protest, that left Crocodile breathless and laughing. He pinched one of her nipples between his fingers and tsked at her. 

“I don’t think you want that,” he bluntly said as he dragged his hand down her middle and to the button of her pants. “You want me to tease you, make you beg me for my cock, am I wrong, princess?” he asked as he expertly undid the button on her pants. Now it was her turn to feel a little possessive, she didn’t like whoever taught him that trick, but at the same time she wanted to thank whoever that was because god, that was attractive. She shivered in delight and that caught the eye of Crocodile, oh he knew he was doing good and he was just getting started. Her pants were off, and her underwear? That wasn’t even in the picture at this point. Wet and almost soaked through, Crocodile made quick work to toss that to the side and to spread her legs open so he could easily see his prize. Just the sight of her panting and flushed in front of him made his cock throb in his pants, his eyes were lidded and overcome with lust as he slowly undid his dress pants and slid them down a bit. He stopped when she leaned forward and shyly began to unbutton his dress shirt, her eagerness was endearing and he thought it was absolutely adorable. She got the buttons undone and used her hands to push the shirt off of him and down to the ground. Crocodile wasted no time after that, he didn’t even wait for her to lay down on his large desk. He pushed the papers out of the way with his hook and used his free hand to grab onto her neck before he pushed her down on the desk, pinning her there. 

“I need you,” she gasped out, his hand tightened around her neck and he grinned. His tip poked at her entrance and he slowly teased her by circling his hips. 

“I know,” was all he said before he pushed in without a sound. She gasped, her back arched off of the desk and her hands grabbed onto the wood of the desk as he began to pound into her. Something clicked inside of him, seeing her so helpless and beautiful on his desk caused something primal to click inside of him. He wanted to fill her up, to wreck her and make it where she wouldn’t be able to walk the next day. His hand gripped her throat even tighter, her face started to turn even more red as he rammed his hips into her, her sounds became more strangled and breathy before he removed his hand from her throat and began to focus more on the force he was putting behind his trusts. Her eyes rolled to the back of her heads as he went harder, faster. Her insides were tensing and her hips jutted out as she focused on getting to her release. 

“I’m close,” she groaned, she clenched her eyes shut and her back arched off the desk again, it didn’t go down as she spread her legs even more. She was surprised with herself and how easily she was becoming undone, she felt herself tense and moan, she was closer now. She was the picture of perfection, Crocodile’s hand fit perfectly in the crevice of her back and his fingers dug into her supple skin as he thrusted harder, sweat gleamed on his toned and scarred chest from his exertion and his breath hitched when she screamed out his name. She bit her lip lewdly and tried to squeeze her thighs together as she came and naturally tightened around him. He thought she was tight before, but the way she convulsed around him drew him in closer, a low groan escaped his lips as he found himself becoming lost in her. She chased down her orgasm with a small moan, he looked down at her and saw how absolutely ruined she was. The look in her eyes could only be described as pleasured and satisfied, a low purr escaped her lips as he continued to fuck her to her second orgasm in a matter of minutes. His stamina was impressive, even as she squeezed him closer, he managed to not hold back on his speed. 

“Needy girl…” Crocodile grunted out, he needed to fill her up, he needed to see her stuffed to the brim with his cum, to see how ruined he could make her. That mental image plus the tight feeling of her around his cock was enough to make him cum hard. He stopped when he finished, he was balls deep inside of her and was staring down at her pleasured face as he filled her up to the point where she was leaking his mess. He didn’t pull out, his breath was heavy and hot, the office felt smaller, warmer and almost steamy as they both came down from their highs. He didn’t regret a single thing, he didn’t care that he just came in her, possibly ruined her. The control was alluring. He stayed stagnant for a minute, but as the room started to cool down again, he pulled out of her and stared her down. 

“Will we be able to do that again?” She asked breathlessly. Crocodile knew he just ruined her, he just corrupted his little angel and there was no going back, he didn’t want to go back if it promised more intimate moments with her. 

“We’re just getting started,” he casually said as he went to pull his pants up and get his coat on, he didn’t bother with his shirt for now, it was too much of a chore at this moment. “Well, what are you waiting for?” Crocodile grumbled, a look of fondness crossed his eyes as he looked her in her eyes and at her beautiful body. “It’s tea time.”

[rapspud]

Bittersweet

Bittersweet    A/N: Decided to rewrite this one. Please enjoy.

Yoongi looked at your friends as he sneered at your prone form sprawled out on the ground, your fingers scrambling to find your glasses.

“Aw what’s the matter? The poor baby can't see?” He purred as he picked up your glasses and dangled them in front of your face before throwing them into the dumpster. “Have fun diving!” He cackles as he slides past your prone figure, cruelly stepping on your hand as he passes.

You could hear the snickers of his friends behind you. You watched as his best friend, Seokjin clapped Yoongi on the shoulder, and whispered, “Oi, I get the whole I hate “y/n” thing but seriously—that was a bit much don’t you think?”

Yoongi  couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “She ratted us out! So I fixed it-and now she can’t see to snitch! And shouldn’t you be on my side? You’re in just as much trouble as I am!”

Seokjin could only look at Yoongi like he had a third head, “ Yeah I guess, but still...there is-” at Yoongi’s raised eyebrow he swallowed what he wanted to say, instead choosing to leave rather than to help Yoongi’s victim, “Hey I gotta go I’ll catch you later okay?”

Yoongi smiled and waved good-bye before walking away from the group. How could he possibly explain how much he hated Y/N? No one here knew the truth about your families-how he had to share a home with you,  your family serving his. He had no respite from you. Yeah, Y/N deserved everything she got, he thought as he got into his car. Plus it's not like you wouldn’t rat him out when you got home about what happened. This time as he drove past you and saw you hunched in on yourself, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as he saw you clutching your injured hand, staring resolute at the dumpster, knowing full well that you would go in after the glasses. After all, he knew how hard your mother worked to buy them for you, he knew how you worked 2 jobs and also kept track of your younger brothers. Deep down, he really hoped that maybe this time you would finally explode and tell everyone about all the horrid acts he committed against you. 

Except that you never did tell on him. 

In fact, you avoid Yoongi like the plague.  After finally scrambling into the dumpster and reclaiming your glasses, you clambored back out, hand still screaming in pain. As you stand there wiping the garbage from the lenses and picking off random refuse from your clothes you honestly don’t think you can sink any lower than this. You swipe grimey hands at your cheeks as hot tears run down them, thankful that you are alone. And as you walk away you begin to make plans. You couldn’t keep doing this. And with renewed energy you begin walking home, not didn’t looking back choosing instead to forge ahead, putting one foot in front of another until finally you were in your mid=twenties, and had your own little place. You were happy with your life. But you should have known. All good things must come to an end eventually. You hadn’t thought about him in years, attending school, graduating, opening up a bakery with your best friend. Essentially you were hiding, but not really. 

And then by some ill stroke of luck, he found you.

You awaken to the blaring of your alarm with a groan. Was it really 8 am? The flashing numbers of your clock inform you that it was in fact 8:59. Shit you were late. Cursing your snooze butten, you scrambled out of your bed and grabbed the cleanest clothes you could find off the floor and stumble as you attempt a whole new balancing act: pulling up your pants while holding a hot cup of coffee and a piece of toast dangling precariously from your teeth. As you run down the street towards the bus, slinging your backpack over your shoulder while you scramble to tuck your shirt in you promptly run into a solid wall and fall on your ass. Your hair is covering your face as you look up at  what you had plowed into, an apology already leaving your mouth when you got to the face. “Um…hi, uh…sorry about that.”

“Y/N. From YHSN?”

“Yes?” you become wary, no one around here really knows you as you chose to keep to yourself…“Do I know you?”

The grin that spread across the man’s face could be described as nothing less than cruel and vicious. “Yeah, Y/N L/N right? I am here to inform you that you have 24 hours to vacate the premises. Good luck.” He stated before unceremoniously dropping an envelope onto your lap and turning on her heel to leave you in a stunned heap on the floor.

What the hell had just happened? Maybe you were still dreaming?

You were dazed for a moment as your brain tried to compute the absolute absurdity of what had just happened and then you were on your feet chasing the man, yelling at him to stop but he just kept on walking.

Finally catching up to the man, you grab her arm, “What the fuck man?” you yell, “this is illegal as hell! Thirty days is the minimum!” You shove the notice back at the man, hitting him in her (very solid) chest hard.

“Y/n, Y/n, I see you're still full of venom huh? It’s completely legal actually-you see I” he leaned forward, “own the building now. And to my delight, what do I learn? I find out that Y/N L/N happens to be a tenant! Guess how happy I was to finally find you again after all these years and then get to have you vacate your home.” he laughs as you gape at him like a fish.

“Min fucking Yoongi, I do not have time for your petty ass childish bullshit! ” you hers, voice laced with venom.

“Aw kitten you remembered! I am truly honored! But alas I cant stay and chit-chat, and well, neither can you. Tata chica!” With that he jerks her arm from your grasp, sending you back to the ground in shock for the second time that morning, before climbing into an expensive black car and driving away.

You scream curses to the sky, because after 8 peaceful years, the man you had spent so long  running from and then finally forgetting, had found you. But of course, the sky only decides to rain. And as you trudge back home to call into work, (because seriously fuck this day) you can’t help but wonder how everything came to this moment. After a shower and change of clothes, you fall into your bed, allowing yourself one moment of respite before you begin to tackle this new problem, closing your eyes.

You were back there again, trapped both in a small body and the cave that haunts you as you watch helplessly at the rising water. Your tiny voice is raised, tinted with fear, “I told you we shouldn’t come here! My mama said-“

The boy next to you cut you off, “Crying ain’t gonna fix it, I will save us”

“You can't even swim,” You yell, unable to remain calm. 

“I AM GONNA SAVE US!” the small boy shouted, “so don’t cry Y/N.” He gave you a small smile, one that made you feel slightly safer and he took hold of your hand. “Follow me and don’t let go no matter what.”

“Okay,” you say, for some reason feeling braver after placing your faith along with your hand into the boy’s hand. He said he would, so of course he would save both of you. After all, he was your best friend and you don’t pick losers.

It was a lot harder though, when all was said and done. Yes, the two of you made it out of the cave alive, but not without nearly drowning, and you had slipped and injured your ankle along the way. Luckily, you did make it out, and while the two of you spent a cold wet night huddled together on the beach, you were alive. In the morning, you were rescued further as the search teams found. And while your mother had you wrapped up in her warmth and was crying and thanking the people over and over that had saved you, the same welcoming was not happening to the young boy. You could hear screaming as a woman in a fine dress and her husband yelled at the boy, your tiny hero, before there was a loud smack. You watch as the boy falls, hand clenched to her face, tears streaming down her face as her mother continues to land hard blows upon her body until she is dragged away. You cried out for you friend and as the two of you met eyes, for the first time you saw hatred reflected back at you. That was the day Min Yoongi stopped being your friend and became your tormentor.

He followed you everywhere, taunting you, breaking your things, and ultimately breaking you. Your mother finally quit working for her house the day he’d thrown your glasses into the garbage and you had come home, broken glasses in hand, face streaked with tears and reeking of garbage -you had finally confessed what had happened, what all had been happening. You had moved away, your mom working several jobs and then as well as yourself working, then you working to  pay your way through chef school and finally moving out into your own place. And all of it had just been destroyed because he found you.

You sigh looking up at your ceiling letting your anger consume you as you curse Min Yoongi to a lifetime of diarrhea. And an itchy butt. And you hoped her eyebrows fell out, just for good measure.

You look around your apartment one last time before closing the door with finality. this asshole, you think to yourself. “Just wait” you say as you look down at the address your brother had just texted you.

An hour later you stand before a gated house and ring the doorbell. And ring it. And ring it. And continue ringing it (after all it was nearly 6 am, and as you had learned that morning, if you want to ruin someone's day, do it first thing in the morning) until a sleepy figure stumbles outside and smacks your hand away. You take this opportunity to dart inside the gate and into the house carrying your things with you.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Yoongi yells at you from outside, beginning to stomp back to her front door. You could only grin as you take in the pajama bottoms and robe, while you stand there like a goddamn Amazonian queen, “You took my home. this is payback.” and then you dialed the police, “Yes? Officer? There’s a half naked man on my lawn, please send help! I’m so scared”

You couldn’t help the grin that covers your face as you smile at Yoongi, “Good luck asshole.” You say sweetly, before slamming the door in her face. Nothing had ever sounded so sweet as the sound of the lock turning over, followed a second later by desperate pounding at the door. And Yoongi could only pound on the door until the cops showed up and he explained that this was, in fact, her home, as well as that the intruder was actually you. The officers had asked him if he wanted you arrested and for once he let it go, telling them that you were having a lovers quarrel and apologizing that they had to come out over something so silly. As the cops pulled away, he went to the back of the house and slammed the sliding glass door open only to find the house seemingly empty. As he walked from room to room he couldn’t help but get angrier and angrier. But when he found you passed out on her bed, he paused, somehow her anger dissipating instantly. He stood there, looking at your sleeping body and wondered if you would ever know her real feelings for you. If he would ever be able to tell you. And the real question: could you forgive him? He knew it was asking a lot, but he could only hope. He sat and thought about how to express to you the things he needed to say. He wondered how exactly did one explain how guilty he felt about how he treated you, how he didn’t really understand why he went out of her way to make your life miserable back then…and then you had left him. How, when you left he realized just how broken he was inside. When he bought the building he couldn’t believe her luck when he saw your name as one of the tenants, but her old ways came back hard and for some ungodly childish reason he couldn’t control himself. That he should have been apologizing that morning and telling you how thankful he was that it had also brought you back to him. He guessed that it was far too late for him to ever have your forgiveness and he couldn’t help the smile that played on her mouth as he approached the bed. He reached out a hand to smooth back some hair that covered your face when you wherpered, “Yoongi...” he stilled, “…I’m sorry” you mumbled. What could you possibly be sorry for? He couldn’t help it, but it made him angry that you would apologize to him after everything he’d done and especially while in such a vulnerable state that the next thing he knew he was grabbing the blanket and ripping it away from your curled form. It’s momentum  sends you over the edge of the bed to land in a heap on the floor. You sit up cursing her very existence,

 “What the hell Y/N?!” He yells right back, while you could only manage to stare up at him from where you sat on the floor. But this time you weren’t having any of her bullshit. You jump up and get in her face “ What the hell? What do YOU mean what the hell? Who the hell buys a building solely to evict one person?! Are you that rich? Do you hate me that much?”

Yoongi yelled back, “Hell yeah I do!“ 

"You have issues, Min Yoongi! I did nothing to you except be born! Do you know how hard I worked to forget what you did to me? And you come just back,” you pause, swallowing thickly, you would not cry. Not here. Not now, “But not anymore! I won't let you break me again Yoongi. I am worth so much more than that!”

Exhausted, you  move to push around him but he grabs your wrists instead and pins you against the wall.

“Let me go you asshole!” you yell at him fighting back for once in your life, all while trying to hide your face and the tears that were no longer just threatening to spill over. “Can't you just hate me from a distance? I’m sorry your mom was a horrid cunt to you! I’m sorry, okay! But please, just let me go! Leave me alone” And then her hands were gone, and you were free. You couldn’t help it, you looked up and stared him in the eyes, for once determined to make him see how he wrecked you.

Yoongi could only stare at you, watching as the tears fell, tears once again caused by him, and then he heard the five words that ripped open her wounds, words he knew he deserved, said in a voice so broken he didn’t know where he should start to even attempt to repair it.

“I hate you Min Yoongi.“

He couldn’t stand it, he knew he deserved them but he just couldn’t stand there and just accept them. Accepting those words would be like giving up, and giving up probably the only pure thing he still had in her life. Had. And so he moved, not thinking about consequences, only a desire to cleanse those words from the air around him. He grabs you again, pushing you against the wall, capturing your face in one hand, forcing you to meet her eyes, while he brushes your hair away with the other, "Good. Never forget it.”

And then he crashes her mouth against yours.

You didn’t know how what was happening was happening and some stupid part of you was excited to have him pressed against you,  mouth was moving against yours and then you were responding and for some reason it felt so good–like coming home. It was like your body suddenly was against everything you wanted-you found yourself wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling him closer, deepening the kiss, a giggle bubbling up when you nipped at her lip and he groaned. and then you both were tearing at each other's clothes in desperation. And then the world stops making sense. You and Min Yoongi, enemy of the state #1 were having sex. And it was good. It felt so right, like you two had been made to fit each other only. When it was over he lay behind you, placing gentle kisses along your neck and down your collar bone. The last thing you remember before falling asleep in your enemy’s arms was Yoongi gently wherpering a muffled “I’m sorry” into your ear over and over.

When you wake, you are surprised to find an arm wrapped around your waist and you freeze as the memories of the night before come rushing back and you begin to mentally beat yourself up as you carefully slide out of the bed and grab your clothes, making a mad dash out of the house, dressing yourself along the way.

No way had you slept with Yoongi and enjoyed it. You were an idiot of the highest order. You slept with the man who wanted you homeless because he hated you.

You let out a deep sigh as you did a very new special walk of shame to your job, where your boss, Mandi greeted you by yelling, “Oi ! What cat pissed in your cheerios?”

Causing the other workers to laugh until you pinned them with your patented Crazy-eye ™, at which point they scurried away except for that moron Seokjin who slung his arm around your shoulders jovially, “So why is my favorite girl doing the walk of shame?”

You glare and shrug his arm off, “None of your business.” 

“Dude its obs-you’re like a whole 4 hours late-and you are never late. So what happened? Anyone I know?”

“You’ll just call me an idiot if I tell you.”

“I swear on cake I won't.”

You raise an eyebrow before saying a name you never thought you’d say just to see him eat his words. “Min Yoongi.”

“Shut the front door! You’re an idiot”

“The cake is ashamed of you and asks that you keep your distance.” You say as you move to the back rooms to put away your belongings.

Not giving up, Seokjin follows you, even going so far as to hand you your apron, “Seriously? Didn’t he like-”

“Terrorize me to the point of moving? Then find me years later and evict me? Yep.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“You okay?” Seokjin asked worriedly, For the shit talking between the two of you, you smile to know he does really care.

“I have to be.”

“Did you at least use a condom?” He asks.

“Oh my god.”

“You really are an idiot. But don’t worry…you know I’ve got your back right? Well, we’ve got your back.”

You could only stare at Seokjin as your mind whirls through the consequences of last night, “It should be fine right?” you ask.

“Sure, cupcake. Keep telling yourself that”

There is a ding from the door and you see your brother Jungkook shuffles in with your other brother Namjoon, and giving Seokjin a look that clearly says “Keep your mouth shut if you want to live” you take a deep breath and head behind the counter to wash your hands, greeting them as you go.

“COFFEE. COFFEE NOW.” Namjoon grunts demandingly, taking a seat and burying her head in her hands,  while Jungkook adds a half-hearted “Please…and a raspberry jelly for me.”

“Rough night?” You ask as you pour the two men coffee and grab Jungkook her donut and slide it in front of them.

Jungkook grins, “Nah, Joon thought he could out drink me. He thought wrong.”

