#i will refrain from tagging this like an ao3 upload

[24-05txt]

In regards to the whole soul mate thing, Soap's been through all the phases.

He'd started curious, then confused, then mournful, then resentful. For now he's settled somewhere in the vicinity of apathy—maybe spite.

He doesn't have a soul-mark. Never has, never will, and that's... fine. He's far from the only one lacking that kind of connection, and that's enough for him to feel understood. Not alone. He's got plenty of good friends besides—with and without soulmates of their own—and he's happy that way. Really, he is; it took him a fair amount of work to get to a place where he could say that and it not be wishful thinking. He's got friends, family, dalliances, motion and company and light in his life despite the lack of a mark that tells him where his place is.

And then he meets Ghost.

The Lieutenant is huge in the sense that his presence alone takes up what space his height and muscle can't. He's quiet, too, at least before Soap makes the effort to worm his way under all that tacgear. (The man is intriguing, what can he say? Who else walks around with a honest-to-fuck skull mask day in and out.)

Ghost seems to tolerate him at first, then inexplicably starts to prickle and grouch whenever Soap comes within six feet of him. He could make up a few reasons for why that is, but instead contents himself with pretending he doesn't notice—pushing the implied boundary until Ghost mans up and tells him off.

He never does, though. And it's not long at all until Soap's found that the boundary has given way and Ghost is—well he's actually pretty pleasant to be around. He's funny, and patient, and gives way too much of a shit to be in a career that pretty much ensures the death of everyone he works with. (He likes to pretend he doesn't, but there's no other reason he would have been waiting up in that church for Soap—in fact he shouldn't have still been there at all, since he'd already scoped an escape route. The bastard's soft, is what he's saying.)

And that's when things start to backslide just a little.

They're sitting in the mess—only three of them, the Captain unable to grace them with his presence—and Gaz is talking about his sister's husband's new boyfriend being the result of a late-discovery soulmatch.

"Could you imagine," he says, pausing to chew his mouthful before he continues. "Going thirty years knowing there's someone out there for you, and not seeing them until after you're already married?"

"Could be platonic," Soap pointed out, not bothering with the same courtesy of chewing his food. Ghost kicks him under the table for it, but he honestly can't be asked to care for only three words worth.

"Could be, but still—could you imagine?"

"Nope." Soap pops the 'P' and grins. Ghost doesn't kick him this time since he hasn't taken another bite yet. "I'm a wee bit hopeless in that department."

"Ah, brother." Gaz reaches out and they clasp hands for a moment, then he nudges his shoulder. "You and me both. Never much got the fuss about it, but that does seem like some sort of cosmic irony yeah?"

"Issat irony?" Soap asks. "Don't think that's right."

Obviously, that incites a short argument that ends when Gaz pulls out his phone to look up the actual dictionary definition of 'irony', and Soap grasps to change the topic to literally anything else to avoid Gaz gloating on the off chance that he's right.

"Lt, what about you?"

Ghost blinks at him as if he hasn't been staring at the both of them through the whole conversation.

"I know what irony is, Johnny."

"No—" he can't help the scowl, and talks over Gaz's sudden jeering as he shoves his phone under his nose. Soap lifts his chin to avoid it. "You got a soul mark?"

"Read it and weep, Soap!" Gaz cheers, only slightly subdued in respect for every else in the room.

"I do." Ghost says at the same time, dipping his head in a tiny little nod, and Soap's world ends just a little bit, right there in the mess hall. Curls up, withers, and dies without so much as a squeal.

He's not able to ask if Ghost knows who it is, or if he's met them, or if they're still alive, or if it's romantic or platonic; he's not sure if it even matters, because Johhny knows right then that he will never be as close to Ghost as they are.

And it hurts.

It hurts in a way he wasn't entirely expecting.

He must hold it together well enough through the rest of dinner, and then through walking with Gaz back to their rooms, but once he's got the door locked behind him he feels the smile fall off his face. He sits down on the edge of his bed.

Ghost has a soulmate.

Ghost has a soulmate and Soap is pissed about it. Because that soulmate isn't him—it can't be, since he doesn't have a mark of his own.

It's just—it's unfair. They work so well together, on the field and off. He knows for a fact no one else can read Ghost as well as he can, no one else talks to him like he does, he doesn't hang around anyone else like he seems to hang around Soap. If anyone should be Ghost's soulmate, it should be him.

But he's not. Which means there's someone else out there that can watch his six better, understand him more, have more satisfying conversations—and it seems fucking impossible, because he doesn't even know how it could get better given the time they've known eachother... and yet.

And yet Ghost has a mark, and Soap doesn't.

It takes him days to get over it—at least enough to act himself when he's in company. Ghost tries to get him to talk about it three separate times before he can manage to get his shit together. He won't *lie* to Simon, nor is he about to admit to what's eating at him, and it leaves him snappish. Leaves the vitriol closer to the surface than it ever has been around Ghost and he hates to see how he reacts to it; he doesn't cower, doesn't flinch, doesn't avoid him, just stares—in a different way than before. John's temper will flare and Ghost will freeze a little, tilt his head, furrow his brow, and fucking stare at him until the moment passes. It might be better if he raised his voice in return, let it escalate into a proper fight—or even if he shut Soap down hard and told him to cool off. Instead Ghost looks at him like he's gone and become a stranger; like he's confused where he doesn't expect to be, and that hurts almost as much as finding out his place isn't next to Simon—or at least, he doesn't have any rightful claim to it.

[hongjoongspoetry]

Cold Hands, Warm Heart

Part 1 — I’m Just Dreaming Of Tearin’ You Apart

⛸️ Summary: Practicing for the Spring Championship preliminaries with your longtime crush wasn’t something you expected and neither was being treated to coffee by the man you despised most in the world, yet both happened in the span of a week. Besides figure skating competitions and hockey games, your best friends created a game of their own involving money and your love life.

⛸️ Pairing(s): Hockey Player!Mingi x Figure Skater!Reader, Figure Skater!Hyunjin x Figure Skater!Reader

⛸️ Genres/Tropes: College AU, non-idol AU, rivals to lovers, but it's more like one-sided resentment, hockey AU, figure skating AU, angst, fluff

⛸️ Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), a lot of swearing, petnames (princess), mention of drugs and sex in a joking manner, use of alcohol, chaotic friendship, friendly fights, a lot of side-characters, mingi is a bit of a dick, MDNI!!!

⛸️ Wordcount: 16.5K

⛸️ Author's note: I'm finally uploading this!! I know I said it was going to be an oneshot, but I wrote too much to post it all in one go so I decided to make it into a mini-series instead. There will be five parts to Cold Hands, Warm Heart and I'll upload every Friday starting from today. It's crazy to think I've been writing this whole thing since October last year, like what?!

The first part is more of an introduction to all the characters and me easing you into the plot rather than starting off too strong with the main pairing, so there isn't a lot of scenes with Mingi, but there will be plenty in the future. Anyway, I won't keep you for too long! Enjoy and tell me your thoughts ❤️

This is all fiction and not meant to represent any idols involved in any way or form. This work is not for minors as it contains explicit scenes, not just sexual content but descriptions of both physical and verbal fights, and adult language. Minors, please refrain from reading or interacting with this work!!!

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The sound of blades against ice and the smell of a freezer empty of food brought you great comfort, and it continued to do so for a century and a half. The ice rink was your second home — not the college or your grandma’s house — heck, you could maneuver the place better than your own home. Abel Korzeniowski’s Charms blasted pleasantly through the speakers in the hall as you stood in the middle of the ice with your hands raised and knees slightly bent. The arena was completely empty, which wasn’t anything weird considering it was six AM on a Monday. You slowly moved across the ice in sync to the music, leaving all your thoughts and worries in the parking lot outside. There were only you and the ice. 

As the music gradually picked up its pace, you began doing light spins and jumps. You imagined the arena to be packed with people, their excited eyes following your elegant figure, and cheers going off like cannons after every stunt. In tune with the music reaching its turning point, you propelled yourself up and spun in the air, only for the melody to be abruptly cut off. A short static echoed in the hall as the AUX was rather harshly unplugged from your phone, making you lose your footing and fall on your ass.

The ice beneath was hard and cold, and it numbed your whole left leg except for the burning pain that flared up in your backside. You had to physically hold back tears as you stood back up on shaky legs.

“Majestic as always, princess, but I’ll have to deduct ten points for that eye captivating fall.” 

A chorus of laughter and gloves pounding against the plexiglas averted your attention for a split second, and the picture of an audience watching wasn’t much of an imagination as the whole hockey team stood by the entrance of the rink. 

You masked the expression of hurt and threw a glare towards the music booth planted between the penalty boxes. Rephrasing, you threw a glare at the guy inside the music booth. If there was anything figure skating couldn’t help you with, it was Song Mingi, the right defenceman of the Blue Wolves and the biggest douchebag known to mankind. The mankind in question was you.

“Piss off, Song. The rink is booked until 10 AM.”

The large man leaned into the mic, a smug grin on his stupidly handsome face, “Can’t do sweetheart. We have an upcoming match against the Red Tigers, so we need to practice.”

In three strokes you reached the worn out glass separating you two. 

“Listen here, punk,” you breathed out a cloud of fog. “I don’t care what you have or when you have it; the rink is occupied, so take your little pack of chihuahuas and fuck off!” 

Mingi made himself comfortable on the chair, hands intertwined behind his neck and long legs perched up on the desk. He was not going anywhere unless it was on that ice.

“I guess we’ll just have to wait until you’re done.” 

“Wait, wait! He said what?!” 

In the midst of retelling the events of your morning, you were interrupted by Keeho. Everything about his judging tone told you he was more than disgusted at the new piece of information and a peek at his face — lips slightly curled, front teeth exposed, and eyes squinted — confirmed your suspicion. Keeho was very vocal with his opinions, vocal and bold, and you picked up on that in the short time you got to know him. That’s why you weren’t surprised to see his hands resting on his hips, adding that sprinkle of sass you both loved and despised. 

“Yes!” You exclaimed exasperatedly and bit into your spring roll. 

Choi Dasom, your roommate and childhood best friend, wore her signature sweet smile that made her cheeks chubbier and outshone her fiery red hair. She, unlike you and Keeho, was delighted to hear about your terrible morning, especially at the mention of the one-who-shall-not-be-named. 

“Wipe that grin off your face, Dasom.”

You squinted at her overly happy expression. There was no malice to your words and if it weren’t for your ten year long friendship she wouldn’t have mustered up an even bigger smile, showing off her pearly whites and dimples. No one could ever be mean to Dasom, one look at her round face and sparkly eyes, and they’d be wrapped around her pinky like a phone cord. She was just that cute. If they somehow managed to look past her cuteness then they'd have to deal with you or Keeho and that was never a pleasant outcome. 

The three of you sat criss crossed on the floor of your and Dasom’s shared apartment. An array of takeaway boxes littered the usually clean room as you caught up on each other’s lives; in other words, they listened to your venting about a specific hockey player.

“I just don’t see how this connects to your broken phone screen,” Keeho said and mentioned to the device beside you, sneakily hastening you to get to the ‘juicy part’ as he referred to it. 

Too blinded by the simmering anger you waltzed right into Keeho’s trap, granting him new gossip worthy material. Not that he had anyone to share it with besides the two of you, but he liked knowing everyone’s business, something you swore would come and bite him in the ass sooner or later.

“Well, my dear Keeho, wait til you hear the rest of the story.”

The heel of Mingi’s foot hit your phone, hurling it to the ground. A taunting ‘oops’ fell from his lips, but he stayed seated. 

“Are you kidding me!” You shouted from inside the rink. 

In a flash you were beside Mingi, inspecting your phone for any injuries. A big, singular crack stretched from one end of the screen to the other and you could feel invisible steam erupt from your ears. The phone survived so many concrete collisions and water incidents, but it obviously had to break at Mingi’s hand (or feet).

“Oh, did it crack?” 

Mingi stood up, eyes cast on the screen and hands shoved into his gray sweatpants. Not an ounce of concern or remorse crossed his features and you didn’t know what made you more angry - his nonchalance or mere presence.

“Did it crack? Did it crack?!”

“Alright, no need to shout.”

You knew after a full year of constant bickering and mean pranks that Mingi wasn’t all that well. Maybe he got one too many blows to the head, suffered far more concussions than convenient, who knew? 

You tried giving him the benefit of the doubt multiple times, which proved to be useless, and it took a broken screen for you to finally realize that. A curse so foul it would have his ancestors turning in their graves rested on your tongue, but as you opened your mouth, a puck aimed at your head was flung at the plexiglas, shutting you up in an instant. The same heinous laughs from earlier echoed around you, this time from inside the rink.

You stood there, phone in hand, and hopelessly stared at the sight before you.

Mingi watched the whole thing play out and didn't say a thing. Not that he had much to say, it was his idea from the start. The guys wouldn't stop complaining about you hogging the ice and the least he could do for his team was to get you off. That way he could also get his daily dose of prancing on your nerves. 

It was like killing two birds with one stone. 

Until he awkwardly stood there, contemplating whether to apologize or serve you with another snarky reply. 

He ran his hand through his ashy blonde hair. All the thinking was starting to tire him out and he just wanted to put on his skates and blow some steam off. You were being unfair. They needed the rink more than you, but you just couldn’t be nice and give in for once. 

“No hard feelings, princess.”

“Wow, he really is a dick,” Keeho muttered while examining your phone. “Well, I mean, we already knew that, but I didn’t think he’d be that much of a dick.”

You hummed in agreement as he passed the device to Dasom. 

“No, I’ve always known and I’ve been telling you guys so for the past year but no one listens to me.”

“Hey! I do and I’ve always agreed with you; it’s Dasom who’s being poetic and shit.”

The girl giggled at Keeho’s bluntness. “I’m not being poetic, Kyo. I just think there’s more to him than meets the eye.”

You and Keeho exchanged knowing glances, emotionless eyes and lips set into firm lines, silently agreeing she was tuning into her artistic side. Her smile, bright as ever, didn’t falter, and she simply shrugged before slurping down the last of her food. Keeho clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and flickered her forehead. 

“Wow, what happened to common decency? Table manners, hello?”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you. I saw you spit out that chicken,” you butted in with a roll of your eyes.

“It was all rubbery and– ugh. I can’t swallow that!” He defended himself while pointing at the overly chewed piece of chicken on his plate and pushing it closer to your face. You flinched back and hurled, the noise activating Dasom too, and soon you were all in a never-ending fit of retching.

“It’s the last time I let you bring a friend into our circle!” 

You recalled the day Dasom introduced you to Keeho and you’ve regretted it ever since, but there were moments you actually found joy in his company and they served as a reminder of why you put up with him in the first place. At the end of the day you still agreed to have study sessions at the library with his nose in a thick literature book and your fingers dancing across your keyboard.

“Can you, I don’t know, not abuse your laptop like that? I can’t concentrate with your loud fingers.”

“You sure it isn’t your thoughts keeping you distracted? I mean, I’d be too if my voice was that annoying.”

Keeho gifted you his signature glare, which you grew immune to. “Okay, first of all ouch and second of all, fuck you, my voice is not annoying or loud for that matter either.”

“Then go back to your reading.”

“I can’t,” he whined and closed his book with a thud, then slid his arm over the table, his cheek resting against his bicep with a pout.

A mere two hours passed since you met up outside the coffee shop closest to the university and not once did he shut up. From ordering your drinks to finding an empty table in the library his mouth worked and at first you saw it as a good thing, thinking he’d run out of things to talk about by the time you started studying. That lasted for about three hundred words in your essay.

“Keeho-ya, go back to reading. We still have some time before your shift starts.”

“I knooooow, but I’m tired and this shit’s boring me out.” 

You threw a quick glance at the book he was referring to, Animal Farm, and for once you understood him. The piece wasn’t the most interesting literature in the world and Keeho wasn’t that hard to entertain so it was pretty shit. Books based on real-life stories or romance themed novels were his favorites; anything other than that was a no-go and wouldn’t keep him occupied for more than five minutes.

“Why can’t we read The Outsiders instead? It’s so much better and more realistic. Like, when are pigs ever overthrowing the government?”

You snorted and pushed your laptop aside, taking the book in your hands. The cover did little to lure you in and it was no surprise that Keeho found it boring. He was like a child, giving his undivided attention to anything flashy and colorful. You quickly flipped through the pages and nearly passed out at the never-ending words before putting it back down. 

“I’m pretty sure Orwell’s talking about the Russian Revolution back in the nineteen-hundred and the pigs are supposed to represent Trotsky and Stalin.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s still boring and doesn’t really call out to me.” 

You hummed in understanding, “You don’t have much of a choice, Kyo. Read it or don’t; you’ll still have to write an essay about it.”

Keeho whined in agony and smacked his forehead against the table, once, twice and on the third smack you hit the back of his head with the book. He jerked back up and rubbed the spot you just whacked, his hand running through his black hair, doing little to soothe the pain.

“What was that for?!”

The librarian, a woman old enough to be your grandmother, shushed him from her desk. Icy eyes were shooting daggers through her half-rimmed glasses and if it weren’t for her age Keeho would challenge her with a glare of his own.

“What was that for?” He repeated but in a whisper, glancing between you and the librarian, checking to see if she heard him now.

“To get you motivated. Now, read,” you hissed and turned back to your work, purposely ignoring the stare of Ms. Bang. She wanted you to shush, then you’d damn well stay shushed.

Keeho sighed obnoxiously and stilled as his gust of air reached your face, but you held your ground and played it off as nothing. You knew if you showed any sign of irritation he’d just continue to annoy you until you caved in and left for the day. With your determination you managed to stay rooted to your seats for a while and if it weren’t for Keeho’s yelp about being late to work, you’d probably be there a little longer. Hastily you threw your stuff in your bag and ran out of the library with Keeho in tow. You didn’t miss the scowling look of Ms. Bang. Knowing she didn’t sign up to deal with annoying brats when applying for her job, you offered her a tight-lipped smile as an apology.

“Tell Dasom I need her help after work!” Keeho shouted and sprinted down the street, not bothering to wait for the reply you still gave him.

“Text her yourself!”

Nonetheless you whipped out your phone and as you were about to unlock it, your eyes fell on the four digitals showing 11:50 AM. A low ‘shit’ slipped past your lips and identical to Keeho, you took off running towards the training facility. 

If you weren’t dressed and ready for practice in the next ten minutes, it’d be better if you never showed up. Your coach had a set of ground rules he established the moment you were assigned his trainee fifteen years ago.

Come on time, be presentable and ready.

Have a clear and motivated attitude. 

And most important of all, trust your coach.

Jung Hoseok, your coach, wasn’t stern per se. He was a really sweet and kindhearted man who taught you everything you knew about figure skating — from gliding backwards to your first upright spin — you owed this man everything. Although he had a kind soul, a heart shaped smile and dimpled cheeks, you knew better than to defy him. After all, it wasn’t his thoughtful persona that brought him success. Courage, discipline and taking risks did. 

Summoning all the cardio exercises done in life, you managed to turn the seven minute journey into five, sparing enough time to change into your practice clothes and skates. The October wind did little to prepare you for the chilly temperature inside; your nose, cheeks and ears were painfully cold despite the thick scarf wrapped around your head.

“In time as usual,” Hoseok commented as you walked out of the changing room, a whistle dangling down his neck and eyes cast on the clipboard in his hands.

“I’d never dare be late for your practice, Coach.”

“And I take pride in that. Now get on the ice, we have a lot to do.”

With that you took off your pink guards and did a little stretching. Routinely you wiped your hands down your thighs, you liked to imagine it as a way of leaving any misfortune off the rink. It was a silly thing you did years ago and it stuck with you since then.

“Again!”

The rite must have lost its charm because everything was going to shit. Not once did you finish the whole number, messing it up halfway through and being forced to go from the top only to fail on the same part.

You huffed out a clouding breath of air and skated back to the center of the rink. Mr. Jung watched you from the sidelines, sporting a frown so big you wanted to cry. His nose faced the ceiling and his arms crossed over his chest. It wasn’t a good sign, how could it be when you were messing up big time? You shied away from his piercing eyes and took your stance, one arm elegantly thrown over your head that followed its direction. The other hand was professionally relaxed by your side and legs steady on the blades. You started slowly just as the video showed you a handful of times. Gliding backwards and forwards, your arms moved in swirls as you gradually picked up the pace. The first jump wasn’t anything extravagant, a simple triple-toe loop. 

Easy, you thought after landing and prepared yourself for the next takeoff. 

The video you watched with Mr. Jung showed a recording of him doing the Salchow jump going straight into a sit-spin as the music quickened. 

It was hard to move to the sound of nothing besides your own breathing and blades scraping against the ice. With music you could at least time yourself better and get lost in the world of imagination. You held your breath as you pushed up from the ice with your right foot, doing a light spin and landing on your other blade then snapped into a sitting position with your left leg connected to the ground. The other was stretched out with its heel facing outward and your arms stacked on top of each other straight out in front of you. After the sixth spin you graciously straightened out your skating leg and stood up, arms moving to your chest and then forward again as you checked out. 

You continued sliding around the rink, building up tension and fully catching the attention of the imaginary audience. Your dominant foot continued facing forward and the other turned in the opposite direction, legs squatting to form a square. The core of your body flexed as you arched your back, creating a ‘C’ with your whole being. Cold kisses ghosted along your neck and ears, fingers an inch from the ground. With little to no effort you snapped back into an upright position and prepared yourself for the highlight of the choreography — the part you couldn’t land — a triple axel. The second you saw Mr. Jung’s number, you knew you’d be struggling. You were a good skater, but not a magician. A triple axel would take a lot more than some wishful thinking and an hour of practice.

Did that knowledge lighten the burden on your shoulders? Not in the slightest.

Nonetheless you approached the jump with confidence, the key to every success in life, and  prepared yourself to jump. With a steady breath and enough speed you kicked up from the ice and rotated in the air; once, twice, and three times before gravity pulled you down, starting the landing phase. The blade of your skates skimmed the ice and just as you thought you had landed it, you became one with the ground. 

Your thigh took the majority of the fall, but it still hurt and if you didn’t know any better you’d think your femur was broken. With shaky legs you stood back up on your skates. A whispered curse slipped out as you rubbed your knuckles along your thigh. You didn’t know what hurt more; falling or failing. The sound of a whistle cut through the arena before you could take your starting position. You halted in place and turned to Mr. Jung who held the same solemn expression throughout the whole number. The walk from the center to him was short and your lips pursed in disappointment. He was cutting practice short. It rarely happened, some days you’d even go over time. 

“We’ll stop there for today. I’ll send you the choreography. Study it thoroughly and come mentally prepared next time because we’re not quitting til you land it.”

You fiddled with your fingers and nodded at his words. 

“Great, get some rest until then, yeah?” 

“I’ll stay a little longer.”

He raised a brow, slightly surprised at your spirit. After your last fall he was sure you’d be frustrated beyond belief, too tired to continue and too angry to give up. He smacked his lips, “Alright, one hour tops. Don’t overwork yourself. Resting is a slow way to success but it’s still a way.”

Before Mr. Jung completely took his leave, he turned to you one more time. “I’ll be back to take my things. If you’re still here by then I’ll make sure you don’t attend the competition at all, understood?”

You jumped into a military stance, back straight and fingers pushed against the side of your head.

“Sir, yes, sir!”

You deflated the moment his figure disappeared behind the big metal doors. After fifteen years of skating under his watchful eyes, you knew his threat wasn’t an empty promise. Leave it to Mr. Jung to make you anxious about the competition months before D-Day. You squished your cheeks between your hands and delivered two slaps to each side of your face.

“C’mon, focus.” 

Ten tries, ten fails and ten bruises later zero progress was made. One would think you’d do better without Mr. Jung’s breathing down your neck like a dragon, but there you were barely landing a single axel. You were one fail away from ripping your hair out.

“Fuck me sideways. What the fuck is my problem?”

Skating with a jumbled mind would do you no good, so with a quick breathing practice you pushed all your thoughts aside and tried again. You swore it would be your last try before going home. 

Starting position. Triple-toe loop. Salchow jump into a sit-spin. Double axel. 

The muscles in your thighs and abdomen burned, begging you to stop. Before you could plummet to your knees and throw a mini-tantrum, clapping sounds echoed in the silent hall. You jerked your head up with a scowl on your face. The person had to be taunting you; nothing about that was applause worthy.

The last person you expected to encounter on a Tuesday afternoon, let alone receive praise from, was Hwang Hyunjin. The prettiest guy on campus. He looked just like the day you first saw him, unbelievably handsome. The top half of his black hair was hiding beneath a beanie; the rest fell to his neck and some strands obscured his face. A face sculpted by Phidas himself. Pink plump lips, big eyes and a slim nose. Taking in his relaxed form, eyes quickly roving over his broad chest and down to his slim waist, you thanked the heavens that he wasn’t your coach. You wouldn’t survive one session with him leaning against the border, hands gripping the border and veins appearing on his pale forearms, eyes trailing after you. 

Your heart slammed against your ribcage as he waved. The charming smile he gave you warmed your cheeks as a smile of your own grew. It was no wonder girls swooned over him, he truly was beautiful and this was him dressed in a simple black shirt and tights. He looked even better dressed up. Inching closer to where he was, you grabbed the railing and held onto it for dear life. Your legs wobbled like Bambi on ice and you weren’t ready to fall flat on your ass in front of your crush and fellow figure skater. A timid ‘hi’ fell from your lips and your heart landed a perfect triple axel as he greeted you back.

“Your program is great.”

You giggled like a schoolgirl and bashfully looked away, and then back at him again. “It’s not even near what it’s supposed to look like.”

This was the most you said to each other in the span of a year. You never did much talking besides polite ‘hellos’ and ‘goodbyes’ coming and going from the rink yet you knew more about him than your childhood best friend.

“Really?”

You mustered up a nod, afraid to embarrass yourself with words.

“Do you mind if I join you then?”

Whatever you did in your past life to earn this must have been something noble, perhaps serving a king or saving a village from starvation. You nodded again, your lips perking up and eyes shining with excitement. As Hyunjin faced away from you to put his skates on, you buried your head in your hands and bit back a worrisome squeal.

“By the way I’m not like doing this to coach you or anything. I just thought you looked a bit… distracted and could use some help to loosen up.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better I could really use the help, coach or not.”

He huffed a soft chuckle at your honesty and skated to the center of the rink with you behind. 

“I’m happy to be of service.” 

He mockingly bowed and you allowed yourself to laugh, feeling your whole body heat up despite the cool arena air.

“Okay, so put this on.” 

Hyunjin handed you his beanie and your eyes widened as the rest of his hair fell around his face. You wondered if it felt as soft as it looked. You gently pinched the black material between your hands — even his clothes were soft to the touch — and put it on. Hyunjin hummed as it covered your ears and head, then he gingerly reached out and pushed it over your eyes. 

“Can you see anything?”

“No.”

“Perfect. Just stay right there,” he said, his blades cutting the surface grew more and more distant by the second. There was a lot of trust put in his hands and you were starting to feel foolish, standing there like a stick figure with an expensive cap covering your sight.

“Do you hear me?”

Your head snapped towards his voice and you nodded. 

“Okay, come find me.”

The whole time you cautiously moved along the slippery ice you couldn’t help but think how silly it must look for outsiders. You conclude that if it weren’t for Hyunjin and your stuttering heart, you’d never agree to this. He continued speaking out in the open, some sentences long and others consisting of a word or two. Getting the hang of skating blindfolded you sped up, arms stretched out in case of toppling over and as you were about to give up, your left hand came in contact with a warm surface.

Hastily you snatched the hat off your head and blinked fast at the bright lightning. Your heart stilled as you looked into Hyunjin’s scrunched eyes, a wide and dare you say proud smile overtaking his features. The cold air nipped at his rosy cheeks and nose, even his ears, and your fingers itched to cover them. 

