#ive looked at life from both sides now from win and lose and still somehow its lifes illusions i recall i really dont know life at all......

[enigmatist17]

Eh, just an idea that came to mind </3

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

He's on the Resolute when he opens his eyes.

Well, that shouldn't be even remotely possible, Rex knows for a fact he died on Yavin IV.

He knows he died.

"Rex? Is everything alright?" Shaking his head, Rex is grateful he's wearing his bucket when he turns to see Ahsoka, a young Ahsoka with so much life to her, looking up at him expectantly.

"I, yes, sorry." Rex somehow wills his voice to remain steady, and Ahsoka raises her eyebrow.

"Right...so, are we still going to train with Jesse or what? I'm hoping to get at least an hour in before Master Anakin forces me to try and sleep." The padawan rolls her eyes, missing the way Rex allows himself a shaky breath as he wordlessly follows Ahsoka down hallways that he traveled in his nightmares.

"Hey, what took you guys so long?" Jesse waved when the two entered, and Ahsoka hurried her pace into the training room with a grin. "Hardcase and I are betting who can take you down first, and I plan on winning."

"In your dreams!" Hardcase laughed, shoving him goodnaturedly as some of the other men watched their banter in amusement.

"For the record, he has gotten further than you." Dogma pointed out, and smirked when Hardcase looked betrayed.

"You have to step your game up, otherwise all those delicious ration packs might be eaten." Fives laughed from where he and Echo were arm wrestling, lamenting when Echo managed to take his momentary distraction to his advantage. "Kriff."

"What was that about never losing?" Echo grinned, the expression faltering when he looked behind Fives. "Captain, are you alright?"

Every set of eyes in the room darted over to the door just as Rex's knees hit the floor, and the playful energy in the room vanishes as Ahsoka is the first to reach his side. He can hear her talking to him, but the ringing in his ears drowns over every word as small fingers probe him for injuries that aren't there, skin devoid of the scars he would come to earn later in his life. Kix is kneeling in front of him now, and Rex jerks back when the medic tries to lift his helmet off, scrambling to his feet and away from the mass of soldiers who were extremely concerned at seeing their captain acting out of the ordinary.

"Captain, talk to us." Fives approaches him with his hands raised, and Rex wants to joke about not being some scared animal, but every word he could have said just seem to get stuck in his throat as he just stares. "Please, let us help."

"I..." He sounds like he's been screaming for hours, and motions for Fives to step back as he regards the people in front of him.

"Hey, is everything alright in here?"

The universe stops as Rex turns ever so slightly to look at the other entrance to the training room, and has his blasters out and pointed before he can even blink.

"What the hell is going on?!" Jesse hissed, everyone remaining still as if the slightest movement could trigger Rex to fire. "Are you out of your mind Rex?!"

"Rex, buddy, what are you doing?" Anakin holds both of his hands up, staring back at the man who has both blasters focused directly at his head. While the Jedi might not be the best shooter, he knows when someone is aiming to kill, and more so when they're terrified of their target. The raw fear and anger spilling into the Force from Rex could probably be felt all the way to Coruscant, and Anakin can only wonder what's changed in the last hour since they had successfully completed their latest campaign.

"Stay right there." Rex nearly spits out the words to Anakin, and the Jedi doesn't move a muscle as Rex takes one step forward.

"Rex, talk to us." Ahsoka darted forward before anyone could protest, putting herself directly between Rex and Anakin. "We won't hurt you!"

"He would." The anger is gone from his voice, but his stance hasn't faltered for a moment as he readjusts his aim around her. "Move Ahsoka."

"No, I won't let you hurt Master Skywalker." She stood firm, and Rex finally looks away from Anakin down to her, and the sorrow that suddenly traveled through the Force nearly had her step back.

"Rex...what's happened to you?" Anakin doesn't flinch when Rex looks back up, just keeping his stance as calm as possible. "You can always talk to me about anything."