“Shhhhhhhhh!! You’re so loud,” hersed Namjoon, shoving a hand at Jungkook’s face and missing entirely.

You grin and speak extra loud, “Shouldn’t you know by now to let the kids drink and you go home and sleep?”

Namjoon just glares at you, “I have a gun.”

“I aint scared of you.”

The shop bursts into laughter as Namjoon buries her head in her arms on the counter, “Why do you hate me so much?” He whines.

“Mom likes you more, and I’m a petty bitch.”

Jungkook grins, “But she likes me most!”

Both you and Namjoon glare at him, “Shut up!”

Yoongi wakes up to an empty bed and he frowns, crawling out of bed and pulling on her boxers. He wanders around the house looking for you, hoping that you haven't run away and when he can’t find you, her heart sinks. Was he that awful that you would still run away from him even after what you had shared? And worse, what if he had gone too far this time?

He makes her way back to her room and grabs her phone, calling her secretary.

“Yo.” Answered Hoseok.

“Really that’s how you answer the phone? You do know that I am your boss right?”

“Debatable today.”

Yoongi rolls her eyes, “Anyways, I need you to find someone…”

“Well you know Imma need a little more…”

“Y/N. You remember her right?”

“You mean the girl you tortured in school because you didn’t have the balls to tell her how you lurrrrrrrved her.”

“I see you wish to die today.”

“No, not today. So you wish for me to find your wayward love?”

“Yeah.”

“Mandi’s shop.” Hoseok cheerfully replied, as if this should be common knowledge. 

“Oh yeah, great idea bring me some coffee please?”

“No, you idiot, Y/N works there. She is actually her partner” Hosoek irritatingly says matter of factly.

“The hell?! Why do you know this but I don’t?”

“Dude, seriously? You do know they were friends growing up and just because you made her run away by being a complete ass doesn’t mean they stopped being friends.”

“My best friend and my sister have been lying to me.” 

“It’s not lying when you never asked. But Yoongi…you should let her go. It’s been a long time and I know you had feelings but with how you treated her–“

"She was here.” Yoongi grunted, running a hand over her face as he stood in her closet trying to think of what to wear. What says “I come in peace”? Maybe he could get Hoseok to dress up as Spock and talk to Y/N before he does. 

“What? And you’re alive?”

“Yeah. We…um…she was gone this morning,” Yoongi sits down on her bed, running a hand through her hair.

"Oh…” and as realization hits, Hoseok intones sagely,” ...oh my god you’re fucking moron.”

“You know I can fire you.”

“Please bitch, I know all your deepest darkest secrets you ain’t gonna fire me.”

“Just…shit…what should I do?” Yoongi asks, finally letting go of her big bad boss act.

“Dude, I don’t know. You slept with her…maybe you should just…”

“I um…fucked up more than that…” He thinks about how you had felt, how he had felt...how absolutely perfect it had been for just one night, A flicker of fear strums through her heart at the thought that this was not salvageable at all. 

“No. no way. Our friendship is over.” Hoseok cracks from the other side of the phone.

“Just help me okay?” 

There was a long pause before he heard a heavy sigh, “Fine, but no games. She has a good thing going on and you-”

“I swear it's different this time!” Yoongi pleads. 

“Whatever. I should warn you though.”

“Warn me about what?”

“Her brothers.”

“Namjoon and Jungkook? We were old friends, what about them?”

“You were old friends until they found out how you treated her. And bonus points-they are both cops now. Partners even, so you should probably pray for your soul.”

With a groan, Yoongi finally gets up and begins to get dressed putting Hoseok on speakerphone. “I’m so dead.”  

“Yep,” affirms Hoseok, “So does that mean I can have your stuff?” 

Rolling her eyes and thinking he really needs a new assistant, Yoongi growls out“See you at the office.” only to hear Hoseok laughing before he hangs up the phone. 

Yoongi finishes getting dressed, and running a hand over her face as he contemplates this new information. You’d been right under her nose the entire time and everyone had kept it a secret. He guessed he deserved it though, he was a complete and utter ass to you. He also guesses it’s time to make it up to you and hopefully, you would forgive him and let him into your heart, where he belonged. After all, you’d always been in his.

2 months later

Yoongi stands outside her (former) sister’s shop watching as you serve your customers, and realizes sadly that it was the first time in a long time that  he’d really ever seen you smile. He wanted that smile for himself and himself alone, but he wasn’t sure how to get it. When he had remodeled your former apartment, expanding it through the two vacant units on either side of you, you just got mad at him for evicting you, when he was just redoing the apartment and you claimed it was far too large for you by yourself now. But that was the point wasn't it? He was hoping that somehow you would just...come back to him on your own and he wouldn’t really have to put any work in. Yoongi realizes then that he is an absolute dumbass.

After all, nothing he’d done so far had managed to make you smile at him or hell just give him the time of day and he was beyond frustrated. Couldn’t you see how hard he was trying for you?

Mandi pokes her head out of the shop interrupting his train of thought,

“What the hell are you doing here?” she snaps at him.

“Wow, do you greet all your customers like this?”

“Yoongi. Listen. Whatever it this is about now isn’t–”

Realization hits for the second time that morning, “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Mandi pauses, looking him up and down, “There’s nothing to tell if you already know.”

He could almost feel the metaphorical walls slamming down around him as Mandi went on guard. “Mandi!”

“No. Not about ther.”

“I’ve known for almost a month.”

“Then you should go know somewhere else.”  Mandi stepped outside, becoming a most effective blockade. If someone was to ever wage war against his sister, his money, hell, his entire fortune would be on Mandi.

“Listen, you’re my brother and I love you and I know you know what you did wrong, and really it's sweet you want to make amends but …Yoongi, sometimes things…”

“I slept with her.”

“Do you want a trophy?” Mandi snapped, her fists clenched, before she  shook her head, “you have five seconds or I’m opening ther door and I’m calling her brothers out here.”

“We didn’t use protection.”

“Well then I guess today you die you little fucking weasel.”

“I love her.”

That’s when he remembered his sister’s left hook and then the lights went out.

Mandi stomps into the store grabbing you by the arm and dragging you upstairs ignoring your protests, shoving you into the bedroom and giving you a look reserved for her son’s Taehyung and Jimin when they are acting up. “Stay.”

Mandi goes back downstairs and motions Namjoon and Kookie over, “Listen, I know you hate Min Yoongi with like the passion of 7 fiery suns but I need you to hold that rage in and help me get his ass inside.”

Namjoon was already up and out the door at the sound of Min Yoongi’s name, and seconds later was dragging a barely conscious Yoongi in by the collar. While Kookie held open the door, Namjoon made sure Yoongi purposely whacked his head on the door frame and when Mandi winced he gave her a look that clearly said “sorry not sorry” before dropping Yoongi on the shop floor like the sorry sack of shit he thought he was.

“I’m sorry folks,” Mandi announces, “due to my crazy family, the shop will be closing early.”

The patrons all scrambled out of the shop while Jungkook handcuffed Yoongi to a chair and dumped a cup of ice water on him.

Yoongi jerked back, fully awake now and met by 3 pairs of eyes. 3 very angry pairs of eyes. He shook his head and tried to move but found himself handcuffed to the chair and he gives Mandi a look that says “Really?”

“Kook uncuff him. Seriously. And you and Joon leave.”

“No.”

“Did I stutter?”

“Okay, but we get dibs if you decide to kill him.” Jungkook, grumbles as he undoes the handcuffs.

“I’m not going to kill him. Today.”

“Fine.”

Jungkook finishes unlocking the cuffs and Yoongi immediately rubs at his wrists and watches warily as Jungkook and Namjoon leaves the shop, rolling his eyes when Jungkook gives him the international sign for “I’m watching you” while Joon drew his thumb across his neck. They were dramatic as fuck, but then again he might just be dramatically fucked.

Mandi pulls up a chair and sits across from Yoongi and stares at him for several long moments until Yoongi breaks the silence, “Just say it.”

“Why?”

“It just happened like that.”

“Bullshit.”

Yoongi sighed, “I’ve grown up since then. I no longer want to pull her hair.”

“Clearly. And you didn’t just pull her hair, you did a lot worse.”

“Shouldn’t you be on my side?”

“I am fucking Switzerland.”

Yoongi couldn’t help the anger that swelled up and choked him, “Clearly not. You knew where she was all these years and you never said anything. This is why you never let me come to the shop then? You knew I was looking for her, that I wanted-”

“Of course,” interrupted Mandi. 

“Why?”

“Because you are an idiot who doesn’t know how to communicate. Look at what happened--when you did find her, your first action was to take her home. Who fucking does that shit?”

“You’re right, I was. I was cruel and spiteful. Keyword: was.”

“Bullshit. Taking away her home wasn’t because you were being spiteful. You wanted what she had. That’s called envy. She left because she wanted to live, and the only way she could was to leave. You made it like this. I almost lost my friend. So of course I kept it a secret.” Mandi sighed, rubbing her hand over her face. “Look I know. I know what y

our mom and dad did. How they treated us. We were mere points on a checklist of creating a picture perfect family. But you had no right-”

“I was stupid. You think I don’t know? That I don’t regret it? I love her. I always have.”

“Actions-”

“Speak louder than words I know. I’m trying to fix that now!”

Mandi closes her eyes, debating her next few words  "Can I trust you? That’s the-“ ”

“Yes. I swear I'll spend my life…”

“Doing what?” You interrupt, “Sorry, since you seem to be discussing me I couldn’t stay put,” you say to Mandi. “Yoongi I don’t want your money and if you are worried because we didn’t…,” you swallow before continuing with a brave face, “....I’ll be fine. but you really have to stop sending me presents. I don’t want them. Can’t you just stay…”

“Y/N I’m sorry. I was an ass.”

“Still an ass.” Mandi interrupts, “Look, you two clearly need to talk this out so I’m out. Come on Seokjin, let’s go see a movie.”

With that Seokjin and Mandi beat a hasty retreat leaving the two of you alone.

“Your jaw is swelling.” You say after noticing the blossoming bruise that marred his handsome face. Handsome? What the hell were you even thinking?

“Mandi hit me.”

“Why?”

“I told her what happened. She’s very protective of you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Y/N…that night…I shouldn’t have that.”

“I let you. It wasn’t just you alone.”

“Please, just listen. I’m sorry. For everything. And I’m sorry for not saying that when we met again. It's just…”

“It's just..what?” You questioned, meeting his eyes. 

“I don’t know. When I look at you I want you. You are so good and pure and you deserve the world. I wanted you to myself but I was scared…”

“Scared of?”

“You.”

“Me?” You scoff at the idea of anyone being afraid of you.

“Yeah,” Yoongi stood and walked over to you. “You had everything even though you had nothing. Brothers who worshiped you, a mother who did everything for you…what if I ruined that? What if my mother-”

“How would you ruin that?” You ask, finding patience from who knows where.

“I was messed up…and the older I got the worse…things got worse. You saw, you can’t pretend you didn’t. I took out my suffering on you because nothing good could possibly exist and you were just hiding your real nature. But you never retaliated. You kept reaching out to me over and over again. ”

“But I did retaliate.”

“By locking me out of my house after I took yours? Not really. I mean…I deserve far worse,” chucked Yoongi. He wanted so badly to touch you, to pull you into his arms and just...feel you. 

You stare at Yoongi. This broken version of Yoongi with tears in his eyes. Could you trust him? You wanted to give him a chance.

“Let’s….go on a date.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened, “What?”

“You like me right?”

“Well–I mean–I did when I was—I do”

“Take me on a date, final offer going in one–two..”

“Fine! I’ll take you on a damn date,” Yoongi smiles.

“No fancy shit tho. $100 limit.”

“I’ll take you on the best damn date of your life!”

“Good.”

Yoongi didn’t know why he was being snippy now, but as he left the shop he couldn’t help but do a little cheer when he got into his car. Hoseok rolled his eyes and politely ignored him.

Yoongi stood at the door of your apartment, and for the first time in his life he hesitated, hand poised to ring the doorbell, and then you swung open the door and suddenly the world stopped. You looked amazing. Your hair was curled, makeup accenting your eyes perfectly, wearing black skinny slacks, a hound’s-tooth patterned sweater over a white button down and pink heels. He took in the perfection that was you and thought, “She was made for me.”

And the fear was gone as he smiled at you and he took your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours, “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah let me grab my purse,” you say as you try to let go of his hand to grab the bag on the chair beside your front door but he wouldn’t let go. You couldn’t help the blush that blossomed over your cheeks as he stepped inside and grabbed the bag for you and waited for you to lock up so you both could leave.

He pulled you along, never letting go, until he reached his car and opened the door. It was only enough time for him to run around and get the car moving before he was locking fingers with you again.

“What’s up with you?” You smirk.

“Just…making up for lost time.”

“What?”

“I just…I should have been doing this for years now.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, “So…are you always this cheesy?”

Yoongi’s eyes went wide, “I mean…I’m not…no…,” Yoongi stuttered and then stopped, “I guess I am cheesy it's just…I can tell you I’m sorry but…”

“Actions speak louder than words?”

“I see you have met my sister,” he joked softly, “And we’re here.”

“A movie? Really?”

“I always had wished to take you…”

Yoongi’s eyes stared into yours, “Yoongi…” you say timidly.

“Yeah?”

“I’m not her anymore you know? I grew up…you grew up…let’s leave it behind us and start fresh yeah?”

“What do you mean?”

You stick your hand out, “Hi, my name is Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

Yoongi stared at you you’d suddenly sprouted a third eye on your nose before awkwardly taking your hand and shaking it, “Min Yoongi…the pleasure is all mine.”

You can’t help but laugh at his stunned expression, not knowing he was just in shock from receiving your smile. To him, your smile in that moment could have powered a thousand suns. 

Yoongi was quiet but still took your hand and you entered the theater with a smile on your face, happy that things were getting better, that you could almost believe you had your first love back.

2 hours later.

“Yoongi,  why are you pouting?” You ask as you take his hand.

“Look no matter how I look at it, it's just not fair.”

“What’s not?”

“Mandi. Seokjin. They have spent years with you…years that should have been with me.”

“I thought we were moving forward.”

“But.”

You sighed. “Look. You want to know the truth?”

Yoongi stopped and stared at you, “yes.”

“Okay then.” You face him, “You crushed me in every way possible. You were my world. I followed you everywhere. I trusted you, and you were always there and then you weren’t. The night we got stuck in the cave I gave you my faith—but it also is and was the moment I gave my whole heart to you, willingly, without any doubt. And the next day when we were found…you stomped on it. And you continued to stomp on it. I cried so many tears everyday because I hoped that one day my hero would come back. But he never did. He became a villain.” You couldn’t help the tears that fell down your cheeks, “And even through all that I still…” you sighed. “I can't do this Yoongi. I can't. I’m sorry,  I was wrong to try.” You turned on your heel and ran away, ignoring him yelling after you, you just ran until you couldn’t hear him anymore. 

And then you found the alcohol.

You sat at the outside bar drinking as you thought about the past two months. All the things you had done with Yoongi , and how disgusted you were with yourself for letting your old feelings come back so easily. You knew it wasn’t the right choice, but it was the one you wanted. You had decided to drown yourself in alcohol,  and you were on your third bottle when the object of your conflicting emotions, sat down across from you.

“Y/N.”

“Mmm?”

“What are you doing?”

“Drinking!” Your giggle turns to a frown when you hear the heavy sigh come across from you, “Are you judging me? It’s not nice to judge you know! “

“Why are you drinking Y/N?”

“Because,” you leaned forward, whispering conspiratively, “I’ve been bad.”

“Bad? How so?”

You sigh dreamily, a wistful smile playing upon your lips, “There’s this guy…”

“There always is.”

“Shhh! This is my story!” You shout.

“Sorry.”

“Where was I?” 

“Something about a guy…”

“SHHHHHH! So rude interrupting me! Anyways…I’m supposed to hate him but…” you thump your chest hard as tears prick your eyes, “But…”

“But what?”

“I can't…I remember him before…and the him that I remember…he’s still there…and all the warning alarms are going off and I’m so scared to love him but I…I think…”

“You think?”

You lay your head on the table, mumbling, “Think it’s too late…think I love him. Think it has always been too late for me. Even after all the bullshit…you see…he’s still here” You thump your chest hard and sigh as you feel the tears slide down your cheek to land on the table, “ I love him and I don’t want to…I didn’t mean too…”

“Mean to what?” 

“To love him, but…”

“You do.”

“Yeah” you whisper softly.

“Yoongi…” you can feel the man smile, you don’t know how you know but you do, “why do I have to love you?”

“You love me?” He asks, the hope wrapped in fear in his voice twisting your heart even more than all the past crap that had happened. You wanted to let it go. You wanted to love him. You can only nod your head as your eyes slide close, and you struggle against the darkness when you hear him whisper, “I love you too Y/N…I’m just scared…I’m not good enough…I was such an ass…and I know you said to let it go…but God Y/N…I should have treated you like a princess…because the truth is…”

Those words cause you to sit up, eyes squinting hard as you try to make out his face, “Yoongi?”

“Yeah?”

You lean forward and his face comes into focus, a smile spreads on your face and you lean forward to press your lips to his, softly at first, and then he responds, a hand sliding up your arm to cup your neck as you express to him what you can’t say in words. This was so much better than petty arguments and revenge pranks.  

You pull away, breathing heavy as you rest your forehead against his, “Yoongi,” you whimper, keeping your eyes firmly on the buttons of his shirt, scared to look up, scared to see the fear in his eyes. Does he not know?  “Can I…can I be yours?“ You ask in a voice so quiet it is almost lost in the noise of the world that surrounds you. 

"Can you forgive me?” The pain in his voice was sharp. “I forgive you.” You whisper into his mouth as you make promises with your lips.

He pulls away for a moment, and you lock eyes finally. “Then believe me when I say, I was always yours, and you were always mine.” 

“I was?”

The amount of disbelief in your voice causes Yoongi to tear up as he pulls you into his arms, “Kitten?”

“Yeah,” you say as you rest your head into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent.

This time it was his turn to ask, “Am I yours?”

“You always were Yoongi. I was just waiting for you to remember where home was.”

Yoongi places the softest of kisses on each of your eyelids, and then he kisses away your tears and finally his mouth was on yours, and the kiss was full of yearning. “Y/N.”

“Yes?” You ask, sad he had pulled away. 

“Don’t leave me again…I love you too.”

“Okay.”

[aquaticstyles]

unchained

A while ago I was asked for a “Have You Ever Been In Love” sequel, and while this is probably not the direction you guys were expecting, this is what I came up with. Also, this one’s (loosely) inspired by the song “Scott Street” by the lovely Phoebe Bridgers (highly recommend listening to the spotify sessions version while listening). Fun fact, for forever I misheard the lyrics, thinking she was saying “unchained” instead of “ashamed.” After noticing that I have, in fact, been wrong this entire time, I realized I kinda liked my version better (sorry Phoebe). And, me being me, I ran with it and it spun into this quick, 1.4k part two. Reblogs + feedback help so much! Enjoy!! xx, Jane 

“Have you ever been in love?”