“Found me,” he chuckled at your struck expression, parted lips and raised brows. “Wanna go again?”

The game continued for a few more rounds and with every new try you channeled your concentration better. On top of that you trusted your other senses to get you across the ice without flying head first. Best of all you weren’t as flustered around Hyunjin anymore. The eye contact lasted longer and you weren’t a stuttering mess. The last round was going great. It was your fastest game yet. As Hyunjin called your name you thrusted your arm out, practically flinging yourself forward. Your fingers clasped around the air and not the warmth of Hyunjin’s body you expected. A panicked gasp died in your throat as your feet flew under you and back gravitated towards the ground. You braced yourself — as much as one could do — for a concussion. Instead of feeling the hard ground, arms wrap around you. One hand resting between your shoulder blades and the other on your lower back.

“Gotcha,” Hyunjin whispered.

On instinct you grabbed his shoulders and pulled yourself closer to him, chests nearly touching and noses inches away. You could see a faint beauty mark below his eye, a feature you hadn’t known of before and heat rose to your cheeks at the sudden proximity. 

“You good?” 

“Yeah,” you breathed out as he moved you upright, his hands respectfully resting against your hips while yours slid around his neck. Your head turned downward, too nervous to look him in the eyes. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Hyunjin opened his mouth, but you didn’t get to hear what he had to say as an agitating voice beat him to it.

“So the princess finally found her prince.”

You jumped from Hyunjin’s hold, his hands falling to his sides, creating a space big enough for two other people between you with your head whipping towards the entrance where a familiar figure stood, tall and bulky. The sly smirk painting his chiseled face was a sharp contrast to your scowling lips and wrinkled nose.

“And I see you’ve yet to find your manners.”

Something about Song Mingi brought out the devil in you. 

“You just have to ask nicely or is that too hard for you?”

The fifteen equally bulky guys all dressed in red and black gear behind him laughed at his remark. Children, they were a bunch of children. 

You threw them a glare they were more than acquainted with and in a poor attempt at masking your embarrassment, you kept your head down and stomped out of the rink, and walked through the group of guys that separated like a shoal of fish afraid of a great white shark. With record speed you grabbed your stuff and bolted for the changing rooms. Not once did you stop to think about the beautiful figure skater you left behind as your mind was occupied with intriguing images of delivering punches to the whole hockey team, starting from the shortest to the tallest. 

Bag slung over your shoulder and hands tucked deep in the pockets of your jacket, you strutted out of the arena. There was no way you’d head home now. Dasom had a group project she’d work on until late and you didn’t feel like being alone knowing the violent sound of bodies colliding and pucks sliding across ice would taunt you in the silence.

The bell above the ice cream parlor dinged as you stepped inside. The pleasant smell of freshly baked cones and vanilla extract hit you hard. The customers inside brushed you off, too immersed in their milkshakes and desserts to care about a girl with a scowl. 

“Hello and welcome to Kim’s ice cream parlor. How can I help you this fine ev– what the hell are you doing here?”

“Hello to you too, Kyo,” you greeted, dropping your bag on the floor by the counter seats. 

“Bad practice?”

“Try a bad day.”

You propped your elbows on the desk and tiredly leaned your chin on the palms of your hands. Keeho hummed, already preparing your usual order.

“Y’know I’m always up for some tea, but Jiung called in sick today so we’re one man short.”

You tried your best not to visibly deflate. The one time you needed to vent and get it out of your system no one was there. 

“That’s okay. S’nothing a banana split can’t fix, I guess.”

“Coming right up, sweetcheeks. It’s on the house just for you.”

New customers filled the little shop and you noticed your presence by the counter was still distracting Keeho so you did everyone a big favor and moved to a vacant seat by the big windows. The ice cream went down your throat and found its new home in your stomach. You’d usually be more strict with your food intake, having to be a certain weight and whatnot but some days just couldn’t be helped, especially when practice left you feeling like the biggest failure in the world and if that wasn’t enough then Mingi’s presence was a good enough reason to treat yourself.

Before taking your leave you sent Keeho a smile; he reciprocated and positioned his hand up to his cheek, the thumb and pinky finger extended in opposite directions. You chuckled at the gesture but nodded nonetheless. One way or another Keeho would end up hearing about your shitty day.

“Hello,” you called out as you gently threw your keys in the strawberry-shaped bowl — a housewarming gift by yours truly, Yoon Keeho — on the console table by the entrance.

“I’m in the kitchen!” 

You carelessly shrugged your coat off, allowing it to drop to the floor by your shoes and bag, before running off in her direction. Dasom softly hummed to a song playing on her laptop and you immediately relaxed as the melody reached your ears. There wasn’t a dent of worry in her life and you were grateful for that. At least one of you was in a good mood.

“Hey Dae-Dae,” you exhaled and plopped down on one of the four chairs around your dining table. 

Dasom wore a pink apron decorated with a big white heart over her knitted sweater and jeans, with a pair of matching mittens covering her hands. The apron was more for show than shielding her clothes from baking. 

“I’m baking cookies.” 

Minutes later you were sitting on the kitchen floor with a big plate of chocolate chip cookies between you and a cup of milk each. You picked up a cookie and moaned at its aroma of caramelized sugar and chocolate. Nevermind the banana split you inhaled twenty minutes ago, you were treating yourself for the rest of the night.

“How did the project go?” 

Dasom took a long sip of her milk trying to hide the way her lips curled upward. You nudged her thigh with your toe and wiggled your brows. 

“It’s exciting, a bit out of my comfort zone, but it’s still fun. We are actually working with the art majors. Everyone’s partnered with someone from the opposite class.” She dipped a cookie in her cup before continuing, “So the art majors have to write a poem about passion while we, creative writing majors, have to paint it.” 

“So the roles are reversed and how are you being graded on that exactly? Like no offense Dasom, but you kind of suck at drawing.”

“See that’s what I thought too, but the professors said we shouldn’t focus on how good our drawings are, but rather what it is we try to convey. Plus, they said we are paired up for a reason, so I guess we are supposed to ask each other for help?”

You hummed in understanding, it made more sense when she put it that way. “So who are you partnered with?”

“Kim Hongjoong.”

“The weird guy with the blue hair?”

“It’s black and white now, and he’s not weird, just… unobtrusive. Hongjoong’s actually kind,” she defended.

“Mmm, I don’t know Dae-Dae, it sounds awfully close to what you say about Mingi.”

Her invisible dog ears perked up and her tail wiggled excitedly from left to right. The hockey player was only ever mentioned after a run-in with the guy, both Keeho and Dasom knew that.

“Don’t keep me waiting!”

With another bite of your fourth cookie you spilled everything like an overflowing bucket. Starting from the study session to the unsuccessful practice and Hoseok’s disappointed look to the sweetest and most unreal moment with Hyunjin that was later ruined by Mingi–

“Oh my God!” 

Dasom dropped her cookie and jerked back, not expecting you to shriek like a banshee. “What?!”

The sudden realization of whose presence you forgot in the rink hit you like a truck. An uncomfortable heat twisted your guts as your thoughts began to spiral. You buried your head in your hands and as if that wasn’t enough he witnessed you explode on the whole hockey team, heard Mingi’s embarrassing taunts and watched you run out. 

“My outburst! I completely forgot about Hyunjin!”

“Oh…”

A silence settled over the kitchen. Neither of you knew what to say because what could one say in moments like these? A pat on the back and a somber smile would suffice although it wouldn’t ease your worries. A few seconds passed and Dasom eventually cleared her throat.

“You know what could be even worse? Like the cherry on top?”

Like a child, you peeked from behind your fingers. Eyes heavy and lips in a pout, “What?”

“Starting your period.”

Your childhood friend possessed an extravagant vocabulary with a cupboard full of advanced words and phrases. She could easily go on a poetic rampage about how you should see things from the brighter side or that some things happen for a reason. Yet she settled on a simplicity she knew would make you crack a smile.

“Amen to that.” 

You clinked your cups in a toast and downed the rest of the liquid like a shot. Milk clung to your upper lips like a childish white mustache and you broke out in laughter, pointing a finger to your index finger pointed at each other’s faces.

“I was thinking–”

“Uh oh, that never ends well.”

Dasom pouted and delivered a soft kick to your thigh. “Anyway, I was thinking we could have a girls’ night on Friday. Keeho’s invited too, obviously.”

“Obviously,” you chimed.

“We can paint our nails, watch movies and eat a lot of snacks. Whatcha say?”

Mentally picturing the schedule of the week, you figured you’d need a day off and agreed to her idea. 

The sharp noise of a whistle blew through the arena and the eighteen guys clad in hockey gear and skates gathered along the centerline. The first half of the players got into position and awaited the second signal from their coach while the rest of the team stood behind their designated partner. As the high-pitched sound cut through the silence, the first batch bolted from their marks and the remaining guys shimmied closer to the line.

There were a lot of fun things about hockey, like boarding your opponent or shutting down their offenses. The lesser good was receiving penalties or a game misconduct, but the absolutely worst thing about hockey was the cardio exercises. 

When Mingi signed up for hockey practice at the age of five, he didn’t think much would come out of it. He was too uncoordinated with his legs to play soccer and his towering height didn’t make him any better at basketball either, but hockey on the other hand… Everyone was clumsy when it came to skating on ice. Like newborn foals, they were all shaking on their skates with hockey gear too big for their little bodies and barely able to locate the puck through the grid on their heads, Mingi managed just fine. The gnawing thoughts of standing out and being the worst amongst his peers wasn’t something little Mingi entertained anymore. Instead, he focused on growing and being better at the sport he actually enjoyed playing. As he got older, hockey got more serious and his interest for the sport broadened. His role model changed from his dad to Kim Kisung, and his big collection of Pokemon cards was replaced by hockey ones instead.

The dunk of a gloved hand collided with his back and Mingi took off like a rocket. He wasn’t the fastest or the most agile on the team, but he was great at using his height to crush explosive little wingers and it was the secret recipe of what kept him able to go for so long in games. There was no bigger joy than putting a stop to other’s plays and when there wasn’t anyone to stop or pucks to steal, the hockey Mingi loved was something he loathed. The ripping and slicing of multiple blades on ice sounded through the arena and despite working out five out of seven days of the week, Mingi still felt out of breath as he stopped a few steps over the centerline.

“A new lap is added for each player that slows down!” The old man standing by the entrance barked. 

Mingi could feel all eyes turn to him and if he wasn’t so busy catching his own breath, he’d gift them all with a good ol’ ‘go fuck yourselves’. 

“You heard the man, Song. Don’t let him catch you slowing down.” 

Turning his head to the right, the smug face of Jungkook came into view. Jungkook was a prime example of little wingers Mingi expertised in crushing. The player (both off and on court) behaved like the youngest of the team, despite being one of Mingi’s seniors, which gave him immunity to everyone’s wrath.

“Don’t make me remind you how it’s to be sent flying into the borders, JK.”

Throwing a quick glance at their coach, Jungkook smacked Mingi in the back of his head, which did little to no damage and only meant the helmet was doing its job of protecting Mingi from concussions. 

“It’s Jungkook-hyung for you, brat.”

“Song! Jeon! Less talking, more skating!” 

There was in fact not less talking and more skating, and the penalty resulted with three more laps for the rest of the team and a bunch of curses hurled at the instigators. 

“I don’t get why you just don’t ignore him,” Intak complained as he wrapped a white towel around his waist and ran his hand through his wet strands. 

Mingi followed suit, his own towel similarly tied around his waist and another smaller one thrown over his head soaking up the water dripping from his hair. 

“You know how he is,” Mingi defended and plopped down on the bench to easier rummage through his bag for a change of clothes. “He’d just say something else until I finally explode.”

“I know, but bro, we’ve been doing bag skates for weeks now. One of you has to give in and it’s gotta be you.”

Living up to his zodiac sign, Mingi was awfully stubborn and a sore loser, there was no way he’d ever let up. 

“Yeah, sure I might as well let him trample all over me while we’re at it.”

Intak, who moved over to the square mirror attached to the wall, caught Mingi’s eyes in the reflection and his own widened as an imaginary light bulb popped over his head. Adjusting his red cap — a stark contrast to his bleached hair — he turned around and his mouth formed into a suppressed smirk that looked something between puckered lips and a smile. Weirded out by the smuggish-look on his friend’s face, Mingi reeled back and raised a brow.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason, no reason at all.”

“He probably just clocked why that figure skater puts up with your dumb shit,” Matthew or BM, as everyone referred to him as, answered and plopped down on the vacant spot between them.

BM was one of the guys who challenged Mingi in both height and mass. They were similar in body proportion, but BM carried more muscle and had a few years on him, not to mention he was a force to be reckoned with in the defense zone. Definitely a key player of the Blue Wolves. 

“Puts up with my dumb shit?”

“Yeah, all that teasin’ and makin’ fun of her.”

Scratching the back of his head, Mingi didn’t quite get what they meant. He wasn’t really making fun of you per se. They were just harmless jokes and, well, you did actually hog the rink for the past few weeks and you were so easy to rile up. 

Throwing a black hoodie over his head, BM filled the silence that came with Mingi’s thinking. “I get she’s cute, but we’re past that boys-pick-on-girls-they-like typa bullshit.”

“I don’t think she’s cute,” Mingi retaliated.

“Nah, every girl is a lil cute and that one is definitely cute.”

“What’s this? Tea time and you don’t invite the Jeon Jungkook?” The winger threw an arm around Mingi’s shoulder, and a whiff of fabric softener and pear reached his sinuses.  

“Didn’t need to, we knew you’d invite yourself anyway,” Mingi muttered and jabbed a thumb into the older’s side that immediately freed him from the unpleasant hold.

Jungkook scrambled to the opposite side, legs spread wide and forearms falling back on the wooden railing of the bench. 

“Don’t be mean just because you can’t talk to girls like the rest of us.”

Growing more agitated the longer the conversation went on, Mingi threw his stinky jersey at Jungkook and snapped, “The fuck you mean I can’t talk to girls?”

“Last time I checked, you don’t need to fuck up a girl’s phone to get her number, but I do have to say it’s an interesting technique. Tell me how it goes for ya, why don’t you?” Jungkook scrunched the shirt into a ball and threw it back at its owner, who caught it with ease. 

“Oh, fuck you. It was an accident.”

Another arm wrapped around Mingi’s neck and his face was pushed up against a clothed torso. The unpleasant and slightly painful feel of someone’s knuckled rubbing against the top of his head pulled out a string of winces.

“First you can’t talk to girls and now you’re disrespecting your elders? C’mon, Mango, don’t make me hand you your ass,” BM threatened with a grin, showing off his overly white teeth.

“Yah, that hurts!” Mingi somehow managed to escape BM’s iron grip and caressed his hair back into place.

“Serves you right, you punk.”

“I think Jungkook-hyung’s right though. Like, don’t you think it’s a bit excessive? I mean, yeah she’s annoying and shit, but dude, fucking up her phone?” Intak voiced as he zipped up his jacket and slung his bag around one shoulder.

“It was an accident and it’s not like I’m the only one to blame. You guys were in on it too!”

The deep chuckle of Jungkook diverted everyone’s attention to him. “We agreed on you distracting her, not destroying her things, baby chick. She’s better than me, if I was her and a guy did that to me, I’d be fuming.”

“Yeah, but what about that time she spilled apple juice on my shirt. On my favorite shirt!”

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t taken the last drink, her favorite drink in fact, what was it again?”

“Strawberry milk,” Mingi answered without missing a beat and had everyone taken back at the quick reply.

“...Anyway, as I was saying. If you hadn’t taken the last of her favorite drink in the cafeteria, she wouldn’t have poured the apple juice all over you.”

“So that excuses it!?”

BM stood up with Intak and Jungkook in tow, all dressed and ready to leave except for Mingi who still sat in his boxers and just a pair of socks on his feet.

“Considering you’ve been a douche toward her… Yes, yes it does,” BM answered and tucked the hood over his neon green hair.

“When was I a douche toward her?”

“Jeez, I don’t know how ‘bout the time she nearly fell on her ass and you made that whole prince charming comment. What was that about anyway?”

Jungkook butted in and leaned against BM. “Yeah, what was that about? You jealous of the prince snatching your girl, Song?”

“She’s not my girl and I’m not jealous of a guy doing some loops on ice and calling it a sport…”

The rowdy boys quietened down at the sudden jab. Books and movies presented hockey players to have a burning hatred for figure skaters, and while that could be true, it wasn’t necessarily amongst the Blue Wolves. They didn’t really care all that much about the sport or the athletes, but they knew the amount of hard work and effort that went into figure skating, making it a hobby far more respected than soccer. They also knew that Mingi wasn’t really thinking that and only let his fiery thoughts get the best of him. Nonetheless, it wasn’t cool and while they were already on the path of calling him out, why not follow through.

“No need to be a dick, Hyung.”

Jaw going slack, Mingi threw his hands out towards Intak. “So I get shit for calling you guys nicknames, but he gets to outright call me a dick?!”

“Did he lie tho?”

One after another, they left the changing room with Jungkook getting the last word.

“Better hurry, baby chick, or you’ll be late for class! Remember, girls may like dicks, but not when you’re acting like one.”

Balancing between schoolwork and perfecting the triple axel, you hadn’t even noticed how quickly Wednesday and Thursday flew by. Keeho burst through your door with grocery bags in his hands and a giggly Dasom hot on his heels, a little Hello Kitty tote bag hanging off her shoulder.

“Bow down bitches, bow-bow down bitches!”

Quite literally you fell off the sofa, legs tangled in your soft blanket and some drool on the side of your face. 

“What the–”

“Wake up sleepyhead, it’s time to partyyyy,” Keeho hollered and raised the plastic bags in the air. The various bottles of alcohol, chips and popcorn reminded you what day it was.

While Dasom and Keeho prepared things in the kitchen, you were ushered to the bathroom to ‘wash the drowsiness away’ as Keeho worded it. They lasted five minutes without creating chaos and by the time you returned Keeho was sliding across your kitchen with his pink fuzzy socks on, dancing to Lady Gaga’s Monster while Dasom whipped together a peanut butter cookie batter.

You were still not entirely awake and couldn’t decide if everything was just a crazy dream or not. Without giving it another thought you threw a bag of dried kernels into your microwave and helped Dasom with the baking.

“Oh, can you like make this pinky have a red heart and the other a green one?” 

Dasom nodded at Keeho’s question and gently blew on his white nails. You watched them from your seat on the couch, patiently waiting for your turn. Keeho lay on his stomach, legs dangling in the air, and Dasom sat in a pretzel position with various nail polishes and pearls scattered in small bowls on the floor.

“We are having so much fun you guys.”

“Stay still please.”

“Sorry, Dae-Dae.”

A game of rock-paper-scissors decided who painted whose nails. You groaned as Keeho won and chose Dasom to fix his, leaving your fingers in his hands. It was no surprise that Keeho’s turned out to be the prettiest and yours the ugliest. Out of the three of you, he was the shittiest artist with Dasom as a close second but at least her hands were steady.

“Okay, as the winner I say we watch Coraline.”

“Slow down, you won for the nails not the movie.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh! Dasom tell him.”

After another game of rock-paper-scissors and another victory for Keeho, you had no choice but to put the movie on despite your protests about Halloween being a month away.

“It’s probably a shit movie anyway,” you said and leaned into Keeho’s side, repositioning your head so it was comfortable against his shoulder. Dasom found herself in a similar position on the other side. You each cradled a bowl of popcorn and chips.

“...You haven’t seen Coraline?”

“Uhm, was I supposed to?”

“Were you supposed to?! I should smack you right into the Other World with your Other Mother!” 

Your brows rose at his comment. A bit confused as to what this Other World was and why he referred to your mom as the Other Mother.

“Smack me and I’ll have the cops on you faster than you can say–”

“Big boobs?”

A pinch of his bicep between your thumb and forefinger quickly shut him up and Dasom took it as her cue to dim the lights and start the film. It wasn’t anything extraordinary, sure it was a bit sad, dramatic and hectic even, but not enough to work your tear ducts.

“Honestly speaking, and I mean honestly speaking, the Other Mother is kinda hot.”

“I wish you knew when to shut up.” You pushed Keeho and stuffed his mouth with popcorn. Dasom giggled at how quick the atmosphere changed, but then shushed you as the movie took a dark turn.

“Ya, ya. Whatever.” Keeho stood up and cracked his back before turning the lights back on, completely ignoring Dasom’s whiny protests. “You know what this calls for? Some driiiiinks!” 

In seconds the night turned from a chill girls’ night to a full blown party.

A widely popular song blasted from Keeho’s portable speaker and he couldn’t help but swing along to the sound. His ears were a burning red after two bottles of soju, but the rest of his face was white as snow. Dasom, on the other hand, looked pretty flushed all over. Her cheeks were as red as her hair and she could barely stand up without falling on her ass. She was alright though, her never ending giggles told you that. She was a cute drunk, unlike Keeho who was crazy and had you constantly reminding him why he couldn’t twerk on your coffee table.

“Y’know…” Keeho flung his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his side. The sweet smell of strawberry soju on his tongue was pleasant to your nose. “Hyunjin asked about you today.”

The statement immediately sobered you up and the dizziness wasn’t from the alcohol anymore. They both saw a spark of hope light up in your eyes and Dasom ‘oohed’ as you whipped your head towards Keeho. You licked your lips and dried your clammy hands on your trousers. 

The only thing they had in common was being seniors and last time you checked Keeho wasn’t acquainted with any of Hyunjin’s friends either. They had no reason to converse — one being an arts major and figure skater while the other was studying English literature and was a cheerleader — besides you.

“Really?”

He hummed and sluggishly continued talking, you could barely make out what he was saying. “He ash-ked if you were-rer alrigh-t.”

Another teasing hoot came from Dasom which Keeho chimed in on with a squeeze to your shoulder. Your face burned and you knew damn well it wasn’t because of the alcohol flowing through your veins. 

“An–and what did you say?” You fanned your face. It was really getting hot in there and Keeho’s clinginess wasn’t helping you.

As the song faded into the next one Keeho gasped at the familiar lyrics coming from the speakers and immediately untangled himself from you to turn the volume up.

“I love this song!” 

He grabbed Dasom by her hands and twirled her around the room, her childish giggles mixing in with the funky beat and Keeho’s loud singing. In any other circumstance you’d be angry at how absentminded he was, but the boy gave you some good information and was thus easily forgiven. The thought of Hyunjin asking about you was surreal. You were certain your prissy attitude would change his perception of you — whatever that was you didn’t know — but apparently not. More heat crawled up your spine, making your cheeks burn uncomfortably. You pressed your cold hands to your face in an attempt to cool down. 

Your mouth broke out into a huge grin when it finally dawned on you. 

Hyunjin asked about you. Hyunjin asked about you. Hyunjin asked about you. 

The rest of the night was a blur and some moments were faintly secured in your memory. You remember dancing, singing, laughing and drinking. A lot of drinking. A never-ending buzz sounded through the whole apartment. With a moan of agony you pulled the covers over your head and snuggled violently against the cushions of the sofa. Suddenly it went quiet and you exhaled in relief. Thinking you’d be able to squeeze in another hour of sleep, you turned around only to groan again as the noise came back.

“Why do you have the alarm on? It’s Saturday,” Keeho said, a tint of annoyance in his grogginess.

“I have to… meet up for ah… projec–th. Can’t be late.”

Whoever invented alcohol should be charged with decapitation for not inventing a cure for hangovers.

“What the hell did you put in our drinks, Kyo?” You arose from your position on the couch, lightly clutching your throbbing head. All your limbs ached and you wished the world would go back to sleep again. 

“Uh– don’t ask me. I don’t even know my name right now.”

The rest of the morning was spent puking and shuffling with blankets wrapped around you like tortillas. None of you were up for small talk, the hangover clung to you like never before and you collectively blamed Keeho for buying so much soju. 

“Oh, shut it. You’re at least well enough to talk. Poor Dae-Dae can’t even open her eyes.”

Said girl grunted out a noise of agreement and gratitude as Keeho gently placed a wet rag on the upper part of her face. True to his words, Dasom was faring the worst. She always struggled with alcohol, both in downing it and the aftermath.

“You shouldn’t drink if you’re going to be this cranky,” you said matter-of-factly and massaged Dasom’s calves.

He gave you a nasty look and rolled his eyes. “Whatever! I’m taking a shower, losers.”

“What a douche.” 

Dasom grunted again, her way of telling you to be nice. 

“Yeah, yeah, go back to sleep or you’ll drool all over your project.”

As the minute hand showed five minutes to eleven you gathered all the empty soju bottles in a bag and gave them to Keeho, a polite way of kicking him out, and then pushed Dasom to take a shower before she took her leave. With those two out of your hair, you turned to the living room and took in the sight of chaos. There were crumbs, glitter and drops of alcohol on the floor and coffee table, nail polish everywhere and nowhere, and dishes in places you never thought you’d see. You pulled back the invisible sleeves of your nightgown and began cleaning up the mess. On a positive note you didn’t have to throw the trash out and could immediately start with the dishes. Then you vacuumed the living room after wiping down every crevice you could reach and continued into the bathroom. To your luck Keeho didn’t puke his intestines out, only Dasom who still had a sense of direction in her hazy state so the toilet seat wasn’t drenched in her stomach acid and lunch. While you were at it you changed the sheets in your bedroom and loaded the washing machine with clothes from your and Dasom’s bedrooms.

At last you too jumped in the shower and stayed there until the warm water ran out. With a tub of ice cream and a towel wrapped around your head, you relaxed in bed. A fresh set of pajamas clung to your body as you wiggled under the clean covers. God, how you missed your bed and privacy. 

By the time you were done with the ice cream and two movies of a random trilogy, the sky turned a pretty dark color which reminded you of last night’s shenanigans. You glanced down at your fingers and laughed at the badly painted nails. The second Keeho laid eyes on the dark blue nail polish — or galaxy blue according to him — he announced his masterplan; a galaxy theme. The first coat was alright, but then as he got his hands on the silver glitter everything went downhill. Your nails were uneven, some having more blue and others drowning in glitter. There was nothing you could do about it or he’d sulk for a week straight, claiming you weren’t a real friend and favored Dasom over him which wasn’t not true but he didn’t need to know that.

As you started the third movie your phone went off with a ding. Your heart fluttered inside your chest when you picked up the phone and saw who was disturbing your ‘me-time’.

Unknown ID [07:35 PM] hey it’s hyunjin

The spoon full of melted ice cream slipped from your hands right onto your lavender sheets. A low ‘fuck’ echoed in the room at the same time as you received one more message.

Unknown ID [07:35 PM] keeho gave me your number

You didn’t know whether you wanted to kiss his cheeks or strangle him. Partially grateful, partially annoyed. Grateful Keeho had half a mind to slip Hyunjin your number and was annoyed that he completely forgot to tell you about this little piece of information during his drunken dancing.

With shaky hands you tapped in a reply and immediately facepalmed as you hit the send button.

You [07:39 PM] Hi Hyunjin :3

Before you could rip your hair out at the choice of emoticon, the front door opened and a cheery Dasom stumbled into your bedroom with rosy cheeks and hair slightly disheveled, looking like a combination of flustered and cold that you didn’t put a lot of thought into. 

Cutting right to the case, you said, “Hyunjin texted me.”

She let out a squeal of pure joy and leapt onto your bed, her heavy book bag forgotten on the tidy floor as she pried noisily on your phone.

Hyunjin [07:40 PM] you up for another practice tgt?

“Say yes, say yes, say yes, say yes!” She shook your arm violently, phone barely staying in your hands.