Rex shakes his head, and drops his arms with a strangled noise no one in the room had heard before, his guns clattering to the floor as he sinks back onto his knees. Ahsoka once again kneels in front of him, and Rex doesn't fight her as she reaches up and removes his bucket, revealing a tear-stained face heavy with loss and exhaustion.

If someone had looked at Rex earlier in the day, he would not be the same man now openly showing his sorrow in front of them, as if he'd been carrying a burden for a long time.

"Rex, talk to us." Echo kneels beside his commander, feeling dread at the way Rex looks at him with a pained expression.

"We lost everything."

The Resolute stands motionless in her post as every single clone aboard is ordered to the hangar, to be addressed by Captain Rex.

He talks to them for hours and tells them of the future, a future he had died as the last clone from the army that had once stood as millions strong. How they were all created to be one thing, a weapon to wield against the Jetti, and bring about an end to the Republic they fought for so dearly. His voice breaks when he speaks of the day they all turned against their Jetti, of how he and Ahsoka became one of the last of the surviving 501st because he had headed Fives' warning and fought against the weapons inside their heads. Rex tells them of the Empire that rose from the ashes of the day they had their free will torn from them, how clones either served and died under the Empire, or were tortured and killed by the same. He speaks of their numbers dwindling in such a short time, until finally, he was the only one left, the only one who had helped bring the Empire to its death.

Rex is staring at Anakin when he speaks of the way he was manipulated by Palpatine, the Jedi looking horrified when he learns he became a Sith that killed too many innocents to mention. Rex is staring at Ahsoka when he speaks of the Rebellion that she helped build, and is haunted when he speaks of the day she died in his arms.

Rex isn't standing by the end, his voice hoarse as he's slumped against Fives, just speaking about everything vital until he finally goes silent. He watches as Kix and the medics all but vault for the exit, and Rex can breathe in relief when he knows that the chips will be found within minutes.

Rex is left with the Jetti alone in the hangar when the men filter back to their posts, all awaiting their turn to be seen by the medics. Ahsoka is hugging him as tight as she can, feeling so horrified and lost at what they had learned, and wanted Rex to feel that he wasn't alone again. Anakin is sitting by his side, one hand on Rex's shoulder, and the other holding up his lightsaber as he stares at it, suddenly finding his weapon fit more for an executioner rather than a Knight.

"Keep it." Rex's voice is barely above a whisper, and Anakin looks at him. "You're a symbol."

"No...not with what you told me." Anakin was a monster, so blind to trust Palpatine, who was using him rather than actually caring for him.

"You have time, use it." Slowly, Rex places his hand on the hilt, and with a hum, the familiar blue blade slides out. "You are a good Jedi."

"I promise to stay that way, I promise." Anakin puts his other hand over Rex's, and for the first time since he had to watch his own brothers die so long ago, Rex feels something.

Hope.

[chemsexholmes]

But now its just another show and you leave em laughing when you go and if you care don't let them know don't give yourself away I've looked at love from both sides now from give and take and still somehow its love's illusions that I recall I really don't know love really don't know love at all tears and fears and feeling proud to say "I love you" right out loud dreams and schemes and circus crowds ive looked at life that way oh but now old friends they're acting strange and they shake their heads and they tell me that I've changed well something's lost but something's gained in living every day

[parasitoidism]

Both sides now needs to be the sbr ed it’s not even funny

[haoreo]

✿ 𝐬𝐢𝐦 𝐣𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧 | 𝐥𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥

content: jake x fem!reader, fluff!!, ft. wonyoung from ive <3

word count: 700+

disclaimer: i'm new to writing fanfics (especially oneshots) so please go easy on me. i mean no harm to any of the members, this is purely fictional. would love to hear your thoughts! :>

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

they said that your years in high school would be the best years of your life. meeting new people, trying out new hobbies, and making memories, both good and bad, all around campus.

you were one of the few people in your school that thought high school was pretty okay. you were president of the camera club, maintained good grades, and had a great group of friends. your high school life was smooth-sailing, you could say, not until you’ve crossed paths with him.

sim jaeyun. or jake sim, whatever.

jake, the team captain of your school’s soccer team.

jake, the class clown yet somehow still the teacher’s favorite.

jake, the one who’s crush changes almost every other week.

the jake sim, whose next target seems to be you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

“you know what, ___, why don’t you just give him a chance?” wonyoung asked out of nowhere during lunch.