Harry’s heart stops.

The question catches him off guard, and not just because he’s not used to interviewers asking such personal ones (he guesses this is what he signed up for when he agreed to be the first male flying solo on the cover of Vogue). It makes his heart stop because of his answer, because of the woman that had once asked him the same exact question.

Harry has never been one to linger in his sadness; he finds it unproductive, and quite honestly, completely depressing. After a break up, one can find the caramel-colored curls belonging to the world’s latest phenomenon sweating out his sorrow, or frustration, at the gym, pounding the boxing bag again and again and again. “Nothing another set can’t fix,” his trainer, Mike, would often tease the man in denial, knowing good and well by his posture upon entering the ring, slumped shoulders and an ever-present crease between his eyebrows, that another one had bit the dust the night prior. Mike had learned fairly quickly to never ask questions, to simply let Harry work out his emotions as he pleases, even if that means letting him walk out with wrapped fists masking throbbing, crimson knuckles.

Harry has never been one to talk about his sadness either; he finds it prolongs the pain rather than diminishing it, an annoying gnat swarming around an abnormally large bite from a crisp apple, halting his progression in enjoying his afternoon snack because he just can’t catch the bloody thing. His sister has tried to break him from his stubborn ways, even resulting to getting the lanky man drunk off tequila in hopes of him finally opening up about his incessant missed targets; however, that only ever ends up with Gemma’s arms holding up the giggling teddy bear and folding his bulky body into a taxi, mimicking cramming a cotton ball into a straw. Therapy was suggested and waved off with an inked palm, because if he doesn’t want to talk to his sister about it, how on earth is he supposed to talk to a stranger?

Never-ending claims of “I’m fine,” and “It just didn’t work out,” and “Don’t worry ‘bout me,” and “It wasn’t even that serious.” Sure, each breakup took a little something out of the man that insisted he was “fine,” but eventually, a couple dozen inked journal pages later, Harry would be back to his normal, happy-go-lucky, perfectly-kind self.

All of these rang true for most of Harry’s young adulthood.

All of these were common occurrences, that is, until Harry met you.

You were unlike anyone he had ever met. Selfless, but not in an over-bearing, walk-all-over-me kind of way. Funny, but not in an underlying-hatred, fake-laugh kind of way. Genuine, but not in a look-at-me, fake kind of way. Honest, in a I-want-to-know-everything-that-makes-you-you, ask-you-questions-until-the-sun-rises kind of way. Drop-dead-gorgeous in the most unbelievable, glowing, ethereal, kind of way that he constantly reminded you of. You were the perfect balance, the missing diamond to even out the coal on the other end of the scale.

Loving you felt like the ocean.

In the morning when there’s a hazy screen covering your lenses, clouding the soft sunlight in a muted, white-washed filter. It’s more gray, yet still golden as the shining mass of fire lazily rises from its slumber. It’s calm, clouds stretched apart like cobwebs in the faded blue sky above, waves leisurely, almost too relaxed, crashing along the bleached shore then disappearing back into the horizon. Still sleepy, still new, an entire day ahead of you.

In the afternoon when the sun is at its highest and hottest, radiating down ultraviolet rays that burn your skin, causing alarmingly red shoulders in need of aloe that soon progressively heal and turn into a bronzed exterior. Speckles of light dancing upon excited waves, similar to a neighborhood of children dressed in pink polka dots and orange overalls running towards the ice cream truck filled to the brim with dreams of sugary stomachaches. It’s saturated, every color its brightest and loudest, pops of cerulean and coral. It’s a blanket of comfort, a suffocating scarf. It’s sweet. It’s sour. A cool glass of lemonade sinking into a bed of quicksand. Annoying and astonishing.

In the night, when the yellowing presence is long gone in the awakening of the moon, the deepest indigo swirling in between pockets of stars dotted and flecked into the atmosphere like freckles. It’s black and blue. You don’t know where the earth stopss and the water begins, familiarity lost as the waves erase each new footprint in the sand. The tide is an abuser, sweet as it sings you in, terrifying as it pulls you under. Skinny dipping, vulnerable, exciting, adrenaline, heart thumping, diving, sinking, drowning.

The morning, the afternoon, the night. The happening, the honeymoon, the heartbreak.

Ever since it ended, everything Harry had ever known was cast aside, thrown out like a Gucci jumper from last season. For the first time in his twenty-six years of living, fourteen of those juggling the obstacles that relationships can and will bring, Harry was irreversibly numb, a pair of frozen, gloveless fingertips blue from the icy wind. Not only did he linger in the gut-wrenching grief, he was absorbed by it. Instead of waking up each morning tucked into the bare side of your body diffusing innocent warmth, sipping a steaming cup of black coffee received by hands much smaller than his own, he woke up with a stranger laying on his chest, cold, with a pounding headache the bottle of whiskey had gladly supplied from the night before. The days felt as if they lasted an eternity, time stuck in slow-motion, tick, tick, ticking, one second, one and a half, one and three quarters, two. He watched the seasons pass, the grass dying and regenerating into its natural emerald shade from his bedroom, dust pocketing in the corners of a picture frame containing two pairs of sparkling eyes and genuine, toothy grins sitting on the windowsill. Nights consisted of him lying sleepless on his back, eyes wide awake, thumbs twiddling as the echoes of helicopters overhead drone in and out. Dozens of missed calls remained unanswered: Mum, Gem, Mitch, Mike, Adam, Sarah, Mum, Mum, Gem, Mum, Mike, Mitch, Gem, Mitch, Mum…

He was stuck, a pancake glued to an ungreased pan, charred. It was when this melancholy had prolonged for nearly its sixth month, and all at home remedies (which included drinking, writing, drinking because he was writing, and writing because he was drinking) failed to provide any peace that he decided to give in to the recommendations from almost every single one of his friends: therapy. After the first session, he was ready to book it and sprint off to a deserted island with nothing but a coconut filled with rum to accompany his solitude. Turns out that one session was the mento to his coca cola of bottled-up emotions, exploding months’ worth of buried feelings and memories in an hour. It took the will of God (and Gemma purposefully lying and telling him they were going to get lunch) to get Harry back in the baby-pink-painted interior of his therapist’s office. After months of talking, sorting, compartmentalizing, yelling, crying, healing, unpacking, and reflecting, Harry tackled down the closure he had been chasing. A year and an album later, when he heard your name, he no longer felt trapped, heart beating rapidly, trying desperately to break apart his ribcage, he felt unchained—a prisoner uncaged, pounds and pounds of metal unlocked from his wrists, free.

Before, your name was paired with a colorless photo album, snapshots of vibrancy draining into black and white, frozen, lifeless, still.

Now, your name resembled a film reel of the best moments, your sweater hanging in his closet, your arm thrown around his mother’s shoulder in a polaroid candid, your laugh echoing in the acoustics of his shower after you nearly slipped on the lavender bubbles coating sudsy toes, your hands massaging his scalp, twisting curls into detailed plaits, your foamy lips smushing against a stubbled cheek, leaving remnants of peppermint mocha in the winter air, your satin skirt contrasting from his purple flares in his backyard, playing thumb war and whispering confessions in the moonlight. The good memories built a brick wall to block out the bad, dimming the light of your downfall.

“Have you ever been in love?” The question echoes again in Harry’s ears, causing a grin and a dimple to pop into his cheek. The fuzzies. Once, twice, three times. Click, shake, tape.

“Yeah, I have.”

[apiratewhopines]

In the Offing

Summary: AU - Storybrooke - Emma Swan is drafted to help Liam Jones clear his brother’s name in the disappearance of a former flame. As she digs deeper into the rash of missing person cases, she risks losing more than just her heart as she uncovers the truth.

Chapter One - Pilot

Summary: In which our heroine embarks on an adventure

“Let the exits pass, all the tar and glass

Til the road and sky align”

-Angela, The Lumineers

If asked, Emma Swan would land firmly in the ‘It was a dark and stormy night’ camp rather than the ‘Once Upon a Time’ one.

It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in happiness and true love and good triumphing over evil. She did. Or at least she tried to believe in them, which was nearly the same thing.

It was just that in her experience, relationships were more likely to end in indifference and divergent roads at best or disappointment, deceit and violence at their worst. It rarely ended in laughter over the dinner table, surrounded by the people you loved and admired. In fact, it never ended that way for her. And she was fine with that. Or at least she tried to believe she was, which was not nearly the same thing.

So it was without the slightest bit of surprise that she made her way back to her office from yet another honey trap date, her third this week if anyone was keeping track. She didn’t anymore, had stopped wondering years ago how there were so many cheating spouses and deadbeat dads and none too bright criminals in one city. Nor did she have the energy to wonder why she found her doorway blocked by the broad form of her sometimes collaborator, sometimes competitor, always annoying quasi-neighbor.

“What do you want, Liam? I’m not staying. I’m only dropping off paperwork so I can go home and mourn the loss of human decency uninterrupted.”

“Perhaps a bath would be more helpful, lass. You smell like a walking distillery,” he replied, not bothered by her unfriendly tone and refusal to meet his eyes as she elbowed him out of the way and unlocked the door. “Were you drowning your sorrows or were they drowning you?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I caught the guy who did this and he smells like jail now so I would say I won,” she muttered, bristling only a little bit when he followed her inside. She would like to say that she and Liam had a complicated relationship but the truth was they tolerated each other when they had to and avoided each other when they didn’t. She could count on him to be professional, which unfortunately was not a given in their line of work, and his complete disinterest in her as a person was a quality she appreciated, having never been someone who craved attention or willingly engaged in small talk.

Now that she thought about it, he was probably one of the better connections she had made in Boston. If his self-righteous, holier-than-thou attitude chafed at times...well, no one was perfect. She had met him when her boss moved their bail bonds office operations to their current location and with his private investigation business occupying the suite next door, they would throw work each other’s way when it made sense. Despite knowing him for nearly two years, she would be hard-pressed to recall a single interaction after hours or off the job so even though she was tired and her feet were killing her from running down tonight’s skip in stiletto heels, she was a little curious about why he was there. “Barry isn’t here.”

“If I was looking for Barry, this is the last place I would be.”

She snorted as she dropped off a packet of reports on the nearest desk. The truth was that her boss, who also happened to own the business, was probably cruising off the coast of Florida at that very moment and hadn’t stepped foot in the office since they moved. But she considered absenteeism a great quality in a boss so she wasn’t complaining.

Sighing, she turned around to face him. She leaned against the desk behind her and hoped he didn’t notice her flexing her feet in an attempt to keep them from cramping. “As nice as it is to catch up, I’ve had a long night. Why don’t you tell me what you want?”

“Henry mentioned that he was going to spend the summer with his father when he came by last week,” Liam stated as if that explained everything. Henry’s capacity to make friends never ceased to astound her and was definitely a characteristic he inherited from Neal. Even curmudgeonly Liam Jones had fallen victim to her kid’s ability to engage with anyone. Little did her visitor suspect that reminding her that she had nearly eight weeks of going home to an empty apartment was not the best way for him to start a conversation.

It had been with great trepidation that she had agreed to the trip at all. After years of fielding her son’s questions about his father, she used her considerable tracking skills to finally run her ex to ground about eighteen months ago. Enough time had passed for her to forgive him, although she doubted she would ever forget, but she felt she owed Henry the chance to at least meet his father. And of course, they had hit it off as she had both hoped for and feared.

She had worried, apparently needlessly so, that Neal would quickly lose interest in the son he hadn’t know existed and was inconveniently located in a different state. However, the man who had no issues with abandoning her a decade ago had surprised her. He called Henry every day and made the trip at least once a month to visit. He had shown up and supported Henry in ways she hadn’t expected and it reminded her that not all the times had been bad and maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t a villain. When Neal had approached her about a long distance trip that spanned their son’s entire summer break, her first reaction was to forbid it but she knew Henry needed it. Although she would never admit it to Neal, she had also appreciated that he had brought it up with her first rather than sending Henry to talk her into it.

Still, it had physically hurt her to see them walking away together at the airport yesterday, similar gaits and probably with matching, wide smiles on their faces.

Now her interaction with her son would be reduced to a couple of texts a day and FaceTime calls a few times a week while Henry had the time of his life gallivanting around California with his father and future stepmother. In a flash, she went from tired and curious to tired and pissed. “Right. Glad you reminded me before I made it home and called the police about a kidnapping. Did you need something, Liam, or are you just trying to bother me?”

“Both. Obviously,” he said dryly.

“Great, he’s got jokes,” she groaned as she threw her head back in frustration. “I should warn you that I’ve already punched one jerk tonight. I’m hungry and exhausted and if you don’t get on with it, I’m not afraid to add another one to the list.”

He sighed and for the first time she noticed the tenseness in the way he was holding himself. Whatever the reason for his visit, it obviously had him wound up pretty tightly. Against her better judgement, she felt her curiosity stirring again.

“Fine, since you’re obviously not fit to be out in public,” he said with a vague gesture toward her whiskey-flavored dress, “order some delivery and let’s talk.”

—

The smell of cheese did a lot to restore her good humor. She watched him from under her lashes as he looked at the meat-lovers pizza with what approached horror in his expression. She never pegged him as a health food nut, although she could tell he took care of himself, so maybe what offended him was the grease that had soaked through the box to the papers that were stacked neatly on his desk. Tearing off a large slice, she hummed happily while she took the first scorching bite.

“I need a favor,” he stated without preamble before he too took a bite and glanced at her with a pained look in his eye.

She was pretty sure that this was the first time he had ever uttered those words in his life and that was probably the source of his discomfort rather than the molten lava cheese he just swallowed. She tried not to show any interest even though hundreds of questions wanted to escape her mouth. She wanted to ask when they started doing favors for each other and why he was acting like a caged animal. Instead, she settled for something that he would probably find a bit more in character considering their past interactions. “Would this be the type of favor that involved payment of some sort?”

“It will, if that gets the job done quicker,” Liam answered, staring intently at his half eaten slice.

“Well, that would depend on if we’re talking about an hourly rate or a flat fee,” she joked. “I have typically found that payment is the best way to insure a job gets done.”

Something was definitely bothering him and damn if that didn’t make the hair on the back of her neck stand up and chase a shiver down her spine. With a hint of disgust she threw her uneaten crust down on her plate. She already knew that whatever he was about to ask, she was going to agree to so she continued, “Might as well spit it out, I would like to go home and get some sleep sometime this century. What kind of favor do you need?

“The kind of favor that involves going away for a couple of weeks and solving a cold case.”

Of all the things she thought he was going to ask, actual work didn’t even make the top ten list so she was a little letdown. His discomfort had her prepared for anything from being a date to an ex’s wedding to a surprise twist of being asked to babysit his previously unknown kids. Even a mundane request to water his plants while he was on vacation would have been more interesting. She wasn’t entirely sure Liam was human and it would have been fascinating to see the lair he crawled back to when he wasn’t in the office.

“Why the cloak and dagger routine? You made me think something was horribly wrong,” she huffed. Picking up another slice, she thoughtfully examined his face. There was more to this request but she was afraid she was going to have to drag it out of him based on his body language. His eyes were shuttered, shoulders hunched in on himself, body twisted slightly to the side as if he had decided this was a mistake and he was on the verge of running out of the room. While she would dearly love to see Liam Jones run away from his problems like a mere mortal, she was clearly already too invested to let that happen. Quickly swiping her fingers across a napkin to rid them of the worst of the grease, she gently laid her hand on his forearm to hold him in place. “Whatever you need to say, it will go no further.”

Apparently those were the magic words to unlock whatever secret he thought he needed to keep because with a sharp intake of breath, he started his tale. “There is a town in Maine...”

—

Hours later, he was dropping her off at the entrance to her building with a promise to pick her up at six o’clock the following evening. She wasn’t crazy about starting out that late or the fact that they would hit the tail end of rush hour traffic but her mind was swimming with too many details to make her normal fuss. Honestly, she would need all the time she could get to go through the files stuffed in the briefcase he passed off to her as she emerged from the car.

Without registering the journey upstairs, she found herself opening the door to her apartment and immediately kicked off her heels with a moan while her toes curled a little to celebrate their freedom. Her dress had climbed up her thighs a bit during the car ride but she had a feeling she was the only one who noticed. She was pretty sure she could have been naked and Liam wouldn’t have paid any attention. He was just that kind of guy. Considering they were about to embark on a trip to his former hometown where they may end up having to give the impression of a relationship, she should probably be grateful that his only attraction to her seemed to be limited to her ability to find people and her reputation for being a spookily accurate human lie detector. For her part, all she wanted from him was a couple weeks of distraction from what was surely going to turn out to be a lonely summer. If she was getting paid for it, all the better.

Leaving her shoes where they fell in the entranceway, she grabbed a hair band from the narrow table that she privately thought of as their crap collector. She had never been the neatest person and she had passed that trait on to Henry so you could never predict what random stuff would be found on the table that served no other purpose than to be a catch all for the things they discarded when they arrived home.

Styling her long blonde hair into a messy bun, she pulled her ruined dress over her head and casually threw it in the direction of the laundry basket. Taking advantage of the fact that there wasn’t a ten-year-old at home that would be traumatized by her behavior, she lugged the briefcase to the kitchen island and spread the files across the countertop before walking back to her closet to slip into a pair of black yoga pants and a Red Sox tank top, not wanting to take the time to shower at the moment. Besides, she was the only one home to know how bad the smell of whiskey and sweat was after sitting for hours in a small office, stuffing her face with the unhealthiest pizza on the planet and getting drawn into the web of mystery that had made the always serious Mr. Jones even more somber.

Pouring a glass of wine, she climbed up on one of stools that formed a line that ran the length of the counter and pulled the top file to her. The photo paper-clipped to the inside showed a rundown pawn shop that might as well have had a neon sign flashing ‘Shady Place of Business.’ Below it was a list of names from various missing persons cases spanning thirty years.

Taking the first sip of wine, she murmured, “What have you gotten me into, Liam?”

She spent the next several hours combing through the files until her back hurt and her contacts felt scratchy in her eyes. It seemed like Jones Investigation had a file for everyone that lived in the town at the time of the burglary as well as newspaper clipping from the various investigations into the suspicious disappearance of citizens.

It was too much information to take in during the course of one night but Liam had been insistent that the files remain in Boston. He didn’t want to risk tipping off any suspects to the real reason for their trip should the paperwork be discovered. So, under direct orders from the former British Naval officer to memorize the facts, when she reached the end of the files, she would start over again. She sorted and resorted the files into stacks based on a variety of factors from chronological order to some distinguishing characteristic like age, proximity to crime, or possible motive.

If her attention kept wondering back to the grainy photo of one Killian Jones, brother of her dour compatriot, she blamed the wine and lack of sleep. Even the low quality of the picture couldn’t conceal that the younger Jones brother was an incredibly attractive man. However, he looked enough like Liam to make her interest unsettling and that was what finally pulled her away from her research and drove her to bed where she dreamed of blue eyes and a wicked smile.