You [07:40 PM]  That’d be nice

The device was flung across your bed, landing face down as you both sat in silence. It lasted for five seconds until another message came through. You cast a glance at Dasom who was already looking at you, and then in slow motion you both dove for the phone. She landed on top of you, nearly knocking the breath out of your lungs, but you came out the winner with your hands wrapped around the phone.

“I’m scared,” you confessed and pulled the phone up to your chest. A nervous smile tugged at your lips. 

“Just look!” 

Hyunjin [07:42 PM] you free this friday, 9 am?

You angled the screen so Dasom could look too. 

“What do I say?”

“What do you say?” She smiled. “Yes, of course!”

“I mean obviously, but how do I say it? I don’t want to come off too excited.”

She gestured grabby-hands and you handed her the phone. Her thumbs flew across the digital keyboard and she bit down on her bottom lip, suppressing her giggles. You’d be giggling with her if it wasn’t your fate in her hands. She returned the phone and dashed to her room. 

You [07:42 PM] Lucky you, I can just squeeze you into my packed schedule

Hyunjin [07:43 PM] see you then busy girl

You scanned the message twice to make sure you read it correctly. 

“Dasom!”

Her childish giggle could be heard all the way from her room and if it weren’t for your heart almost bursting out of your chest you’d show her a thing or two about loyalty. Instead you hid under the covers. A big, warm tingling sensation filled your stomach and spread to your beating organ. You couldn’t stop thinking about the messages, picturing Hyunjin saying those things in real life. It had you kicking your feet like those lovesick girls in movies and you didn’t catch a wink of sleep that night.

If fifteen years of school taught you anything it was to never have high expectations. Big dreams and hopes were destined to be crushed and you could confidently vouch for that, yet there you were; with your head in the clouds and heart on your sleeves thinking this week would be the best week of your life.

As if sensing happiness floating in the lecture hall, your professor burst your bubble with one decision. The essay he assigned for Saturday was moved to Friday with the deadline at twelve PM. Your original plan of doing absolutely nothing all week and writing it in one sitting on Friday was already altered because of Hyunjin and now you had to change it again. Instead of spending your Wednesday morning huddled in bed with a warm beverage watching the latest episode of your new kdrama, you were in the library under the watchful eyes of Ms. Bang.

The library was full of students. You stood idly by the door and scanned the room for a vacant seat or table to squeeze into. Finals were just around the corner and everyone had the great idea of revising material before and after school hours. At last you found an empty table big enough for two and quickly skirted around the hoard of people, praying to reach it before anyone else.

A confetti popper went off in your head as you sat down. All you had to do now was get started which was easier said than done. The caret on the blank document ticked like a bomb, reminding you of the time you wasted thinking about nothing yet seeming so deep in thought. With narrowed eyes and lips in an angry pout, no one dared to occupy the chair in front of you.

That no one turned into someone.

You didn’t feel them sit down in the vacant seat. You didn’t see them, too occupied having a stare-off with your laptop. One moment there was no one there and the next moment a six foot-something tall hockey player plopped down from the sky, probably being outcast from heaven.

“You good there, princess?”

You reeled back, momentarily stunned by the unexpected presence. Mingi grinned at your reaction and sat back. Very satisfied with his work. As he readied his own computer, you took in his appearance and found yourself growing more irritated. There was no denying that he was attractive. Thick pink lips, a straight and sharp nose and a very prominent jaw. His brown eyes were surprisingly relaxed and didn’t resemble those of a fox. The boy was even blessed with not one, but two moles. You huffed as he made the moss green knitted sweater look good, even though it was ugly.

You sighed and kissed your teeth, “Why are you here?”

Although he tried acting offended, the sly smirk he didn’t bother hiding told you otherwise. You averted your gaze back to your computer. His face was starting to annoy you.

“What do you mean?” He asked ever so innocently.

“This table, my table. Why are you here?”

“The library is a public space and I’m here to study.”

You chuckled as if it were funny. “Since when do you study, Song?”

“Careful, princess or I’ll think you’re interested in me. Asking all these questions, what’s next you’ll ask for my phone number?”

“Oh, fuck you.”

Mingi leaned on the table and rested his sharp chin against the palm of his hand. He suggestively ran his fingers through his creme colored highlights and grinned wolfishly. 

“Your place or mine?”

Your knee hit the underside of the table jarring Mingi’s water bottle. Pain flared and you bit back a wince, hastily rubbing against the jeans-clad skin. You didn’t miss the aggravated look Ms. Bang gave you. 

“I’ll take that as a no.”

The glare you shot him worked like a domino effect as he raised one brow menacingly asking, “What did I do?”

“If you’re gonna sit here then be quiet. I’m only tolerating you for so long, Song.”

“Didn’t peg you for a rapper, princess.”

“Don’t,” you drove your feet into his shin, “call me that.” 

The table jerked again — twice as much — and you received yet another disapproving stare from the librarian, but you didn’t care. The revenge was satisfying and you couldn’t help but marvel at his temporary pain. Your first thought as he sat down was that you’d be at each other’s throats, but to your surprise there wasn’t any bloodshed. Silence took over the table as you both worked diligently, and it was only possible because you were still ignoring each other’s presence. Sometimes you’d peek at him and be taken back at how calm and gentle he looked. The smirk you despised was nowhere to be seen, his lips parted in concentration and his eyes were void of any malice. They were warm like your morning coffee and as soft as the sand on Daecheon Beach.

“Is my handsome face distracting you?”

Then the thin line between tolerating and accepting was blurred, leaving you to work with nothing.

“In your dreams.”

“Yeah, you are. Especially at night…when I’m alone with no one to fix my–”

“I swear to God if you don’t shut the fuck up,” you hissed through your teeth and slammed your hand on the table.

The ruckus was drowned out by the sound of multiple fingers tapping against keyboards and the haste of flipping pages, but it didn’t go unnoticed by Ms. Bang. She hushed you with a long ‘shhh’ and you gulped and sank in your seat with Mingi’s broad figure hiding you from her. The woman probably hated you by now. If it wasn’t Keeho who got you into trouble then it was some other idiot.

You couldn’t stand Mingi and he lived to annoy you, but there was an unspoken understanding to put your differences aside for the time being. With another try, you returned to the empty screen and he went back to his. The silent and unofficial pact lasted for a hot minute.

“You know, I don’t usually have a thing for feisty girls but–”

You shut your eyes and sighed heavily. He was really testing your patience which wasn’t anything new really, but he was extra persistent today.

“–you were kinda hot like that. All angry and snappy, and that thing you did with your lips. Right, just like that!”

You sneered in disgust. This was the chance for Dasom and Keeho to prove their friendship because you were about to murder him and someone had to pay for your bail.

“Go back to your mediocre porn and keep your weird fantasies away from me.”

“You know me so well, angel. Wanna re-enact it? The one I usually watch has your hair color.”

“Are you fucking crazy?!”

Everyone stopped at the sudden outburst. It felt like a spotlight was cast over your table, like you were the lead in a play. The click-clack of Ms.Bang’s kitten heels moved fast along the tiled floor and you knew you were fucked. The gray haired woman reached your table and peered down at you with so much venom that it could make a flower wilt. 

“It’s the third time you’ve disturbed the peace in my library. I’ll kindly ask you to pack your things and leave or I’ll have to call security. I’m thoroughly disappointed in you, young lady.”

You felt embarrassed, face hot as you stood up and bowed sharply, “I’m so sorry, Ms. Bang.”

“And you, Mister. You’d think a grown man would have more respect for himself and those around him. I want both of you out, right this instance.”

Much like you, Mingi got up — albeit a bit slower — and bobbed his head up and down, muttering a quiet apology. Whispered murmurs spread through the library as the students resumed their studies. You hastily took your things and darted outside, not sparing anyone any glances. Ms. Bang didn’t return to her post until she witnessed you both walk out the door.

Fuck Mingi. Fuck Ms. Bang. Fuck your professor. Fuck the essay–

“Would you wait up?”

The man you wanted to see least of all stopped in front of you. Curse him and his long legs.

You peered up at him. The audacity of this guy. “No, Mingi. I don’t want to slow down because I don’t want to look at you! Let alone wait up.”

“Okay, calm down. It’s not that big of a deal,” he mumbled and scratched the back of his neck. Things were getting out of hand and he wasn’t used to seeing you this mad.

“Don’t tell me to fucking calm down. You got me kicked out of the library, in front of everyone! Do you know how embarrassing that is?!”

“Hey, I was kicked out too!”

“You’re a guy! No one cares about you, but me? My reputation could be ruined, they’ll see me as a delinquent!”

“Oh, get over yourself. You were kicked out of the library, not arrested for snorting coke.”

Your tongue poked the side of your cheek. “You’re a real fucking asshole.” 

You cursed your voice for wobbling and stepped around him, continuing your walk home. Mingi stood rooted to the ground and watched as you stormed off. He clicked his tongue and went the other way. 

You were blowing things out of proportion. Who cared what people thought of you anyway? Stopping by a red light and staring off into nothing, he tried wrapping his head around your logic. You were a figure skater — a performer — you needed to grow thicker skin. People would always judge you, both on and off the rink. How could you be so easily affected by a measly little hag? Mingi blew out an air of frustration. You really were something else. 

The red light was running longer than usual and he was growing more impatient with each passing second. Mingi patted the front of his hair and thought back to the conversation with his friends.

“No need to be a dick, Hyung.”

The seven-word-long sentence struck a chord in him. Too blinded by his own bruised ego, Mingi didn’t want to believe his faults that day in the locker room, but as a sour, unripe apple faded into a deep red, Mingi too matured and realized he was in fact acting like a dick. It was clear his words hurt you, it was evident from the slight timber in your voice. A tone he was all too familiar with from his childhood days. A snivel he let out trying to suppress his childish tears from countless scraped knees and bee stings. A voice so suffocating and uncomfortable, as if a thick ball was shoved down his windpipe. He hated it — the feeling of not being able to breathe, being in control of his own body — even as he transitioned into his adult years. 

A heavy weight dropped in his stomach at the thought of you feeling that way because of him.

“For fuck’s sake.”

Mingi hastily turned around and awkwardly jogged back to where he last saw you. Slowing down by the entrance gates of the local library, he caught a glimpse of your angry-walking figure among the sea of students. Eyes set on you, his feet moved on their own and skillfully avoided the people. Right as he parted his lips to call for you, something hard rocked right into his chest or the other way around, Mingi wasn’t sure. Tearing his sight from you and at the person that was the equivalent of a brick wall, Mingi opened his mouth to apologize only to stop mid word.

“You good there, Song?”

What was it with people addressing him with his last name. His parents did give him a real name for a reason. 

Hate was a strongly charged word and from a young age, Mingi never felt hatred towards anyone. The closest thing he’d come to hate was dislike. He disliked bugs and vegetables, and he really disliked cardio. 

That was until he met Bang Chan, the winger of Red Tigers — a hockey team under TOP University — and also the most annoying man in the world. Mingi hated Chan with a burning passion. Was it because of something childish? Probably. Would Mingi ever admit it? Probably not.

“What’s it to you, Chris?”

If it weren’t for Mingi’s towering height making him look years older than Chan, passersby would have shot him a dirty look for the lack of honorifics used, but Mingi didn’t care. Honorifics were made to show a clear difference in hierarchy and nowadays it was to show respect to either elders or superiors. Mingi held no respect for the shrimp of a man and Chris wasn’t a superior in his eyes.

Chan chuckled and ran his hand through his blonde locks. “Considering I don’t really give a fuck about you, I’d say nothing.”

The grit of Mingi’s teeth clashing against each other and sharpening his jaw, had a cocky smile spreading across Chan’s face. 

“Oh, don’t say you thought I was worried about you.” 

The day Mingi first met Chan was right before a game between the Blue Wolves and Red Tigers. The younger had been told about the talented winger, warned of his skills and malicious ways of getting under people’s skin. Being still relatively new to the team, Mingi heeded the words of his seniors and promised to stay cool headed and free from penalties. The promise lasted for a good ten minutes into the first period until Mingi sprung into action, violating a handful of rules and knocking Chan off his skates. Each and every game after that where the two hockey players simultaneously skated the rink was a brawl waiting to happen.

“The only time I think of you is either with a broken nose or a losing score.”

“So you do think of me. Well I’d say I’m flattered, but you're not really my type, Song. I’m more into lanky boys with freckles and not whatever it is you are.”

Violence was never the answer, was what a lot of educational books said, yet they could never explain the therapeutic release of pent up anger that released as Mingi’s fist would connect with the winger’s face.

Eyes steering away from Chan’s cheesed ones, Mingi pinpointed you moving further and further into the crowd, slowly weaving and blending in with the other people. While he wasn’t all that keen on talking with you — still having a trouble making out what he was going to say — he’d rather stand empty minded before you and not entertain the clown in front of him. Besides, if acted out of line his seniors would never let him live it down, maybe even go the great length of convincing their coach to keep him benched for the rest of the season.

“I don’t have time for you, Chris. We’ll settle everything on the ice, until then stay the fuck away from me.”

Shoulders colliding and their mouths curling into a C — one up and the other down — Mingi went after you just like he initially planned before the universe threw an obstacle in his way.

The multiple calls of your name echoed like a wordless siren song, manipulating you to slow down only to break off the cures and walk faster as you realized who the voice belonged to.

“God, you walk fast,” Mingi huffed as he caught up to you.

For an active hockey player you’d think his stamina would be out of this world. Apparently not seeing how his chest rose rapidly, stretching his gorgeous musc– 

“What do you want?” 

“How you feeling about food? You hungry? It’s my treat.”

“Ha-ha, you’re so funny.”

Mingi skipped in front of you and rotated midstep so he walked backwards facing you, “I’m serious. You up for some fried chicken?

“I already told you to fuck off, don’t make me scream stalker too.”

���I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“Look I wanna make it up to you. At least take this.”

He searched for something in his jean pocket and then held out two crumpled bills. The glare he received was sharp enough to cut through concrete and Mingi gulped as the corners of your lips gravitated down. Your hand itched to slap the mocking papers out of his grasp and scream something along the lines of him being an asshole. As if he hadn’t humiliated you enough, now he was offering you money like you were a beggar.

“I’m not up for any of your jokes, Song. Just leave. Me. Alone.”

“No, I’m being for real.”

You hit the brakes and stared at him hoping to find the smallest of hints that he was fucking with you. “What game are you playing at, huh? You’ve already publicly humiliated me once, you wanna go for round two, is that it?”

He scoffed at your hostility and stuffed the dollars back in his pocket. “I’m not always out to annoy you, princess.”

The small movement of your brows drawing together brought out a forced cough. He had yet to make it up for you and he was already fucking it up.

“Believe it or not, but I just want to make things right.”

“Why?”

Mingi opened his mouth and closed it again. Words swirled in his head but no answer came to his mind. The question was righteous, he’d give you that. Coming up with an answer proved to be difficult when he too didn’t know what had gotten into him or why the sudden surge of goodness turned him into Lady Justice. A measly ‘I don’t know’ wouldn’t get him anywhere so with eyes that reflected the stars and lips forming into a pout he mustered the softest, “I actually… feel bad for the library… and your phone.”

Your eyes filtered over his face. This was the most vulnerable you’d ever seen him and you had to remind yourself that this was the same guy who knocked you off your skates, coughed in your lunch and flicked your forehead every chance possible. 

“I don’t buy it.”

Turning on your heel, you decided to go the long way home, hoping he’d take the final hint and leave you alone. Honestly, you should’ve known better.

“You would if I was a certain figure skater.” 

Your head whipped back around so fast that you nearly got whiplash and he’d have to take you to the hospital. 

“That’s not true!” Your face burned at the mention of Hyunjin or perhaps at Mingi’s observation. Did he always keep tabs on you or the people you associated yourself with?

He stepped closer, your breaths mixing in the cold wind.

“Prove it.” 

The bear trap planted in the middle of the trail couldn’t have been more evident yet you still stepped on it with both feet. Sitting in a dimly lit coffee shop waiting for the tall bastard to come back with your orders was not on your yearly bingo card. There were a handful of reasons you agreed to his stupid idea. Your keys were in your other jacket, which was collecting dust in your wardrobe. Dasom was working on her project at Hongjoong’s so the apartment was empty. The sky was turning darker with each passing second and you were not about to sit idly on the stairs of your apartment complex, especially not at night.

A strawberry frappuccino slid in front of you and popped your thoughts like a dart would a balloon. Mingi hung his jacket around a chair opposite you and sat down, much like in the library. He avoided your gaze and took a long sip of his green tea mocha. You didn’t touch your drink despite it being your favorite — you pushed the thought of it being a coincidence or not to the back of your mind — and continued staring at him. He eventually faced you and nearly choked on the beverage. 

“Why are you staring at me?” 

“I’m admiring your act.”

“What act?”

“This goody-two shoe thingy you’re trying to pull off.”

He chuckled and looked down at his drink, fingers tracing circles on the paper logo. 

“You’ve really got your head way in on that. There is no act. I said it earlier, I just felt bad for getting you thrown out.” The cup was left alone and his eyes found yours. 

“And that’s what I don’t get. You’ve been a douche for a whole year, what makes today so different from last month? Why do you care now?”

“Are you going to drink that?”

You weren’t drinking anything until he fessed up and it was clear from the scrunch of your brows and how your lips pursed, conveying that perfect amount of sassiness.

Mingi never stopped overthinking what the hell he was doing. On the walk there, during his stunt of convincing you and in the short time he stood in line waiting to order. He racked his mind for answers and came up with nothing. The blob of anxiety dug into his abdomen the more he replayed the library scene. It was different from all his previous harmless teasing and bickering. It was fun, but not in a sadistic way. Seeing you get so angry and flustered over a simple nickname tickled his insides, yet he never intended to get you into trouble let alone be the reason you got scolded and on top of that kicked out of a public place under a hundred watchful eyes. But being Mingi, the guy you apparently hated the most, he couldn’t say all that. You’d really think he was playing you, which you had every right to believe.

With another sip of his tea, he shrugged his shoulders and said, “It’s called having a change of heart.”

You scoffed and allowed yourself to taste the stupid drink. It wasn’t like you could just go home anyway and it was easier to just give in and not make his money go to waste, no matter how annoying he was.

“Happy?”

A sarcastic hum weaved through the air of the chattering customers. The conversation ended at that point and you couldn’t stop thinking about your precious time being spent doing absolutely nothing. An all nighter was bound to happen or you’d say bye-bye to morning practice with Hyunjin.

The soft and irritating buzz of Mingi’s phone burned holes in his pocket. When you thought about it, the person hadn’t stopped calling him since you stepped foot in the shop and if you cared enough you’d tell him to take the call. Glancing down at the caller ID, Mingi pursed his lips into a line.

It didn’t take a genius to know why Intak was pestering him. The hockey team was supposed to have a movie night at Matthew’s. Intak and Mingi were assigned snack duty, but considering Mingi was at a coffee shop with you, the responsibility was pushed entirely on Intak, although he had yet to tell the younger boy. Mingi’s thumb slid over the off button and he pressed it twice ignoring the call. He was out of excuses to use and even if he had something up his sleeve, Intak would smell the bullshit from a mile away. They’d eventually justify his no-show as him having something better to do, assuming it was a quick fuck or something else involving a girl.

You, on the other hand, could jump from glee at the message on your lockscreen. Dasom was on her way home and you could finally cut this… appointment short. You slurped the last of your frappuccino and grabbed your bag and with a forced ‘thanks’ you were out of the coffee shop. How silly of you to think he’d let you off so easily. 

“What are you doing?” You asked as he walked beside you.

“What’s it look like I’m doing? I'm walking you home.”

Underneath all that douchebag exterior Mingi had some qualities of a gentleman after all and for once you didn’t fight him on it. This whole exchange was weird and you were certain that whoever happened to see you two together would think it was a PR stunt. God forbid Dasom or Keeho got a whiff of you being civil towards him. Dasom’s future poems would be dedicated to your and Mingi’s nonexistent relationship while an exorcism would be arranged by Keeho, claiming Mingi had bewitched you.

“You live quite far from campus.” 

“I didn’t ask you to walk me home.”

“I never implied you did, I simply stated a fact.”

Another wave of silence settled over you. Mingi wasn’t that bad when he was quiet. Maybe you’d sew his mouth shut like Other Mother did to Other Wybee. At least that way you wouldn’t be publicly ridiculed anymore. Not that you were ever planning for this to happen again. 

By the time you arrived outside your apartment a layer of pitch black darkness wrapped around the earth and you had to physically bite your tongue from asking if he’d be alright walking home alone. Keeho did mention one of his friends was jumped by a group of older men and Mingi, despite his size and shape , wasn’t invisible to weirdos this late.

“Uhm, what’s going on here?”

Both you and Mingi turned to your left where a very confused Keeho and an ecstatic Dasom stood. You really wished you’d fought Mingi on leaving you alone sooner because the fear of walking alone in the dark was better than convincing these two coconuts there was no budding romance between you. Sensing your discomfort, Mingi cleared his throat. A dust of red sprinkled over his cheeks matching his cold ears and nose.

“See you around.”

Before you could mutter a lame ‘bye’ he was gone, leaving you to deal with the aftermath of dumb and dumber.

“What the hell was that?!” Keeho screeched as you bolted for the bathroom. “What happened to him being a dick?!”

“He’s still a dick,” you called out and splashed cold water on your face. 

“A dick you want to su–”

“Keeho-ya!”

“I’m just saying! What am I supposed to believe when I see you being all cozy with your sworn nemesis?”

You swung the bathroom door open and pointed at Keeho who, mind you, had his arms crossed over his chest and one foot impatiently tapping against the hardwood floor.

“Okay, let’s get one thing clear. I was not being cozy with him.”

He rolled his eyes at that. “You’re almost as gullible as Dasom.”

Said girl whined in protest and threw a sock at the back of his head. 

“No. No, no, no. I’m being honest. He just walked me home–”

“Mingi walked you home?” Dasom peeped from her space on the couch. 

“Yes, the bastard walked me home after getting us thrown out of the library–”

“The library closed like three hours ago.”

“Yes, Keeho. If you’d let me speak I’d explain everything from start to finish. The library was full so he decided to sit with me then he got us thrown out and wanted to ‘make it up’ by buying me coffee or whatever. So we went to a coffee–”

Dasom sprung up from the cushions and grasped your shoulders, violently shaking you back and forth. “Oh my God! He took you on a date!”

The self-proclaimed dad fell back on the sofa and dramatically covered his parted mouth. If you didn’t know any better you’d think he was on the verge of crying.

“I can’t believe this. My little girl is turning into a woman.” He wiped an imaginary tear and followed up the act with sniffles. “We can’t have this, I have to threaten him properly. Invite him for dinner so he knows he can’t just hurt my little girl withou–”

You pushed past Dasom and threw glares at the annoying people you labeled friends.

“Can you stop fucking around for a second? I’m serious when I say nothing happened.”

“Well, yeah. I sure hope it didn’t. I’m still calling dibs on Hyunjin.”

You blinked a couple times, not entirely grasping his words.

“You’re calling what on who?”

“Dibs on Hyunjin.”

“Keeho thinks you’re getting together with Hyunjin.”

“You’re betting on my love life?!”

Keeho waved his hand in the air and tucked his feet under his bum. “Oh, stop screaming would-ya? It’s not much of a love life to begin with. Besides, Dasom is the crazy one in the bet.”

“Who’d you bet on?”

The girl balanced on her tiptoes and sheepishly smiled. If Keeho betted on Hyunjin, then she had to bet on–

“Mingi.”

“You bitch–” 

The instinct to fight kicked in and you lunged at her. It wasn’t as if you were going to hurt her, maybe jank her hair or bite her arm, something light to scare her. Before you could leave a scratch on her, Keeho flew to her rescue and wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you off the ground.

“Woah everybody, let’s calm down a little bit!” 

With one last attempt to get one kick in you flung your legs out to which Keeho twirled you both around. 

“Count your days, Dasom!”

“Okay! You’re on time-out,” Keeho declared and carried you to your room.

As he was about to cross the threshold, you placed both feet against the wall on the sides of the open door and pushed back, propelling Keeho backwards. Poor guy almost lost his balance but regained it before you became one with the floor.

“Stop being a difficult little shit!” 

His right arm sneaked down behind your knees while the other supported your back and carried you bridal-style. He gently dropped you on the bed and you flopped like a sack of potatoes, limbs drawn out like a starfish. You could feel Keeho’s eyes on you, but it did little to break your stare from the ceiling.

“I’m not supposed to get any attention while in time-out.”

Keeho pursed his lips as his tongue poked the side of his cheek. 

“Mmm and you were supposed to hate Mingi but here we are.” 

He placed his hands on his hips. You were tired of glaring, arguing and throwing hands so you opted with a weak nudge of your foot towards the door. 

“Leave.”

Now that was very much out of character. He was certain you’d jump him too or chuck a pillow at him, but no. You continued laying there lifeless. You didn’t even spare him a glance. Keeho plopped down beside you, shoulders touching as he too stared at the creme colored ceiling.

“Did we go too far?”

“Nah, I’m just tired of Mingi. It’s like he’s always there, even if he isn’t. He always finds a way to get on my nerves.”

Keeho hummed, “I get that. I mean, not that you’d know but you and Dasom make me sick sometimes too.”

“Yeah, but that’s different. You get sick of being around us too much, not because we are making fun of you.”

“That’s true… but you know who doesn’t make fun of you?”

“...You and doofus number two out there?”

“Wooooooow, really?” 

A smile sneaked on your face.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“Do whatcha want, Kyo. I’m just going to sleep the time-out… out?”

Extra sleep was never a bad idea and considering you were planning on pulling an all-nighter, you’d need all the rest you could get before that. You closed your eyes and rested one hand over your stomach while the other one went under your head.

“Hyunjin! Hyunjin doesn’t make fun of you!” Keeho yelped and breathed out in relief. 

It physically strained him to keep his mouth shut and it felt like his head was going to explode if he didn't mention it anytime soon. 

The idea of sleep was pushed to the back of your mind, along with all the other hundred things you postponed.

If there was anyone who kept dibs on people it would be Keeho. That man was up to date on all the gossip around the campus, new as well as old. Whoever was in the spotlight he’d know and then you’d know too. You’d usually tell him to shut it, not really being interested in other people’s business but this wasn’t just anyone’s business; this was about Hyunjin. The Hyunjin. Your crush, Hyunjin.

“Spill.”

“I thought you’d never ask.” He jumped on the bed beside you, chin resting on both palms and feet kicking the air behind him. “Apparently our little Hyunjin-ie is interested in someone.”

Butterflies born from sheer anxiety and suspense fluttered in your stomach. Hyunjin liked someone. Giddy happiness welled over you. The same content feeling you’d get after passing a peculiarly hard exam or landing a difficult jump exploded in you. Your lips were forcibly curved in a shy smile and warmth settled in your stomach at the information. 

The boy you admired for quite some time now finally liked someone. The joy lasted for all of five seconds as the words really sank in. The lively butterflies building cocoons in you were annihilated by a big rock, and your childish smile was wiped like rain and other shit was flung from the windshield of your mother’s car. 

“Girl, why does it look like you’ve figured out Victoria’s secret?”

“Don’t be an ass.”

“I’m just saying how it is.”

That, he did. Keeho may have been an avid gossiper, but he wasn’t spreading lies. The things he heard and shared with you or Dasom were always true so you knew better than to question him and his sources. There was always that one-in-a million chance of him being wrong and it terrified you. It wasn’t like his sources couldn’t have misinterpreted it this time. What if they were talking about a girl named Hyunjin or Hyejin instead?

“For what it’s worth, I think it’s you,” he stated and picked on his fingernails. 

“Don’t fuck with me right now.”

“I’m not!” He threw his hands up. “But if you think about it, why would he agree to help you practice?”