“what and get added to his long list of failed commitments? no thanks,” you replied while angrily poking at your food.

wonyoung shrugged at you, “i don’t know, his looks aren’t bad, and he’s popular, funny, " she listed with her fingers, "plus he’s been at it for three months, which is probably the longest he’s gone for a girl.”

you had to admit, wonyoung was right. he has been trying to get your attention for almost three months now. buying you your favorite snacks, offering to bring your things, and sometimes even waiting for you at the school gates when you finish late at the camera club. (you thought that it was sweet, of course, but you would never admit it)

“well it can't mean anything, right? he’s done the same to-“

you were interrupted by a hand placing a carton of chocolate milk in front of you. your favorite.

“hey, sweetheart.” you rolled your eyes at the nickname. but wonyoung just giggled at your frustration.

jake took a seat next to you with his face only inches away from yours, “are you going to my big game tomorrow morning?”

“it's not like i have a choice, do i?” you begrudgingly reply.

being president of the camera club, you were usually assigned the bigger school events, and that includes all of the soccer team’s games. if your pride wasn’t so high, you would admit to actually enjoying jake’s games. cheering on for your school can feel exhilarating and you’re able to do something you’re great at, photography. the candid shots of the crowd and the players had a different charm to them, and it also didn’t help how jake looked great in every single photo you take of him. in fact, it kind of made him your favorite subject. which is something you'd never say out loud.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

it was the big day, and the game was about to start. your schoolmates occupied the bleachers on one side, adorned with face paint of your school colors and holding different banners and posters of all of the players. you were double-checking your camera and all your extra memory cards and batteries when wonyoung nudged your side.

you looked up to see jake jogging to where you and wonyoung were seated.

“hey, sweetheart! let's make a deal,” he grinned at you, “if we win this game, i get to take you on a date.”

your cheeks warmed at his offer, partly out of embarrassment because he said this out loud, but also because maybe his consistent efforts were finally getting to you.

“and what about if you lose, hm?” you managed to reply with the little confidence you had left.

“well lucky for you, princess, you don’t have to worry about that. i’ll make sure we win,” he said with a wink, “is it a deal?”

“deal.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

your whole school roared in excitement when your school’s team officially won the game. and honestly, you were excited too.

students started to file out of the venue but you stayed behind to pack up your things while also viewing some of the shots you took today, zooming into the ones that featured jake.

speaking of, jake walked up to you after bidding goodbye to his teammates, his sports bag thrown over his shoulder.

this time, you were the first to speak up, “you did well out there, jake.” he blushed at your compliment. he got compliments all the time, but it felt different when it came from you.

"i'm sure you took great photos of me as well?" he raised his eyebrows, teasing you. you simply laughed at him, poking fun at how he had to ruin the moment.

“um, but about that date, how’s next friday?” he asked, suddenly getting serious.

“sure, pick me up at 7, hm?” you moved closer to him, “oh and by the way.”

setting aside your pride for a few seconds, you placed your hand on his chest and planted a kiss on his cheek. “congratulations,” you said quietly with a smile.

jake smiled back, knowing he made the right choice to continue choose you, every single day.

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

aaaa hope you liked it huhu this was my first oneshot so pretty skerd here

[shurisneakers]

harmless (vi)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, existential crisis, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, lil bit of angst, clint barton being a lil shit

Word count: 1.9k

A/N: BUCKY BARNES IS BACK AND HAS A CONFIRMED PERSONALITY 

also omg everyone who’s been sending me ideas- ur the lomls. 

if you have any ideas for future inventions/evil plans, lemme know! i might actually end up using them

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

Your place or mine? ;)

He stares at the text.