—

For most of the trip, the only sound was of the sports commentators who nearly shouted out a play-by-play of a soccer match Liam had politely asked to listen to as they pulled out of her parking garage. The only other break in their silent commute was the subtle hum and thump of road noise occasionally making its way into the cabin. He had been unimpressed with her offer to take her car, not even bothering to acknowledge her when she suggested it and simply opening the lift gate to the large, dark colored Honda Pilot he had rented. If he noticed her surprise at finding several bags already in the truck and heard her sarcastic observation about packing light as she had to reposition some of his luggage to find a spot for her single gym sized duffel bag, he didn’t show it.

As she had predicted, they spent an hour stuck in traffic before getting beyond the city limits where the cars spread out and their follow drivers seemed to think that allowed them to indulge in NASCAR fantasies. She used the quiet to mentally go over the particulars of the case before them, secure in the knowledge that unless she magically sprouted another head Liam was unlikely to start up a conversation at this point in the trip.

Fact One: Leo and Ava Blanchard left for a date night and never returned home to their young daughter. There car was found broken down on the side of the road about a mile from their home. No sign of foul play, no trace of their whereabouts.

Fact Two: Shortly thereafter, there was a burglary at Gold’s Pawnshop on Main Street. No sign of forced entry and the owner claimed nothing had been stolen, but the alarm had been tripped from the inside. Having nothing to go on and with no stolen items to track down, the local law enforcement devoted a total of five minutes to the case. Basically as soon as the report was filed, the case was closed and life moved on.

Fact Three: Robert Nolan had a few too many at a bar one night, which apparently was a reoccurring circumstance, and never found his way back to his family. He was rumored to be involved in some illicit activities but no proof of a crime was ever found.

Fact Four: There appeared to be a bit of a lull for more than a decade and then a rapid secession of missing person reports: Regina Mills, Peter Wolfe, and finally Milah Gold.

It was the last one that seemed to drive Liam’s interest in the cases. Although he and his brother hadn’t relocated to the US until the early 2000s, it seemed his little brother quickly formed an attachment, which Emma read between the lines to mean had an affair, with the older wife of the town’s local businessman. After his wife vanished into thin air, Mr. Gold and the local police tried their best to pin her disappearance on Killian but could never come up with enough evidence to press charges.

The final piece came through sources Liam was disinclined to name. He had recently found out that a newly arrived visitor had been asking questions around town and according to his source, the visitor was a best-selling true crime author named August Booth who happened to be weeks away from publishing a tell-all book about the sordid history of the town.

Going into full protective mode, Liam had decided the best course of action was to return to the small town and solve the mystery, or potentially multiple mysteries if they were as interconnected as he thought, thereby clearing his brother’s name beyond all doubt.

If it had been anyone else who had asked for her help, she would have been flattered but she knew Liam to be practical above all else. He valued her skills but it was probably Henry’s absence that was the catalyst for this particular partnership. He needed an extra set of eyes and ears and she was a known element who was conveniently available for a long term undercover assignment. Still, he had trusted her with the family secrets, or at least his brother’s secrets, so she was trying to be mindful this wasn’t simply another case for him.

She wasn’t convinced the non-burglary and series of disappearances he seemed to think connected would turn out to be anything but she knew better than to discard possibilities this early on. She also wasn’t convinced that parading in front of his family and friends as a girlfriend was a good game plan.

“I think we need to revisit this cover story,” she said as he pulled off the highway and into the lot of a gas station.

“If you can find a more convincing reason for me to show up with a strange woman, I will gladly listen to it,” he replied before exiting the car and fading away into the dark night.

“No, I wouldn’t like anything from the store, thanks for asking,”she called out to his back, wanting to nettle him in retaliation for his rudeness although she doubted he heard her. According to the GPS, they were only about forty-five minutes from their destination, a place called Granny’s Diner. She tried to research the town, including restaurants, venues, and things to do but it was as if Storybrooke existed out of the modern age. While you could find it on maps, there wasn’t an internet presence at all. There were no tourism sites, despite the fact that most little towns that dot the Atlantic coast were in peak season for welcoming travelers. It appeared that chains and national franchises had no interest in the sleepy town either. There were no notable residents making their marks on the world at large, no complaints on business sites, no reviews of the natural beauty to be found in its forests and parks.

The sound of Liam returning to the vehicle and pumping gas broke her train of thought. Hearing the gentle chime of her phone, she took the opportunity to check her texts before they got back on the road. Smiling a little at seeing Henry’s name on her notifications, she clicked the message and was rewarded with a silly photo of him pretending to be eaten by a shark at one of the selfie stations located on a pier in whatever seaside town they were currently visiting. She text him back a thumb’s up, following it quickly with a good night and reminder that she would send him the details of where she was staying in the morning.

Running her finger gently over her son’s happy grin in the photo, she didn’t greet Liam as he climbed back into the car.

“That’s a nice picture,” he mumbled, clicking his seatbelt in place before pulling out and rejoining the dwindling line of cars heading north. “Is he having a good time?”

“Looks like it,” she answered, turning her head away somewhat embarrassed to feel the prick of tears in her eyes. She wasn’t an emotional person but she missed the kid something fierce.

Either he was being exceptionally sensitive to her distress or he didn’t notice it because they lapsed back into silence until they were about fifteen minutes from the town line. Deciding next to the last minute was as a good a time to broach the topic again as any, she picked up on her earlier comment as if it hadn’t been over half an hour ago. “Listen, I’m not saying I have a better cover but maybe we could not volunteer the girlfriend story. You know, keep our options open unless someone asks us directly. Or maybe actually tell them we are there to investigate.”

Hope for a rational debate on the merits of her suggestions was immediately crushed when he actually started to laugh. “You’ve never lived in a small town, have you?”

“No, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“Emma, I left five years ago under some difficult circumstances—“

“What circumstances? How difficult?”

“That’s need to know, lass,” he interrupted in a tone that cautioned against any further questions. “If it had anything to do with our case, I would have already told you. Let me assure you that everyone will know of our arrival within minutes of the car entering town. There will be a description of you circulating before you wake up tomorrow morning. There is no way people aren’t going to ask us directly and repeatedly the nature of our visit and relationship.”

She was about to interrupt again so he held up a hand to stall her and added, “And if we decline to provide details, they will make them up. Trust me, it’s better to control the story than to have eyes following us everywhere trying figure it out for themselves. As far as openly investigating a crime, you’re daft if you think they won’t clam up the second you start asking questions. In my experience people are more comfortable being a gossip than a snitch. If we are simply a couple enjoying a trip down memory lane, we will be able to move much more freely.”

“But your brother,” she countered weakly because she had to admit he had a point. “How can you lie to him? Surely he can be trusted with the truth. Not to mention that if we are staying with him, he’s going to notice that we don’t like each other.”

“What are you talking about? I’m quite fond of you. You’re one of my best friends,” he said in indignation.

Her jaw went slack with shock as she tried to process how she had slipped into some bizarro alternate reality. What in their past could possibly have given him the idea that they were friends, besties even. “I don’t know what—“ she sputtered. “Is this some weird British thing?”

He barked out a laugh that was so unlike him that she doubled down on her alternate reality theory. “Calm down, Emma. It was a joke. We aren’t friends exactly but I don’t dislike you. It will be fine. Pretend I’m one of your fake dates for a couple of weeks. Lucky for you, I’m an old-fashioned guy. Killian won’t think anything of us bunking separately.”

“There is old-fashioned and then there is being a monk, Liam. But whatever. I still think you should trust your brother. Especially since it’s his neck we’re trying to save.”

“I would trust him with my life. What I can’t trust is that he won’t go off half-cocked and muck up the investigation. He’ll understand why I did this as long as we get results.”

She believed that he believed what he was saying. She also believed he was wrong. As a person who always preferred the truth, no matter how painful, her gut told her that it would be a mistake to keep the younger Jones in the dark about the true purpose of their trip. However, besties or not, she knew the mulish tilt to Liam’s mouth indicated that for him the discussion was over.

At that moment, the high beams illuminated the Welcome to Storybrooke sign. She felt an ominous dread settle over her as they approached, turning in her seat to look at the sign as they passed.

It was the last thing she saw before the world exploded in glass shards, twisted metal, and smoke.

[friendandphoe]

okay the formatting on this is gonna be a lil weird bUT!! have this figuring it out/something to last revamp that’s been sitting in my brain for the last few weeks @ahbonjour @museumlad @creativeskull95

There’s no way in hell she’s ever looking Professor Keelson in the eye again. “I’m sorry,” she croaks for the thousandth time, and finds a tissue being pressed into her hand.

“Quite alright, my dear,” Professor Keelson says soothingly, leaning back in his chair with his hands folded over his round belly. “Wipe your face, now, there you go. I’m — well.” And he rubs the bridge of his nose, just under his round wire glasses. “I can’t say I wasn’t expecting this, unfortunately.”

She nods numbly, ice trickling down her spine.

You ruined everything.

“I’m sorry,” she tries again, because it’s all she can think to say, but the professor waves her off with a weathered hand and pushes himself to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane as he makes his way to the mini fridge he keeps under the bookshelves.

“Now, now,” he says, almost scolding, and pulls out a clementine, a bar of chocolate, and a bottle of water. “Don’t you start that with me, Ms. Ochoa. This is not the first time I’ve had students crying in my office, I daresay it won’t be the last.” And he sits heavily back down in his chair, setting the snacks in front of her. “Eat, drink. Now, I won’t press on what’s been troubling you, but you know, these tired old eyes of mine do still catch a few things here and there, and I have seen you — well. I don’t like to use the word struggling, but you know, perhaps it is a bit more apt than anything else I could think of.” And she knows he’s looking at her, knows those beady black eyes well, but just focuses on unwrapping the chocolate bar as quietly as she can.

What makes you think we want you around?

“You’ve had a rough time of it, this year.”

It’s not a question, but she still finds herself nodding confirmation. “I don’t know what happened.” She says hoarsely, and reaches for the water bottle.

Leave us alone.

“I’ve been wanting this for years, I worked so hard to get into this program, I just—” and she has to press her mouth shut to keep the lump in her throat from escaping.

Leave us alone!

“Some… stuff. Uh, came up, I guess.”

They sit in silence for a minute, then softly: “The human mind is a wonderful, confusing little thing.” Professor Keelson says. She dares a glance up at him, finds him — thank god — staring out his office window. “It tends to block out anything unpleasant we might not want to hear, and often that negativity will build and build and build until, one day, the weight becomes too much to bear.” He sighs and scrubs a hand through his short white beard, messing the hairs out of their orderly style. “And then we must face the unfortunate truth that sometimes what we thought we wanted is, in actuality, not at all the path we should be taking."

She drops her gaze back down to her bouncing knee. “Is it stupid?” She blurts out, watching her leg blur under her rising tears. “I just — this is a good school, a good program, and I’ll have so many job opportunities when I graduate—”

A weathered hand stretches out across the desk, just reaching to where her pinky would've been. “And yet,” Professor Keelson murmurs. “It won’t make you happy.” He sits back in his chair, looking every inch the benevolent Santa Claus his students know him to be. “And given how miserable you’ve been this year, Ms. Ochoa, I daresay your ultimate happiness is worth far more than any graduating job offers.” His smile drops for a half-second. “Though I can’t say I won’t be sorry to see you go. You’re already one of my best students, you know.”

You're an embarrassment to my name and reputation.

A wet little giggle chokes out of her throat, and she wipes down her face one more time. “Don’t tempt me, I’m half-considering staying,” she admits. “Even with all of this.”

“Ah, but if you do, what sort of state will you be in once you graduate?” Professor Keelson says, raising a bushy brow. “All you young folk are the same. You’re young, you have that wonderful, limitless energy, but you must learn to take care of yourselves now, while you have the space to do so. Won’t do you any good to drive yourselves into the ground every night when you’re my age, you know!” He looks at her appraisingly, then smiles wide. “And you know, my dear, there’s great strength in being able to admit you were wrong. I’ve always admired people who are strong enough to chase their dreams instead of following the easy path. Do you have an idea where you’re going, yet?”

Don’t ever come back here, you little— 

“There’s a performing and visual arts conservatory,” she says hesitantly. “River Park, downstate. They’ve got really good photography and filmmaking programs, and, um.” She pauses, unsure how to explain how right it had all felt when she’d been reading about it online. “Well, I have an interview on Wednesday, so.”

Professor Keelson’s smile widens. “River Park! My partner studied illustration there, years ago when we were both young. You’ll do wonderfully.”

She can’t help but feel like his faith is ever-so-slightly misplaced —

I didn't want you.

— maybe it’s just the existential crisis talking, who knows —

Do you understand me?

— but she can’t quite bring herself to argue against the sparkling excitement in the professor’s eyes. She lets him press another chocolate bar and tissue combo into her hand as he shuffles her out of his office, with strict, cheerful instructions to come see him before she leaves for her interview.

You were a mistake.

Tuesday night comes in the blink of an eye; she’d barely dumped her meager wardrobe back into the suitcase she’d kept under her bed and her sticky notes are still haphazardly slapped to the wall above her desk. She’s not exactly sure where the time went — it’s not like she went to any classes. Or ate much. Or was sleeping, really. Granted she did try, but the third time in the same night she woke up sobbing because her blankets had twisted around her leg, trapping her in an all-too-familiar heat vortex—

window won't break it's too hot it hurts to breathe window won't break it's so fucking hot she can't think window won't break but it'll slide get out of this goddamn heat get out get out crunch fuck ow hurts hurts ow fuck hurts her toes shouldn't be ow fuck fuck fuck pointing that way hurts hurts fucking hurts can't feel her knee fuck fuck where's papá—

— she kind of gave up. She doesn't even bother pulling out her shitty, half-broken headphones to try and watch something on Netflix to try and pass the time, she just lays in bed and listens to Rebecca softly snoring five feet away. The ceiling is infinitely more interesting than anything else she could’ve been focusing on, anyway.

Except maybe her portfolio. Which. She hasn’t really. Looked at.

She’s so fucked.

Still, she drags herself out of bed nice and early at 7 am Wednesday morning, beating her alarm by the customary 4 minutes, and actually manages to gather the energy to sift through her remaining clothes to dig out something — well. She doesn’t really have anything “nice,” per say, but she does have an oversized sweater that’ll pass as a dress once she puts on some makeup and a belt and ties her hair up, and that’ll have to be good enough.

You show up to my door looking like that?

River Park is going to laugh her right out the door.

Everything she might need is already shoved unceremoniously into her backpack — wallet, keys, wrist brace, student ID, laptop, flash drive (in its place of honor in the tiny pocket), knee brace, fruit snacks, water bottle — but her eye catches on her DLSR just as she’s finished tying the laces on her most comfortable boot, and she hesitates. She hasn’t really looked at her portfolio much recently — she knows she’s got some old pictures from Manhattan, and maybe some from various campus events that might be good, but it’s been a little hard to go out and take nice shots when she’s been drowning in depression soup for the past four months. Four years. Whatever. Either way, she doesn’t have much to show for herself, and inspiration hasn’t really hit lately.

But River Park is — well, she has no idea, really, she hasn’t seen it in person yet, but the photos online are gorgeous, all glass-and-brick buildings framed by forests and gardens. Very much a college town, from what she can tell, the campus map isn’t really a map so much as a general directory pointing out which buildings were associated with the conservatory, but there was something that felt weirdly homey about seeing those pictures. Maybe it was the layout of the buildings, maybe it was the way they described their classes and professors, maybe it was just the simple fact that everyone in those pictures was genuinely smiling, but she’d gotten this weird, longing ache just below her collarbone that had made her close down all her other college-related tabs and email River Park’s photography and filmmaking department.

Something feels good about that campus. And maybe, if she gets there a little early, she can—

You don't get to come into my life and — and ruin everything I have here.

It’s only seven forty-two. Her interview’s not until one, and the train ride downstate should only take an hour. She’s got time.

Which is how she finds herself knocking on Professor Keelson’s office door, DLSR hanging around her neck, about two hours earlier than she’d been intending to be there, praying to who and whatever might be listening that he’s actually in and she didn’t just horribly fuck this up like she’s been fucking up, oh, who’s to say, just about everything she touches these past few months.

You’re not a part of this family. You never will be.

“Come in, come in!” She hears just beyond the door, and she cautiously peeks in to find the wizened old professor crouching over his printer, staring at it suspiciously as it slowly spits out some document. “Hello, dear. Wasn’t expecting you this early!”

I think you should leave.

“Sorry,” she manages, hovering in the doorway. “I just — change of plans.”

Professor Keelson nods, collects his papers, and creaks over to his desk. “Yes, very good.” he agrees, shuffling the papers into two piles. “Take a seat, I promise I won’t keep you very long. You look nice, by the way.”

She sits, already relaxing in the warm familiarity of Professor Keelson’s overstuffed office. Maybe this is why he’d wanted her to visit before she went, just to make sure she wouldn’t vomit on the interviewers. “Thank you, sir.”

“You’re very welcome. Now,” he says, stuffing one pile of papers into a folder. “These are all your important documents: transcripts, transferable credits, disability accommodations, et cetera. Pardon my overstepping, but you did seem a little, ah, frazzled, shall we say? Last you came to speak with me and I was almost positive that you wouldn’t have thought of pulling the paperwork together.”

Which is absolutely true, she hadn’t, and she can’t even bring herself to feel insulted that he’d assumed she wouldn’t. “Thank you very much,” she says, trying desperately to seem calm and cool and collected and not crush her very expensive, very precious camera in her white-knuckle grip.

A mess. You're a mess.

Professor Keelson’s face crinkles into a smile. “You’re very welcome. You’ll be happy to know that, since you’ve already completed all your core classes and general requirements, all of those credits will easily transfer between the schools. There may be a class or two you’ll have to make up, but you should be able to jump right in with your major-specific classes. Now, this,” he says, folding the other papers into an envelope. “Is your letter of recommendation. I’ll put it in the folder with everything else, but I wanted you to know that you had it.”

Oh, fuck, she might start crying again. “Professor—” she starts, but he’s already slid the folder across the desk to her.

“Ms. Ochoa, if I may.” Her mouth snaps shut, and he continues: “Our time together has been short, yes, but you have been one of my favorite students to ever come through these doors. Barring your obvious intelligence, passion, and work ethic, you’re also relentlessly kind, despite everything you’ve gone through.” His gaze fixes on her cheek for the briefest of moments, tracing over the lumps and bumps of her scars, but his eyes are as soft as they’ve ever been. “I don’t presume to know your history, but I know bits of your present, and the person I’ve seen would make a valuable asset to any school she goes to. If you approach your new classes and projects with as much determination as you did mine, I’ve no doubt your new instructors will be as proud of you as I am. I let them know as much.”

 ...

She numbly takes the folder, desperately blinking back tears. “Th-thank you, sir.” She manages, thick in the back of her throat. “I-I’ll do my best.”

Professor Keelson takes up his customary position, hands laced neatly over his belly. “You will.” He agrees, smiling. “Now, you should be heading out soon. I’d hate to make you miss your train, especially if you want to get there early.”

“Yes — yes.” And she gets up on autopilot, sliding the folder into her backpack as carefully as she can manage. “Thank you. Thank you so much, professor, I can’t — I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

She’s halfway out the door when she hears him call: “Ms. Ochoa, one more thing?”