“Because I was obviously struggling.”

“Okay, then explain why he asked for your number?” His head tilted as he raised a brow at your silence. “That’s what I thought. It’s you! Plus Jiung told me his crush was a figure skater. You are a figure skater!”

“That is a reach and you know it. It could be Yuna, she’s great. Pretty, nice and a figure skating prodigy.” 

“Okaaaay, but if she’s so great why aren’t they dating already?”

You flopped back on the bed, “Dude–” 

“No, I’m serious. If she’s so great and he likes her then what stops them from being together?”

“That could be used on me too?! If he likes me, why hasn’t he done anything?” 

“Cut him some slack, poor boy probably shat his pants while texting you.”

You swallowed down an insult and faced Keeho again. “How do you know about that?”

Crickets and whistling kettles.

“Oh, shit.”

“Yah, Choi Dasom!”

© HONGJOONGSPOETRY 2024 - All rights reserved. Copying, editing, reposting or translating my work is not allowed.

[tbb-appreciation-week]

The Bad Batch Appreciation Week 2024 is HERE!!!

The time for appreciating Clone Force 99 has arrived! Y'know, like the cavalry 😅 Don't mind my bad pun!

What I was saying? Oh, yeah! The prompts have been revealed HERE, so we must refresh the rules. They're the same as last year, but it doesn't hurt to review them again, right? So:

Event Info & Rules

TBB APPRECIATION WEEK is a week-long, prompt-based creation challenge to celebrate our love for the Batchers and the show. There are 7 groups of prompts—one for each day of the week—, which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. They are meant to be an inspiration without being taken literally (i.e., you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts in your work). Feel free to interpret them at your convenience. For example, if the prompt is “anooba”, you can create either something about the animal, use it as a name/mascot of a sports team in your modern-day AU, or as an analogy for someone with a voracious appetite. It’s up to you.

Each group contains a Theme (which is in and on itself a prompt), an AU/Trope, Dialogue, an extra character, NSFW, and a color palette). You can use them in combination or just pick one. The idea is to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible. The participants can create works in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, art, edits, gifs, videos, playlists, cosplays, etc. The only restriction is that it needs to be focused on The Bad Batch (can be on a particular Batcher alone).

Also, people can participate as little or as much as they want, meaning that they don’t have to do ALL the days if they can't/don’t want to.

Collaborations are welcome and even encouraged. For example, if an artist and a writer want to work together, or a writer and a podficcer, or two writers, go for it!

When uploading TBB Appreciation Week content to your Tumblr blog, be sure to mention this blog and add the following hashtags:

#tbbaw2024

#the theme of the day and/or #prompt(s) used

#medium (gifset, fic, podcast, fanart, etc.)

#trigger warnings, if applies. (Please do NOT to add “tw” in front or at the end but only use the word/trigger itself, because the way Tumblr tag blocker feature works, it makes it harder for people to block the right tag.) (List of trigger warnings)

#nsfw (only for NSFW content)

#any other relevant tags go here

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING (both by mentioning the blog and putting the necessary tags). That'll ensure that your post will be reblogged on this blog.

I'll do my best to reblogged everyone's posts, but if it passes 2–3 days and I haven't posted yours, please let me know.

If you are posting NSFW fics or art on Tumblr, I ask that you use the Keep Reading break to hide the NSFW portion of your work; and please, give the proper warnings. On Ao3, please, use the correct rating and warnings as well.

If you want, you can also add your work to the Ao3 Collection (closed at the moment, but I'll open it in due time). (Use the tags TBB Appreciation Week 2024 and/or TBBAW 2024 when posting.)

There won't be censorship in this event, so everyone is free to create whatever they want. Participants are expected to hold judgment to themselves of others and their works, even if they don't agree with or find it repulsive. That means that harassment of anyone or anything that they post (even if said work is something you personally find morally reprehensible) WILL NOT BE TOLERATED. Anyone that breaks this rule will be banned from the event. Curate your own experience by blocking what upsets/squicks/triggers you, and leave everyone else alone. That's the importance of the correct tagging, as it says above.

Important!! Show support to other participants by liking, reblogging, AND commenting. If an author or artist has asked for constructive criticism (not the same as a comment, and with constructive being the keyword) you may give it. However, refrain to give any of the unsolicited kind, as it can be discouraging for the author or artist.

But most of all, HAVE FUN!!! This is meant to be a lay-back event to show love for our favorite characters.

I'm looking forward to seeing what you all come up with!

If you have questions, you can check out the F.A.Q post. But if you don't find there the answer you're looking for, send me a message to the ask box or a DM, either in this blog or my fandom blog @nimata-beroya.

Thanks for reading, and happy creating!

Mare 💜

[sambuckylibrary]

SamBucky Gift Event 2023!

The @sambuckylibrary will be holding a gift event!

Just make a SamBucky fic, podfic, moodboard, gifset, piece of art, fic rec list, or edit for someone! Use one of our badges and tag @sambuckylibrary in your post for each fill. We will be tracking #sbgift2023 for reblogs.

No need for sign-up. No theme to the gift, but you can certainly make it holiday-themed if you would like to. All you need to do is gift your piece of SamBucky something to someone!

The event will start on December 1st and run until January 7th. During that time, we will be reblogging and sharing the work you guys create here on our blog.

If you are posting on AO3, please add it to the SamBucky Gift Event 2023 Collection.

The Badges are:

FAQ

What is this?

It’s a SamBucky gift event.

Is there any pressure?

No pressure at all. No sign-up. Just give a gift to someone, use one of our badges, and tag @sambuckylibrary if you join the event.

How many gifts should I give? Can I give more than one gift to a person? Can I give one gift to multiple people?

Give one gift to one person. Give several gifts to one person. Give one gift to several people. Give a bunch of gifts to a bunch of people. Do however many you please and give to however many you'd like to.

Will you provide me a person to give a gift to?

We won't, but if you want to, you can always give your gift to the SamBucky Library.

Are there any prizes for making anything for this event?

Just the satisfaction that you made something cool.

Is it just SamBucky?

Yes please, just SamBucky. There can be side ships, but the main ship should be SamBucky.

How long will this event run?

It will run from December 1st and run until January 7th.

I heard there are badges I can use for each fill?

Yes! You can see them on this post if you scroll up.

RULES AND GUIDELINES

What are the guidelines for the bingo?

I will be borrowing some of this from the MYSU Valentine’s Day Bingo 2022 Guidelines, since they were fantastic.

For Everyone:

1. Remember to @sambuckylibrary in the post as well as #sbgift2023.

2. If you’re uploading to AO3, please:

a ) Say somewhere which prompt you’re filling.

b ) Add it to The SamBucky Gift Event 2023 Collection (SamBucky_Gift_Event_2023).

For Artists:

1. Create at least one piece of new art that can’t have been posted anywhere else before this.

2. All visual art forms are welcome:

a ) Gifsets, at least 3 gifs.

b ) Aesthetic boards or moodboards, at least 4 images each.

c ) Drawing/painting, that is not a sketch.

d) Fan video.

e) Graphics edit.

For Authors:

1. At least 500 words.

2. Posted on Tumblr or AO3.

3. Can be part of a series, but should work as a standalone.

For Podficcers:

1. The podfic should at least be 5 minutes long.

2. It should be posted on either Tumblr or AO3.

3. The podfic can be of a fic made for the event, a fic not made for the event while still adhering to the prompt, or a notfic.

For Fic Rec Lists:

1. You must have at least five fics or podfics on the rec list.

2. Make sure to give brief descriptions of the fics or podfics as well as their rating and wordcount.

Things to be mindful of when creating:

For Sam

Avoid framing Sam only as a caretaker or emotional support for Bucky. Be mindful of Sam acting angry or aggressive in an out-of-character way and falling into the angry/sassy Black man trope (check out the MCU source material to help with character traits).

Avoid decentering Sam as a main character and refrain from focusing entirely on Bucky.

In art: avoid whitewashing Sam’s skin and research drawing Black characters.

General disclaimer: Race affects every aspect of his life, including interacting with police/government and the white structures of the world when it comes to performing his duties as Cap and simply being a Black man that lives in the U.S.

For Bucky

Avoid phrasing “flesh/normal/human hand” to refer to the contrast between his prosthetic arm and his right arm. The phrasing is ableist. You can simply refer to his prosthesis when relevant, otherwise use “right/left arm/hand”.

For more information, please check out this document suggested by @ninesdb on how to write Bucky as an amputee. @ninesdb is also open to questions if you have any queries not answered by the google doc.

Specific Tags:

Avoid tags in AO3 like “Sam Wilson is a Gift”, “Sam Wilson is a Saint”, and “Bucky Needs a Hug”.

Have fun and we look forward to your SamBucky Summer Bingo fics!

- The Mods

[noahvember]

Noahvember FAQ

Hello everyone! Welcome to Noahvember, a week in November created to celebrate everyone's favorite Total Drama character – Noah! Read below for further information about the event. We're glad to have you here! (Please note that things like dates, prompts, and other questions will be added once the interest check is finished)

What is Noahvember?

Noahvember is a week in November where we celebrate Noah from Total Drama! A prompt list will be created in which artists and writers can draw inspiration from to create their own Noah-centric works. The works are meant to focus on Noah, but ship-related content is more than welcome!

What kind of works will be allowed?

Artwork, writing, and similar content is accepted! Works must place the focus on Noah, but ship-related works are more than welcome. For this event, we ask that you please refrain from creating NSFW works.

How should I tag my work?

Please use the tags #noahvember and #noahvember2023. This allows us to easily access all works made for this event! Feel free to branch out to post on other platforms. A collection on Archive of Our Own will be created if you wish to submit your work to that as well. Friendly reminder that all works will try to be reblogged on this page, but please do not feel bad if we miss you! (I say we as if there isn't one mod working to the best of her ability!)

How do we post fics to mark them as part of the event?

If you're using AO3, you can simply add Noahvember or Noahvember 2023 under your tags! We will be making a collection if you wish to add it there as well. A separate post detailing how to do that can be created if you would like! Essentially, when you're uploading your fic, all you'll have to do is search for the Noahvember collection in the box and add it from there.

Can I submit a work to more than one event? For example, can this work also count for another event week?

Absolutely! I don't see why not! As long as the prompts align in both weeks, you are more than welcome to tag your work for Noahvember. Please make sure the mods running the other event are okay with this as well. However, we do ask that you don't submit any premade/old works to the collection. We'd like to see something new!

Will you take late submissions?

Of course! The content doesn't have to be created right at the event week. However, we will only be reblogging Noahvember works at that time. But you're more than welcome to create content whenever the inspiration strikes!

Will this be a yearly thing?

Who knows! If this goes well this year, we would totally be up to running it again next year. If not, we'd like to see similar fandom events created.

If you have any other questions, please feel free to use our inbox or comment down below! Thanks in advance!

[sambuckyhalloweenbingo]

The FAQ & Guidelines of the Event

So, I know people have questions about the event. What you can make. How long the event runs. You can go to the FAQ & Guidelines page for this information as well, but I thought I'd make it into a post just in case.

What is this?

It’s a little SamBucky Bingo.

Is there any pressure?

No pressure at all. Fill one square. Fill all nine. Do however many you please.

Can I fill more than one square with one piece of art/one fic?

Yes! You can fill one square with one piece of art or fic. You can try to fill all nine at once with one piece of art or fic. You can do any number in between.

Are there any prizes for making a bingo or a blackout?

Just the satisfaction that you made something cool.

Is it just SamBucky?

Yes please, just SamBucky. There can be side ships, but the main ship should be SamBucky.

How long will this event run?

It will run until November 14th, so that people can have a little time after Halloween to turn things in.

What does the bingo card look like?

Here it is.

I heard there are badges I can use for each bingo fill?

There are! Use these for your bingo fills if you’d like to.

What are the guidelines to the bingo?

I will be borrowing some of this from the MYSU Valentine’s Day Bingo 2022 Guidelines, since they were fantastic.

For Everyone:

1. Remember to @sambuckyhalloweenbingo2022 in the post as well as #sambuckyhalloweenbingo2022.

2. Please also tag the square you’re filling (for instance, if the square is “pumpkins”, use #pumpkins as one of your tags when posting about it on Tumblr).

3. If you’re uploading to AO3, please:

a ) Say somewhere which square you’re filling.

b ) Add it to the SamBucky Halloween Bingo 2022 Collection (SamBucky_Halloween_Bingo_2022).

For Artists:

1. Create at least one piece of new art that can’t have been posted anywhere else before this.

2. All visual art forms are welcome:

a ) Gifsests, at least 4 gifs.

b ) Aesthetic boards or moodboards, at least 4 images each.

c ) Drawing/painting, that is not a sketch.

For Authors:

1. At least 500 words.

2. Posted on Tumblr or AO3.

3. Can be part of a series, but should work as a standalone.

Things to be mindful of when creating:

For Sam

Avoid framing Sam only as a caretaker or emotional support for Bucky. Be mindful of Sam acting angry or aggressive in an out-of-character way and falling into the angry/sassy Black man trope (check out the MCU source material to help with character traits).

Avoid decentering Sam as a main character and refrain from focusing entirely on Bucky.

In art: avoid whitewashing Sam’s skin and research drawing Black characters.

General disclaimer: Race affects every aspect of his life, including interacting with police/government and the white structures of the world when it comes to performing his duties as Cap and simply being a Black man that lives in the U.S.

For Bucky

Avoid phrasing “flesh/normal/human hand” to refer to the contrast between his prosthetic arm and his right arm. The phrasing is ableist. You can simply refer to his prosthesis when relevant, otherwise use “right/left arm/hand”.

Specific Tags:

Avoid tags in AO3 like “Sam Wilson is a Gift” or “Sam Wilson is a Saint”.

[eddiebillysteve]

cat and mouse

(( harringroveson prison au )) chapter fourteen | find it on ao3 HERE

a/n | planning on uploading a chapter every saturday from here on out !! also don't forget to check out @leticheecopae's sister fic pit of vipers bcus it is SO good and connects so much to mine (and will even more as it progresses!) thank you for reading!!! i would love to hear your thoughts and comments!! :') aLSO would love to give a shoutout to my first ko-fi supporter because?? i could barely believe it!!! so a massive thank you to ada <333

warnings | anti-religion comments? if that's what it'd be called?, daddy kink, dom/sub themes, punishments, possessiveness, murder/suicide, drugs/failed overdose mention, steve being a gay panicked confused mess (this is a permanent tag), he's also being trained with candies and i'm not sorry about it, general prison talk, stuff like that !!

tag list | @whoringrove @darkandstormyslash @devotionsofmaryoliver @nowhereinthedenn @cherixsays - let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future updates or removed from the list !!

moodboard by @a-redharlequin !!

Breakfast hour was weird without Billy, even when they knew he was safe in his cell. Their table didn’t feel complete without him sitting at the head between Steve and Argyle. The empty spot haunted the four boys who were left, reminding them of Creel and his power and how he could so easily tear any of them apart. 

Still, they made the most of it. Since Jonathan returned from being on watch, he and Steve chatted about anything and everything to fill the silence. Eddie told stories too, sometimes, but he was much more interested in listening to his baby’s sweet voice talking about Three’s Company or Duran Duran.

“How’s being nineteen?” Jonathan asked the morning after Steve’s birthday, taking a little spoonful of cereal. 

“The same as being eighteen,” Steve joked. “Just really weird to know it was spent in here. My best birthday yet, don’t get me wrong, but–”

His voice came to a quick stop when someone was sitting beside him, sitting in Billy’s seat.

“Woah, brochacho,” Argyle immediately said, still somehow managing to sound relaxed, but Steve knew better. “Taken. Sit somewhere else.”

“Shit.”

Steve looked over at Eddie when the word stumbled out of his Papa’s mouth. They were staring at each other, Eddie and the blonde man that had sat down beside him, and the nervous look on Eds’ face made Steve nervous in turn. Really nervous.

“Your little boyfriend really thought he could get rid of me, Munson? He thinks I’m that big a threat, huh?” The blonde boy, who didn’t even look Argyle’s way, leaned in closer, almost over Steve to murmur his words to Eddie. “I know that little stunt was all him, so you can tell him you will pay for his mistake tonight.”

Carver was supposed to be dead, Eddie knew that much. He was on Creel’s side whether he considered himself to be or not, had used Eddie without Billy’s permission, and had to pay for his sins. He wasn’t supposed to have survived; Hagan had been told to subdue him and force enough product down his throat to have him overdose. Billy had told Eddie while in the infirmary, and Eddie had passed the message along to Argyle, who would vouch for him, at least.

The one that was really in trouble was Tommy for not doing exactly as he was told. Eddie, too, but because of how angry Jason was. He was desperate for revenge, nearly frothing at the mouth for it. Anyone within ten feet of him could see how he was refraining from throwing Eddie to the floor to start wailing on him.

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life,” Jason hissed, and Steve leaned backward to try to put some space between him and the words. “You need to learn the word of the Lord, Munson. Maybe then you’ll understand why I’m not going anywhere. God only punishes sinners.”

“And you’re not a sinner? Aren’t you in here for beating the shit out of your girlfriend?” Eddie snorted and Jason standing up in two seconds.

Steve didn’t know what he was thinking, but he was up at the same time, standing between the two of them to block Jason from being able to reach for Eddie. It just happened, the same as if someone were to try to bully Dustin in front of him. His body reacted, went into protective mode. “Relax, man. I’m sure this is all a big misunderstanding.”

Jason’s eyebrows shot up, leaning back a bit to take Steve in. “Jesus, no one told me you’re getting fucked by two daddies now, Munson. Hargrove not good enough for you anymore? Just how loose have you gotten while I’ve been gone?”

“Right, nope. This isn’t happening,” Eddie stood up, shaking his head and waving his arms around. “Shut the fuck up, Carver. Think all those drugs you do have melted your brain. Didn’t know God let crackheads into Heaven these days.”

“Eddie,” Steve whispered, wanting him to calm down. He’d be in trouble if he got into a fight – not just with the guards but with Billy, too. “Everyone just… calm down. This is crazy.”

“You would both be quite wise to listen to him. This is a cafeteria, afterall, not a jungle. As feral as some of you may be, you are not animals. Sit and eat, or get to work.”

Every head in the room turned to look at the source of the too-calm voice that broke through the tension. Creel could silence a room just by walking into it, let alone speaking. Even the biggest, most muscular murderers were frightened of him. 

“I will not repeat myself,” He said when no one moved, tilting his head the tiniest bit. Eddie immediately sat, grabbing Steve’s wrist to yank him down, too, and even Jason sat back down in Billy’s seat.

Creel had been the one to transfer him. He’d hand chosen him, had surveyed the prison up north for someone big enough – and potentially crazy enough – to give Billy a run for his money and to be a distraction of sorts. He’d told Jason what his job was, and what the consequences would be if he failed to do as he was told.

But even Jason wanted nothing to do with him.

“32566, it’s been too long,” Creel stepped forward, closer to their table, and Eddie’s grip tightened on Steve’s wrist where it was hidden from view. “Who’s your friend?”

Eddie couldn’t breathe. He’d succeeded in keeping Steve invisible until now, but his attempts had been futile. All because of Jason fucking Carver. 

“Harrington,” Steve answered when Eddie didn’t speak, glancing nervously at his Papa.

“I don’t believe I was speaking to you, was I?” The guard’s voice was polite, but his eyes were so dark that they’d join the list of things haunting Steve’s nightmares. “32566, his number?”

“I don’t know it,” Eddie muttered, dropping his eyes from Creel to his tray.

“You don’t know it,” Creel sighed like he was disappointed. “Then we’ll just have to find out together, won’t we? Come along.”

This time it was Steve’s hand that was shifting to secretly grab onto Eddie’s wrist beneath the table, a feeble attempt to keep him from moving. After another breath, though, Eds moved to stand again. 

“Not you, 32566.”

Eddie paused mid stance, almost frozen in place. He couldn’t take Steve, he was too delicate. He wouldn’t last two seconds alone with Creel. “I’ve got it. I can grab it. It’ll take me two seconds,” Eddie tried, daring himself to glance up and meet Creel’s eyes. 

“Sit back down. I’ve finished speaking to you. Your friend may stand.”

He had never felt so helpless before. Steve standing beside him and not being able to stop him or do anything about it was a special kind of torture. The only thing he could do was watch as Steve followed Creel towards the cafeteria’s doors, sparing one frightened glance back to his Papa on the way.

Jonathan had gotten up and slipped out of the room the second Creel had made himself known, though. He’d run straight to get Billy, who was waiting outside the cafeteria doors for them, jaw clenched and steely eyed. 

“Well, hello, 62097. I didn’t realize you were off of bed rest yet,” Creel stopped moving to stand in front of Billy, hands moving to fold in front of himself just like always. “I thought you were relieved from work duty until Monday morning.”

“That’s right,” Billy didn’t look at Steve, didn’t even acknowledge that he was there. “Just came to get a cup of coffee and heard you needed a number. Thought I’d save you the trip. 82894.”

Creel’s eyes narrowed.

“His number, Officer Creel. It’s 82894. Now there’s no reason for him to have a delayed start. I can only imagine how behind the laundry unit is without me there to keep everyone in line.” Billy's insides contorted in the same way they used to when he had to face his father while knowing he’d pay for it later, but he’d rather it be him than Steve or Eddie any day; Steve, in particular, would be crushed under a mere few words.

“How very helpful of you, 62097,” Creel replied; his voice was tight, irritated, and he pulled his hands apart long enough to gesture back towards the cafeteria. “You’re dismissed, 82894. You may leave.”

Steve gave Billy a look of pure gratitude before practically running back to Eddie. It felt like he’d been saved from a volcanic eruption – Billy had jumped in front of a bullet for him and would do it again without a second of hesitation.

Billy hadn’t met his eyes, though; he still didn’t acknowledge Steve, not even when he was scampering off. His blue eyes were stuck on Creel’s, the two of them refusing to look away from the other and be the first one to break.

“I shall walk you back to your cell, 62097. Make sure you get settled in properly again. It wouldn’t hurt to check up on your wounds, either, hm? Check to see if everything’s alright. Would be such a shame if you were to be out of work for a few weeks more by doing something stupid .”

“Yeah,” Billy cleared his throat. “It sure would.”

***

“One fucking thing, Hagan. Told you to do one fucking thing!” 

Billy had burst into the laundry room a few hours into their shift. Two joints was all it took to get the guards to let him in and leave him alone with his crew for a bit. Their logic was that if Billy wanted to move around and fuck up his healing, he could. They weren’t going to babysit him, especially not if he was offering weed to get them to turn a blind eye.

“Holy fuck. I should beat your goddamn head in for being so fucking stupid!” 

No one else in the room made a sound as Billy went off, Jonathan sitting with his hands over his ears. Billy was roaring, pacing around to keep himself from pinning Tommy to the wall. His anger wasn’t a full blown blind rage – it stemmed from fear. 

Creel knew about Steve because of the fuck up and would know he was an easy target just like Jonathan by dinner hour. He was in panic mode, barely able to think though it. All he knew was that they were fucked – not just him, but all of them. 

“Always comes back to me. Have to do fucking everything around here, useless fucking prick. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Eddie stepped in when Billy started to throw things around, cautiously walking up to him to touch his shoulders. “Bills, breathe,” He whispered, squeezing them tight. “Come here and sit down for a minute. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Don’t you tell me what to fucking do,” Billy snapped, shoving Eddie away, but there wasn’t any reaction from his old cellie. Eddie simply stepped forward again, reached for Bills’ wrists, and pulled him over to a chair when he wasn’t pushed away again. 

“We need to think, yeah? So just – chill for a minute,” Eddie tried his best to soothe him without sounding condescending. “Steve’s fine, I’m fine. We’ll get Carver taken care of and then–”

“And then Creel’ll tear Steve to shreds for fun, and then what, huh? You don’t know shit about what he does, none of you do. Preppy fucking princess over there wouldn’t survive twenty seconds trapped in a cell with him,” Billy was up again, throwing his hands in the air, and Eddie glanced over at Steve.

If he hadn’t stood up, hadn’t tried to defend Eddie, everything may have been prevented.

“I have to kill him. Have to. It’ll never end,” Hargrove started up again, and Eddie’s eyes went wide. “I don’t give a shit if I get life. It’ll be worth it to see the life drain out of those fucking eyes.”

“Billy, stop. You can’t say shit like that,” Eddie went right back to him, voice shifting into something more pleading. 

Argyle was up too then, reaching out to grab Billy’s arm. His grip was tight, unlike Eddie, and he shook him for a second. “No one’s getting life, man. Get it together. You can’t do shit if you’re worked up like this. Chill. Out. ”

With a shake of his head, Billy pulled his arm free and headed back towards the door. Talking about murder out in the open was a dangerous game – but everyone in the room could be trusted and the guards weren’t anywhere near. “This ends soon. I’m coming up with a goddamn plan to end him if it’s the last thing I do.”

***

“I want you to kneel down here, right between my legs, alright? Need to talk to you, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured. He sat on the bottom bunk, spreading his legs open before guiding Steve down to kneel between them. His hands were gentle on Steve’s wrists, only letting him go to touch his shoulders to press him downwards.

Billy shifted on the top bunk until he was able to look down at them. He’d spent the entire afternoon plotting and writing too many drafts to Chrissy to try to relay his thoughts to her without getting flagged or Max realizing what he was thinking, and now the boys were back from work and dinner hour to keep him company again. He still didn’t know exactly what had happened in the cafeteria, but even through his anger he could tell Eddie wasn’t right when he’d stopped by earlier on. Something had upset him, and now he could tell that that something was Steve.

“I’m upset with you,” Eddie murmured, his hand going to pet Steve's hair. He nearly took the words back when he saw the way Steve’s entire face fell and his eyes started to water.

“I’m sorry,” He immediately started, but Eddie shook his head. 

“No speaking yet, Stevie. You answer me when I ask you a question, but that’s it,” Eddie’s voice was even, calm, and his hand shifted again to massage his scalp. “I’m not angry, but I am upset. Do you know why?”

Steve took a second to think, desperately searching his mind to try to figure out what he could have done. He had been a good boy at work, hadn’t even cowered when Billy started throwing things. “Because I… I went with the guard?” He guessed, looking back up at him.

“No,” Eddie slipped his hand from Steve’s hair, moving it downwards to hold his chin. “What did you do during breakfast? After Carver joined us. Tell me what happened, exactly what you did.”

Even though he was trying, Steve couldn’t remember what he’d done wrong. His fingers reached for Eddie’s sweats, fiddling with them as his eyes dropped to look at his torso. “I was–”

“Ah, ah. Eyes up here. On me, baby,” Eddie tipped his chin upwards to emphasize his words, and Steve forced his eyes back up.

Billy was absolutely perplexed on the top bunk. He’d punished Eddie hundreds of times over the years, but he’d never sat him down to talk first, not like this. He’d have him kneel for conversations often enough, have him naked and waiting on his knees for him, but there was something so intimate about the scene before him, something so gentle. It made his breath catch in his throat.

After sucking in a breath, Steve spoke again. “I was just eating and he sat down,” The words came out cautiously, like he was worried he was going to say the wrong thing, and his eyes flickered over Eddie’s face. He was trying to watch for a reaction, any sort of hint that he was doing good or bad. “And I was afraid he was going to hurt you and then the guard came.”

“Getting closer,” Eddie nodded, encouraging him to keep going. “What did you do when you were afraid he was going to do something to me?”

Oh. 

Eddie saw the realization spread over Steve’s face – and then the nervousness that followed it. “I stood up to block you behind me.”

“Right. There we go. And what did you put yourself in when you did that?” Eddie raised his eyebrows a touch. 

“A bad situation?”