The right answer is mine. See you at the lair.

“Y’all are dating now?” Clint peeks over his shoulder. 

“Fuck no,” Bucky says indignantly. “God forbid.”

“Okay, man,” he retracts, giving Bucky space to turn around and face him. “What do you want to call your mini dates then?”

“Missions,” Bucky corrects him.

“No one wants to go on a mission. You volunteered to go back there.” 

“It’s for the good of the tristate area.” 

“I bet.” The snort he lets out contradicts his words. “Whole world is depending on you, Barnes. Go save them from the treachery of your crush.”

“Enemy.”

“Girlfriend.”

“Mortal nemesis.” Bucky narrows his eyes at him. “Go further, I dare you.”

“What are you gonna do? Choke me? Punch me with your metal arm?” Clint cranes his neck. “Bring it, big boy. I’m not scared of some kinky shit.”

He hates living here. 

The door is left open for him. 

This time, even though the lair is still illuminated by the green light out in the front, there’s a minor change. Sunlight streams in through a skylight in the roof. 

There’s a ladder there, leaning against the rim. It gives him an entrance to the roof, which, judging by the lack of any other presence in the lab, is where he’s supposed to go.

As he gets closer he notices there’s a note on one of the rungs.

‘Evil’ with an arrow pointing upwards.

He rolls his eyes, discarding it on the floor before swiftly scaling the steps.

“Ah, Mr. Barnes,” he hears your voice call out even before his head pops up above the surface. “We’ve been expecting you.” 

He pauses, looking around. “Who’s with you?”

Because other than the gigantic machine pointed up towards the sky, there’s only you with a visor and sunglasses. The  best way he can describe its design was that it was shaped like a pine cone, had a large antenna pointed towards the sky, two handlebars near its base to manoeuvre it with a large button in between them. 

“Just imagine I have my henchmen with me,” you urge. “I’m on a budget, man, I can’t afford them yet. Maybe when my cloning machine finally works-”

He doesn’t answer.

“It’s a James Bond reference,” you add when he doesn’t show any signs of answering. 

“Haven’t watched it yet.” Bucky shrugs. “We’re doing Star Trek right now.”

“You’re done with Star Wars?” you, receiving a nod in confirmation. “Nice. You’d find the spy shit ridiculous anyway, it’s way below your level.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He makes a mental note to add the Bond movies to the list. 

“Speaking of stars,” you begin, gesturing to the machine. “I’m going to harness the power of the sun.”

“For what?” He doesn’t bother asking how, he already knows you’ve figured out something. 

“There’s a science exhibition and my team’s stupid solar car experiment isn’t working and I need it for them to win.” 

“So build a better one.” 

“No, ours is the best and if Jeff and his stupid baking soda volcano beat us then we’re going to have a murder on our hands.”

“Your hands,” he emphasises. He has nothing to do with this.

“I said what I said, boy.” You glare at him. “This is our problem now.”

“How much power are you taking?” If it’s insignificant enough, it wouldn’t matter much. He thinks. 

“The whole thing.”

He laughs. He stops when you don’t.

“You’re taking all the energy of the sun to power your shitty science model.”

“Your face is a shitty science model,” you mimic him in a higher pitched voice. “I will do anything to win.”

He wonders which grade kid you stole that insult from was in. There’s no way they were anything older than 13. He could use it on Steve, maybe.

“Everyone on Earth will die.” He feels the need to remind you, even though there was no way it was actually going to take place. Eat shit, Clint. This superseded the tristate area.

“Not for eight minutes.” You look at your watch. “And, if Jeff dies then I win by default.”

“You’ll die too,” he points out. 

“I’ll die a winner.” You nod seriously as if that makes it better. 

He’s not that worried. Experience tells him that you’re not a mass murderer willingly. 

“You’ll die an idiot.” 

“Only if you don’t stop me.” Your lips curve into a smile. “And how will you when I do this?”

You yank the machine to point towards him and slam the button. His hand reflectively pulls in front of him to defend himself. Something hits him with enough force to send him skidding backwards slightly. 