She turns.

The professor smiles benevolently at her from his chair. “Don’t give up on yourself before you’ve even gotten started.”

And with that, she’s on her way.

Get out.

So, update: maybe deciding to take her portfolio pictures on her way to her college interview was a stupid idea, but to be fair, a lot of her stupid ideas have worked out pretty decently before, so. It’s fine.

Probably.

She definitely doesn’t almost miss the train by snapping shots of the mostly-empty station, but in her defense, the morning fog hadn't quite dissipated yet, and the spooky air of possibility that the tracks had been extending and disappearing into was just begging to be captured. And she absolutely doesn’t continually hop seats throughout the hour-long ride to get different angles of the seats, the blurry towns and roads whizzing past, or even a couple of self-portraits here and there. It’s not like there are people around for her to bother, anyway, so it’s fine. (Probably.) It’s a little hard getting a satisfyingly dramatic shot of her staring out the window, but she thinks the one where they’re passing through a tunnel and she’s locked eyes with her shadowy reflection might be a winner. She won’t really know until she opens them up on her computer, which will probably end up being just before the interview, with her luck, so. Who knows, she might just be wasting her time and battery life.

It’s the most fun she’s had in a while, though.

And. Fuck, maybe it makes no sense, but she's still got that feeling in her chest. It's creeping up to her ponytail, at this point, tugging on the ends of her curls, ordering her to pay attention.

Capture this.

It's important.

Last time she felt like that, she won an award, so. Y'know. Fuck her if she's going to ignore it.

She cuts herself off when there’s ten minutes left in the journey, just to be sure she’s not scrambling to put herself together as she’s pulling up to the station, but ten minutes, it turns out, is both much longer and much shorter than she thought it’d be. Just enough time to run down the list of all the possible ways this could (and would) go wrong, but not enough to steady her racing heart before the train’s slowing down.

You're delusional. This isn't one of your little fairy tales. This is — it's not going to happen.

Don’t give up on yourself before you’ve even gotten started, she remembers, taking one last breath to steel herself, and swings herself up onto her feet and out the doors.

The station is nice enough, but not terribly different from the one she’d started in besides being a little cleaner, so she shoulders her backpack and makes her way down the stairs and into the town proper.

Which.

Wow.

Maybe it’s just a seasonal thing, maybe not, but all the buildings she can see are draped with hanging lights, and even the curving street lights have extra strands hanging over the sidewalks. She almost wishes she’d scheduled her interview later in the day, just to be able to get a shot of those lights against the dark sky, but contents herself with snapping pictures of the incredibly aesthetic sidewalk and shops. She spots an art supply store with a cheerful blue door sandwiched between a movie theater and an apartment complex that frames up nicely, and there’s a coffee shop with swirling, festive winter-y designs painted on the window with pots of poinsettias framing the corners that’s a — no pun intended — picture-perfect paragon of coziness. She stops maybe a little too long to zoom in on the red leaves and flawless paint, making sure to keep the actual inside of the shop out of focus, because as cute as the beanbags and mismatched armchairs are, she doesn’t really feel like going in to ask if it’s alright for her to take pictures of the small handful of people both in front of and behind the counter.

One last shot of the poinsettias and she moves on, turning her lens to the last few, dying flowers in their garden beds, then to the display window of a bookstore that proudly announces its support of the LGBT community with various painted flags, then to the churning river that cuts through the town and the elegant bridge that arcs proudly above it.

There’s not a lot of people walking around right now, but she can definitely see kids around her age up the street, chatting and laughing amongst themselves as their breath puffs out in front of them. A cute dog bounces over to say hello before its owner tugs it away with a sheepish smile, and even without their leaves, the trees interspersed along the sidewalk stand tall, proud, and lovely.

She’s got that weird ache in her chest again — stronger this time — that indiscernible pull that draws her to stay, and she puts her camera down, puffing out a shaky breath.

What made you think we want you here?

“It doesn’t matter.” She tells herself sternly, leaning up on the sides of the bridge. “It doesn’t matter unless you get in.”

Speaking of. She pulls her phone out of her pocket, fully intending to double check the email she’d been sent with instructions on where to go, but her eye catches on the time.

Twelve forty-six.

So. Maybe not the best idea to go gallivanting around a campus she doesn’t know, especially when she has an extremely important interview to get to, but even as she’s scolding herself, she knows the pink flush in her cheeks isn’t just from the cold, and she’s got more energy now than she’s had in months, so.

Worth it.

Thank god E.A. Archer Hall is straightforward enough to find; Google Maps tells her it’s a seven minute walk in a mostly straight line from where she is on the bridge now, which she just about manages even though it’s cold and her stump is starting to ache. The building is emblazoned with the name right on the side, so it’s impossible to miss, but she needs a keycard to get in, and somehow she thinks her current school ID isn’t exactly going to fly here.

But someone, somewhere, is smiling on her, because she’s only just gotten to oh, shit before a tall woman with vitiligo and long box braids strides towards the door, pushing it open.

“Alejandra Ochoa?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she says as smoothly as she can behind her chattering teeth, and the woman smiles.

“You're right on time. Come on in, let's get started."

[mikasaessucasaa]

Title: Flatlanders

Summary: After being forced to retire from singing, Sansa returns to Winterfell Ranch, a place she hasn’t called home in over ten years, and finds the man that she left behind all those years ago.

Part 1 .... Part 2

1991

King’s Landing, TX

Sansa’s hair was a frizzy mess. It wasn’t usually so humid this far inland, but of course the moment she came back was the same week that the summer storms started. It only ever rained once a year when she lived in LA.

And now she was trekking around town when the sky looked like it was about to open up. She needed to fix a broken fence that’s been neglected for weeks. And she needed to talk to the bank and get their finances sorted. What the hell has Arya been doing all this time?

Fence first. Bank later. And maybe she’ll get so busy getting wood that she might not even have to see Petyr.

And of course it started pouring as soon as she pulled up to the Night's Watch General Store. Damn. It better not be a flash flood. She should have listened when Mama told her to bring a damn umbrella. Bless Sansa’s heart.

Accepting her fate, she steeled herself and made a dash from the truck to the front door. Even the thirty seconds it took her to get inside was enough to make her look like a drowned rat. Forget frizzy hair, her auburn hair was soaked and limp.

She was greeted by a familiar face, but she couldn’t place his name, not having seen him in over a decade. He was scrawny and of average height with short cropped hair.

“Sansa! Woah, never thought I’d see you again in these neck of the woods.”

Honestly, neither did she.

She looked at his name badge. Ah. Pyp. One of Jon’s lackeys who used to follow him around high school. She thought it was adorable back then. She wondered if he still talked to Jon.

“Jon’s gonna be so happy to see you.” She doubted it, but she nodded and smiled. “How can I help ya today?”

“Got a whole section of my fence broken. I think from lightning a couple of weeks ago.”

Pyp showed her a couple of different options. She wanted to buy the cedar since it would last longer through the unpredictable Texas weather, but she saw their finances, and Mama definitely understated just how much trouble the ranch was in. She didn’t know how long her own cash was going to last with her singing voice now gone.

So she went with the pine instead. She’ll deal with it later.

“I’ll give you the friends and family discount,” Pyp said when he rung her up. As she was signing the check, he pulled out another piece of paper and asked, “Do you mind also signing this? My niece loves your music. She’s always jamming to your album on her little boombox.”

Sansa hadn't thought she was that popular. She had one or two songs played on the radio nationally, and produced a couple of songs for commercials. She bet it was her local celebrity fame that made her popular down here.

She gave her signature and hauled ass out of her store with her fence posts while the rain momentarily stopped. She covered her new purchase with a tarp and settled back into her truck.

She checked the time, and damn the bank was still open.

So she made her way over to the Eyrie Bank. Her parents had only ever gone to one bank their entire life because it was owned by a family friend. Papa had been good friends with Jon Arryn for a long time before he passed, and then Aunt Lysa remarried a childhood friend, Petyr Baelish.

To Sansa, Petyr had always been the creepy uncle, but if anyone could help her sort out the mess with the ranch, he could.

There weren’t many customers when she entered the bank, so of course they let Petyr know right away that she was there to see him.

He smiled that creepy smile that he always had, as if he wanted to devour her. It was the same look music producers always gave her when she entered the room. They always undressed her with their eyes first before they bothered listening to her demos.

And she smiled back, as he leaned forward and held her in a too intimate hug. Gross. “Sansa, my dear. It’s so good to see you. I’ve missed you so much over these last twelve years.”

“Same here, Uncle Baelish.”

“I wish you had come to visit more often.”

“Well you know what it’s like for artists trying to break in.”

“I can’t imagine what it’s like to give up everything to chase your dreams. You’re so brave.” Liar. Everybody knew that Sansa was forced to leave.

Sansa smiled more. “Thank you Uncle.”

Baelish led them to his private office, and the way that he patted her shoulder after he closed the door made her uncomfortable, but she held it in as she watched him take a seat.

“So how can I help you, my sweetling?”

“I need you to walk me through the Winterfell finances.”

“Certainly, I’ll make it as easy as I can for you to follow.”

Sansa started tapping her finger against the arm rest.

She resented his insinuation. She didn’t finish high school, but she learned to manage her finances, learned how much the Lannisters stole from her, knew how much she willfully turned away from because she needed the Lannisters as much as she hated them.

Still he did make it easy for her to understand, all the while outlining all of the paperwork.

Mama had been behind on bank payments for a long time, even after being given extensions consistently. Eventually, even Petyr’s generosity, so he says, couldn’t save the ranch. So Robb took out a private loan to cover the bank payments.

“Another bank?” she asked.

“No more personal than that. I believe Robb was good friends with Rhaegar’s boy.” He probably wanted to say bastard, but knew better since he was Robb’s best friend.

But she couldn't believe that Robb would be stupid enough to take out a loan from the Valyrian Dragons. Maybe he had a death wish after all.

“And that’s what’s keeping the ranch afloat now? Do you know how much we owe?”

Petyr gave a number and it wasn’t absurd, but, “This interest rate is insane. We won’t ever be able to touch the principle.”

Petyr shrugged. “I did try to warn your dear brother. I told him that it would be better for the bank to repossess the ranch. We would have certainly allowed your family to manage it still.” But he would own it all. “But alas your brother couldn’t see sense.”

She couldn’t tell if Robb was a prideful fool, or smart not to fall into bed with Petyr.

She thanked Petyr for his time and headed to the Dragon’s clubhouse. She had dreaded this part of coming home. Sansa hadn’t seen Jon in twelve years, and she didn’t know what kind of man he grew up to be. He had always been kind and sweet as a child, but kind and sweet men don’t join the Valyrian Dragons.

But she had to know if Robb had a plan all along, or if he was dumb enough to leave his family and the ranch at the mercy of the Dragons.

The clubhouse didn’t know if it wanted to be an auto shop or a bar or a boarding house, just the kind of trashy place that you would find in the south, because what else could it be?

She never thought she’d actually step in this place.

When she was still in school, the girls used to whisper about how they dreamed they would lose their virginities to one of the Dragons’ members. Egg would be ideal, with his pretty boy charm and silver hair, but Jon would do — he may have been shy back then, but the girls all took it as mysterious and dangerous. She wondered if the girls’ assumptions became true in his adulthood.

She assumed Egg must have been successful in popping a lot of cherries, but in her loneliness she sometimes liked to think that she was the only one for Jon, that she was somehow special, despite the mess she left.

There were a couple of pretty girlies loitering in the bar area of the clubhouse when she entered. They teetered around on high heels and tight skirts and tops, and suddenly Sansa wished she had the foresight to dress for battle. Instead she was wearing her stupid ripped jeans, work boots, and a white tee with a flannel shirt.

The girlies turned to look at her and their excited chatter died down. She’s guessing the red hair gave her away, or she really was more popular than she thought.

Out of the crowd of girlies, a silver haired woman emerged in black stilettos, leather pants and a black corset top. Shit, who could wear leather pants in this weather except for Daenerys Stormborn?

“So it’s true, the prodigal Stark daughter returns,” Dany said sweetly, but Sansa knew there was nothing sweet about the woman. She was all fire and ash. Dany probably thrived on the club wars.

Sansa shrugged. “Everyone’s gotta come home sometime.”

“Only when they’re incapable of surviving the world out there.”

“But at least I went out into the world.” Instead of being trapped in this hellhole.

“Only goes to show that you don’t belong here.”

“Winterfell is my home.” Even Sansa would have rolled her eyes at herself if she heard her speak.

“But the clubhouse isn’t. What do you want?”

“I need to speak to Jon.”

“No. You left him a mess all those years ago, and you think you can come waltzing in here years later and just talk to him? Wake up honey. He won’t want to talk to you.” Dany crossed her arms. “Whatever you want to say to Jon, you can tell to his girl.”

Dany had always wanted to claw her way into the Targaryens, maybe she finally did.

“It’s got nothing to do with you Dany.”

Dany waved her hand, flashing an engagement ring. “See this here? Says it’s got everything to do with me, missy.”

Sansa’s heart started pounding uncomfortably in her chest and she felt nauseous and lightheaded. Shit. Of all the damn times to have an anxiety attack.

She stumbled backwards into something solid.

“Sansa.”

The low, broken sound snapped her towards the man.

“Jon,” Sansa said, equally as broken.

Part 3

[jessicareaper]

The TMA Entities and Supernatural (notes below the cut)

The Buried: small spaces, drowning, choking, being buried alive

the opening scene in bugs with the man in the hole

dean crawling out of his grave

dead in the water (specifically the sink drowning and dean breaking the surface with the kid)

sam and the kid in the swimming pool in 2.11

Red Sky at Morning

No Exit--in the walls, in the metal box

Adam breaking the surface in 5.19

references to Michael drowning Dean in s14

The Corruption: disease, filth, bugs, mold, decay

bugs (duh)

pestilence

3.01 sloth victims

vampires--specifically “a high you’ll never come down from”

Cas vomiting black sludge in 12.12/falling apart in 7.01

Sam in Sacrifice?

“The very touch of you corrupts!” /Cas’ ruined wings

The Dark: darkness, “forever blind”

The poor lighting in early seasons

the darkness/the sun going out

blind Pamela--”I can’t see!”

Alpha Vamp--“When your kind first huddled around the fire I was the thing in the Dark”

The Desolation: fire, the ravaged earth

the house (1.01, 1.21)

the pyres

anna burning in 5.13 (and in 4.10)

Mary burning in ‘Home’

Sam burning in 6.11

AU!Michael’s speech about burning through worlds until he catches up with Chuck

The End: death, ceasing

all the deaths

reapers

Tessa in 4.15: “you say ‘they’re going to a better place, but you lie to yourself”

Billie: what lives, dies

Dean’s suicidal ideation

The scene from the end of 5.10 at death’s summoning

The colt

The Eye: ceaseless watcher

Chuck—you’re my favorite show

the gay gorgon

The entity—I’ve tiptoed through all your little tulips

anna—just watching

dean—watching me sleep? That’s creepy

dean—I’m full frontal in this/laser focused

HH Holmes’ eye in no exit

The Flesh: meat, butchery, strange bodies

3.15 time is on my side

dean in hell

Sam’s hallucinations (esp beginning of 7 and 11)

the eyeball soup (please be tomato soup)

rugarou and shapeshifter changing sequences

the stynes

cas’ leviathan ‘hand’ shot

The Hunt: monsters, predators, being chased/prey

Duh.

Also dean in purgatory 1.0

The Lonely: the silence, forsaken, the one alone

you can’t have friends in this business, i did everything dad asked and he left me too—1.06

You don’t have friends--7.17

Sam telling Adam to cut off contact--4.19

dean alone in the impala (5.22?)

for the first time you’re truly alone from 7.22

there are no men like me

dean looking at cas in the living room in 7.17

Amara’s fog in “don’t call me shurley”--it’s hopeless!

I know a little something about absent fathers/Dean’s speech to chuck in 11.21 (??)

The Slaughter: unpredictable unmotivated violence

MOC

Cain’s giant graveyard

this life is random and bloody dean speech

Cas in the campaign office in 7.01

War

Envy 3.01 victim

Soulless violence in 11.05

The Spiral: the twisting deceit, it is lies, it is not what it is, madness, gaslighting

DREAM A LITTLE DREAM HALLWAY

hallucifer

“I never could fool you”

Djinn in general

6.01 deans hallucinations

The Stranger: uncanny valley, I Do Not Know You

The shapeshifters and their eyes

Cas’ ‘I am not your father’ to Claire

that’s not my daughter in ‘the kids are all right’

leviathan??

you’re not my dad

azazel in the nursery mistaken for John at first

mannequin 3: the reckoning

The Vast: fear of heights, falling, insignificance, and human meaninglessness

1.04 in general--”why do you think I drive everywhere?”

Cas and the angel falling in the third man

archangels staring down at humans--Raphael & Michael in s5 especially

“I am approximately the size of your Chrysler building

“It’s too big” and “This whole thing was pointless!” in 4.16

The Web—being controlled, trapped, puppeted

possession in general

Meg in 4.02--”I was watching”

Brady and his Jess speech in 5.21

Lucifer and the demons that controlled Sam’s life in 5.22

ruby

the siren

“You will always end up here” in 5.04 and Michael’s speech about destiny in 5.13

Moriah/Chuck

TFW avatars:

Dean: The Lonely, The Web, The Vast

Sam: THE WEB, The Spiral, The Corruption?

Cas: The Corruption, The Stranger, The Eye

[elenamegan14]

Twisted Wonderland: Headcanons for Dorm Haunted Houses Pt.5 - Octavinelle

MASTERLIST

Part 4

Probably the longest headcanon one I had so far. LOL.

TW: Slight dubcon elements and submechanophobia. 

THE ATTRACTION: 

This dorm’s haunted house is quite unique because it’s a mish-mash between a cruise ship and the jazz lounge hall from the Roaring 1920s. For some reason, after thorough research, Azul wanted to include ‘submechanophobia’ (fear of animatronics submerged in water) into the haunted dorm concept himself. 

Azul went crazy with all the merchandise - there were T-Shirts, posters, the most adorable set of acrylic keychains! And the piece of resistance is a two-song single that he and the twins have recorded. It has a physical and digital release, of which the latter had 1,300,000 downloads in just one day. 

The promos are crazy too. The way the staff had shot the commercial for the dorm’s haunted house is so cinematically professional that many were taught it was a real movie itself. Luckily, Azul also recorded the dorm’s theme. PS: They also did Pomefiore’s promo video too for a cut share of 15%.

Azul wanted to increase his clients on Monstro Lounge, but he cannot go easy on the student participants as well. He wanted to hear BOTH screams - so the treatment for the students in the survival game and the guests is going to be very different from another. 

Regular guests will be scared in a standard manner: jumpscares from animatronics, a bit of gas blowing on their necks - NO TOUCHING AT ALL.

As for the students… well, they’re most likely to get attacked ALL THE TIME. Your name it: physical touches, animatronics dragging them to their ‘doom’, etc. That’s why the dorm made a contract clause to the participants warning them that there will be physical touching and a safe word is provided. Most participants did not read this except for a few. Like MC and Jack. Unless they purchased his charms. 