It was hard for Eddie to resist smiling at how small and shaky Steve’s voice was. Even though he was frightened, it wasn’t in the same way he’d been frightened of Billy. It made Eddie realize Steve trusted him.  “ Exactly. A bad situation. A dangerous situation. You intentionally put yourself in harm's way.”

“But I didn’t mean to. I was just there, and I thought he was–”

“Shh,” Eddie cooed. “You have to learn not to do it again. And how do you think we should do that? How should I teach you, what’s a good punishment?”

If his Papa wasn’t so calm, Steve would have been in full blown panic mode. He would have been convinced he was getting an M to match the H on his arse, and would have started to choke on his own fear and beg for mercy, but Eddie didn’t have Billy’s temper. His hands weren’t rough, he wasn’t squeezing too tight – if anything, his thumb was smoothing over Steve’s jaw, silent encouragement for him to answer the question.

“I don’t know,” He shook his head a bit.

Billy had some ideas from the top bunk, but he kept his mouth shut, staying silent to see just what Eddie was planning on doing.

“I’m sure you can come up with something, Stevie. Think for a minute.”

Steve let out a soft little sigh. He didn’t know anything about punishing other people – the most he would do to ‘punish’ Dustin when he acted up was lecture him about safety, maybe take away one of his little figurines or science experiments for a day. It gave him something to go off of, at least.

“Maybe no sweets? For today?”

“Just for today?” Eddie couldn’t help but laugh, physically couldn’t contain it. “It’s past seven o’clock. We’ve got less than two hours before lights out, I think that’d be a pretty tame punishment, but good boy for coming up with something.”

Eds didn’t know what was going to happen when he went back to his cell; Jason was going to be pissed as fuck, but he didn’t know if that would mean he’d get the shit beat out of him or if he’d have to listen to the blonde read out from his bible the entire night. He’d prefer the former, he decided. Anything but the fucking preaching.

“I think we can start with sweets. No sweets for two days,” Eddie decided, but then he paused to ponder for a second. “Open up Daddy’s drawer, pick some out.”

Steve hesitated, looking at Eddie for a moment, and then up to the top bunk. Billy raised his eyebrows just a smidge, challenging him to disobey Eddie’s orders, but Steve wouldn’t dare. He obeyed, opening Billy’s compartment underneath his bunk that held all the fun items. His drawer was only ever used their clothes, and everything else was kept in Billy’s. There were all the snacks, the makeup he’d just gotten for his birthday, a couple of books. He got out two packets, one of his favorite gummy bears and another that was a hard kind, before sliding the cubby back in.

“Good boy. Now open them,” Eddie instructed some more, and Steve’s face contorted in confusion before he tore the packages of candy open. “And dump them into the toilet.”

“What? No!” The words came out before Steve could stop them, hands tightening around the plastic packages. “That’s such a waste, you can’t just–”

“It’s not a waste if it’s teaching you a lesson. You put yourself in dangerous situations, and you lose your rewards,” Eddie leaned in further to him and his voice dropped down a bit. “Pour them into the toilet, baby. And then you’re going to flush them. It might help you remember not to try to play the hero next time. Daddy and Papa don’t need protection, okay?”

Billy hadn’t been expecting to find Eddie in dominant mode such a turn on, but he did. He wanted to bend him over the bottom bunk and rail him until Papa was screaming like a pretty little whore. 

After another few moments, Steve stood up with a sigh and went to stand above the toilet. It may have seemed like a silly punishment, but it wasn’t just candy he was having to flush. It felt like he was having to flush that addictive feeling that came with them, the feeling all the praise gave him. It made him feel horrible, like he’d done something so wrong, like he’d been bad, and if he stayed bad, they wouldn’t want him anymore. He had to be good, had to listen and be who they wanted him to be so they would just stay, so they would love him and be his family for real instead of playing pretend like it was all bullshit. Even if Billy could be rough sometimes, and even if he didn’t want to do everything they told him he had to, they wanted him, usually so much that they didn’t care if he wanted them back. Eddie didn’t pull his hand away when Steve reached to hold one, Billy didn’t turn him down when he asked him to climb down and sleep with him after the lights went out and his thoughts took over. He didn’t want to lose it, lose them, like he’d lost everyone else.

It was a feeling he didn’t want to feel again. It was the complete opposite to the high he normally got from the candy and praise.

The hard ones were dumped first, the sound of them clinking against the metal toilet filling the cell for a few moments. Then, after another glance at Eddie, he dumped the gummies in, too.

“Go on,” Eds prodded, and as Steve flushed the sweets away, Billy jumped down from the top bunk.

It definitely wasn’t any sort of punishment he would have given – he was more into the physical kind – but Steve did look upset, the wheels in his head turning and clearly overthinking the entire thing as if he’d just flushed half his soul instead of two small packages of candy that barely cost forty cents a piece. 

“I want you to think about this then next time you feel the need to step in,” Eddie reached out to twist Steve around until he was facing him and Billy. “We protect you. We look after you. Not the other way around. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Steve mumbled.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Papa. I understand,” His cheeks turned red and Eddie brought his fingers up to brush over them. 

“Good boy. Now strip.”

Billy raised his eyebrows then, watching Eddie reach out to pry the packages from Steve’s hands to toss into the garbage so their boy could start peeling his clothes off. He’d left his hesitancy over being naked behind while Billy was gone, and was far more used to being nude. Still, he didn’t know what Eddie’s plans were, his own ideas running through his mind at a mile a minute.

Even though he wouldn’t look at them as he peeled his clothes off, Steve stripped down to his underwear before them. Once he was clad only in his briefs, hands not really sure what to do with themselves, he looked between both men, waiting for more instructions. 

“I think he should have something to remind him of what he’s done tonight, don’t you, Bills?” Eddie asked, still keeping his eyes on Steve. “Take them off, too, Stevie. I’ve got an idea.”

“I’m starting to like your ideas, sweetheart,” Billy laughed through his nose, eyes following the underwear as the fabric slid down Steve’s legs. 

“I’m full of good ones. Could’ve shared them a long time ago if you’d of let me indulge this side,” Eddie joked. He held his hand out for them, curling his fist around them. “I’m going to make a mess in these, and Daddy’s going to make a mess all over you, and you’re going to sleep in it, yeah? And then, when we go to the showers tomorrow morning, everyone’ll see what a mess you are before you wash it off.”

“Well, shit, Eds,” Billy laughed softly and Steve’s eyes went wide. “Couldn’t have come up with anything better myself. Didn’t know you were into humiliating pretty boys.”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Hargrove,” Eddie teased. “I take it this sounds good with you, then? You approve?”

“Yeah, baby. I approve. All sounds good to me,” Billy pulled Eddie in for a kiss before nodding towards the bottom bunk. “Get on your bed, Stevie. On your back. Spread those lovely legs for me.”

Steve’s eyes prickled with tears a little bit at the idea, but he shifted past Eddie to do as he was told. He laid on his bunk, bending his legs at the knees and spreading them wide so Billy could stand between them at the edge and duck down enough to look in at him. It prevented Billy from having to get atop him and put any strain on his body – he could simply stand up straight and jack off above him, let his load out over Steve’s cock. It started to stir to life when Billy looked down at him, tongue snaking out over his lips as he got his cock out. 

Normally, Billy was against wanking off – he had no desire to, not when he had two babies with four holes and four hands between them – but he reminded himself that it served a purpose this time. 

“You’re gonna fall asleep with Daddy and Papa’s cum all over you, princess. Going to absolutely ruin your panties,” Billy muttered, more to himself. Steve felt around with one arm for the bears that lived on his bed all day. “You’re real lucky that Papa is so kind and gentle with you. I would have beat your ass bluer than that silly bear for doing something so stupid. But it’s okay, you can be a stupid baby. Only thing you have to worry about is pleasing us, we’ll teach you the rest,” He grunted, jutted his hips a little harder into his hand, before stopping and reaching for Steve’s, instead. Once Steve wrapped his hand around his thick cock, Billy covered it with his own to guide him along, setting the pace. “When I’m done with you, the only thing you’ll be able to think about is cock and candy and those bears, baby boy. Gonna be a perfect pet for us by the time we get out of here. Might get you a leash and everything when we get out, keep you close and spread open for whenever I need you. I think you’d like it more than you think, Stevie. Never having to worry about working, or bills, or any responsibility, your sole purpose to please. It’s what you’re good for, you know? Looking pretty and being a few tight holes for me. Can’t wait to finally tear that tiny little ass apart, fuck.”

The words didn’t hold any meaning, not to Billy. He wasn’t serious – of course Steve would be his pet, their pet, but it wasn’t all he was good for. There wasn’t a doubt in Billy’s mind that Steve would go on to be some sort of big deal when he was released, maybe a teacher or something with kids, but gushing about his faith in his pets wasn’t exactly his thing even if it somehow would have made for good dirty talk. In no way did he think his baby was stupid or incapable, he thought Steve was bright and clever and fun to be around, but he didn’t realize that Steve considered himself such. He didn’t know Steve’s insecurities and trauma and issues, didn’t know that words of him being a mindless sex pet would bother him.

He just didn’t see himself as being good for a lot of things. He didn’t consider himself to be smart, or clever, and he clearly couldn’t consider himself strong if he let Billy treat him like a bitch from day one. Even before getting locked up, he didn’t have much hope for his future, and it was even worse as the days went on. The only thing he felt good for was obeying them, and Eddie being upset with him had him questioning even that. 

“Don’t cry, Princess,” Billy’s voice shifted to a coo, free hand leaving Steve’s thigh to reach and wipe his cheeks. “You just gotta learn, that’s all. That’s why we’re here, to train you real good. Go on, say it. Tell us you’re gonna be our perfect little pet.”

When he didn’t immediately repeat the words, Billy came to a pause, stopping his hips and keeping his hand still. 

“Stevie. Say it. Tell Daddy you’re going to be such a good pet that all our friends are gonna be jealous, wish you were theirs. Maybe I’ll share you, train you to love it just like Papa. The more cocks you go though, the better. It’s what your body needs.”

“I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll be your perfect pet.”

Eddie let out a stifled groan from his place behind Billy at Steve’s shaky voice, almost immediately releasing into the underwear he was jacking himself off into. He’d been silently listening to Billy’s words and the sound of their hands around Billy’s cock as he got himself off; it hadn’t taken long after getting to look down at Steve on his knees for him. The image was enough wanking fuel for the next three weeks, at least.

“Good boy. I know you will. Did you hear that? You got Papa off,” Billy started to move their hands again, shifting his feet to position himself so he could spurt over Steve’s cock, his pubic hair, his thighs. He wanted to make a real mess of it just like Eddie had pictured. 

As he got closer, Eddie moved to toss the soiled underwear onto the bunk beside Steve before sliding his arms around Billy’s waist from behind. The act made him stiffen at first, but he relaxed when Eds dug his nails into his skin.

“You close, Daddy?” Eddie murmured, resting his chin on Billy’s shoulder so he could look down at Steve, too. “Jesus, just look at him. Those big eyes. Can’t believe he’s all ours.” Billy grunted at the words, a signal for him to keep going. “Look how pretty they are when they’re filled with tears, Bills. You think he’ll cry real hard when you fuck him? I’ll get him all ready for you. Stretch him open, have him waiting to be filled right up.”

Eddie slid his hand downwards, pushing their hands away until he could take over the motion and finish getting him off. He felt like he knew what his man liked better than Billy himself did, could milk the grunts and groans out of him with ease. When he came, Eddie was sure to get it just where he wanted it, and then proceeded to smear it along Steve’s cock afterwards. He wanted it to be uncomfortable, for Steve to feel the stickiness whenever he shifted. 

“Good boy. Now we put these back on, and you’re getting into bed,” Eddie murmured once Billy had backed up and out of the way, working to get Steve’s underwear back up and over his legs. Even though he was blinking out tears, Steve was hard, but Eds shook his head at him. “You don’t get to get off. Not tonight. If you ask Daddy after lights out, he might let you hump one of the bears, but you’re not getting off. You’re already too much of a mess as it is.”

His voice was gentle, kind, and he wiped Steve’s tears as he spoke, words followed by a kiss to his forehead. “Come on, into bed. I’ve got to go before they come and drag me away.”

It drove him insane, not being able to stick around and crawl into bed with his baby. He missed bunking with Billy – some of their deepest conversations always came in the dead of night. It sucked having to leave them every single day, even more so when he had to go back to Jason Carver.

He said goodnight to Steve one more time before standing up straight and looking at his old cellie. “Night, Bills. Take it easy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He yanked Eddie in for a kiss before shoving him towards the cell door. “Get out of here before you’re thrown into isolation, Eds. Tell Carver he’ll be meeting Jesus Christ himself tomorrow if he lays a hand on you tonight. I’ll even end him in the prison’s chapel so he doesn’t have as long of a trip to hell.”

[mohgfest]

This is a really early post! Feedback from potential contributors is welcome. Please share your thoughts in the reblogs or replies. This post is subject to change.

February 1-7 2023 is currently being considered for the event time. I know that seems far away, but I want to give participants time to put something together, and the end of the year (October onwards) is really busy for a lot of people.

Rules:

While this is a week long event, there’s no minimum requirement for number of pieces, finish, or quality (or fic length, if you’re writing). If you want to celebrate Mohg with us, you’re welcome to join in. Upload content during the week and submit it to the Mohgfest blog.

There are no content restrictions, but content should fit the rules of the site you’re posting it on (ao3 or tumblr at the moment) and creators are required to tag their works. (Tagging mostly applies to ao3 or fic uploads. Reblogs on the Mohgfest blog will be tagged by mods.)

Also! This is a celebration of Mohg, so if you’d like to depict dark content or touch on the less savoury aspects of canon, please feel free. The mod may refuse to host a work on a case by case basis if they deem it to be character-bashing (example: if the work is about how evil Mohg is and how he will never be redeemable. That’s not the focus of this event).

Shipping content is allowed, just tag for it.

Mohgfest has a zero tolerance policy for harassment. If you don’t like something, that’s fine. Refrain from engaging with it. If you harass another creator or encourage someone else to, your works will be removed from the fest and you will be blocked.

About the mods: I have never moderated an event and I’m trying to research to make up for the discrepancy. I am looking for a co-mod, ideally one with some experience moderating events. If there is anyone willing to donate their time, please let me know!

And, question for anyone interested in participating: would you like prompts for inspiration, and if so, would you like to submit prompt suggestions before the event?

Questions, concerns and suggestions welcome!

[scummy-writes]

Breathless Discoveries

Rating: Explicit

Words: 3719

Pairing: Isaac/Mc

Tags: Femdom, Gentle femdom, Pegging, Choking, Face-Sitting, Oral Sex, Biting, Blood Drinking, Anal Fingering

Org Ao3 Upload: 08162020

Full fic under cut!

Preview:

     "Mmnh…" With his face pressing against your neck, Isaac hid his blush as your palm grazed over the head of his cock. In soft breaths he moaned your name, gripping your blouse tight while your thumb dragged the precum gathering in a languid circle along his glans.      "A-ah…"      Any attempt to peer at the color staining his cheeks prompted Isaac to bury his face further, opting to stifle a moan against your skin as a shudder ran through him.

———

          Isaac’s bed creaked as you settled onto your knees, focused on securing the latches of the harness that wrapped around your hips and between your legs. As they clicked into place, your eyes met Isaac’s as he swallowed thickly.

           He was resting with a pillow supporting his lower back, eyes dropping down to the toy locked into the strap-on he helped you fashion together. 

           “D-does it fit?”

           “Mhm,” Trailing a finger along the dildo you picked out for him, you moved to settle between his legs, gently pushing his thighs further to accommodate. “Do you like how it looks?”

           The toy nudged the pillow underneath him when you leaned forward, your palm sliding along his hip to purposely avoid his erection.

           “It… Suits you.” He breathed. Squeezing his thighs brought out a shaky sigh, and Isaac threw his forearm over his eyes. A poor attempt to hide his growing blush? 

           “Are you nervous?” You hummed, sliding your hands back closer to his knees.

           “Naturally...I don’t mind trying this out with you, i-it’s just…” His gaze shifted, his teeth worrying his bottom lip.

           With a gentle murmur of his name, you leaned over him, resting on one forearm as you cupped his cheek. As soon as your hand brushed his skin, Isaac moved his arm away from his face to cover your hand with his, relaxing into your touch.

           “It’s just… Very foreign to me.” He sighed into a kiss, words coming out in a murmur. “I trust you, my nerves are just getting the better of me.” 

           “Mmm, and that’s why we’re going to take our time and ease you into this.” As you spoke your hand left his face, trailing down over his chest until Isaac gasped out, reaching for your arm as you ghosted your fingers over his length. 

           "Mmnh…" With his face pressing against your neck, Isaac hid his blush as your palm grazed over the head of his cock. In soft breaths he moaned your name, gripping your blouse tight while your thumb dragged the precum gathering in a languid circle along his glans.

           "A-ah…"

           Any attempt to peer at the color staining his cheeks prompted Isaac to bury his face further, opting to stifle a moan against your skin as a shudder ran through him.

           "Does it feel good?" A weak nod, followed by a hitch in his breath when you switched focus to tug at his balls. “Don’t hold your voice back.”

           You ran the pads of your fingers along his inner thigh. With Isaac letting his soft moans spill out as you teased the base of his cock, it appeared as though he was finally refraining from holding his voice back. It was only recently when you had made a point to shove his hand between your thighs and feel how heated and wet you had become, did he finally seem to understand what his noises did to you.

           Switching your thoughts to the present, and more specifically the gift Isaac was giving you tonight, you reached for the jar of lube left on his nightstand. You felt Isaac peek up, a whine escaping as he watched you slowly coat his erection. Cock bobbing from his deep inhale, you saw a bead of pre-cum begin to form.

           “Ah-ah, p-please…” Isaac’s fingers twisted into your shirt, the heat of his words against your skin encouraging you to take his cock in your hand again. With a shallow pump, you were rewarded with another shuddering groan, and when you began a steady pace with a tighter grip, your name fell from his lips with a kiss planted on your neck. “I love you…”

           “I love you too,” The words tumbled out breathlessly, surprising you with how quick his admission stoked the warmth between your legs. With a dry swallow, you raked your gaze over Isaac’s body. His shirt had been discarded long ago, allowing you to see how deep his breaths would occasionally become when you gently rotated your wrist on an upward stroke, his groan of appreciation warming the shell of your ear and sending another wave of pleasure coursing through you. Dropping your view back to his erection made your breath hitch as he began rocking his hips in time with your hand, his abdomen flexing and prompting you to focus briefly on his glans and still your movements as you carefully squeezed. “Isaac-”

           “D-don’t stop,” With a quiet plea, Isaac pressed kiss after kiss against your jaw in an attempt to coax you to continue. “It feels so good-!”

           For a moment, your mind blanked as he rolled his hips to thrust into your hand, his bout of desperation causing your thoughts to run through the scenarios just straddling him and having your way would bring, but… You mentally shook yourself, removing your hand. At his keen you kissed his cheek, letting your voice drop.

           “Convince me.”

           The groan that left him caused you to bite your lip, Isaac murmuring.

           “What was that?” Pinching his thigh made him jump, bringing his burning cheeks into your view. “Hm?”

           Isaac wrapped his arms around your shoulders, half-lidded eyes focusing on your lips before pressing them against his own hungrily. With each kiss his hold pulled you tighter, deepening the kisses he took from you. 

           “Nngh…”

           The tip of his tongue pushed into your mouth, a groan spilling out as he coaxed yours to meet his as his hand lingered on the back of your neck. Slowly, his movements became more desperate, his legs attempting to nudge your bodies flush together; until your hand pressed firmly on his chest, forcing a gap between the two of you.

           “Do you know how much you turn me on?” His voice dipped low as he moved to nip your jaw. “Do you know how many times I’ve had to use my hand because of you?”

           “Mmm, enlighten me.”

           He grabbed your hand from his chest, dragging it down his torso until your fingers ran over his length. Despite the shudder that went through him, he closed your grip around his shaft, his hand still over yours as he shallowly pumped.

           “So many self imposed deadlines for my research, interrupted because my thoughts couldn’t stop returning to memories of us, or the night before,” He gasped as you shifted forward, catching his earlobe with your teeth. “How hot you were inside, coaxing me to lose myself in you over and over, haah-”

           Briefly, he ducked his head against your shoulder as your grip tightened without his prompting. As his hips stuttered for a moment, you felt a heated rivulet drip between entwined fingers, Isaac’s hand twitching shut over yours. 

           “Blast-”

           “Keep talking, or is that all you think about when you touch yourself?”

           “Mmnh,” Isaac’s tongue lapped against his favorite spot to feed from, his groans muffled slightly against your neck. “N-no, about things I wish to do with you, how you sound when you’re below me…”

           “Have you jacked off to the thought of me fucking you?” When he hesitated to answer, you stopped following the flow of his strokes, eliciting a frustrated mumble. “Isaac?”

           “Y-yes.”

           “Did you finger yourself?”

           Isaac huffs, finally showing his red cheeks as he nods within your view.

           “You could have asked me for help,” You tease, enjoying his confessions. “It was fun last time, wasn’t it?”

           “I don’t like making you do all the work…”

           “It’s not work if it’s fun, Isaac.” You began pumping his cock again, Isaac closing his eyes with a breathy moan. “Seeing how much of a mess you became was  great  to watch. Didn’t you enjoy that? Being able to relax, letting me take control..?”

           His hand clenched yours, forcing your grip to tighten.

           “G-gods, yes, it felt so good…”

           You smiled, pulling your hand back and ignoring the way he pouted to instead focus on the condom left beside you.

           “Maybe we should do that again, hm?” Slipping two fingers inside of it, you rubbed the lubed latex against his hole, Isaac biting his lip and spreading his legs on impulse. “Is that a yes?”

           He nodded. As your fingers teased him, you pushed your other hand against his abdomen, urging him to lay down. Shakily, he does so, drawing his knees up to give you better access.

           “You used the plugs like I told you to, right?”

           “Y-yes, and I wore one today for a few hours before this. Only took it out before now to clean myself again...”

           “Good,” The purr that slips from your mouth comes instantly as Isaac’s flush creeps to his neck now. Carefully pushing your finger inside of him, you try to keep your voice nonchalant when he sighs in pleasure. “Have you been excited for this?”

           A swift nod. Gathering the sheet in his hands, he rocks his hips. “You can put in more than one, you know-!”

           “I know, but where’s the fun in that?”  The bed creaks again as you bend over him, swiping your tongue along his collarbone and beginning to pump your finger in and out.

           Isaac hisses, his nipple between your teeth while you push just the tip of another finger inside.

           “T-Tease!” 

           Flattening your tongue against the nipple you bit, you pinch his other, rolling it between two fingers. You can feel his cock bob against your stomach as he lifts his hips, trying to push down harder onto your fingers. 

           “Please, more-!”

           Finally, you push your second finger inside as deep as you can before pumping them quickly. As Isaac groans, you suck on his nipple, letting go with a pop when he writhes beneath you.

           “I love how sensitive you are, Isaac,” Another broad lick along his chest, and you bite down.

           “Hah- Nngh!”

           “All it takes is a few strokes and you’re begging for me,” Pushing a third finger in, you feel Isaac tighten, a low keen escaping him, twisting into a choking moan as you quickly thrust them inside. “Melting in my arms.”

           Isaac’s back arches as your fingers push in deeper, inadvertently pulling you down and pressing your chests flush together when you curl them. “T-there!”

           “Yeah? Does it feel that good?”

           “Yes, gods-!” His words come out strangled as you nip the shell of his ear, knees hitting your hips as he tenses. “ Oooh… ”

           Well aware of how Isaac acted before he came, you pulled your fingers out before he had a chance to. Whining, Isaac threw his head back against his pillow in frustration.

           “I, hah, I was so cl-close!”

           Shooting him a cheeky grin, you take the condom off your fingers and toss it in the bin by his bed. “That’s exactly why I stopped.”

           “God take me-”

           “In just a moment,” Humming, you roll another over the dildo, giving the toy a few lubed and shallow pumps to make sure it’s well coated. “Do you think you’re ready?”

           “Mmhm…”

           “Tell me to stop if it hurts, okay?”

           “I will, please just… Just put it in.”

           Carefully, you began to push the tip inside of him, glancing up to keep an eye out for any discomfort. Isaac tries hiding his face again, only to tangle his fingers into the sheets instead. 

           “I mean it, Isaac-”

           “I-it’s fine! Don’t stop!”

           As the toy pushed in deeper, Isaac began to pant. Once it was halfway in, you gripped his thighs, stilling despite the whine he let out. Flicking your gaze to his cock, you saw precum dripping down his shaft.

           “Gotta be careful and let you adjust, sweetheart…” Your thumbs rub soothing circles on his inner thighs, feeling the heat in your abdomen coil as you take in the sight of your strap-on easing itself inside of him. Letting the sounds of Isaac’s pleasure make your head spin, you begin to slowly delve deeper.

           “Ah...ah..!” Isaac hissed as the base of your cock met his entrance, hands darting to grasp your sides.

           “Too much?”

           “N-no, I just feel so, ahn…”

           You smiled, leaning to brush your lips together. “Feels good?”

           “Verily, gods- does it f-feel this good when I do this to you?”

           “Mhmm, I’m hoping to return the favor tonight.”

           When his hands moved to your shoulder blades, a soft sigh leaving him, you tested a roll of your hips, watching as Isaac’s mouth opened with a groan.

           Your hands rubbed down his thighs, grasping his hips and beginning a steady pace. Gentle, and much slower than you’d prefer, but seeing how Isaac began to pant, eyes squeezing shut with quiet murmurs of encouragement… Carefully, you pushed harder, enjoying the feel of Isaac’s nails digging into your skin.

           “Yes, yes, just- Just like that, ooh…” 

           “Mm? Ready to go faster?”

           “ Please.”

           Stepping up the pace made Isaac whine, wrapping his legs around your waist as he chanted your name breathlessly. As you moved you could feel the tip of his cock rub against your stomach with each thrust, precum helping it glide without issue across your skin. 

           “H-Harder- Hnng! Yes- More!”

           “I didn’t know you could be so greedy,” Panting, you shifted to look at his face. Isaac instinctively tried to hide how flustered he was, but instead you caught his jaw with your hand, dragging him into a kiss. “Are you already close?”

           Isaac’s eyes welled, head falling back into his pillow with another harsh snap of your hips. “S-so close, it, mmn, ah, feels so good!”

           Ghosting your fingers along his neck, you tested a light squeeze and watched Isaac’s body tense, a groan catching in his throat.

           “Do you want to cum?”

           He nodded, urging your thrusts deeper into him by digging his heels into your rear. With a gentle grip, you held his neck in your hand as you snapped your hips into him faster, losing your breath as Isaac whimpered below you. His eyes fluttered shut as you kissed his cheek, moaning as you felt his throat tense, noises of his own pleasure getting trapped under your hand.

           Shifting your hips, you opt to slow your thrusts, trading the quicker pace for deeper, harder thrusts that had Isaac’s body shaking each time your hips smacked against him, the tight grip he had on your shoulders pulling you as close as he could without interrupting your movements. 

           When another strangled groan failed to leak out, you let go of his neck. Immediately, he inhaled deeply, rasping out as you nibbled on his lobe.

           “D-don’t stop…”

           Closing your eyes, you focused on the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the way his legs clamped around you and his body stiffened once your hand found his throat again. You kept your grip firm and light enough to be tugged away if needed. But with the way he was writing underneath, attempting to push his hips in time with your thrusts...

           Impulsively, albeit clumsily, you reached in between the two of you and grasped his shaft, hearing Isaac’s shaking gasp hot against your ear.

           "I-if you do that I'll-!"