He removes his hand carefully from in front of him, looking at you. 

Something feels off.

“You just-”

The knives strapped to his thighs suddenly feel heavier.

“Took your powers?” you finish his thought. “Yeah.”

He feels his body tip towards his left. He’s suddenly very aware of the weight of the arm. Had it been this heavy all this while? 

“You’ve barely changed,” you noted, “You’re just regular Bucky but like, 20% less beef.”

After all, he was a boxer when he was a teen. One of the best men the Howling Commandos had even before the serum.

His shoulder feels heavier though. And somehow he thinks he’s sensing things a little less. He can’t really hear the faint buzzing of the generator downstairs anymore.

“Yep, that’s real muscle.” He turns when you poke at his shoulder. He doesn’t know when you got there. “You’re like a modern day Schwarzenegger. Grade A beefcake.”

He can’t see the construction site near the horizon as clearly as he used to. 

Something about this situation makes him feel like he’s going to have a midlife crisis, even though he’s overshot the age by a huge number. No one has a midlife crisis at 106. 

“Now that we’ve established that this works,” you say, back near the machine again. When did you walk there? “Let’s show this bitch that I’m the brightest star allowed in this solar system.” 

He shakes his head to jolt himself awake, shoves aside his mental dysfunction and breaks out into a sprint when you pull the device down to aim it at the sky. 

He latches onto the side, using his left hand to pull himself up, straddling the machine.

“Excuse me,” you exclaim like it’s a minor inconvenience and he feels the machine sway wildly under him. “You’re weighing it down, get off my inator.”  

You’re shooting recklessly, trying to shake him off. It’s not dissimilar to the mechanical bull Natasha made him ride during a mission down south so she could win money off placing bets on him. They had lobster that night.

He reaches down to its side, hoping to feel maybe a panel he can rip off. He finds nothing.  

He hopes none of the rays are actually hitting anything. It’s a little harder to stay on than he’d imagined it would be, and he thinks that maybe this wasn’t the best plan. 

He changes his mind in a split second, swinging himself over so that he can climb the underside of the machine like a monkey bar. He feels like a fucking insect. How was Peter not mortally embarrassed? 

He factors in the fact that his hands are getting clammier and his grip is slipping faster than usual. Also, he can taste his lunch at the back of his throat.

“Motherfucker,” Bucky curses when his hand slips, leaving him to hold on only by his metal arm. 

“You okay?” you call out, not giving him a second to recover unless he really needed it.

He lets out a grunt, swinging his arm up and catching hold of the antenna, yanking it down and towards the machine itself. He pulls himself up so that he’s straddling the machine again. 

One more shot and-

“Very smart, Barnes,” you say dryly, letting go of the handles. 

He sends you a sly grin before sliding down the barrel, kicking the large button with his heel right before he jumps off. 

The beam shoots out, instantly meeting with metal. The device automatically gives a mechanical groan before powering down, turning off altogether. 

“I hate you,” you huff, before noting his paleness. “D’you want some water? An IV maybe?”

He dismisses it with a wave of his hand, inhaling heavily to catch his breath.

He’s tired, more so than he would have been under any normal circumstance. He feels a little dizzy, a little disoriented. 

“Don’t worry, your magic powers will be back in a few minutes or so.” You examine the bent antenna, pressing the button and sighing when it stands there lifelessly. “Once Jeff wins, I’ll send the dry cleaning receipt to you. You can pay to get the tear stains out of the kids’ outfits.”

“Your tears or theirs?” He’s relieved about the powers returning, he thinks.

“Both, bitch.” Your eyebrow quirks at his retort. Clearly, he had more energy in him than people realised; his brain seemed to be working fine. He was stronger than you thought. Good for him. 

“You’re smart. You’ll figure something out.” He lets out a final exhale before standing up a little straighter. 

“Thanks. It’d be better if you asked your billionaire tech genius to send us something, but okay.”