Yes, the octopus capitalist had created their own charms that worked only for this haunted house ONLY. It protects students from the monsters, well MOSTLY. 

Perhaps because he was attached to the band he, Floyd, and Jade once made back in middle school, he wanted to include the entertainment aspect as well, perhaps for nostalgic sake. Plus, he did it because he knew people would pay money to see hot idol guys singing jazz songs. Of course, he did, why do you doubt him so?

“Do instruments of torture count?” Floyd asked during the first band meeting. Azul quickly dismissed it. And no, mayonnaise is definitely NOT a musical instrument. 

When guests and student participants arrived in the dorm’s haunted house, they were lured into an abandoned pier. During the walk in the eerie, fog-infested docks, guests could see some posters of missing people, old posters of a cruise ship trip promotion, a poster featuring the Octavinelle band in old-timey fashion and old news articles about a tragic malfunctioning animatronic accident. 

As they approached closer, they could hear several jazz songs, including electro swings coming from somewhere. Guests also noticed some abandoned, dilapidated animatronics that was missing some parts, giving it a frightening outlook. What really unsettles them most are writings on the wall that are written either in blood or blacks markers: “TURN BACK!” “WATCH OUT!” “STAY AWAY FROM THE CRUISE SHIP!”

They arrived at their destination: a large cruise ship was waiting on them. On the entrance, the dorm staff sold their merchandise and charms to the students themselves. Already traumatized by the two previous haunted houses, most students hurriedly buy the charm itself. Grimm wanted one because there is no way he would want to be “attacked” again, but Deuce managed to stop him from buying an ‘unnecessary’ object (“Unnecessary my foot! We’re talking about the benefit of humanity here!”).

Ace secretly buys one. “There’s not wrong with being prepared!” He whispered to himself.

Entering the den of the beast, they went inside a lavish foyer area that is reminiscent of a scene in titanic. Chandeliers, art deco furniture, and art, as well as posters of the animatronic bands, were shown in meticulous detail. 

They were then seated at a wide, spacious restaurant theater area. The staff hyped the audience by asking them to sing a few lines from Azul’s song, before introducing Azul’s band like in a jazz concert. 

They began the pre-show in a unique way. Azul is a showstopper mysterious owner and headline singer for “Monstro Lounge”, the cruise ship that is rumored to have a multitude of people missing. Floyd and Jade are his lackeys with the same headline as well. 

Azul charms the audience with a siren-like voice, putting the audience into his trance. For some reason, the Octavinelle trio tends to direct their gazes, winks, and fanservice towards MC the most. It then evolved into a Broadway show-stopping number.

The way Azul plays his piano is started off slow, increasing his tempo and so does his seduction and flamboyance. He makes an expression that one could mistake as a man experienced in the bedroom. 

Floyd goes crazy with his drums. Meanwhile, Jade plays his contrabass with grace and elegance, fingers touching it lightly but spicy. 

Many female clientele almost had a nosebleed... or this close to fainting. 

AZUL UNBUTTONED HIS SHIRT TEASINGLY DURING HIS NUMBER. They’re starting to lose it. 

Oh, the fan’s screams actually racked up their scream counter. There’s no cheating here - who says that happy screams can’t count? 

Yes, Azul does sing on top of the piano. 

After they finished their show, Azul then unleashed one of his proudest creations, an animatronic of a lovely mermaid doll that began to sing like an angel. Then, with a snap of fingers, he unleashed a multitude of doll-like merpeople animatronics that looked strangely alive as her accompanying orchestra, playing a haunting, eerie song. 

During the middle of the show, one of Octavinelle’s actors came to the stage, shouting about his “long-lost daughter”, followed by a couple more people. Despite the actor playing as security told him to go back to his seat, the father ignored him and embraced the mermaid doll animatronic - his daughter. 

In his “rant”, he cursed the Octavinelle trio of deliberately hiding his daughter for three years and turned her into this “monstrosity”. He then declared that he will rescue his daughter from this “vile place‘, unaware that the Octavinelle trio had placed knowing smirks and grins on their face. Begging for his “daughter” to recognize him, the mermaid doll slowly gazed upon her “father”...

...and “tore” his neck apart. Fake blood spewing everywhere, his screams reverberated through the dance hall. 

All of the animatronics came alive and started to gruesomely murdered the intruders as well. 

“Well, this escalated quickly.” Ace muttered at the disturbing sight. 

A guest suddenly screamed - the area is suddenly filled with water, causing the guests and student participants to hurriedly run to the prepared exit. 

The students have enchanted some parts of the aquarium walls where merpeople students could appear in and out of the aquarium water on the wall without spilling the water everywhere. So guests and students participants were often surprised by sudden appearances of the tweels, Azul, animatronics, and staff splashing out of the wall from nowhere. There had been many who claimed to have a heart attack from these encounters. 

As they run through the aquarium walls, the guests and students are spooked with various animatronics of mutated sea creatures, merpeople, and even a FREAKING shark animatronic that chases them around persistently. They appear at random times, and their designs would surely put submechanophobia (fear of underwater animatronics) into their very souls. 

As they moved on further, they entered Azul’s office and workshop - where gory remains of the missing people experimented into animatronics were seen. Horrid screams and desperate shrieks rang all the way - some were even trapped halfway into the animatronic itself. 

Azul had two forms for this haunted house dorm: the first is his regular jazz-lounge entertainer animatronic suit with art deco and aquatic elements. The next form is almost the same except his animatronic parts are more revealed, some parts of his clothes tattered and his tentacles are fully shown. Some guests and students secretly yearned to be trapped inside his “tentacles”.

“Fu, fu, fu… come. Let me squeeze you, let me touch your flesh...” “Yes, please.” A guest squeaked, face flushing red.

The tweels have the same elements as Azul did in their costume, except they’re identical and much more muted than Azul did. Their second forms are their merforms, but with faded mechanical parts and some fresh BLOOD on their teeth and torso...

The final stage and centerpiece of their haunted house is what Azul is most proud of. Thrown again into a twisted version of the animatronic warehouse with aquatic background, the now revealed “animatronic” Azul hypnotized the whole audience with his siren-like singing on a small stage, beckoning several guests into the sweet embrace of his tentacles. Fun fact: most students and guests could not resist the temptation and got ‘squished to death’ instead. Yep, no subcontext here at all. 

THE MISSION:

The students and the guests are separated into different groups, with a glass aquarium wall to divide them. 

The guide relayed the charm mission to them: this cruise ship is infamous for having animatronics and automatons to serve and entertain their guests. But many years ago, there was an incident where an animatronic, fed up with being abused by a spoiled heiress on her sweet sixteen birthday, mauled her and nearly drowned her in the aquarium. 

Their mission is quite simple: get the charm inside Azul’s office then get out of cruise ship “ALIVE”. They were told that they have three chances to find it inside the office itself, or else they would be “eliminated” and had to start all over again. 

But first, they must survive his “show” to get to his office. The students were a bit confused at this part until later.

During the show, they soon learn why they were separated from the guests with a glass wall.  

While the guest audience’s part is flooded with a small bit of water, the student's parts were unleashed with a torrential burst of water that they have to run to. Everyone (who is on the student side) by the end of this segment is wet from head to toe. 

“Damn you, Azul! Once I get out of here, I’ll fry your tentacles!” Grimm growled, drying his soppy fur using his fire magic. 

Octavinelle’s challenge is 90% of Patrick Star’s “WEE WOO WEE WOO” moments. 10% of it is just trying to survive.

The animatronics hissed, jumped, and even grabbed them at random times, which puts the NRC students into a looooot of stress since it attacked them more than once!

Oh, yes, and the mechanical shark will burst out of the “wall” when you least expect it. 

“WHAT THE HECK IS WITH THIS HAUNTED HOUSE?! THIS IS VERY UNREASONABLE!” Cried one student before a mechanical shark got him. 

But the ones who purchased Octavinelle’s charm walked in smoothly - the animatronics did not attack them directly, the staff stayed out of their way - all is good and right in the world...

Spoiler alert: Did they say that the charm protects them? Of course, it did… EXCEPT AGAINST AZUL AND THE TWEELS. 

Yup, Ace learned the hard way when Jade came out of nowhere and tried to drag him inside the aquarium water. The screams that Ace had bellowed does not do justice to how fast he runs. 

“YOU SAID THIS CHARM WOULD PROTECT US!”

Epel read the terms and agreement again, “Oh, whoops. It also says here, that the charm doesn’t guarantee to protect you against Azul, Floyd, and Jade. Should have read it thoroughly.”

“I can’t read while I’m getting chased!”

FLOYD DOES MOST OF THE DAMAGES. Physically and emotionally. 

He first started by licking Ace’s face. Who knew that eel’s tongue is long.(“Nooooo! I feel so physically violated!” Ace ran to the corner and sobbed.)

Epel had a heart attack when he felt someone smacked his ass. As does Deuce. Then Jack (his tail got roughly grabbed as well). 

Jack screamed out all the safe words. Deuce and Epel shouted all kinds of colorful swear words they could ever know, even the foreign ones. 

MC’s ass received the same treatment, but they also received an additional playful grope. And then Floyd licked them. MC was screaming and flustered at the same time. 

“Shrimp-chan is cute when startled!” He cooed before he splashed back to the water. 

There were a LOT of complaints after this event this over, particularly threats of suing Azul for inappropriate sexual harassment. But then the staff asked if they all read the terms and agreements. They all went silent and got on with the next haunted house challenge. 

MC’s group tried to murder Floyd by chasing him down underwater, but they realized that getting inside the water would actually disqualify them. They all promised DEATH upon the Octavinelle trio for putting them into this mess and extorting them out of their money. 

Now there was one this brutal and competitive student who wanted to get the charms himself. So he kinda lures MC using the infamous “Wounded Gazelle Gambit” trick. In MC’s defense, the act was kinda convincing for a student.

They were not prepared to be chained up and kicked outside to the water, leaving them to drown after they got frisked by that said student for the charms. “In this world, only the mighty wins!” 

For a while, MC is left trying to hold their breath while desperately trying to free themselves from the heavy chains. Just as their oxygen almost ran out, Jade managed to see MC struggling underwater. He managed to get Houdini MC out of the water, asking if they’re okay and who actually did this to them. While MC struggled to answer, refusing special treatment, MC decided to get back into the game and get the charms back.

Jade also decided to deal with the violent troublemaker as well, and he just knew what to do with the mechanical shark that he controlled. 

To get to the office, the students went to another path, carrying them to a room filled with water and several large pieces of ice. They had to carefully cross through the thin layers of ice amongst the water. There was a mechanical shark circling around, sniffing for its late-night snack. 

Already five students fell victim to it. 

The ice is slippery, MC’s group is struggling to stay afloat and they do not see MC anywhere. 

Epel does spot a student cackling as he carries two familiar charms. 

“What have you done to them?!” Ace growled. 

“Oh, I guess I made them sleep with the fishes.”

Deuce’s inner delinquent is awakened. He roared and attacked that said student, attempting to avenge poor MC. There was pulling, tugging and pinching. 

Just as that competitive student got the upper-hand to Deuce… well, surprise, surprise, guess who’s back, back again. 

“HISASHIBURI-DANNA, BITCH. BET YOU’D THOUGHT YOU’VE SEEN THE LAST OF ME.” MC, wet from head to toe, raised their fist, punching that said student and causing that student to release the charms. Deuce quickly grabbed them both before they lost it again, then gave an additional uppercut to that said student. The competitive student staggered backward...

...and then the mechanical shark jumped out of nowhere from the water and dragged the student into their watery doom (kidding: that jerk student got thrown out of the cruise instead. INTO THE TRASH BIN). 

The remaining students reached the front of the office, but they could not open the door. Turns out, Azul had enchanted the door so that it can only be opened by using one, particular, embarrassing pose. Oh, and they have to cry out the written words as well. 

“The complete flame in our chests shall not be extinguished by anyone! We are… THE PHOENIX!” They all pose like a phoenix. Once it’s done, there isn't any student that collapses out of sheer humiliation. 

The Octavinelle Trio secretly recorded it. Either for blackmail or marketing purposes, take your pick. 

Once they were inside the office, they were given a riddle and three chances to find it: I am violet, I sing in a limited voice and I am trapped. Find the key inside me. 

At first, they thought it was a musical instrument - but there aren’t any musical instruments that colored purple - unless someone dyes it. Also, they cannot find anything remotely similar to a musical instrument. They finally narrowed down to a purple scorebook, a purple-colored radio and… a music box. 

They decided to select a music box... and voila! The charm is found! It’s a good thing they got enough to share on their brain cells, eh? 

The last challenge after getting the charm is to escape from the cruise itself - but they have to go through Azul to do exactly that! Yup, they have to resist Azul’s hypnotic singing, struggling to escape straight to the exit. Because of Jack’s sensitive ears, he had repeatedly tried to walk straight to Azul, only for Epel to knock him out for a good measure and carried Jack around like he was nothing but a potato sack. 

MC nearly succumbed to hypnotism but Grimm managed to snap them out of it by slapping them repeatedly. 

Azul sighed, “And here I was thinking I could get a chance to get close to you than Floyd did.” 

Yep, they definitely did not waste any chances of getting out of here before Azul starts singing again. 

The Octavinelle Dorm staff is considerate enough to give the students wet towels and a warm drink to keep the students from getting cold. Meanwhile, Ace, Epel, and Deuce joined in the protest about the inappropriate misconduct before they unleashed their rage on the nearby prepared dummies after being told that their contract’s terms and conditions had warned them that there will be touching and the staff is not responsible for it. 

Perhaps getting wet is a good thing because the fiery presence of Scarabia’s haunted house might be able to keep the cold away...

Part 6

[ricaffeine]

𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | 𝐓𝐰𝐨

an: in conclusion i suck at writing, this took far too long to write and i'm not impressed. fingers crossed that the next chapter will make up for it 🖤

leave a comment! i'd appreciate it a lot :))

CHAPTER THREE

The doors creaked open, screeching into the frosty silent of the night, before snapping loudly against the wall. In contrast of the dark night, the full moon shined proudly, its light gently twinkled through the glass ceiling of the room.

Followed by were firm footsteps, shoe soles tapped against the hardwood floor and fainted into the distant. He collapsed onto his arm chair, a sigh of relief washing over as he shifted his weight back.

A knock was heard twice, followed by a steady pace of footsteps that visited the room. Kangtae averted his vision to the man– no, the ghost. Polished in his neat blue uniform, reflecting against the moonlight was a silver half-moon shaped pin tucked above his chest.

"Mr. Moon, you're back." His voice emitted softly as he stopped right in front of the desk- exactly four feet away– accompanying in this hotel for over seventy years– the longest person aside from Kangtae yet to stay, he had his own merits. Jin Hyun paused reluctantly, his wrinkles creasing from concern, eyes wide alert. "What happened to your hand?"

At first a bit muddled, but realization crept after him and Kangtae sighed. Glancing at his blood-clothed hand– scenarios of red winded up in his head. "Ah.. this?"

That impulsive woman.

"Just some accident." His reply was simple– like the man he was and unlike the moon guest house's previous owner, he was, you can say, far less complicated.

Kangtae peeled at his clothed hand, anticipating as the blood wrenched skin morphed back to what was before, clean flesh took back its place. "Where's Manager Lee?"

He then reached for his whiskey decanter, filling up a quarter of the lowball glass. "Isn't she back yet?"

Jinhyun hesitated. "About that, I'm afraid to tell you that there had been a major issue regarding your latest purchase. But do not worry sir, Manager Lee will inform you once she has discussed with the–"

"Tell her to take the day off tomorrow." Kangtae spoke and sipped his glass, embracing the scorching burn that drained down his chest. "I'll manage it myself."

Although struck in confusion, the old spirit knew better than to question his boss's command. Jinhyun nodded reluctantly, made sure he would address the message to the mortal being.

"It's the full moon today, so I think we are expecting many guests."

Kangtae drained his glass and set it back on the table, jaw clenched at the comment– though it was swiftly masked away with his poker face. "Open for business, but don't accept the ones whose death were so gruesome. They're a pain in the ass."

Suppressing the urge to tell him that discriminations shouldn't be allowed, instead Jinhyun bowed, no interest to provoke any further into his bitterness. "I will take special care, so they won't get in your way."

He left with another steady bow, footsteps fell into the distant and Kangtae picked on the red stained cloth that layed flat on his desk. A blue flame lit up on its end, he watched waves of blue consumed all of it, before golden ashes swirled and vanished into thin air.

One speck however, did not follow and he reached out, trapping it between his pincers.

"Ko Munyeong, what should I do with you?"

Munyeong slapped her phone shut.

Frustration built up like a ticking bomb as she threw it behind her. It landed with a loud thud, but she could care less. Yesterday's event had bittered her enough and Sangin's repeating missed calls since 6 a.m. weren't brightening her mood any better. Tires screeched against the waxed floor as she struck a sharp turn into the parking slot, the reserved for CEO sign knocked into nowhere.

In her new prized possession, Munyeong stomped through the building, brave less employees– who ever barely had the guts to look at her on a usual day, shuddered twice as much–

"Good morning Ms. Ko!" The tiny body wiggled its way to block her off. A weary smile is served from Sangin's pesky assistant.

"Move aside."

Seungjae shuffled, hands suspiciously frantic as she spoke. "Mr. Lee just informed me that he will be here soon–"

Munyeong hissed. "And?"

"..And that you should go wait in his office." She finished meekly, unsure of her tone.

"Why would I wait there?" She pointed her finger foward. "The meeting room is right here."

Not intrigued for her reply, Munyeong nagged the girl's shoulder, rather she'd figure it out herself.

"Move."

She strolled across, then paused within her pace, eyes captivated by a figure. Leaning onto the metal rail, Prada purse dangling in the air, she hummed in her own favor.

Ah. Him again.

"What a sight." Munyeong said as she stepped down in her extravagant red mini dress, ballooned sleeves cuffed tight at her wrists, a plunging neckline where she proudly presents her new gold necklace. True to her words, he appeared just as fine. Black slacks– which to her favor, did an incredible job in displaying his godly thighs. Cuffed sleeves of his button up accentuated his broad broad shoulders, and the spectacular waistcoat that hugged his chest.

"You look more dashing in these clothes."

The man teared his eyes away from The Witch's Rose– another of her cash-claiming pieces. A work of watercolors and actual blood splayed onto the canvas, everyone who has seen it ends up in complete awe.

However his gaze was not purely admiration, rather laced with criticism– certainly something she never enjoyed from anyone. But there are some exceptions for some specific people, aren't they?

"I thought you were different, but I was obviously wrong." She crossed her arms. "How much did he offer you?"

His voice was rough, almost coarse even. "If you can't talk politely, at least try to not be so cryptic."

"Ah. Look at you talking so casually."

Munyeong raised her chin and barged into his space, weaklings would have already shown signs of discomfort, but surprisingly he was remarkably unbothered. She dragged a finger along his shoulder, the curve of his skin firm beneath her touch, and tapped his bicep. "I practically stabbed you."

He swiveled around, this time his body directly faced hers. "What about it?"