           You pushed the dildo in deep, stilling your hips as you worked his cock in quick strokes, watching as Isaac poorly attempted to bite his wrist to muffle his moan pitching higher.

           "Mm- mmph, fffuck! Yes, yesyes, please-!"

           In one swift movement, you tugged his forearm, pressing your lips against his neck for a quick kiss, and then-

           "Ah! Ah- Gods!!"

           As you bit down, Isaac's back arched and his thighs pushed into you, a strangled moan pouring out as his cum spilled over your knuckles and onto his stomach. Isaac scraped his nails down your shoulder blades as you continued pumping him through his orgasm, feeling your walls clench at the feel of his hot breath puffing against your ear as he tried breathing through a silent groan.

           Once his pleasured noises dipped into whimpers of overstimulation, you let go of his shaft and ever so slowly pulled your hips back. Letting the dildo slip out, you eased out of Isaac’s grasp.

           "Are you okay?" You panted, quickly unbuckling the strap-on and putting it aside.

           "Hah….hah...Yes, I'm…" Breathless, he nodded to finish his reply, stretching his legs out gingerly.

           "Take your time, Isaac," Sitting back, you absentmindedly rubbed his thighs as you caught your breath. Already, you could feel the promise of an ache lasting all day tomorrow. “I’ll clean up every, hah, everything, okay?”

           When he mumbled, you rested beside him, propping yourself on an elbow as you kissed the corner of his eye, enjoying his sigh.

           “Are you sure you’re okay?”

           “O-of course, just...winded, is all.” 

           “Mmm, good.” Smiling, you let Isaac tug you into a sweaty hug. “Trying to cuddle before we clean up?”

           "It’s not that… It's your turn."

           "Hm?"

           Weakly, he let go to tuck your hair behind your ear. "You didn't get to cum, let me help."

           "...Isaac, I love you but you're still catching your breath." You caught his pout in between your lips, lingering for just a moment before pulling back with a smile. "It's okay, let yourself be spoiled tonight."

           Despite the reassurance, he still frowned, eyes darting to the side momentarily before looking back with more confidence.

           "I'll be fine… just… sit on my face."

           You blinked, feeling a blush creep up at his sudden phrasing.

           "I… Isaac, you really don't-"

           He pulled you flush against him, peppering kisses along your neck as he spoke.

           "I can’t enjoy tonight to its fullest if I know you didn't get tipped over the edge. If you don't want to, it's fine, but if you're just saying ‘no’ to be kind… please be more honest with me."

           Mmm… Isaac's voice began to drip low with his last sentence, sending a giddy and teasing wave of pleasure through your body. Noticing the way you sighed, he slipped a hand down your abdomen, well-practiced fingers dipping between your folds, teasingly ghosting over your clit.

           "Look at how wet you are…"

           Just a moment ago Isaac had been whimpering below you, begging for you to fuck him harder. And now? Now he's seducing you with the confidence he's slowly built up during your relationship.

           "Y-you, ah, promise to let me know if it gets to be too much?"

           "Mhmm…" Another kiss on the crook of your shoulder. "I promise I'll be okay as well."

           Ah… Each stroke against your clit broke away more of your resolve until you were allowing him to help ease you onto your knees. Shakily, you rested your knees on either side of his face, letting Isaac guide your stance into what would be easier for him to handle. His tugs were gentle, mixed with quick kisses on your thigh before he flattened his tongue closer to your heat, tasting the arousal that had spread.

           It didn’t take a moment longer for him to pull you down to bury his nose within your curls, his lips meeting yours urgently.

           “Mmph-” The vibration from his moan sent a shiver running through your spine, fingers twitching to entwine into his hair. “Isaac,” His tongue dipped between your folds, pulling another gasp while his hands met your thighs, securing a firm grip. Biting your lip, your hands clung onto the headboard as you carefully rolled your hips and ground your clit against his tongue, unable to keep yourself from panting.

           Isaac’s determined tongue rubbed against your sensitive bud with each roll of your hips, his lips encircling the bundle of nerves the second he had a chance. Instantly, your hand darted between your legs to thread your fingers through his hair, moaning as he gently sucked at your clit. Just as your thighs began to strain, Isaac switched to broadly licking between your folds, only letting the tip of his tongue swirl teasing circles around your clit to draw out a desperate keen. Grinding only brought forth a growling groan from him, a surge of excitement drawing your climax closer.

           "Isaac, ple- mmph!" You braced yourself against the headboard with your freehand, trying to keep in mind how hard you were tugging his locks as his lips encircled your bud again. "There-! Yes, yes!"

           His muffled moan as he continued to taste you made your head spin. With the tip of his tongue flicking over your nub, Isaac began to suck in earnest, nails digging into your thighs as your moans rose in pitch. Combined with your fantasy of pegging Isaac being made into a reality, it only took a few moments more until your orgasm hit, panting out a quiet chant of his name while he switched to lap up your arousal.

           As you caught your breath, Isaac planted a kiss against your thigh before muttering against the skin.

           “May I?”

           “Mhmm- Nngh!” This time, you couldn’t help yourself from digging your nails into his scalp as his fangs plunged into you. Planting your forehead against the shelf of his headboard, you let your eyes flutter shut, each gulp Isaac took bringing forth another wave of pleasure coursing through your veins.

           Finally content, Isaac lapped up the droplets that attempted to spill down your thigh, kissing the skin with a murmur of thanks following. When he noticed the breathless pants you gave in return, Isaac gingerly pushed up on your thighs, helping you onto your knees so he could move out from under you. 

           “Here, I’ve got you,” He eased you back onto the bed, helping you lay on your side, smiling along with the breathless chuckle that escaped you when it proved your legs refused to cooperate; still feeling boneless. 

           Against your protests, Isaac set to cleaning up the mess the two of you made. His insisting remarks were that you needed to rest, and after a convincing kiss, you melted into the bed and watched with a sigh.

           Carefully, he settled back beside you on the bed. You smiled as his hand darted to meet yours; tugging it to rest entwined with his ontop his chest once the sheets were tugged up.

           “Thank you.” You pecked his cheek, snuggling into his arms. 

           “Mhmm… I should thank you instead, that felt… rather like you promised it would.”

           "Then as thanks… Next time you touch yourself, can I watch?"

           "I-I, you want to what?" Isaac sputtered, his cheeks easily heating up.

            "I'll let you watch me if you do."

            "...I'll….Think about it."

———

This fic is a ton of ‘firsts’ in one go. First time writing pegging, first time actually trying to write facesitting, Isaac’s first time getting fucked with a strap-on-- I hope you guys enjoyed it! It took a while to get this done and I appreciate the patience!

Masterlist | Ikevamp/Ikepri Server

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter 12: Final Home Exercise Program

Characters: Captain Syverson x OFC (Shane Dawson)

Summary: Our lovers spend one last night together and the next morning have a serious discussion about their future after more new information comes to light about Sy’s upcoming training. Can the new relationship sustain the stress? Are Shane’s feelings justified, or can they overcome what lies before them?

Spoilers suck! Start from the top or wherever you left off HERE!

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings:  Language, mature themes, smut, angst…well, near angst. As angsty as I get.

Author’s Note: Sorry this has taken so long, my darling dears! I’m currently on vacation and although I was hoping to be inspired by new surroundings, it’s given me WICKED writer’s block! I have a pretty solid plan for more chapters, though, so, buckle up!

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags: 

@onlyhenrys

@cavillryarchive

@summersong69

@titty-teetee

@bloodyinspiredfuck

@agniavateira

@oddsnendsfanfics

@omgkatinka

@thisismysecretthirstblog

@misslaland (apparently deactivated, idk what’s up with that)

@speakerforthedead0

@tumblnewby

@suavechops

@radkesgirl83

@wheretheriversrunintothesea

@heartfelt-pen

@auds24

Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@

Sy's last two PT appointments could not have gone better. On paper, anyway. He was at full strength in his injured knee, his range of motion was better than it was in the so-called good knee, and he hadn't complained of pain above a 2/10 in the last five sessions. He'd even been using the treadmill properly the last two weeks, working up to his own goal of running again. Her goals for him were met…they could have probably stopped a session short, but she'd wanted to give him a few more handouts to finalize his HEP…and well, she'd be in major trouble for saying so, but…she couldn't stand the thought of cancelling that last visit. It felt like quitting, even though it would have been justified.

In practice, however, there was a tension between them that had never existed before. Something creating awkward energy that they couldn't seem to shake. They hadn't seen each other much outside of therapy this week, either. Not since the night of their argument. Sy had to do a lot of prep for his trip to Virginia, and Shane's caseload this week had been ridiculous. Dozens of evaluations and updates and calls to various companies on different kinds of splints and orthotics she was hoping to get for a few of her patients. A lot of time spent on the phone meant a lot of after-hours documentation. She needed a break. Even if it meant she'd have to do some work over the weekend. Sy was leaving tomorrow to get settled in Charlottesville before the big training course began. She didn't want them to be apart on his last night home for a month.

"Hey, as a celebration of your discharge from PT and your new career trajectory, how about dinner on me tonight?"

"But…you don't really want me to leave town…or to be done with therapy. Not that I, myself, won't miss you feeling me up in public." he smirked as she took his last set of range of motion measurements, her hands gently holding one arm of her goniometer to the side of his thigh…suddenly too aware of him.

"Not entirely true. I'm glad you're better, I'll just miss seeing you through the day. It breaks up the…" she sighed "the monotony of my daily life. Also, why would I want you to leave town? What would that say about me as your girlfriend?" she explained.

"S'pose you're right."

"In this case, yes. Yes I am." She winked at him.

They finished up and she gave him a few more exercises to keep in his arsenal to maintain strength and range in both knees.

"Okay, now, I won't be around to harass you about these, but keep doing them regularly, and just modify them as I've notated if they get too easy. Try to just do more reps, though. I wouldn't try to bulk it up just yet, and that's what you'll do with more weight added."

"Yes, ma'am." he said for old time's sake. She shook her head and smirked.

"And listen, please. This is your physical therapist talking right now. Be careful and mindful during … your cross country training." she wanted to call it "Survivor-Virginia," but refrained. She knew it would get his hackles up. And she was taking enough of a chance insisting that he be careful. "Nature has perils for the perfectly fit. The already injured are at a disadvantage from the gate. Mind your footing. And try not to run unless you have to. Uneven surfaces are not your friend just yet. You still need to work up to that. If you want, I'll help you with it when you get back. Just…don't undo all this work we've done together."

He seemed to see his woman peeking out from behind the mask of his therapist. Concern coloring the neutral and clinical advice she was giving him.

"I'll do my best, sunshine." he held her by the arms and kissed her forehead. It felt too intimate for the setting, but they had done worse. "I'll see ya tonight then?"

"Yeah, I'll bring some food by your place after work. What do you want?"

"Hmmm…I'll let you know." he kissed her cheek and left.

The next hour was her lunch, so she had time to contemplate what seeing him walk out for the last time had made her feel. She sighed, and started to well up, getting out her lunch bag to begin eating and documenting when a knock came at the door frame.

It was Sy, looking forlorn and manic and altogether a mess. Very unlike himself.

"I got out to the truck and something just felt wrong about the way I left today. As if it was any other day. Not our last session. You were trying to get that to land…I'm a little slow. But I finally got it." he walked to her, grabbing her up from her chair in a hug that mended all of the broken parts of her. Squeezed her back together when she'd been damn near falling apart. "Shane, you…you did more than just make me better. You've…made me better. Happier. Whole. I'll never be able to thank you properly for all of this, but…I intend to try for as long as you'll let me."

He held her while her tears fell softly onto his Def Leppard shirt. This was what she needed. For him to simply hold her, complete her, love her.

"Also, I think I'd like Chinese food tonight." she laughed into his neck.

"You idiot."

"You still like me."

"I do. And you don't need to worry about thanking me, Sy. You return the favor daily by just…being you…and being mine." She pulled him in to a ferociously sexy kiss, her hands in his hair, still too short for her liking, but getting there.

He broke away, neither wanting it to end, but both knowing it must, all the same.

"I thought we couldn't do this at your work?" he inquired, slightly out of breath.

"We couldn't do this while you were a patient. You're officially discharged. Last appointment over. All I have to do is sign your note and it's a done deal. But now…if you wanted to drop by for lunch sometime when you get back from training for your fancy job…we could…make it a regular occurrence." she smiled up into his entrancing blue eyes, sparkling with promise.

"I like the sound of that, sunshine." he gave her one more chaste kiss before his official goodbye. "See ya tonight."

As she watched him leave, she remembered thinking to herself one day how he probably used to take very confident strides…that hardly did his walk justice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She ordered their favorites, four entrees total, so they had options, crab rangoon, egg rolls, dumplings, the works. She would be happy to eat off the leftovers all weekend. She wasn't fussy. She loved leftover Chinese takeout.

He met her at the door, having advance warning of her arrival from the canine burglar alarm, Aika.

"You got her. Good girl." he said sweetly thanking the pup for sounding off the Twilight Bark throughout the neighborhood.

"Hello!" She handed off the food to Sy and scratched at the German Shepherd's ears the way she liked, her tail wagging with joyous speed.  

"I thought we could set up a buffet on the coffee table downstairs while we watch TV?"

"Sounds great!" She said, with an enthusiasm that sounded almost forced. She wasn't able to fully shake this foreboding she felt saying goodbye to him, no matter how long they'd be apart.

Sy grabbed plates and silverware while Shane got them some beverages, and they headed downstairs, Aika knowing her boundaries did not extend to the basement except by invitation, whined at their descent. Sy wasn't having it.

"Oh, don't give us that sob story, ya brat." he rolled his eyes at Shane.

"Aww, can't she come down with us?"

"No way. I want you all to myself." a devilish smirk twitched up the corners of his mouth making him even more handsome.

"Aika has nothin' on you. You're the real dog." she teased.

"I make no excuses or arguments. I'm gonna be selfish with you tonight." they put the food and supplies on the coffee table and he caught her up into his arms. He seemed to want to inhale her into his lungs.

"Mmmm, as endearing as I've always found generosity, I really like the sound of that." She let out a huff of amusement.

They spent an uncharacteristically short amount of time choosing something to watch. They'd already started a miniseries together, and they wanted to finish it before Sy left. It was a British political thriller with a lot of intrigue and quite a bit of sex. They only had two hours left, so they finished it quickly as they ate.

They decided to put on something familiar afterward. Die Hard. Which they both quoted with ridiculous precision. They were cuddled into each other on the big sectional, lulled into comfort by the familiar security of the dialogue and the warmth of the other.

Soon, Sy's hand found its way to Shane's thigh. It inched its way inside and up. She felt like he could hear her heart rate quicken, just as she knew he could hear her breaths come with more effort due to his touch.

She looked at him, and despite her apprehension about his decision to leave her so early in their relationship, she wanted him. She'd known for so long now. It felt like forever, for longer than they'd even known one another. A ridiculous notion. But with that same gaze, she begged him to continue. The signal was not lost on the captain. His mouth punished hers in a kiss so deliciously violent and needy she thought there was no way he couldn't feel the same for her. She pushed to the back of her busy mind all of the negative emotions the kiss brought up, the confusion as to how and why he was going to leave her when he clearly needed her just as badly as she needed him, and just let this beautiful moment become what it would.

As hard as that was to do.

The way he touched her was a pretty effective distraction. One hand held her firmly against his mouth by the nape while the other built friction in her over her jeans. She felt her body's primal responses of the building pressure and her hands gripping at his shirt. His guttural moan at her answering touch only fueled the inferno in her. She needed more of him. She thrust up into his hand wantonly. He took himself away from her, cruelly, but to be so very kind, she would soon see. He undid her jeans and tugged them down, along with her panties. In the process, he repositioned her conveniently at the edge of the sofa. He scooted the coffee table out of the way enough to kneel before her. He tortured her with kisses from her knee up her inner thigh on both sides before continuing those kisses where she really needed them.

His warm breath hit her first and she arched, aching in anticipation for the corporeal. He looked up at her with his dervish's grin, seeing the desire on her face and feeling it course through her body, and although he was a better man than her previous lovers, and a better man than most, no man was so good that making his woman feel like this didn't make him feel like a god.

"Darlin', you're so gorgeous like this." he said as he teased her with his mouth. Her words failed. She had only unintelligible syllables for him. He didn't seem to mind. In fact, he seemed thoroughly amused by her speechlessness. Amused and encouraged. She'd never felt like this before. His lips and tongue worked over her trembling flesh, both as familiar paths and brand new territory. Discovering the new and remembering the familiar, all at once.

"Sy." she whispered, so close to her peak, and needing him to continue, but unable to do more than moan his name.

"I know, sugar. I know it won't be long. Whenever you're ready, sweetheart."

And she fell apart under his expert touch. He soothed her body down from the climax and asked her if she was ready for bed.

"I think not!" she replied. "The movie isn't over." and she pulled him up to her by the cheeks into another crushing kiss and guided him to the couch. She kicked her bottoms off her ankles to avoid tripping and repositioned herself between his legs as he'd done with her.

"You don't have to, sunshine." he caressed her jaw.

"I know, babe. I want to. Let me do this for you." He was always eager to taste her but she'd yet to return the favor at his own request. She was done letting him decline. She didn't want him leaving without giving him this small parting gift.

It wasn't as if she was unfamiliar with how big he was. She'd touched him, and had him inside her…but seeing him this close was different. She fully appreciated what a feat it was to take him.

She started in with her own tricks, which made him moan, just as planned. His hands laced gently and lovingly in her hair as she worked her mouth and hands over him. She looked up at him after a few moments to gauge his reaction and couldn't have been more pleased. His expression was one of pure, tortured bliss. She felt so powerful.

"Angel, I'm not gonna last much longer." she took that as her cue to get on top of him.

She joined their bodies with a groan of ecstasy that he echoed. She gripped his shoulders as she moved against him, slow and measured at first, but becoming more frantic and erratic as she chased her climax. One hand remaining on her hip, the other came to her chin and directed her gaze to him. Her eyes, blazing with desire, met his, full of tears. She fell against his lips, as she climbed higher, needing that final push to send her over. Which it did, tumbling into that familiar bliss, that she'd have to savor for…well, too long. She didn't want to think too hard about that. This would be their last night together for several weeks. And she wanted to make the most of it. She looked at him, nodded, and after a few more thrusts, he came to his own pinnacle with a shudder beneath her, clutching at her back, resting his head on her sternum. She held him there, and took a few cleansing breaths with her own cheek pressed against his lengthening hair. She stroked the ones at the back of his neck for a moment as they came down from their impossible high.

"Shall we continue this upstairs?" she asked as the cheery, festive, and entirely out-of-season notes of "Let It Snow" played on the TV with the rolling credits of Die Hard. He grinned.

"Yeah, if I still have bones in my legs." he kissed her neck, just above the collar of her tee. "And I'll come down later and clear all this up. We'll just have to close the door so Aika doesn't come down and have herself a party. She's a good dog, but I'm not about to tempt her."

Shane carefully slid off of Sy's lap, attempting not to make too much of a mess, grabbed her panties and slipped them on for the walk to Sy's room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The musical chiming of Sy's phone alarm came too damned early. They'd barely slept, not wanting to waste a moment together. When they finally nodded off after their last round of fervent love-making, they wrapped themselves around one another and were both out like lights in no time. Now he was untangling himself from her to turn the noise off and presumably begin the process of getting ready to leave for the airport. He only snoozed it, though, and pulled her more tightly against his bare, hairy chest.

"What time is it?" She asked, bleary from lack of sleep and extreme fatigue. Not that she was complaining.

"Seven. But my flight doesn't leave until 10, and it's just from the base. There's a flight leaving there for  Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport and I'm hitchin' a ride with them."

"Oh good. I had anticipated we'd have to drive to Springfield, or even St. Louis this morning." She would do it for Sy, of course, but she wasn't looking forward to a six hour minimum round trip, half of which she would have to make alone.

"Nah, and I'm hoping to work something out for the return trip, too, but I'll let you know about that, then. I've made those open ended, though, because I don't know about the return date."

"Sure. God, that's so…crazy. Not in a bad way, just, I can't imagine leaving home without a clear plan on when I'd be back. Of course, knowing it won't be more than a month helps, I guess."

"Yeah."

"And really, a part of me has dreamed of living a sort of nomadic existence since I was very young, so I definitely see the romance in it."

"Totally agree. Hey, I'm hungry. How about we get ready and I'll buy ya breakfast?" He seemed evasive, but she was hungry, too, so she let it go.

"Sounds great!"

They got up and showered together, keeping the sexy time to a minimum given the current time constraints they'd now placed upon themselves. If they didn't hurry, they'd never get out of Cracker Barrell in time to get him to the base.

He loaded his bag in her cargo space and they headed off to the restaurant, which was hopping with traffic on a Saturday morning, as was expected. But since there were only two of them, they got a table without waiting.

They ordered coffees, and Cokes, not super healthy, but hey, this wasn't a daily occurrence. It was a splurge.

Sy ordered some massive and meaty breakfast spread that sounded like a heart attack waiting to happen, while Shane kept it simple with biscuits and gravy and a side of fruit…also, she stole a strip of Sy's bacon. Again…she was a weak woman.

The conversation was light and friendly and lovey…until the time came to leave. Sy picked up the check and took it to the counter to pay and then led her out the double doors back to her vehicle.

"You'll be able to FaceTime me on evenings you haven't gone walkabout in the wilderness, right?"

"I'm not sure they call it that outside of Australia, or even the Crocodile Dundee movies, but yeah, we'll plan on that, for sure."

"Good. I'll miss you so much. But at least I have a pretty good idea of when you'll be back." she was spouting excitedly, but he was being rather cagey again. He piped up with three words that never start off a good sentence.

"Yeah, about that…" she looked at him as they closed the doors to her Explorer, waiting for him to continue…hoping for good news, but expecting bad.

"I got an email last night…late…that I…that the training…might take longer than they told me at first." he winced for the impact of her reception of the anticipated bad news.

"Longer…uh-huh. How much longer?" she asked, backing out of her parking space.

"Ya know if you back into these spaces you don't have to worry about--"

"Really? This is the moment you want to man-splain the concepts of parking to me, Sy? I'll save you the trouble. My dad couldn't get me to do it, and I don't see you having any success, either. Now, how much longer?"

"I don't…they didn't give a concrete--"

"Give me your best guess based on what you know. Give me a range. A ballpark, if you will."

"Uhh…two or three more…weeks…than planned." he winced as she drove toward Fort Leonard Wood Army Base from the peaceful breakfast joint. It was rather poetic, really, since the conversation had turned from relaxed to militant. And they were driving from civilian territory into a land of combatants. Not a war zone, but a zone of warriors, perhaps. And she was ready for battle, herself.

"Sy. That's more than six weeks."

"I know." he said, his eyes downcast in some combination of shame, fear, and sadness.

"And you're…fine with it?" she prodded, prompting him to consider her.

"Of course I don't like it. I'm gonna hate being away from my sunshine for even a week. But this is…it's about who I am. Who I'm meant to be from now on. I have to find my way from here, Shane."

"I guess my only question is…where do I fit into this…path. This life you're making for yourself? We're brand new. But we've worked really hard already to get where we are. And I've worked really hard to get to where I am, professionally. In my dream job. No, the circumstances aren't ideal, but the work makes me think, and gives me purpose. What am I suppose to do? Either I give that up, or I give up…the only man I've ever been with who's made me actually happy."

"I don't want that. I don't want to lose you, and I don't want you to give anything up for me, darlin.' That'll just lead to you resentin' me down the road, and I don't want that, neither." He stopped a moment and just looked at her, face holding back frustrated and angry tears…but also very sad ones. "What about this? Let's just, talk about all this moving forward stuff when I'm back from training. At that point, I'll know more about what to expect about jobs and assignments. And…if it would make you feel more comfortable…we can call ourselves…unexclusive. That way, if you meet someone while I'm gone--"

"Have you lost your mind?" She interrupted his ridiculous attempt to be selfless. She was secure enough in his feelings for her that he wasn't making the suggestion for himself.

"I'm serious. If you meet someone, and he sweeps you off your feet, don't resist. I want you to be happy, Shane."

"Then come back and teach gym at the local high school. Better yet, don't go, at all."

"You remember all that stuff you said about having your dream job and a purpose?" Shane nodded. "You want me to find all that too, don'tcha?"

"No. I'm a selfish bitch who wants you here with me no matter the cost. And I don't care if you resent me in the long run. At least I'll have you." she laughed at her sarcasm and only slightly true self-deprecation.

"You'll be fine. You managed so far without me." he reminded her as she pulled up to the gate, guarded by about four men, who's rank she couldn't tell, but one of whom Sy called a sergeant.

"I'll get out here and they'll take me to the hangar in a cart. No civilian vehicles allowed today. Apparently they're doing maneuvers." he shrugged and got out to grab his bag.

"I put the rest of the takeout in here too. It's in one of my nice coolers on ice."

"Thanks." she told her shoes as they stood under the shade of her rear access hatch. She couldn't look at him right now. He made her, though.

"This ain't quite like the airport, but I still don't have a lot of time, sunshine." he kissed her hard, and it really felt like a goodbye, which almost hurt more than his leaving. Almost. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, and she knew she'd feel that embrace all evening. She hoped it would last for weeks.

"I love you, Sy." she sobbed to him. Trying like hell to keep it together.

"I love you, darlin.' Now don't you forget that when some other handsome fella gives you the eye. Make sure he's worth it, if you're gonna write me a dear john letter." he winked at her. She laughed and nodded, but didn't feel it was that funny, and didn't intend to adhere to his parameters of their relationship. He ducked under the arm that was preventing her from driving through. Although, legs as long as his, he almost could have stepped over it. She watched him walk away for as long as she could before she was given the signal that she must leave and let other traffic through…although, she resented this. There were two lanes, after all. Couldn't these men see what a mess she was? She'd just had to say goodbye to the love of her life…and she didn't know when…or indeed, if…she'd see him again. She had hope…but that didn't stop her from crying all the way home and the rest of the afternoon as the ghost of Sy's parting hug faded from her skin.

Up Next: Chapter 13: SNAFU

[zara2148]

Fethsteel Fic: Not Good Enough (For You)

So here we go, my take on how Fethry Duck joined F.O.W.L. and met Steelbeak. Less warning stuff for this one, mostly just implied abuse, though it’s clear Steelbeak has not had a pleasant history. Also, both he and Fethry have some self esteem issues... and there’s not exactly spoilers for “Lost Harp of Mervana,” but the new intro takes place right after it.

Also on AO3. Make sure leave kudos and comments there. I enjoy the feel of being applauded.

Huey was placing Isabella Finch's journal back in Uncle Scrooge's study when he spotted the tin can phone there, now connected to nothing. Scrooge held on to everything in the mansion, even seemingly useless things, on the grounds that it may one day come in handy again. 

It was one reason why Trash Day could be such a nightmare, though Scrooge was starting to learn how to let things go...

Huey found Della and Donald unpacking their gear off the sub, hanging up suits and boxing equipment until it was ready to be used again. "Uncle Donald? Mom? Do you know how to get in touch with Cousin Fethry? I think he'd love to hear all about Mervana."

"No, sorry, sweetie. I haven't heard anything from him since he rode off on the back of that... giant... fish..." Della shuddered in remembered revulsion.

"Mom, it was a krill."

"A fish is still a fish by any other name."

"You also seemed fine with Mitzy at the time."

"I was too busy thinking about all the Moonlanders we had to beat up."

Donald sighed and turned away from a crate to answer Huey’s question. “I haven’t heard from him either since then.” He shrugged. "But that's normal for Fethry. He either calls every five minutes or he gets so wrapped up in something we don't hear from him for six months."

"Doesn't he have a cell phone we could call?”