“It’s a middle school science exhibition. Make a potato battery or something.”

You tsk-tsk. “No points for creativity, Mr. Barnes.”

It creeps into his mind without warning. He wonders if he actually wanted the powers back. Wonders what his life could be if he maybe retired, settled down. For the brief time he feels like his pre-war self, he starts to think like his pre-war self.

“I’m not the one who’s about to lose to a baking soda volcano,” he finds time to respond, however. 

“Your face is a baking soda volcano.” You narrow your eyes at him. “I will not lose.”

“You’re running out of time. Chop chop.”

But the thought hits him. Who is Bucky without his super soldier serum? If he doesn’t have his powers then he can’t think of what use he is to the Avengers.

Who the hell is Bucky if he can’t provide a service to others? How else does he make up for being himself?

His, what he’s now deemed, afterlife crisis is starting to look more apparent.

He compartmentalises and stores it away in a box. He’ll bring it up with his therapist later. 

“I’m going to win and then you’ll be sorry you weren’t a part of it because you didn’t let me steal the sun.” 

“If you win, I’ll still be glad I didn’t let you.” He climbs back down the ladder, feeling the ache in his muscles reduce with every passing minute. 

True to your word, his powers do return a while later. 

And while he’s watching Avatar: The Last Airbender with Peter in the living room two days later, his phone beeps with a text. 

It’s a picture of a blue first place ribbon next to a toy car that looks like it’s powered by a potato battery. Beside it is an out of focus middle finger that is aimed at him. 

Congratulations, he texts back. Told you potato batteries always win.

Your face always wins, he receives in return. He can’t tell if you’re insulting or flirting with him. 

He just shuts his phone off and goes back to watching the show. 

Next part

[peanut-butter-parkerxx]

plane pillow

where peter planned to play video games with ned through the whole flight but fate decided to take another turn....

*A/N: this isnt related to far from home nor the ending of endgame, just pretend infinity and all the movies after didnt exist since i imagine pete 16 in here. i dont know why 16 i just like that age on him lmao, enjoy reading!*

pairing: peter x reader

status: strangerz (well sort of since they haven't talked to eachother but they're in the same school)

NOT PROOF READ BTW SO SORRY IF THERE ARE ANY MISTAKES

peter's POV

"the flight will be amazing! i heard they'd installed the new game we were talking about" i gushed to ned, excited for the whole flight to be filled with video games.

"im excited" ned stated practically jumping from excitement and i shook my head laughing

"OK CLASS!" Mr Harrington clapped his hands getting our attention "we're boarding the plane in a few minutes so pack your stuff and lets goooo" he pointed at our gate dramatically.

we walked to the gate, scanned our ticket and sat on our assigned seats, ned and i sat on the three seater, he took the window seat by winning a 3 round match of rock, paper, scissors *sighs angrily* and i obvious got the middle, kinda scared of who'll sit beside me though.

we had to wait for a few minutes, since we boarded the flight early. ned and i obviously started playing video games, too entranced by the small glowing screen infront of me i haven't realized a girl.

she hadn't really acknowledged me either because she looked tired, i cursed at the screen for losing the game too quickly and my dumb ass still didnt realize a GIRL, MY AGE, looking PRETTY FUCKING ADORABLE was sitting next to me. oh dear god.

after a couple more games and me being the most idiotic teenager known today for not looking at my right to see her  the flight attendant alerted us that the plane will take off so we the screen will freeze any moment. ned and i decided to sleep, it was very early in the morning and we need to rest if we plan on gaming most of the flight.

i closed my eyes and shifted a bit in my seat, and slept. the plain was moving at the time trying to find the best place to take off. i guess i was really tired that i havent felt someone sleeping on my shoulder.

i was peacefully sleeping still agitated from the uncomfortable seat but i heard a loud noise that frightened the life out of me and due to my spidey senses i sensed a hand on my right, so what did i do? i fucking held the hand. hard, may i add, from the fright.