"How much did Mr. Lee offer you to compensate and make sure your mouth stays shut?"

A short spur of silence fell before he let out an cocky ahh. "I'm guessing that method always works."

Her smile dropped. "Verbal consolation is bullshit, money is best."

"You really think so?"

She shrugged. "Then what do you want?" Eyes wide as she suggested. "Sex?"

In a swift moment he had drowned closer to her. His gaze burned at her, brushing at her lips and froze. "Is it worth that much?"

Admittedly he was good at getting on her nerves. Too good, though she'd never lose to anyone, including him. Munyeong let out a scoff.

"If you're not here for money nor sex, then what do you want?

He cocked his head slightly, his prominent eyes playing innocent and for a second Munyeong forgot that they were bickering. "A refund?"

A snap back to reality, her face laced with confusion. "What refund?"

He dodged her question and looked over her shoulder. "Ah. There it comes."

She turned around to see a Sangin entering with a box of not-so-secret cash in his hands.

"Good afternoon Mr. Moon Kangtae. I deeply apologize for what happened, what can we do–"

As usual, meetings with her always began with Sangin's devastated face– knowing all the trouble she is going to cost him– but today it did seem particularly worse.

Kantae lifted his hand, as if it was a sign to stop. "Let's cut to the chase– I want my money back."

Sangin's smile dropped, though immediately replaced by his appealing mask. "Yes, I understand–"

Kangtae stared at Munyeong, a smirk rising on the corner of his lips. "Including our little incident, I say it'd be 11 million."

Tragically, Munyeong had not noticed by the consequence of the appalling numbers. She snapped at the man to her side. "What the hell is he talking about?"

Sangin sighed. "Munyeong-ah, you see.. your little smashing session. It had wrecked The Nightmare Garden, therefore, we will have to repay our client. Mr. Kangtae is here to–"

Client?

Her eyes shot at him again, impossibly wider. "What do you mean client? Then who was that snobby lady?"

"Ms. Lee is my representative." Kangtae stepped in. "But it doesn't matter. The fact that you jeopardized my painting with that cheap wine-"

"I'm not giving up my money!"

"Well, there's nothing you can do." He smiled– devilishly and yes Munyeong would kill to wipe it off his charming face.

"You'll be hearing from my lawyers in a few days." Kangtae reached for his box of honey money, which was sheepishly handed from Sangin. "Until then, I'll take this."

With another amused– and irritatingly handsome smile, and piles of cash he headed off. Left in silence was a raging pit of fire and its hopeless manager.

Three hours and seven corspe employees later, Munyeong crumbled the paper cup in her hand. Furious was an understatement. How could she give her money back to him? She was set, eyes on her prize but just like a fucking clownery it vanished into thin air.

"Aish Moon Kangtae, that bastard." Munyeong trampled at the crumbled trash, letting out on a slice of her frustration. It was his choice to interfere with her, no one forced him to.

"Oh my my, you're a such a pretty girl." A squeaky voice giggled, penetrating into her quiet atmosphere.

She glanced at the lady, head to toe. Dressed in a horrifying shade of hot pink. Her frail grey hair was topped by a floppy hat- also in the same absurd color. She seemed to fond pearls, as it was accented everywhere, including on wrinkly her fingers where she had slotted a card in between. "Mr. Kangtae had asked me to pass this to you."

Her high-pitched voice rang like bells as she added. "He also said that he'd be willing to compromise, if' you go visit his hotel."

Munyeong raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

With a delighted smile, the lady nodded along and Munyeong promptly snatched it, ambiguous eyes interpreted onto the cursive blue lettering.

"Hotel.. Blue Moon?"

A condescending smile played on her lips. More so amused by the piece of paper and unaware of the soft breeze that swept past her.

Fine. If he wants to play with her, she'll play with him.

[myhahnestopinion]

THE AARONS 2020 - Best TV Episode

I had to cancel a lot of streaming services this year. They know what they did wrong. Here are the Aarons for Best TV Episode: 

#10. “Take Your Choice” (Batwoman, Season 1, Episode 12)

Coming out of the Infinite Earths crossover, Batwoman is left with a personal Crisis of conscience: Kate Kane’s efforts to redeem the villainous Alice, her presumed-dead sister, are derailed by the arrival of an alternate-universe version of her, one who didn’t suffer the same traumatic events. Multiverse collapse means only one can live, compelling Kate to choose between fighting a righteous lost cause or taking the easier path back to normalcy, the kind of complex moral dilemma that heroes are forged in. The original Alice is seen as both abuser and victim within, torturing Kate over her own lingering trauma, while fearing a second, far-worse abandonment. This enhanced sibling conflict reinvigorated the season’s second half. It’s unfortunate that dynamic is now lost with the decision to replace, not recast, Batwoman going forward, but, well, a choice had to be made.

#9. “The One Where We’re Trapped on TV” (Legends of Tomorrow, Season 5, Episode 14)

With back-to-back shows on this list, it’s clear The CW’s sweeping interconnected universe is still going strong, but they’re not done conquering the airwaves yet. In their latest bit of meta-mischief, the crew behind the show Legends of Tomorrow flexed their creative freedom and trapped the on-screen crew of Legends of Tomorrow within various television parodies, including Friends, Downton Abbey, and Star Trek. Each is brought to life with expert lived-in details by long-term producer and first-time director Marc Guggenheim. The cast gamely tunes in to the needs of each as well, hamming it up with Shatner-impressions and droll sitcom style. It’s all held together by the show’s lovable mush; if you’re looking for unique, heartfelt television, the Legends are on it. 

#8. “Zoey’s Extraordinary Glitch” (Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist, Season 1, Episode 8)

Despite her being the star of the show, Playlist kept skipping over Jane Levy for its big musical numbers, a consequence of its concept that Zoey is the one hearing other people’s thoughts expressed in song. That oversight was paused in the show’s eighth production, which gave her a show-stopping spotlight all her own. It wasn’t just Levy’s rendition of pop songs that were a hit, but how reality hit for the character after signing her heart out. The playful subversion of Playlist’s formula dialed cringe-comedy to the max, while shattering the limitations of its unusual premise. If the show keeps shuffling itself around like it did here, it won’t be played out anytime soon.

#7. “Sundown” (Lovecraft Country, Season 1, Episode 1)

The unknown is an alluring yet dangerous place. That’s the concept at the heart of infamous horror author H.P. Lovecraft’s work, and the principle carries over to J.J. Abrams and Jordan Peele’s inspired TV show. Atticus Freeman can’t resist that unknown when he receives a mysterious letter from his missing father, and sets off on a road trip beset by monsters to find him. The episode is a wicked homage to the petrifying creatures of Lovecraft lore, but its true horror lies in its subversion of those stories. Lovecraft, an unapologetic racist, founded his fears in that bigotry; Lovecraft Country centers people of color in its narrative, contending with those racist fears within monsters that walk among us. This balance of reverence and rejection is never better than in this first episode; “Sundown” is the highest point in the unearthly Lovecraft Country.

#6. “The Curse” (What We Do in the Shadows, Season 2, Episode 4)

STOP! If you are reading this, you have been cursed! You will be visited by Bloody Mary tonight if you do not forward The Aarons to ten other people.

 ...It was a familiar hoax to earlier adopters of the internet, a bit of viral villany that used the anonymous and unfathomable nature of the world wide web to spook even the most shrewd of children. To a clan of vampires though, incredulity is already out the window. That’s the clever catch of this episode, in which the long-undead crew scramble to get a crash-course in the technological age to avoid such a prophesied ghostly encounter.  It’s a devilishly funny dance of dramatic irony… or is it? I can say with certainty that “The Curse” is a real one, so best get forwarding, readers.

#5. “Ego Death” (I May Destroy You, Season 1, Episode 12)

There was always an inevitability to I May Destroy You: a miniseries needs a denouement. That’s a greater dilemma when your subject is recovering in the wake of sexual assault, a situation that’s rarely cleanly resolved. “Ego Death,” the final installment in the resolutely honest show, doesn’t shy away from that difficulty. Creator and star Michaela Cola’s Arabella has a chance recognition of her assailant, and the episode runs through several possible reactions for her to that encounter. It’s as furious and yet funny as the show consistently was, while always holding firm to the promise of its title: assault need not define you, destruction is not inevitable.

#4. “Bagman” (Better Call Saul, Season 5, Episode 8)

Vince Gilligan built his empire on exploring what will make a person reach their breaking point; after five seasons of build up, he burdened Saul Goodman with as much as the man can bear. Taking cues from a classic episode of the original series, “4 Days Out,” Saul Goodman is stranded in the desert, forced to degradingly drink his own urine while lugging around duffle bags of cash, after a trepidatious handoff is ambushed by a rival drug cartel. Worse, he’s being chased by a surviving shooter. Gilligan loads the episode up with the distinctive visual flourish, attention to detail, and gripping tension that are the hallmarks of his work; when it comes to making standout television, Gilligan’s got it in the bag, man. 

#3. “The Phantom Apprentice” (Star Wars: The Clone Wars, Season 7, Episode 10)

There was a clear force pushing Disney to revive The Clone Wars after seven years off the air: bringing balance to the franchise. The last third of the season finally fulfilled the show’s destiny, running parallel to the events of Revenge of the Sith from the perspective of its original creation, Ahsoka Tano. The entire operatic arc rivaled the power of its cinematic counterparts, but my chosen one is its second part, in which Ahsoka and a revived Darth Maul duel above an under-siege Mandalore. The dazzling lightsaber fight was rendered using motion capture technology, providing viewers with another dizzying high ground from which to watch the fall of the Republic. 

#2. “The View from Halfway Down” (BoJack Horseman, Season 6, Episode 15)

The long-standing question of viewers of BoJack was whether it would result in tragedy or recovery; in the end, the show had its horse and ate it too. The series finale, in which BoJack makes peace in his ruined friendships, could have easily grazed this list, but I gave the edge to the penultimate episode in the horse race. “The View from Halfway Down” is a fake out, a fever dream of finality as BoJack lays drowning in his pool, but it’s no half-measure. It’s a merciless manifestation of fears and regrets, forcing BoJack to confront all the darkness he’s been running from, with the haunting sensation that, this time, he might be in too deep. It’s a brutal piece of TV viewing, but the glass is halfway full: BoJack’s at his lowest point, but the episode is Bojack at its highest. 

AND THE BEST TV EPISODE OF 2020 IS...

#1. “A Dark, Quiet Death” (Mythic Quest: Raven’s Banquet, Season 1, Episode 5)

Mythic Quest took an unexpected detour early on in its debut season, chronicling the personal and professional growth and decay of couple Doc and Bean, video game designers who originally occupied the current headquarters of the show’s regular cast. Guest stars Jake Johnson and Cristin Milioti give life to “Death,” charming viewers and each other from their meet-cute to their late-in-life reunion. It’s a surprisingly surefooted key stroke for a first season sitcom, developing the entire show’s central thesis on the strength of this standalone episode. Bean and Doc act as a cautionary tale for both the destructive power of ego and the corrosive nature of capitalism; a carved heart from the two adorns the office as an omen while the modern day characters lock horns with the same beasts. Now that’s a scrumptious bit of mythmaking. 

NEXT UP: THE 2020 AARON FOR BEST TV PERFORMANCE!

[beerecordings]

Mythology AU - Chase is a Selkie, Marvin’s a star spirit, Jameson’s fae but likes to look like a little black dog, Henrik’s the seventh son of a seventh son, and Jackie is Jackie! See other pieces from this universe here and here.

Thanks for the prompt, Kit! This fic is not actual ego shipping but features what’s basically a love spell on one ego which needs to be broken. But no one tries to take advantage of anyone else and they all work together to help. This is the earliest point in the timeline I’ve written so far, with Chase meeting Henrik, Jackie, and Marvin! I hope you like it.

As a lil mythology debriefing, most Selkie who have their coats stolen in the stories have them stolen intentionally and are then either forced to marry the men who stole them or fall in love with and marry the men who stole them. Giving a Selkie their coat back releases them to either stay or go, but I wanted to explore what would happen if a Selkie had their coat given back to them but was still too love-drunk from having it stolen in the first place to be able to think clearly and get back in the ocean.

.

He’s nervous.

A lot of Henrik’s clients are. A lot of Henrik’s clients are nervous. A lot of Henrik’s clients, these days, aren’t human.

The seventh son of a seventh son can see us, they might tell each other, flitting between the branches of a tree or drifting with the waves of the water. He learned human medicine, but he’s quick. He’s quick. He’s learning and his luck is good.

His luck is very good. His mind, he likes to tell himself, is better.

(But the truth is that his luck is better than anyone’s and maybe if it hadn’t caused him so much grief and driven him away from everything he had ever known he would appreciate it better.)

He’s nervous then, yes, but Henrik can’t see the glamour of a fairy on his skin or the flickering color of a shape-shifter’s eye. There are no horns hiding in his hair, no hooves tucked away in his sneakers, no water streaming endlessly from his eyes. He does not speak in tongues or hover just a centimeter off the ground. He does not glow. He does not breathe like the cosmos are running through his lungs.

He just looks human.

But if you are the seventh son of a seventh son, you might catch, in the air, the same thing that Henrik did - a slight smell of salt and stone.

And a faint feeling that the man and his child are not human.

“How’re you now?” asks the man in a whisper, tucking the baby close to his chest and taking a step back from Henrik as he swung open the door to his run-down little clinic. Henrik stares back at him and then around at the alleyway, wondering if someone is following him, but there is nothing there but the man and the bundle in his arms.

“Good, and yourself?” answers Henrik politely, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s late, I’m about to close.”

“Sorry.” He tugs on the cap over his hair nervously, disturbing a single blond curl in the middle of his dark brown hair. “I thought the fever would go away, but it hasn’t. If I don’t get it checked out my ex will have me for sausage.”

“Mh. A baby?”

The man clears his throat and holds the infant out.

Henrik stares down at the baby. Up at the father. Down at the baby.

Now there is something slightly inhuman to them.

It’s in the eyes. He’s never seen eyes so dark and deep, like they were made for nothing but light to come in. With one, it’s an oddity. With the two of them...

It’s strange.

“The baby is human?” asks Henrik, in a voice that says he already knows the answer.

The man stares at Henrik, black eyes wide.

He’s nervous.

Henrik sighs and steps back from the door. “Come on in.”

“Thank you. Thank you. My ex would have killed me.”

The man darts in the door, heaving his backpack up on his shoulders and scurrying over to the examination table, where he takes one last glance at Henrik and then begins to unwrap the baby like a little Christmas present.

Baby shampoo and salt smell warm the chilly little clinic while the baby fusses unhappily at his father, reaching up to snag his finger and shove it into his soft, slobbery baby mouth for something to gnaw on. He has a little white onesie with different colors of fish patterned all over and a tiny breast pocket that says “I’m a real catch!”

Sometimes being supremely lucky is very nice, especially if it brings you cute babies to examine while you were in one of the slightly tired, bored, generally-unhappy-and-not-really-knowing-why moods you’ve been stuck in for some weeks. Henrik washes his hands at the sink and comes over to examine the baby.

“His name’s Hunter. I’m - ”

“Don’t tell me names,” Henrik cuts him off. “I don’t ask questions. You have money?”

“Yes, whatever you charge.”

“Dangerous offer.”

The man gives a weak chuckle.

Hunter gurgles angrily at Henrik’s hands roaming over his chubby body, kicking his feet in their booties and slurping on his father’s finger as a form of protest.

“Yes, his temperature is high,” Henrik agrees. “How long has he been like this?”

“Since yesterday. I just have him for the weekend and he’s been the grumpiest little sucker in the world. I have to take him back to my wife’s tonight. Sorry... my ex’s. She was my wife but now she isn’t, and so with the kids it’s kind of, uh. Well. Hard.”

“Don’t have to explain, I understand,” says Henrik mildly, listening to Hunter’s heart.

“Oh? You’re, uh, divorced? Or should I not ask questions either?”

Henrik raises an eyebrow at him, a small smile rising on his mouth. “I’ll excuse it this one time. We’re separated. But the child was much older.”

“Ah. Yeah. Messy split or was it, like, pretty clean?”

“It was a natural disaster,” answers Henrik wryly, and the man manages a full laugh this time, his stance relaxing a little.

He isn’t like the men from the gangs, staring in Henrik in silence as he works. He isn’t like the kids and adults who are running away from something and try to stay quiet despite the nervous confessions that keep falling from their mouths, looking for someone to confide in. He isn’t like the fairies who run their eyes up and down Henrik’s body, whispering to each other about how clever or how silly this human is or making snide jokes about him stinking of beer or bratwurst.

Henrik is glad. He thinks he needed a break from all of that. His work is his great love, but often it fuels his fury or, worse, breaks his heart.

There has been a melancholy in him lately. He does not know how to disperse it. No one would have noticed, because Jackie never can pick up on it, but Marvin said that his eyes had gone sad, whatever that means, and informed their roommate that Henrik needed cheering up. Since then he’s been hiding in his office more often than not - he can only be smothered in starboy kisses and served sympathy pasta so many times before he needs some space.

“Saw the game last night?” asks Henrik, noticing the father getting tense again.

“What game?”

“Well, my roommate said there was a game and he was very excited and mad and enthusiastic, which usually means it was worth watching.”

The man laughs. “Right. Yeah, football, wasn’t it? Good stuff, yeah. I saw the score. Didn’t watch it cause I got him here and the other one at home. Try to spend the whole weekend with them. Your roommate sounds like a character. He watches just football?”

“He’ll watch anything with a ball and some collisions,” says Henrik. “And he is certainly a character. How long have you lived among humans?”

The man’s head shoots up, his blond curl hanging in front of his eyes. “Hey, now!” he says. “That football question was a trap!”

Henrik winks at him and leans down to check the baby’s ears. “Fair play?”

“Fair play,” concedes the father, sitting back with an amused sort of irritation. “Since I was nineteen, if you must know.”

“So that’s, what, six years?”

“Eight.”

“And the baby?”

“Well, uh.” The man frowns and glances down at his son. “Well, he’s new, you see.”

Henrik bursts into laughter for the first time in days and fuck, that feels good.

“I meant how old is he!”

“Oh! Well, I - I didn’t know!”

He’s bright red, his freckles drowned out in blush. “I wasn’t sure what you meant, I don’t know what sort of babies you get in here - ”

“Hahaha! Not immortal ones!”

“Well, you say that, but I’ve met some weird creatures in my time!”

“Alright, that much I understand.”

“Maybe you thought he was a little spirit or something, I don’t know.”

“Aw, a little spirit baby.” Henrik hides his eyes and then pulls his hands away, catching Hunter’s attention with a game of peek-a-boo. “Are you a little god, Herr Baby? Are you a little spirit?”

“He’d be the god of spitting up carrots all over his dad.”

“Tom once walked up to me as I was sitting on the couch and when I asked him what was wrong, he immediately puked all over my slacks.”

The father throws back his head and laughs loud and wonderful, his shoulders shaking and her dark eyes a-glow. “Fuck’s sake. But then they’re worth it, aren’t they?”