"Knowing Fethry, it would just get dropped in the ocean." There was a reason Scrooge only trusted Fethry with a tin can after one too many busted phones.

Huey’s beak twisted in discomfort. “But what if he got in trouble? What if he needed our help?”

Donald let out a breath, more frustrated with himself than anyone else, even Fethry. He knelt in front of Huey and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Fethry is…” Cuckoo bananas really hadn’t been the right thing to say to Huey, not when Donald could see the similarities between the two of them. Unsure how else to finish that sentence, he tried again.

“Fethry is who he is. But he’s also a grown adult capable of making decisions and taking care of himself. If he ever needs us, he knows where we are.”

Della grinned proudly. “He’s a part of the Duck family. Surviving is what we do.”

Uncle Donald and Mom weren’t wrong about that. Cousin Fethry had survived alone in a collapsing sea base for years. He knew the Junior Woodchuck guidebook from cover to cover, just as Huey did. He was better prepared than most to face trouble when it found him.

"Okay, I'll just make sure to write down all my observations about Mervana to share with him when he gets in touch."

Donald gave Huey a smile. "I'm sure he'll love that."

***

“Don’t call us, we’ll call you.”

It was an old refrain at this point. 

The last job interview he had, Fethry had spent a full half-hour talking about the eating habits of krill and the merits of singing when asked about his team management skills. 

The interview before that, he spoke briefly about the endless silence of the ocean when asked how he dealt with workplace difficulties. He’d been too quiet after that question.

And the interview before that… well, he didn’t think that room was ever going to be the same.

Fethry’s laptop was old. Wires were sticking out and duct tape was barely holding the screen together. He browsed through the listings for scientists on Quacked In, tweaking his cover letter and resume slightly for each.

Maybe he was going about this the wrong way. Maybe he should try for a slightly smaller position at a lab, like a custodian! He had experience keeping things in custody! And then he could work his way up from there. 

But the little Donalds had such faith in him. They believed he could be a great scientist. Fethry wasn’t going to let them down. He never really realized until it was too late, but Fethry knew he had a habit of letting his family down.

Gladstone had offered to help, after that big event with purple people from the sky… ahh, yes, the invasion! But Fethry knew how often people tried to get close to his cousin to use his luck. Family shouldn’t do that.

The next listing didn’t quite catch his eye. But Fethry was at the point of applying for everything that came up for “scientist” and read through what little there was.

“WANTED: Skilled scientists for private company in Duckburg. Duties will vary. Flexible work schedule, late nights occasionally required. Must be able to roll with the punches.”

He had no expectations that it would progress to a job offer. How he chose to look at was that he was doing really well on reaching his goal of 100 job rejections. He’d read all about re-framing your objectives for positivity!

Once he reached 100, well, he might as well try for 200 rejections then.

He reviewed his resume and cover letter on the final submission screen. He clicked “Send.”

Then he moved onto the next listing and thought no more of it.

***

F.O.W.L.’s computer settings were extremely sensitized when it came to tracking the movements and activities of the Duck-McDuck clan. They knew when Hubert Duck received a new merit badge, or when Dewford Duck uploaded another video to his overlooked Insta, or when Llewellyn bought a soda that wasn’t Pep branded.

Any diversion from or progress in the Duck’s family’s normal routine could be significant. That’s why they monitored it all.

So when a member of the Duck family applied for one of their vacant positions, it got noticed. Alarms went off, alerting the highest-ranking members in F.O.W.L. command.

Just ten minutes after the application was received, Bradford clicked through it on his laptop.

F.O.W.L. could just ignore this. Stay away from the Duck family until they were more ready to move out in the open. It would be a sensible move.

But there was potential here he couldn’t overlook.

Fethry Duck was one of the harder members to track ever since the McDuck SubLab crumbled into an undersea abyss. Satellite images last had him riding some sort of kaiju across the ocean, which was just typical when it came to the Duck-McDuck family.

When the moon invaders came they had made many mistakes, such as caring more about the acknowledgment of their perceived superiority than how they could exploit the Earth. But they had been right that it was better to have all members of that family accounted for when it came to global-scale plans.

Having Fethry under constant watch at F.O.W.L. would leave Gladstone as the most transient variable. And the lottery winnings and sweepstakes prizes he left in his wake would make him infinitely easier to track.

Fethry was also one of the more controllable members of the Duck family. Neither misfortune nor ostentatious fortune dogged his steps. He didn’t question intention and he didn’t try to stir up trouble for his amusement. He was so lacking in ambition that he stayed in a lonely janitorial position for almost five years. If he was taken to a lab and given every reason to stay, he likely would do so without seeing anything amiss.

His goal was to steal the world right out from under Scrooge. Why not start by stealing a member of the man’s family? One Scrooge was unlikely to miss for quite some time, given his avoidance of Fethry’s company.

Yet for a duck who didn’t believe in handouts, it said something that Scrooge still cared enough about Fethry to give him a string of jobs that he more or less performed adequately. He’d prefer it not come to threats, especially since harm to his family made Scrooge predictably savage. But if worse came to worse… better to have a hostage than do without.

And if he was useless? Disposing of him would be no hardship.

He clicked “Accept” and composed a brief response, suggesting a range of times that Fethry could visit a front location in downtown Duckberg.

After opening up the email and reading through it, Fethry squealed and picked out the earliest possible time. 

***

Fethry hummed as he walked inside the address the email gave him. It was a plain building, notable only for its pristine white exterior that seemed all too blank.

He’d dressed up nice for the occasion. His red jacket was replaced with a slightly frayed and browned business suit jacket. His tie was a piece of dried kelp that Mitzy had picked out for him. She always had the best eye when it came to kelp. And his cap was still present, keeping his thoughts toasty warm!

Yet his throat felt clogged and simultaneously too dry. The papers in his hand would be wrinkled if he clutched them any tighter. There was a heavy feeling in his chest that told him he’d be out of here soon enough, and he would need to try his luck elsewhere.

A duck with a dirty face and ruffled hair sat behind the visitor’s desk. Her name tag read “Ample.”

He approached her without his usual bounce. “Hello, I’m here for an interview.”

She nodded and glanced through the schedule. “Fethry Duck?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“The director is ready to see you now. Go through the double doors over there.”

He dipped forward in an awkward half-bow, unsure if a handshake would be too presumptuous. “Thank you!”

He pushed his way through the double doors. The room was in grey shadow, a large desk slightly off toward one of the corners. Two chairs were in front of the desk, facing the figure behind it.

The shadows slightly obscured the person behind the desk. He could make out a shape but no features.  

The shadow turned to him. “Ah, thank you for coming. Please take a seat.”

Fethry grabbed one of the chairs, shifting his paper copy of his resume as he looked at his interviewer up close.

Oh, he knew this vulture! He worked with Uncle Scrooge before! His name was buzzing around in the back of Fethry’s skull, waiting to be grabbed hold of…. what was it, what was it…?

“Bradley!”

“It’s Bradford,” he corrected in a cold tone. 

Fethry slumped back in his seat, feeling small. “O-oh, I’m sorry.”

Bradford did not take the time to acknowledge what he said. He sat “So, Fethry Duck. Scrooge’s nephew.”

“Yes.”

“You hold no degrees, no certifications that would qualify you for a scientific position.”

“... no.” Fethry knew how much those pieces of paper meant to people. He sunk into his chair, almost wishing it could swallow him up, the way the ocean did…

...and that was not a train of thought he needed to be boarding right now. Fethry stepped off a mental platform, letting it whiz by.

Bradford continued, neither noticing nor caring about Fethry’s inner world and its struggles. “And yet, you thought you could apply here, for a scientific position with us.” He stood up and started to circle around Fethry. “Do you know what we do here, Fethry?”

“Science?”

“Among other things.” Bradford paused behind Fethry. Fethry couldn’t quite bring himself to turn and look at him. “What we do here... let’s just say we're out to change the world.”

Bradford resumed his circle and came to a stop in front of Fethry. He let silence reign for a few seconds before speaking. “And Fethry Duck? We’re willing to give you the chance to join our ranks.”

Fethry had to swallow down dry disbelief. “Really?”

“Yes.”

Fethry’s hands were clammy as he held out his stacks of papers. His grip wasn’t shaking, but his limbs felt hollow. “You don’t even want to look at my resume first?”

“I’ve already seen it.”

He let his arms fall to his sides. His voice came out small, as if he was once again speaking from the bottom of the ocean. “Why me?”

Silence returned. Bradford considered him over his beak.

“You’re the unnoticed member of the Duck-McDuck family. Isn’t it time you had a chance to prove yourself?”

Bradford wasn’t wrong. He wanted that chance. But the implication that he was only getting this job because of his family...

Well. Wasn’t that how he got every job he ever had?

Bradford turned away from him and loomed his way back behind his desk. “Mind you, the job still isn’t much. You’ll be working in a lab on your own projects, yes. But you will remain under direct supervision for the time being. Before undertaking any venture, you are to submit a full report that outlines expected costs and outcomes, in accordance with our guidelines.”

He sat down, his back hunched to allow him to continue looming from a lower height. “The pay is minimum wage, but you can work your way up through experience. Food and board will be provided on-site, so that’s two fewer things you have to worry about.”

Fethry absent-mindedly fiddled with his kelp tie, his attention otherwise on Bradford as he continued.

“As you may have surmised, your work is to be considered top secret. For the time being, we will ask that you remain in the facilities to better learn your responsibilities. There is to be no contact with the outside world without prior approval. Otherwise, you put ourselves and the work we do at risk.”

“If you accept the job under these terms, a car will be dispatched to pick up you and any belongings you choose to bring tomorrow morning.” Bradford steepled his fingers and looked through Fethry. “Do you accept these conditions?” 

Fethry had forgotten he hadn’t said yes to anything yet. He wasn’t sure how he got so caught up that he missed that.

He could bring his team with him, their jar was extremely portable. But taking this job would mean saying goodbye to Mitzy for a while… hopefully, she would understand. 

He nodded, then said for emphasis, “Yes.”

“Well, then. Welcome, Fethry Duck, to…” Bradford paused again, his words trailing off into familiar silence. “... well, we’ll just call it your new place of work.”

***

There wasn’t a whole lot to do at their headquarters between missions. The funnest thing to do around here was to play all the arcade games after the kids had gone home for the day.

However, the last time Steelbeak did that he blew an entire paycheck and ended up with only 20 tickets to show for it—not even enough to trade-in for a piece of candy. That didn’t make him stupid, that made the games rigged.

Now he stuck to the actual secret parts of their secret lair, wandering the halls. His wallet stayed full and fat, but the time between missions dragged on and on.

The gun course was fun, but there was only so much offtime an agent was allowed there. Spend too much time shooting things and command would send you over to their quack shrink.

The rec room was okay, but he’d be fighting every off-duty Eggman there if he wanted to pick which channel to watch on the sole TV. Not that he wouldn’t win, but his time in the prison rec room, and the underground fighting ring’s rec room before that, taught him that victory wasn’t worth it if you couldn’t find any good shows playing.

Which is how he often ended up doing what he did right now, trailing after Heron down to the labs. He’d watch her and watch the other scientists, trying to see how what they did tied into F.O.W.L.’s big ol’ villain schemes.

Did he always understand what she was working on? No. Did she ever really try to explain it in an easily understood way? Also no. Did these trips to the labs often end with her metal hand clamped around his beak, hissing at him and calling him names? No, well, yes. Yes, it did.

… he was supposed to be going somewhere with this, but he wasn’t quite sure where. Wait, no, now he remembered. 

If he wanted to someday be the one hatching the schemes, he should watch how others hatched theirs first. It was like watching the prizefighter in the ring to learn how to beat him. Some people would only hit you if you asked them for anything, so you had to watch how they did something instead.

Most of the other scientists ignored him, and he didn’t pay them much attention either. But today, a duck in a red hat waved at them as he and Heron stepped inside the lab.

“Oh, hello! I’m Fethry!” The lab coat he was wearing hung loosely on him, clearly meant for a slightly larger bird.

“O-kaaay...?” Why was he expected to care?

A grin was spreading across Heron’s face as she looked the duck up and down. Then she turned her gaze to Steelbeak as she gestured offhandedly at the duck. “Fethry is our new marine specialist. He’ll be working on some of our most important projects.”

Heron… sounded like she was trying to hold back a laugh. What, was this smart guy really good at the jokes? Or did he know a party trick or two?

And what kind of name was Fethry? Might as well have called him “Webby” since he had webbed feet.

“Say, Fethry?” He knew that tone of voice from Heron. He didn’t always know the details of what she was saying, but he knew the sweetly sharpened tone was meant to cut someone down to size.

He felt… lighter, watching that tone be aimed at someone who wasn’t him. Like he was actually in on the joke for once. He also felt the urge to move to safer ground.

Heron’s smile was wide as she continued. “Why don’t you explain to my partner, Steelbeak, what you’re working on? He loves to hear about scientific experiments in great detail. Especially if you use a lot of long words.”

Okay, maybe he was still part of the joke.

Fethry’s eyes widened—he didn’t even know it was possible for someone to widen their eyes like that until Fethry did. “I’d love to!”

“Great!” Heron said in a passable imitation of Fethry’s enthusiasm. Under her breath she added, “Maybe now I can get some real work done.”

Steelbeak’s jaw tightened as she walked away. He refocused his gaze on the red-capped duck, who was all but jumping in place. 

A snort escaped him as he sat down at a table. At least if this pipsqueak tried to clamp his beak, he could just knock him into next week.

“So what are you working on?” This was still more exciting than watching the walls, after all.

Fethry laughed nervously. It had been a while since anyone paid him a significant amount of attention. “Well, at the moment I’m just filling out the request paperwork. But I’m hoping to start an experiment on delaying the eating habits of the crown of thorns starfish.”

“The what?”

“Crown of thorns starfish. It eats coral.”

“And that is?”

“Coral is like…” Fethry scratched his head. He could never remember all the big words like polyps, sessile, and Anthozoa when he needed to. “It’s like skeletons scattered across the seafloor that fish live in.”

“Really? So fish just decide to live in dead bodies.” Sounded fake, but at least it wasn’t boring.

“Well, coral is a skeleton, but it’s also alive. It’s really bad when they do die.”

“So the fish live in alive dead bodies.” This Fethry guy was talking an interesting sort of crazy.

“Skeletons, yes. Called coral. Only these sea stars eat the coral, so the fish have no place to live then.”

“Now, these sea stars start off eating algae. It’s been called the grass of the sea,” he explained before Steelbeak even had to ask. Fethry’s beak scrunched up. “Though I have to say, grass usually tastes much better.”

“How long it takes for the sea stars to go from algae to coral varies. And there’s a lot of these starfish in the ocean. If they made the switch all at once, they could do a lot of damage.”

Huh. For the guy’s first project, it had the makings of a decent scheme. “So… if you could figure out how to make them do it, you could have them eat the fish out of house and home?”

Fethry actually nodded at that. “Or if I could figure out a way to slow it down, I could buy time for the reefs to grow.”

“...huh.” He actually followed most of that. Sure in his mind, coral reefs had a lot more skulls than they normally did. But he got the gist of what Fethry was talking about.

Black Heron hummed as she worked without interruption. Fethry calculated the costs of feeding and housing a small colony of starfish, making sure to show his work. And Steelbeak imagined blackmailing a fishing village with an army of sea stars. Small potatoes when it came to true villainy, but everyone had to start somewhere.

***

It wasn’t one of Heron’s longer science sessions. She tapped at some keys, read some screens, fiddled with some gadgets, and was ready to leave in a couple of hours.

Fethry had remained in the lab, drawing up plans for a sea star’s dream home. They’d need plenty of walking room, he’d said, so he was drawing up little pathway designs. Including one for a yellow brick road.

He started to reach out a hand to Steelbeak… for what, Steelbeak wasn’t sure. His body tensed in defense.

And Fethry must have noticed because he let his hand drop to his side and just smiled instead. “Thanks for listening. I know I kind of ramble.”

Steelbeak waited a few seconds to be sure that Fethry wasn’t going to make any sudden moves. Then he gave a shrug and followed Heron out.

It hadn’t been a hardship. Listening to weird undersea stuff passed the time. It was like catching a documentary on TV, without the meatheads that would grab the remote from you and change the channel to something else.

Black Heron laughed at Fethry as soon as they left the lab. "That guy," was all she managed to say before chuckles overtook her.

Steelbeak scowled. “What? What did he say that was so funny?” Was he the butt of someone else’s joke again? He'd make him go splat, if so.

Heron regained control of herself, but she was still grinning. “He didn’t have to say anything. It’s comical that he’s even here.”

The scowl receded and his brows knit in confusion. “I don’t —”

“You don’t get it, I know. Lucky for you, I’m in a good enough mood to explain. He’s Scrooge McDuck’s nephew. You remember, the guy you were supposed to get out of the arcade?”

“The big guy who wrecked one of my suits?”

“Ugh, no! He was the one wearing a top hat.” A frown flitted across her face, but her good mood was quick to reassert itself. Past failure meant little in the face of such a hilarious triumph.

“He came to us, wanting a job. He has no idea that we’re F.O.W.L. and no idea that we’re working against everything his family stands for. We’re holding him hostage, and he has no clue.” Another peal of laughter escaped Heron.

Steelbeak let out a chuckle as well, now that he was finally in on the joke. "Ahh, I get it. Classic dum-dum. What kind of idiot doesn't know who they're working for?"

The grin on Heron’s face slipped slightly.

"This should go without saying, but I know you so I'll say it anyway. Do not tell Fethry any details of your work, your missions, what we do here. Nada. Nothing."

"Well, duh. I know that. That's why they're called secret missions."

"Steelbeak, I once saw you brag about being a secret agent at a bar to try and get a date."

"And why not! They were cute!"

“And you wonder why your recreational leave is so limited.”

“What?”

“I’m saying dumb boys don’t get a lot of outdoors time.”

“Hey!”

A smirk moved across her face before she continued. “The director wants him to remain utterly oblivious, so secrecy is of the utmost importance. He’s not going to be happy if we have to lock him up or kill him for knowing too much.”

Steelbeak did not reach for his beak. He did not feel the slight dents that remained from trying to punch his own mouth open. “And we’re not just locking him up now, why?”

“Because the Ducks are easiest to manage when they think a situation is within their control!” Her voice was raised as decades of thwarted ambitions seeped into her tone.

Steelbeak was unimpressed. He could get just as angry, and he hadn’t needed years to get to that point.

“And what if he does ask what I do here?”

“Why would he ask? You’re hardly about to engage him in some deep conversation, are you?”

He couldn’t quite meet her eyes for some reason. “Well, no, but…”

“Oh, for larceny’s sake. If it does come up and you can’t avoid answering the question, just make something up. You’re an agent, do some lying.”

“... yeah, of course. I can do that.”

***

It doesn’t really sink in until later that night, back in his room, how Fethry answered all his questions without calling him, “Stupid.”

[caravanslost]

23 - Strategy

Characters: Damen/Laurent, Nicaise.

Tags: Modern AU; Whistleblower AU; Senator Damianos Akielos, a hot young upstart politician; Laurent deVere, a hot overworked and over-achieving journalist. Written for @capri-month​.

“Which senator?” Laurent asks sharply.

“Akielos. The younger one.”

“And who let him in?” Laurent asks, by which he means: who is going to die today.

A Note: I’ve finally started uploading the fics on AO3, as separate chapters of the same work (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و

A Note #2: My inbox remains open for prompts. If you feel so inclined, please fire away!

Laurent spends the morning covering the plenary session of the Economic and Social Committee, and heads back to the office at midday. When he arrives, most of the newsroom is out for the lunch hour. He counts five heads amongst the sea of computers.

It’s still enough for him to immediately sense that something unusual is afoot. When he walks into the room, all five heads snap towards him and look back down just as quickly, as though they’ve been caught doing something. All five heads make a terrible performance of pretending to work.

It makes for an unconvincing show. He surveys the room for a moment longer, cool and unflinching, but no one dares look back up at him. No one offers an explanation.

He goes to find Nicaise. Nicaise is alone in the junior copy editors’ office, eating lunch at his desk, halfway through a turkey on rye. The document on his screen is bleeding so heavily with red edits that the original text is almost gone. He feels a momentary pang of pity for whoever authored it.

Before Laurent says a word, and without so much as looking at him, Nicaise asks: “Since when did you fraternize with senators?”

“I don’t fraternize with anyone.” He says. “I hate people. You know that.”

“And believe me, they hate you. But there’s a senator in your office.”

Laurent freezes.

When his thoughts kick back into gear, he takes a step back out into the newsroom to look in the direction of his office. It’s on the other side of the large, open space, and the distance to it is littered with computers and printers and other office sundry.

But Nicaise is right: even from here, Laurent can make out the large silhouette of a man in his office.

He he returns inside, looks back at Nicaise, who still only has eyes for his screen.

“Which senator?” Laurent asks sharply.

“Akielos. The younger one.”

“And who let him in?” Laurent asks, by which he means: who is going to die today.

Nicaise turns slowly away from his computer, and delivers him a withering look.

“Do I look like your secretary?"

“Keep that tone up, and you will be.”

Nicaise puts down his sandwich for the sole purpose of raising two middle fingers in Laurent’s direction. Without so much as blinking, he turns back to his screen, and just in case Laurent doesn’t get the message, he pops in his headphones.

Nicaise is an irrepressible little shit. It’s exactly why they hired him.

But there are more pressing matters at hand.

Laurent begins making his way back to his office. The closer he gets, the more clearly the senator comes into view. He’s deep inside Laurent’s office, standing at the window, admiring the city view from behind my desk, Laurent thinks. The sheer nerve of him.

Laurent is not feeling charitable when he arrives: he has three deadlines to meet by the day’s end. The morning’s plenary session had run overtime by an hour and a half, and he needed every spare moment he could squeeze from the afternoon to write.

He knocks on this own door, and is pleased when the sound shakes the senator out of his reverie. He turns and smiles contritely at Laurent, embarrassed at how easily he’s been startled.

It’s a strangely unfiltered response. Un-senatorial. Especially from a man large enough to cause a solar eclipse.

Senator Akielos walks over to the guest’s side of the desk, and extends his hand to Laurent. Laurent takes it, and watches as his hand disappears in the senator’s warm, gigantic grip.

Laurent says, dryly: “I’ve never been received in my own office before.”

Akielos has enough grace to retain his embarrassed look. It’s still a strange contrast to the sheer power of the rest of him—everything from his height, to the perfect tailoring of his charcoal grey suit, to the obvious muscle that it barely conceals. Laurent imagines that he hulks above most people in most rooms.

“My apologies,” says Akielos, and he sounds he like he means it. “I was led here.”

“So I’ve been told,” says Laurent. “You must tell me the name of the gracious culprit.”

Laurent closes the office door behind him. He takes a quick look out the glass and notes that there are more people in the newsroom. Now there are a dozen heads, and again, they all make a very poor show of pretending not to look.

Laurent winds a hand around the drawstring and curtly shutters the blinds. It’s not much privacy, but it’ll do for now. He waves a hand towards one of the chairs in front of his desk, inviting Senator Akielos to sit, which he does.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Senator?” He asks, taking his own chair.

“Please, call me Damen. I’m sorry to bother you. I’m sure you’re busy.” says Akielos. Damen, Laurent corrects himself. “I’m here because I would like to take you to lunch.”

Whatever Laurent was expecting, it certainly wasn’t that.

“Lunch,” he repeats, neutrally, just to be sure.

“Yes, lunch.” says the Senator. “If you’re free. Which I know you are, because I asked the nice lady at the front desk as soon as I arrived.”

Lauren thinks, two people are going to die today.

He leans back in his chair and studies his unexpected guest. The younger of the Akielos brothers is the more natural politician—far less experienced than Kastor, but much better liked. He smiles easily and speaks simply, and does well enough on the late night talk-show circuit to be familiar. The handsomeness doesn’t hurt, either. Nor the dimple. People use a lot of words to describe his face, like charming, or presidential.

But Laurent is wary of pedestals. Likability is a dangerous platform to cultivate, especially for a politician. It screams to be sullied, and Laurent is wary of ever being tarnished with the same brush.

“We don’t know each other well enough to be lunching, Senator.”

“Perhaps we should. Let me take you out.”

Had Laurent been three or four years younger, and equally less-experienced, he might have mistaken the invitation for personal interest. He might even have been inclined to agree. A handsome face is a handsome face, and it never hurt to build an extra bridge in his line of work.

But he’s shrewder now. He registers the dissonance between the senator’s easy invitation, and the grave expression with which he offers it. There’s something searching in his eyes, and Laurent realizes with a flash that lunch is a subtext for something else, even though he can’t begin to discern what it might be.

“Lunch.” He says deliberately, eyes keen, just to make sure they’re both on the same page.

Damen’s features relax a little, when he sees that Laurent’s understood him. “Yes, exactly.”

So—lunch means a story. Laurent’s pulse begins racing, the way it always does when he finds a new lead.

It races even though he doesn’t know what the scoop might be, or whether it’ll lead anywhere. The thrill of a new tip-off is always sheer and heady. He quietly drums his fingers against the armrests of his chair, and tries to keep the elation off his face.

“Political or personal?” He asks quietly.

“Political.”

“Involving you?”

“Involving Kastor.”

Laurent stills. A less professional man in his place would have emitted a low, long whistle.

Damen looks away from him, to a point beside his head and outside the window. The struggle to rein in whatever he’s feeling is clear. It’s also clear that he doesn’t want to be here, doing this.

The fact that he’s so uncomfortable tells Laurent something promising about the reliability of what’s to come. But they can discuss that later. He steers the conversation down a slightly different avenue.

“Why me?”

Damen looks back to him, the corner of his mouth betraying an ironic quirk. “You didn’t strike me as the self-doubting type.”

“I’m not. I’m only pointing out that if your story’s as big you think it is, you might be expected to take it higher than a mid-level editor.”

“I don’t need someone with profile. I need someone thorough with a low radar, who hasn’t been around long enough to curry loyalties.”

“I’m obviously flattered, but I’d prefer if you told me the whole truth.”

Damen leans back in his chair and fixes Laurent with a pointed look. Now, he’s smiling.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he begins lightly.

It’s hardly a promising start. Laurent says, “I’m not sure there’s going to be a right way to take this.”

Damen opens his mouth as though to speak, but pauses and refrains. He looks at a point above Laurent’s head, visibly struggling with how to phrase what he needs to say. It only serves to pique Laurent’s interest, though he can’t imagine that he’s going to like what he hears

“Put it this way.” Damen says, after a considerable number of moments, biting back the worst of his smile. “No one’s going to ask questions if I start spending time with—well. With someone like you.”

“A journalist?”

“A blonde and attractive one.” He says. “I’m—advised that I have something of a type.”

Laurent feels the colour rising in his cheeks, and he can’t do a damned thing to stop it.

Of course Damen has a type. Of course Laurent knows what it is. He picks up as many gossip rags as the next person. He’s seen the conveyer belt of attractive men and women the Senator keeps on his arm.

But he isn’t sure how he feels, about Damen counting him amongst their ilk.

“Your type is—me.” He says, just to confirm.

“Yes. Which means people won’t ask too many questions if I spend time with you.”

Laurent clicks, and draws the next few lines by himself. “And you’d like to encourage those misunderstandings, to throw them off your scent ... which is why you want to take me to lunch.’

"So you’ll come?”      

Laurent pauses again.

“Yes.” He says. “But senator: we’re going to need to set some ground rules.”

[somekndofnature]

Continuing to upload my older Doctor Who stories. If you want a tag when I upload a new chapter, drop me a line.

This story follows Rose Tyler and her unexpected return to the TARDIS during the year that never was. It has been a long separation for Earth's defender and she is not the same girl she once was. She is having a difficult time coming to terms with some major changes to her physiology, as well as battling her personal demons, while hiding from the Master. Against all odds, Rose needs to find her Doctor and reverse this hellish year before it is too late.

Prologue | Chp 1

Chapter 2: Underneath This Faded Moon

AO3

Steeling her nerves, Rose peaked out of the storage room and glimpsed of a team of soldiers marching through the corridor beyond. At least her outfit made sense now. She needed to blend in; which should be easy considering she was a soldier…in another life. Her life in Pete’s world was complicated. She headed her own team at Torchwood for seven years and, in that time, she butted heads with the status quo of the organization. They were very distrusting of alien life and, more often than not, responded aggressively. Pete gave her the freedom to start changing the culture but she wasn’t always successful. She was ashamed of those times when her best efforts failed, and she was caught in a firefight, defending her fellow humans with reluctant determination. It wasn’t always right, but she had to protect her team first. It was a lesson she learned well through heartbreak.

Rushing back through the TARDIS doors, Rose rested against them, taking a few nervous breaths. Her fingers paused as she reached out for the weapon leaning beside her. It looked wrong contrasted against the TARDIS’ living coral walls.  It was almost garish and obscene; at complete odds with the peace Rose found within. It wasn’t like she never handled a weapon. She handled plenty, but she was eager to leave that part of her life behind in Pete’s World. For twelve years, Rose spent her life fighting for one thing or another. She was looking forward to some peace, or as peaceful as life with the Doctor could ever be. Still, Rose assumed she wouldn’t need to pick up another weapon like this ever again; an instrument of death, designed for quick and efficient eradication of enemies. The Doctor wouldn’t approve but she decided that, given the TARDIS’ insistence, he would just have to deal with it. Whatever was going on outside those blue doors was nothing to trifle with. It was time to put up or shut up. Sometimes, when the stakes were this high, you weren’t afforded the luxury of nuance...a fact that she knew well. Steeling herself against the disapproval that she could already feel from her Doctor, wherever he was, Rose grabbed the weapon and stepped out of the doors, prepared to save him.

The hallway was quiet as Rose peaked out of the TARDIS’ storage cupboard. She waited a few moments and almost stepped out before she heard the distinct sound of marching boots. She pulled the door closed again, until only a sliver of the corridor beyond was visible. She saw a squadron of soldiers march by and, after a moment of hesitation, Rose hurried out the door, joining the end of their formation as they passed. She cast discrete, curious eyes on her surroundings as they marched through the maze of metal hallways. When they passed the first window, Rose barely refrained from gawping at the view of a planet far below. They were in some kind of airship and possibly, on another planet. At least, she hoped that the burnt out and destroyed rubble below wasn’t Earth. If it was, then things were worse off than she ever imagined possible.

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

That night, after finding the time to disappear from the evening meal, Rose snuck back to the TARDIS with a belly full of bland cafeteria food. Exhausted, she stepped through the blue doors, leaving her weapon leaning against the outside. She trudged past the encased column and toward her room.  She collapsed on the bed, rubbing at her eyes and trying to stave off the headache she felt growing behind them. It was a difficult and confusing day. Blending into unknown situation was harder than the Doctor made it look. Rose was out of practice.

After being divided into teams this morning, she was assigned to guard a family of ‘dangerous criminals’, or so she was told. Rose didn’t understand it; there didn’t seem anything dangerous about the Jones family. They were just a pair of worn out parents, doing their best to protect their daughter.  While the daughter was trying to do the same for her parents. They were scared, but with the blunt edge of expectation, as if they had been in their predicament for a while now. It made Rose uneasy, seeing these normal people imprisoned. Not just imprisoned, but forced into slave labor by their jailor.

They were all dressed in almost cartoonish servant uniforms that seemed purchased from a costume store. The women’s were so short that Rose could imagine something like ‘Slutty French Maid’ had adorned the packaging when they were first purchased. It made her stomach knot with discomfort as her fellow soldiers split up with a family member and roughly shoved him or her on their way. One took the father, the other the mother and Rose was left to guard the daughter, Tish.

It was awkward, to say the least. It made Rose ashamed to be playing the role of villain in this situation. So, for most of the morning she followed Tish around as she went about her chores and tried to stay out of the way. More than once, the young girl cast curious and cautious eyes over her, as if waiting for Rose to accost her at any moment. But Rose kept her head down and stayed quiet until she found herself standing in front of some large doors. Tish hesitated in front of her, balancing a silver tray, set for tea, in her hands. Thinking that her arms were too full to open the doors, Rose stepped forward to oblige but Tish stopped her.

“Wait!”

Rose startled at her panicked tone and took a quick step back. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you needed some help.”

Tish swallowed hard. “No, it’s alright. I just need a minute to prepare before I go in there.”

Rose’s brow furrowed and she studied the young woman closer. She wasn’t just scared now. Whatever was in this room had her, screaming on the inside, terrified. “Are you alright?”

She breathed deep before turning curious and suspicious eyes on her. “Why do you care?”

The question didn’t have any venom behind it, just bland curiosity. Rose wet her lips, feeling nervous and naked under her probing stare. “Because I’m human?”

Tish snorted. “I was sure that Saxon bashed all the humanity out of his soldiers. What’s different about you? Are you new?”

Rose nodded, confused by her words. Who was Saxon and what was going on here?

Her dark eyes lit with hope. “Are you part of the resistance my sister is supposed to be building? Is that why you’re here? Is the plan going to be set in motion?”

“Hold on, hold on,” Rose interrupted, overwhelmed, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tish froze with a terrified look on her face. Rose understood her fear. She just spilled the existence of 'a plan’ to, what appeared to be, an enemy soldier.

“Calm down,” Rose whispered. “I’m not with your sister but I am an ally. I’m looking for a friend of mine, the Doctor.”

Tish stared, seeming to gauge her sincerity. “You’re a friend of the Doctor?”

She felt excitement bubble up inside of her. “Yes, I’m Rose. Do you know him? Where is he? Is he alright? Is he in trouble? What am I saying, of course he’s in trouble, but how do I find him?”

Tish cast a nervous glance around the empty halls. “You’re a friend of his? Martha never mentioned you. She’s been travelling with the Doctor. Why doesn’t she know you?”

Rose waved away her question. “We haven’t met. It was after my time. But the Doctor knows me, I promise. Where is he?”

She hesitated.

“Please, I need to see him,” she begged, allowing desperation to seep into her tone. As much as Rose tried to hold herself together, she was keyed up. Memories, nightmares, and hopelessness hounded her. She knew that her overwrought mind might snap at any second if she was pushed too far. The desire to see her Doctor was like a living thing within her, urging her in some unknown direction, searching for him.

“He’ll probably be in there,” she replied, nodding toward the doors.

“Great! Let’s go,” Rose said, eager to see her Time Lord.

“Wait,” Tish insisted. “How long have you been here?”

“Not long. This is my third day,” Rose replied with a furrowed brow. “Now, come on.”

“Wait, you don’t understand,” she stressed. “You can’t just go barging in there, saving the day. You’re going to get yourself killed. That thing in there is a monster. He’s smart and cunning and evil. He will destroy you if given the chance.”

Rose’s enthusiasm dimmed. “What’s going on around here?” she asked. “Who is this Saxon? Why are we on this ship? What is happening on Earth?  If that planet down there even is Earth.”

“It is,” Tish responded, confused. “That’s Earth or what’s left of it anyway. How can you not know what happened? It’s been this way for months all over the world. How have you missed it?”

“Ah,” Rose replied. “I should clarify that when I say I’m new here…I mean to this universe.”

“What?”

“Well, I’m not really new. I was born in this universe but I was separated from the Doctor and trapped in a parallel universe with my family. But now I’m back, so...”

By the end of her explanation Tish was examining her with baffled amusement. “You must be a friend of the Doctor’s. You sound just as mad as he does.”

“Thank you,” Rose said, grinning before getting back to the business at hand. “So what’s happening?”

Tish jumped when they heard chatter coming from down the hall and she cast her wary eyes in its direction. “I will tell you, but after. He’s going to be cross if I’m not in there soon.”

Rose was reluctant to let it go but she could see by the fear in Tish’s eyes, that she shouldn’t push. So, she reached for the handle.

As she opened the door, Tish whispered from the corner of her mouth, ”Keep your head down. If he asks you a question, give him direct concise answers, without hesitation. Stay as close to the truth as possible and do not, under any circumstances, underestimate him. He may not look like much but he is evil incarnate.”

A shiver raced down Rose’s spine and she tried to repress her shudder. Even after everything Rose had seen and experienced, Tish’s terror was catching.

As they stepped into a grand room, Rose scanned over her surroundings. Her eyes touched on everything as her training kicked in. It was just a reflex now in unfamiliar circumstances. At the back of the long room, stairs led to a raised platform where a cornucopia of electronic equipment flashed with intermittent beeps. At the bottom of stairs sat two differing and antonymous objects. To the right was the standard issue, evil villain globe. She rolled her eyes and turned to the left where a small haphazard tent balanced beside of a colorful bowl with word ‘DOG’ emblazoned on its face in large block letters.

Rose’s brow furrowed. “He keeps a dog up here?”

Tish paused as she moved around the large table in the middle of the room. “No.”

The single ominous syllable echoed through the space, setting Rose’s hair on end. She shrugged off her unease and went back to studying her surroundings. This had to be the bridge of the ship she decided as she looked out of the round porthole. It was difficult to tell but they seemed to be at the zenith of it, based on the curve of the hull beneath her. The myriad of electronic devices also looked familiar; she could identify steering column, navigation screens, and engine temperatures. Whatever was going on, this room was the center of the action. As she watched, a cluster of metal spheres sped past the window and Rose startled.

“Bloody hell,” she exclaimed, stumbling back.

“Shhh, “ Tish admonished. “Careful not to excite them.”

“What the hell are they,” Rose hissed.

“I don’t know. They just showed up here all of a sudden.”

“They’re not robots?”

“They could be,” Tish conceded, shrugging as she began to unload the dishes from her tray and set a place at the head of the large black table. “It seems obvious that they would be, but they’re too emotional. They take too much pleasure in their work to be completely without sentience.”

“Where did they come from,” Rose asked, fascinated as she watched another group of spheres fly by.

“Only Mr. Saxon knows. They’re working with him, I guess,” she whispered and then sniffled. “They killed the American president.”

Rose whipped around. “They what?!”

Tish nodded, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “It was horrible. They just disintegrated him into nothing, right on international television, in front of the whole world.”

Rose’s open mouth worked but no sounds emerged. How? How had this happened? Why didn’t the Doctor stop it? Where was he? Urgency and unease rushed through her. “Tish,” she said, steeling her voice with determination. “Where is the Doctor?”

The young girl looked around the room with sad dark eyes. “I really expected him to be here. He must be with Saxon.”

Rose’s blood ran cold. “Who the hell is Saxon?”

Tish opened her mouth to explain when they heard the sound of whistling outside the door and a rattle of the silver handles. She rushed to the left corner of the room, grabbing Rose’s sleeve along the way. Rose followed and stood, still as a statue, next to a terrified and trembling Tish. She saw the knob of the door jiggle and open. She sucked in a breath, preparing herself for anything, a monster, alien, robots….

What she wasn’t expecting was a spry man, looking in his late thirties, to roll in a withered old geriatric in a wheelchair. It startled her. Whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t this. This bloke looked older than Methuselah, but she knew from experience that age did not indicate a lesser threat. Still, she doubted that was the terrifying Mr. Saxon Tish spoke of. His defeated posture projected passive weary acceptance much like the Jones family. He seemed just as much a prisoner here as they were.

Her eye moved to the man pushing the chair. He was of average height with bleach blonde hair, pale skin, and wild eyes. His mouth twisted with a cruel smirk as he sauntered through the door and looked to the head of the table. This was a familiar routine for him. He did it a hundred times, if his ease in the room was anything to go by. He was in command of this room…Mr. Saxon. Rose would bet her life on it. He rolled the wheelchair up to the side of the table and sat himself at the head, confirming her suspicions.

“Ah, isn’t this wonderful,“ he sighed as he placed his napkin on his lap and began opening the silver dishes in front of him.

The smell of rich food permeated the large room and Saxon took a deep lungful of the tantalizing aroma. “Oh, that smells lovely doesn’t it, old friend,” he asked, eyeing the morose looking ancient.

Old friend? Well, he was old, Rose would give him that, but she doubted that this blonde devil had any real friends. Judging by the irritated sigh that drifted from the old man, he agreed. Saxon took a spoon and dipped it into the large bowl before him. His movements were purposeful, exaggerated. He was putting on a show for his ‘old friend’. Why? Her eyes flitted over the long white hair of old man’s bowed head, the wrinkled skin, and the two slender gnarled hands, clasped in his lap atop the blanket covering his legs. Something about him tickled at her mind. Rose was sure she had never seen this man before and yet, something tugged at her, a kernel of recognition. The set of his shoulders seemed familiar. She brushed it off and turned her attention from him back to the only real threat in the room.

“Would you like something to eat,” Saxon offered the old man

He hissed out a terse breath. “Yes.”

Tish jumped into action, pulling additional silverware and dishes from a nearby silver cart.

“WHAT do you think you are doing?” Saxon shouted.

Rose and Tish jumped in unison as his harsh tone cut through the quiet room.

“I-I was just g-getting an extra place setting ready,” Tish stuttered through her obvious terror.

Rose’s eyes narrowed on this Saxon character and she took a small step forward, ready to defend poor Tish if the need arose.

“Did I ask you to get another place setting?” Saxon asked in a low, dangerous, tone.

“Well, I-I just assumed that…”

“DID. I. ASK.”

“No,” Tish affirmed in a timid whisper.

Saxon’s eye narrowed. “Come here.”

Rose tensed and she almost moved forward to protect Tish but drew back at the young woman’s look of warning. She walked to Saxon’s side. Quicker than Rose was able to track, Saxon reached out and slapped Tish across the face.

“Leave her alone, Master,” the old man said through gritted teeth.

“I don’t recall asking your opinion, you self righteous old fool. Now shut up.” Saxon stood, looking back to Tish who cowered from him. “So eager to take care of him? Is he so important to you? Is he your savior?”

Tish was a trembling ball of nerves and she remained silent.

“Answer me!”

“No,” she stuttered. “I mean, yes...or...err.”

Saxon backhanded her hard. She cried out as she stumbled backwards.

“Master,” the old man shouted. “Stop!”

“What is so special about him? Why does he engender such loyalty from you pathetic dogs? Just because he won’t slap your nose when you piss on the rug doesn’t mean he sees you as anything other than his pets, “ Saxon continued, uncaring as he backhanded the poor girl once more, tossing her to the floor.

“Koschei!”

“No! I want you to tell her,” he seethed as he grabbed Tish’s arm from the floor and dragged her in front of the old man. “You think he’s your savior but you mean nothing to him. You are a temporary distraction and when he’s done with you; he’ll swan off and leave you to your pathetic, disgusting existence. You’re not important. You are nothing.”

“Master,” the old man pleaded.

“TELL HER!” Their shouting echoed through the sudden silence as Rose rushed to Tish’s side. “Get her out of here,” Saxon barked at Rose, tossing the poor girl into her arms.

She glared back at him as she helped Tish to her feet. Rose wanted to engage him. She wanted to kick this skinny little prick’s arse but she restrained the impulse. Rose needed to maintain her cover. She needed to blend in until she could find the Doctor. She needed to get Tish away from this psychopath.

When the old man finally urged, “Go!” Rose rushed Tish from the room.

Outside, she examined the large gash on Tish’s swollen and bruising cheek. “Are you alright?” she asked as she probed the cut with tender strokes of her fingers

“I’m fine,” she stuttered past tears. “I just, I just wish everything was back to normal. I’m tired of waiting.” Sobs wracked her small frame.

Rose’s heart ached with sympathy as she shouldered her weapon and draped protective arms around the girl. “It’s going to be alright. We’ll fix this, I promise. But for now, we need to get you some medical attention. That’s a pretty nasty cut on your cheek.”

“There’s an infirmary one level down,” she said sniffling.

She escorted her down to the infirmary where Tish was whisked from her arms and Rose was dismissed. She expressed her desire to stay but was told, in no uncertain terms, that she was not needed. She was directed toward the mess hall where she consumed a, less than satisfactory, evening meal while trying to disappear into the crowd of soldiers. Unable to stand any additional excitement, Rose rushed back to the safety of the TARDIS.

[tbb-appreciation-week]

Welcome to The Bad Batch Appreciation Week 2023!!!

The time for appreciating Clone Force 99 is near! The prompts have been revealed HERE, so we must set some rules. Seems fair, right? So, here they are:

Event Info & Rules

TBB APPRECIATION WEEK is a week-long, prompt-based creation challenge to celebrate our love for the Batchers and the show. There are 7 groups of prompts—one for each day of the week—, which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. They are meant to be an inspiration without being taken literally (i.e., you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts in your work). Feel free to interpret them at your convenience. For example, if the prompt is “anooba”, you can create either something about the animal, use it as a name/mascot of a sports team in your modern-day/our Earth AU, or as an analogy for someone with a voracious appetite. It’s up to you.

Each group contains a character plus 5 different prompts (SFW, AU/Trope, Dialogue, NSFW, and a color palette). As it says above, you can use any, some, or all of them. Also there's also a short list of jokers/alternatives that you can use only one time each to replace any of the main prompts. The idea is to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible. The participants can create works in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, art, edits, gifs, videos, playlists, cosplays, etc. The only restriction is that it needs to be focused on The Bad Batch.

Also, people can participate as much or as little as they want, meaning that you don’t have to do ALL the days if you can't/ don’t want to.

Collaborations are welcome and even encouraged. For example, if an artist and a writer want to work together, or a writer and a podficcer, or two writers, go for it!

When uploading TBB Appreciation Week content to your Tumblr blog, be sure to mention this blog and add the following hashtags:

#tbbaw2023

#the character of the day

#day 1, #day 2, #day 3, etc… (the corresponding day)

#medium (gifset, fic, podcast, fanart, etc.)

#trigger warnings, if applies. (Please do NOT to add “tw” in front or at the end but only use the word/trigger itself, because the way Tumblr tag blocker feature works, it makes it harder for people to block the right tag.) (List of trigger warnings)

#prompt(s) used

#nsfw (only for NSFW content)

#any other relevant tags go here

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING (both by mentioning the blog and putting the necessary tags). That'll ensure that your post will be reblogged on this blog.

I'll do my best to reblogged everyone's posts, but if it passes 2–3 days and I haven't posted yours, please let me know.

In addition, you can also add your work to the Ao3 Collection if you want.

If you are posting NSFW fics or art on Tumblr, I ask that you use the Keep Reading break and/or the Community Labels to hide the NSFW portion of your work; and please, give the proper warnings; (If you don't know how to do a keep reading break on mobile, go to this tutorial). On Ao3, please, use the correct rating and warnings as well.

There won't be censorship in this event, so everyone is free to create whatever they want. Participants are expected to hold judgment to themselves of others and their works, even if they don't agree with or find it repulsive. That means that harassment of anyone or anything that they post (even if said work is something you personally find morally reprehensible) WILL NOT BE TOLERATED. Anyone that breaks this rule will be banned from the event. Curate your own experience by blocking what upsets/squicks/triggers you, and leave everyone else alone. That's the importance of the correct tagging, as it says above.

If an author or artist has asked for constructive criticism, you may give it (with constructive being the keyword). However, refrain to give any of the unsolicited kind, as it can be discouraging for the author or artist.

Important!! Show support to other participants by liking, reblogging, AND commenting. But most of all, HAVE FUN!!! This is meant to be a lay-back event to show love for our favorite characters.

I'm looking forward to seeing what you all come up with!

If you have questions, you can check out the F.A.Q post. But if you don't find there the answer you're looking for, send me a message to the ask box or a DM, either in this blog or my fandom blog @nimata-beroya.

Thanks for reading, and happy creating!

[sambuckylibrary]

SamBucky Valentine's Day Bingo 2023

The @sambuckylibrary will be holding a Valentine's Day Bingo! The event will start on February 7th and run until March 5th. During that time, we will be reblogging and sharing the work you guys create here on our blog.

You can post fanfiction, art, moodboards, edits, etc. It’ll be a low-stakes event. No need to sign up. Just remember to tag @sambuckylibary in your post for each fill, and we will be tracking #sbvdaybingo2023 for reblogs.

If you are posting on AO3, please add it to the SamBucky Valentine's Day Bingo 2023 Collection.

The Bingo Card is:

There are also badges for each fill. For those badges, as well as the FAQ and rules, check the information under "keep reading".

What is this?

It’s a little SamBucky Bingo.

Is there any pressure?

No pressure at all. Fill one square. Fill all nine. Do however many you please.

Can I fill more than one square with one piece of art/one fic?

Yes! You can fill one square with one piece of art or fic. You can try to fill all nine at once with one piece of art or fic. You can do any number in between.

Are there any prizes for making a bingo or a blackout?

Just the satisfaction that you made something cool.

Is it just SamBucky?

Yes please, just SamBucky. There can be side ships, but the main ship should be SamBucky.

How long will this event run?

It will run from February 7th and run until March 5th.

I heard there are badges I can use for each bingo fill?

There are! Here they are:

What are the guidelines for the bingo?

I will be borrowing some of this from the MYSU Valentine’s Day Bingo 2022 Guidelines, since they were fantastic.

For Everyone:

1. Remember to @sambuckylibrary in the post as well as #sbvdaybingo2023.

2. Please also tag the square you’re filling (for instance, if the square is “pretend relationship”, use "#pretend relationship" as one of your tags when posting about it on Tumblr).

3. If you’re uploading to AO3, please:

a ) Say somewhere which prompt you’re filling.

b ) Add it to the SamBucky Valentine's Day Bingo 2023 Collection (Sambucky_Valentines_Day_Bingo_2023).

For Artists:

1. Create at least one piece of new art that can’t have been posted anywhere else before this.

2. All visual art forms are welcome:

a ) Gifsets, at least 3 gifs.

b ) Aesthetic boards or moodboards, at least 4 images each.

c ) Drawing/painting, that is not a sketch.

For Authors:

1. At least 500 words.

2. Posted on Tumblr or AO3.

3. Can be part of a series, but should work as a standalone.

Things to be mindful of when creating:

For Sam

Avoid framing Sam only as a caretaker or emotional support for Bucky. Be mindful of Sam acting angry or aggressive in an out-of-character way and falling into the angry/sassy Black man trope (check out the MCU source material to help with character traits).

Avoid decentering Sam as a main character and refrain from focusing entirely on Bucky.

In art: avoid whitewashing Sam’s skin and research drawing Black characters.

General disclaimer: Race affects every aspect of his life, including interacting with police/government and the white structures of the world when it comes to performing his duties as Cap and simply being a Black man that lives in the U.S.

For Bucky

Avoid phrasing “flesh/normal/human hand” to refer to the contrast between his prosthetic arm and his right arm. The phrasing is ableist. You can simply refer to his prosthesis when relevant, otherwise use “right/left arm/hand”.

Specific Tags:

Avoid tags in AO3 like “Sam Wilson is a Gift” or “Sam Wilson is a Saint”.

Have fun and we look forward to your Valentine's Day fics!

- The Mods

[hpconsentfest]

Posting Guidelines

So you’ve claimed your prompt and you’re beginning to wonder how posting will work…

We’ve got you covered with the following FAQ and step-by-step instructions

Where will the fics/art be posted? All submissions will be posted to AO3. Links will be shared on tumblr and DW each day with new works.

Are there word count limits? No. There are no minimum or maximum word counts or like restrictions on art.

When are submissions due? Creators will email the mods their beta-read submissions by 1 March 2018.

What if I don’t know/can’t find a beta reader? Please contact the mods at hdconsentfest@gmail.com or post a beta request on HP_Betas.

What do I have to do to get my submission posted? In their submission emails, creators will include the filled-in header (template at the bottom of the step-by-step instructions below). Additionally, creators will post their own works to the HD Consent Fest AO3 collection. Step-by-step instructions for this are below.

Is there anything else I need to do? All creators should include a brief couple of sentences as an endnote touching on how they approached the theme of consent.

What if I can’t make the deadline? Please email the mods at hdconsentfest@gmail.com as early as you can.

What if I can’t fulfil my claim? It happens! If you need to open up your prompt for someone else to claim, just email hdconsentfest@gmail.com.

The following step-by-step posting instructions are from HD Fan Fair 2017 and are used here (with a few small changes) with the permission of the wonderful Fain Fair mods, kitty_fic and phoenixacid. All glory to them for helping out some greenies! <3

Submitting Fic:

On AO3 Go to the [HD Consent Fest 2018] and click Post to Collection. Fill out the form and post.

Tick the Add co-authors? box, and add the Mod ID "ConsentFest" as a co-author. This ensures that your mods will be able to proof all entries and keep them uniform/add the relevant links. We will remove the Mod ID when Fair has come to an end. The stories will, however, remain part of the Collection.

Content Notes: If your fanwork contains Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, mentions of Rape/Non-con and/or Underage, you must include these warnings in both your header Content Notes and your AO3 post.

AO3 tagging: You may add relevant Additional Tags (e.g. "Romance", "Post Hogwarts", "BDSM", etc). Many readers at AO3 subscribe to certain tags; choosing tags wisely allows readers to find your fic more easily. Please refrain from using freeform tags (e.g. "omg i cannot deal", etc) on your AO3 entries while the fest is in progress.

Submit: Once you’ve uploaded your work to our AO3 collection, please copy and fill the header provided below and email it to the mods.

All submissions must be beta-read. Please acknowledge the beta(s) in the story header under author's notes.

Your mods will post these headers to the hdconsentfest tumblr and DW communities during H/D Consent Fest, with a link to your fic on AO3.

If your fic comes with accompanying artworks, please include them in your AO3 entry. Please read about the Watermark and AO3 option in the next section.

All submissions will be listed as unrevealed Mystery Works in the collection. The mods will reveal your fics when posting begins. Nobody but yourself and the mods will be able to see your fest entry before its posting date in the fest.

All authors will appear as Anonymous until the fest is over.

Submitting Art:

Submit: Please copy and fill in the header provided below and email it and your artwork to the mods.

Your mods will post your header and artwork to the tumblr and DW communities

If you don’t have an AO3:

We highly recommend all participating authors get an account. If you need an invite code, let us know and we will send you one.

However, if you decide not to create an AO3 account, you may send your fic to us as a .doc, .docx, or .rtf file and we will post it on your behalf. We will add your name/contact to the AO3 entry when the fest is over.

Headers (mandatory):

Submissions/Header information and/or artworks can be sent to hdconsentfest@gmail.com at any time before or at the submission date (1 March). Please use write ‘submission', along with your username and your prompt number in the subject line

Fic header: <b>Title:</b> <b>Author:</b> <b>Prompt:</b> <a href="https://docs.google.com/document/d/17qESS0sFLkFUwzFLnTfItm1Wo1x6EeFlCZ1V0DKD4yI/edit?usp=sharing"># number</a> <b>Rating:</b> <b>Warnings/Content Notes:</b> <b>Summary:</b> <b>Word Count:</b> <b>Author's Notes:</b> <b>Link to AO3 entry:</b>

Art header: <b>Title:</b> <b>Artist:</b> <b>Prompt:</b> <a href="https://docs.google.com/document/d/17qESS0sFLkFUwzFLnTfItm1Wo1x6EeFlCZ1V0DKD4yI/edit?usp=sharing"># number</a> <b>Rating:</b> <b>Warnings/Content Notes:</b> <b>Summary:</b> <b>Medium:</b> <b>Artist's Notes:</b> <b>Link to AO3 entry:</b>