He leans over Hunter to blow a blubber kiss into the fat of his stomach, but the child must be feeling unwell again, because he chooses this moment to begin wailing, his small face scrunched up with distress. The man is quick to try soothing him, rubbing at his hot, bumpy baby head and murmuring to him in Irish.

Truthfully, Henrik is grateful for the distraction. He shouldn’t have brought Tom up. Yes, they’re worth it. But sometimes they break your heart too.

“I can see why you were concerned,” he said. “His fever is quite high and has lasted a while. But I am wondering why you didn’t see a normal doctor? If you’re illegal, just tell me you couldn’t.”

“Ah, no, I could have,” admits the man, picking Hunter up and rocking him. “But I guess I don’t trust them. Or I’d prefer someone who knows... just, well, who knows, you know? We always used to see a doctor who was one of us, but now we’ve moved too far away. I didn’t know who to go to... I was told you had the Sight, that you would treat... people like us.”

“But I don’t know,” answers Henrik gently, pulling open his cabinets for a prescription. “You haven’t told me what you are.”

He looks up at Henrik. Down at the baby.

“We left everything we had known behind when we came to live with humans,” he says softly. “Since then I haven’t met another like me living among them. And I haven’t told anyone - not a soul - about what I really am.”

Curious. Curious. Only so many creatures would choose to make a split so deep. He must be able to pass as human almost perfectly. He knows he is not a werewolf, or he would need others of his kind to survive. He knows he is not demonic, or he couldn’t have passed through Marvin’s warding. He knows he is not a Pooka, because Henrik did not fear him, and Pooka do not love their sons, and Pooka do not speak as humans do, and a million other reasons, too, and yet the thought still crossed Henrik’s mind. Even when it is irrational, it always crosses his mind: what if? what if?

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” says Henrik, writing down Hunter’s temperature.

“I’m a little in the public eye, is the thing.”

“Oh-ho,” laughs Henrik, letting his eyes flick up to the ceiling for a second. “I got a celebrity in here.”

“I didn’t say that,” protests the father. “Come on, man. It would just be bad if anyone found out who would believe it. Some people don’t like people like me living with humans.”

Henrik puts his clipboard down and reaches out to touch his arm, meeting his gaze. “Look, ‘man,’ there’s really nothing to worry about. I get all kinds in here and I know how to keep the mouth shut when it should be. I would prefer to know. Some creatures can experience medical complications which would be misdiagnosed without understanding. But if you really cannot tell me, you can take the medication and go, just like if I were a human doctor.”

The man looks down at his child, patting along the baby’s stomach to soothe both Hunter and himself. “Okay, alright. Can I come back if any of the kids ever get in trouble again and I need a doctor?”

“Of course you can,” answers Henrik genially. “Especially since you can pay.”

He chuckles, stroking Hunter’s soft head. “Do you know who the Selkie are?”

Henrik stops short in the middle of preparing a syringe of medication.

“Take that as a yes,” says the man, sitting down at a visitor’s chair, his hands in his lap.

Henrik tries to go back to work as calmly as he can. “You’re something of a rarity, then.”

“There’s less and less of us every year,” he answers. “Most of us don’t live among humans, so we die as the ocean does.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well. Me and my family don’t live like that anymore, anyway. Safer on land.”

“What is it like?” asks Henrik, unable to deny his own curiosity. “To be a man one moment, and a seal the next.”

He smiles grimly, playing with the cap of his hat. “To be able to transform is incredible. You feel like you’re apart of something much bigger than you. And that ability, to swim like that, to smell like that, to see like that... well, it’s an experience. But the truth is that when you’re Selkie you’re never expected to do anything but live and die by the ocean. And I wanted something more than that, even if it meant leaving everything behind.”

“I’m going to give him some medicine.”

“Oh, yeah. Okay.”

Henrik and the father coax the needleless syringe into Hunter’s mouth and convince him to swallow the medicine despite his fussy groaning and whimpering.

“Will that help?”

“Yes, I think so. Should reduce the fever. I’m going to prescribe you something to take with to help him recover more quickly, though I expect he’ll be just fine.”

“Oh, great,” breathes the Selkie, staring warmly down at Hunter, who sucks earnestly on his fist and wriggles his feet. “Thank you so much. I think my ex would have about killed me if I had brought him home with a fever and no trip to a doctor. I really didn’t know where else I would have gone.”

“It’s no worry,” answers Henrik. “But, if you were open to it, I might recommend bringing him down to the ocean for a while.”

The Selkie looks up, surprised.

“Whether or not you let him transform, it isn’t always good for creatures like you to be away from all of their people and their... natural habitats, you might say. If you don’t want to live among Selkie, I understand. But a Selkie baby is a Selkie baby. This part of his nature cannot be buried. Letting him play in the water might be good for him sometimes.”

The Selkie stares down at his baby, blinking.

“I don’t know,” he says uncertainly.

“Just something to think about,” replies Henrik levelly.

“Right,” sighs the Selkie, beginning to wrap Hunter back up again, but the suggestion seems to have left him uncertain and thoughtful, focused intently on his child. “Oh, uh, I gotta pay you. How much?”

“The medicine wasn’t expensive. Twenty-five pounds should cover it. But if you can give me more, it helps me keep the place running.”

The Selkie hands him a full fifty pounds. “I don’t know what I would have done without you, man. I don’t really trust human doctors with my kids.”

“If you ever need anything, you know where to find me. Tell me if his fever does not break. Here, my number. Don’t put me in your phone as anything suspicious.”

“Strange doctor in that backalley clinic on Lincoln, got it.”

Henrik smiles grimly at him. The Selkie grins back.

“Thanks for being cool, doc,” he says, touching his shoulder.

“I try.”

“Ha. Okay. Bye.”

“Hey,” says Henrik. “I was driven away from Germany a few years back. I left everything behind too - including, perhaps, people who needed me - but I had my reasons for going. And that doesn’t make me a bad person. Yes?”

The Selkie smiles softly at him, something small and grateful in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly. “Yeah. We have our reasons.”

As he turns to leave, Henrik sees the thoughtfulness come over him again. It’s like he’s far away already. And for whatever reason, when he goes, Henrik himself feels that strange and quiet unhappiness return to his chest as the silence of the lonely clinic consumes him again.

It isn’t until fifteen minutes later that he realizes the Selkie has left his backpack behind.

“Fuck!”

Henrik scoops it up and races out the door just in case he has the chance to catch the Selkie at the bus stop, but he and the baby are gone.

“Goddamn,” murmurs Henrik, walking back to his clinic. “At least he can come back for it. What does he have in here that’s so heavy anyway?”

It’s not really his business to look. In fact, it is his business to not ask questions and respect people’s privacy unless he thinks someone’s getting hurt by his silence. He really should not look in the Selkie’s bag.

But a sheen of smooth white through the almost-but-not-quite-entirely zipped-up backpack pauses him.

Henrik sits down in his office, staring.

He shouldn’t.

But he’s never met a Selkie before.

And if that’s what he thinks it is...

He’s pulling it out before he can doubt himself any longer.

“Wow,” he whispers. “Wow.”

The Selkie coat is beautiful. White and blond and brown patterns decorate the Selkie’s skin on a luxuriously soft coat. Henrik stands up and puts it on for a moment, marveling at the weight and warmth of it. He breathes in that same deep, salt and stone smell he caught on the Selkie when he first came in the door.

And if this were his skin, all he would have to do was walk down into the water of the ocean and then - transformation. He would be a seal.

“Incredible,” he murmurs to himself, taking the coat off again. “Truly.”

Being the seventh son of a seventh son is lucky, sure, but he thinks it might have been even luckier to be born as something as cool as that.

He sets the backpack down in the clinic. He doesn’t think much of it at the time.

.

Someone’s knocking on his clinic door.

“At one in the morning.” He tsks his tongue against his teeth. “Better not be those werewolf kids again, I swear.”

He gets up, straightening his coat.

“Who’s there?” He calls to the door.

“It’s - it’s - it’s - ” They seem to hardly be able to get the words out, breathless and stammering. “It’s the Selkie, fr-from earlier!”

“Oh, right.” Henrik unlocks and opens the door. “Did you come back for your - ”

Hands grab his lapels, marching him back towards the wall of the room as wild dark eyes bore intensely into him. The Selkie pants, his grip unwavering on his coat.

“Hey!” cries Henrik, a little alarmed. “What are you doing?”

“My coat,” whispers the Selkie, something desperate and terrified in his deep eyes. “Please, did I leave it here? Please, can’t I have it? I have to, I have to, I - ”

“Oh, alright,” sighs Henrik, finally shoving his hands off. “Yes, I suppose that must have been scary to lose. You seemed distracted.”

“You do have it,” sobs the Selkie. “Oh, fuck. Please, I’ll give you anything you want to have it back! I can pay you a lot of money!”

“Calm down, man.” Henrik shakes his head at him. “You are freaking the good doctor out. I don’t want your coat. You can have it back. Here.”

He steps over to the wall of the clinic and picks up the backpack, bringing it back towards the Selkie. He takes it from him with shaking hands and pulls the zipper open, finding the coat inside. Tears run down his face as he reaches in to trace his fingers over the smooth, familiar surface of his own skin.

“I’m sorry you were so freaked out,” says Henrik. “You should have called me.”

“Oh,” says the Selkie, in a very small voice. “I had your number, didn’t I?”

“Yeah. Are you okay?”

But he’s just staring down at his coat, flushed and weeping, silent.

“Hey,” says Henrik, touched by concern. “Hey. It’s okay. You’ve got it now. Everything’s okay, right?”

The Selkie stares at his coat. There is a change happening in his face, but Henrik doesn’t recognize the emotion there - just the fact that his face is going from very white to enthusiastically red.

“Can you say something?” asks Henrik. “You are beginning to worry me. Perhaps you have caught your son’s - ”

A pair of hands wrap around his wrists and then Henrik is thrown back against the wall and pushed into a passionate kiss. He yelps in surprise against the warm mouth pressing into his lips, too startled to push back. The Selkie draws away for a moment to breathe and grips at Henrik’s hair, staring at him with eyes that Henrik would think were glazed in fever if he could feel any heat coming off of him.

“Doc,” the Selkie half-groans, making embarrassment burn bright red against Henrik’s cheeks. “You gave it back to me.”

He leans forward to kiss him again and Henrik is glad to realize his brain is no longer crashing like a computer with a virus. Throwing a hand up to stop him, he yanks himself away from the Selkie, stumbling along the wall away from him.

“What the hell!” he cries, nearly tripping over one of the chairs. “You can’t just kiss someone!”

Distress floods down the Selkie’s face, his mouth flipping miserably and his eyes going wide with alarm. “Did I – I did something wrong?”

“You have to know it’s not normal to just start kissing someone.” Henrik scans those blank eyes a second time, beginning to be concerned. Is he having some kind of delusion? Is he drunk? “You said you’ve been living among humans since you were young. What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry,” chokes the Selkie. “I – I know I’m a screw-up, I didn’t mean to make you angry, please don’t make me do anything – ”

“Make you do something?”

“My head feels wrong,” cries the Selkie, and when he curls in on himself he does it so suddenly Henrik thinks he is collapsing. He rushes forward to help him, alarmed. “I didn’t think it could be this strong!”

“What? What is it?” demands Henrik, taking his face between his hands and pulling his gaze up. “What did you take? What are you on?”

“My coat,” breathes the Selkie, his eyes going soft again as Henrik draws his gaze back to his face. “You gave it back to me...”

He surges forward for another kiss and Henrik yelps, shoving his face away. The Selkie makes a squawking noise that would be pretty damn funny in just about any other situation and goes crashing back onto his ass, distress tearing up his freckled face. He stares up at Henrik with enormous eyes dark as the universe, tears welling up in his thick eyelashes.

“Oh, no, oh, no,” he cries, grabbing his own shoulders. “I didn’t mean to make you mad. Please don’t make me do anything. I can be good for you. I want to.”

This is officially too much. Something is wrong, and if Henrik’s luck holds - and it always does - the sense he’s getting that this is because of some magical bullshit will ring true.

“You’re not on drugs, are you?” he asks. “Or drunk. This is something else.”

The Selkie clutches the soft fur of his coat to his chest and sobs, rocking himself back and forth on the floor of the clinic. “Please, I have children, I only just recently got divorced, I don’t want to do anything...”

“You... you don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I won’t make you. Calm down.”

Henrik sinks slowly down to the floor in front of him, giving him some space and trying to look non-threatening, his hands held gently out in front of him. He lets out a shaky sigh, still feeling unnerved. “Just, uh. Don’t try to kiss me again,” he laughs nervously.

“You look so perfect right now, though,” cries the Selkie, hiding his face from him. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this attracted to a person, not even Stacy. I thought this was just a myth. I didn’t think it would feel like this.”

Henrik’s face flames with embarrassment. He tugs at his collar, looking anywhere but at the Selkie, trying to think of anything to say.

“Look - just - stay here for a second. I’m going to give my friends a quick call. They’ll help us figure this out, okay?”

“They won’t hurt me either, will they?”

��Hurt you? No, no, never. They like to help people like you.”

“Cause I’m vulnerable right now, man, I’m - ” The Selkie’s voice shatters and he shakes, wrapping his arms tighter around himself. “I think I’d do anything you asked me to.”

“I’ll just give them a quick call. They’re very trustworthy. They saved me too, when I was vulnerable. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” he says in a small voice.

Henrik slips into his office on feet that are tingling as though he’d just looked off the side of a very tall building. He’s pulling the door tightly shut and yanking out his phone to find Jackie’s number before he’s even given himself a second to breathe, all but slamming the phone to his ear and collapsing into his rolling chair.

“Hullo?”

“Jackie!” he yelps, squeezing the phone to his face. “Hilf mir!”

He knows Jackie has leapt up because he hears him swear as he slams his knee into the coffee table like he always does and, subsequently, Marvin’s laughter in the background. “Okay, I’m coming, I’m coming! What’s wrong, are you hurt? Marv, get up, let’s go!”

“No, no, it’s not that. There’s a Selkie here and I think he’s been cursed to fall in love with me! Can I bring him to the house?”

There’s a long pause on the other end.

Then Jackie is laughing at him.

“Hey!” shrieks Henrik, spinning around in his chair, his anxious feet pedaling him around and around. “It’s not funny!”

“Marv, some guy is hitting on Schneep and his dumb ace ass doesn’t know how to handle it, hahaha.”

“Jackie!”

“You’re so funny, Schneep, I bet you’re red as a tomato.”

“Shut up! Jackie - well, maybe I’m red, but listen! Something’s really, really wrong with him. For real, I mean. He keeps saying how into me he is but he’s terrified of me at the same time - shaking and holding himself. He keeps talking about his coat. I think something’s really wrong.”

There’s a pause on Jackie’s end as Marvin and Jackie confer. A moment later, the phone is passed to Marvin.

“Hi, rabbit’s foot. Is the Selkie hurt?”

“I don’t think so. Just acting really weird.”

“Best be gentle with him, Henrik. Endangered species.”

“I know. I’ve never met one before. I don’t know what else to do.”

“Most Selkie are very social. They live in big clans with normal seals mixed in and many don’t mix with humans anymore. I’ve been to a couple families and they’re the friendliest, most open you’ve ever met. Maybe he just doesn’t understand how to flirt with you?”

“No, Marv, this isn’t that. He’s lived with humans for years. And even if he hadn’t... something’s wrong. Are love potions real?”

“Uh, not sure! Jackie? He doesn’t know either. Okay, clover, better bring him back to the house.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah. I’ll be home in fifteen, alright?”

“Henrik, if he tries to touch you and you don’t want him to, use force, alright? Even if he’s cursed he doesn’t get to take advantage of you.”

“Right.” Henrik feels some of the red drain from his face. “Yes. No one takes anything from me I don’t want to give anymore.”

“Love you!” says Marvin cheerily. “See you soon! Humans are so funny when they blush. Like, that’s not where all that blood’s supposed to be, silly! I - ”

Henrik hangs up on him before he can really get to ranting. He puts his phone down on his lap and takes a deep breath. He gets up. He can do this.

He opens his door and comes face-to-face with the Selkie.

“Sorry!” he squeaks, backing away from Henrik and darting back towards the clinic. “I got nervous when I couldn’t see you, I’m sorry.”

He’s all wrapped up in his coat, his soft brown hair curling out of a fluffy hood, his eyes huge and dark in its shadows and his arms wrapping it around himself like a blanket. Henrik’s discomfort is briefly halted by his ravenous curiosity.

“You are wearing the coat, but are not a seal?”

“Oh, no.” He glances down at himself. “I have to be in living water.”

“How biblical.”

“Is it?”

“Sure. Jeremiah. Zechariah.”

“I just mean moving water, I suppose. We call it living. Salt water, preferably. But I haven’t been in that for a long while.”

“The ocean is so close. You don’t swim?”

The Selkie shakes his head, staring down at the floor, and something hot and aching flashes through his ink eyes. “Not for me.”

Henrik purses his mouth, looking at him. He cuts a miserable image, shaking and wrapped up in his furs, his face red and scared, but damn if he doesn’t look sweet too. Henrik sighs and reaches out a hand.

“Let me take you to my friends,” he says. “They’ll be able to help.”

The Selkie looks up in astonishment, mouth parting. Tentatively, he reaches out and wraps his fingers around Henrik’s. The touch seems to soothe him, though his eyes water.

“Really?”

“Yes, of course. We’ll figure this out together, alright?”

“Wow,” croaks the Selkie, his voice breaking. “You’re so nice. Wow. I’m lucky it was someone like you, Doctor.”

The raw admiration makes Henrik fumble with his keys as he locks the door to the clinic behind him, pulling the Selkie along with him.

“It’s Schneep,” he says, leading him towards the bus stop.

“What?”

“My name. Everyone calls me Schneep. Henrik if you really want to get my attention.”

The Selkie stares across at him, turning the name over in his head. “Henrik... wow.”

“Please, don’t sound so in awe of me. This is terribly strange.”

“I’m sorry this is happening,” says the Selkie, turning away again. The moonlight makes his coat glow sleek and shining in the night. “Guess in the storybooks I’m meant to be a girl anyway.”

“I’m not much interested either way, thank you. What’s your name?”

His pale mouth parts. His dark eyes flicker. He stares out at the asphalt, gripping Henrik’s hand tightly in his own.

“Just call me Chase,” he says. “The rest doesn’t much matter.”

They wait for the bus in silence, questions waiting in the air between them. When they get on the bus, Chase puts his head down on Henrik’s shoulder, and Henrik does not stop him.

.

That’s all for now but I’ll write more if I feel like it :) basically this turned into an introduction for how they met. The rest of the story would be Chase and Henrik both getting along really well and Henrik protecting him and taking care of him while he’s in this sort of dazed state. Ultimately, Stacy would tell them the attraction was supposed to wear off days ago. That makes Chase realize that he isn’t romantically attracted to Henrik anymore - he’s just been really lonely and feels like he’s part of a family again around Henrik and Jackie and Marvin and he didn’t want to leave them. He thought he was just feeling that way because Henrik stole his coat accidentally. Henrik confesses he likes being around Chase a lot too.