i opened my eyes quickly and jumped a bit, turning around to see who's the stranger that i held hands with, startled as well. i sighed in relief knowing our plane was safe and it was just about to take off. but then i took a good look on the perso- her, took a good look on her, on her? OH MY GOD ITS A GIRL calm down peter and please dont scare her off. i couldnt stop looking at her and to my luck she was looking at me as well, but none of us spoke

i couldnt help but notice the small part of her y/h/c hair that was shown from her hood looked so shiny and smooth, her eyes were the most perfect shade of y/e/c. the extremely large hoodie looked so comfortable on her which made me think of her wearing one of mine, how big and long it'll look on her body sent butterflies to my stomach. she looked small, and precious so fragile yet she held her body confidently.

the voice of the flight attendant echoed through the speakers which made us both stop our trance of one another. even though the lady's voice wasnt scary it still frightened us. i mean no hate towards miss attendant she called me a cutie and gave me extra blankets

but coz we got startled again we held hands....again looking for the sources of the noise. we visibly relaxed once we realized what it was, looked at eachother and laughed, her laugh was angelic and soft, hands down the best sound ive ever head. she looked rather embarrassed from the encounter but i bet you a thousand dollars i look worse, i could practically feel the blood rush through my cheeks once she realized how long ive stared at her

"i- uhm i-im so sorry for sleeping on your shoulder, and- and holding your hand and stuff" she apologized, it only made me even more baffled by her. how could a voice match with a face so perfectly.

"no no its fine uhh i dont mind *nervous laugh* and for the hand thing i was the one who grabbed yours so i-i should be the one apologizing...im sorry" i rubbed the back of my neck. this is why i dont talk to girls, ever. well mj is an exception since shes like the closest thing i have to a friend other than my best friend obviously.

"i-im y/n, by the way" she lifted her hand properly introducing herself

"peter, peter parker" i shook her hand, it was nice feeling the warmth of her hand again. we probably held hands (for the third time today by the way) longer the we should have but who am i to say i was bothered. i definitely wasnt.

"nice to meet you peter" she smiled shaking our hands one last time then sitting it on her lap. scratch what i said about her gorgeous laugh, hearing her say my name was the best thing ive heard in my 16 year of existence. (her laugh is obviously the second best)

before i could ask anything else, the plane decided to finally take off. i adjusted myself to the seat, not turning to my right side anymore and closed my eyes trying to think of smiling puppies. ive been on a plane before, in fact a private one last year but that was it. this is my second time flying away from new york and i was a bit nervous.

y/n somehow noticed my sudden tense form, who am i kidding i looked like i was about to die coz of my nerves. and held my hand. and i immediately opened my eyes again, the feeling of her skin coming in contact with mine brought chills down my spine, good ones obviously

"you looked rather tense, is this ok?" she leaned into my ear so i could hear her. i looked at her confused on why she would want to help me but nodded as a reply. a smile crept on my face and i couldnt seem to take it off.  the take off went smoothly thank god. and ive occasionally squeezed her hand, usually when the plane made very loud sounds. but i made it! woohoo

i didnt know if i should stop holding her hand or not, even though i didnt want to. will she think im a creep? and if i did, will she think im rude? but i guess it didnt seem to bother her if she went back to sleeping. so i figured i should do the same

i shifted in my seat a couple of times trying to get the perfect comfy spot....nothing. this seat will be the death of m-

"you can sleep on my shoulder if you want" she whispered. "i figured since you let me sleep on yours which im very sorry about, you could sleep on mine" she smiled

"thanks, but i dont wanna bother you or make you uncomfortable"

"oh nonsense! my body is screaming right now cheering for me, well partially scolding at me for saying something risky like that to a good looking guy, its ok" she laughed, her eyes widened in shock from what she confessed. i smiled at her and rested my head on her shoulder

"you think im good looking?" i whispered playing with our fingers, i dont know when i got the sudden confidence but hearing someone like her think a loser like me is cute did something to me.

"shut up" she playfully shoved me and i laughed.

"are you from midtown?" i asked her

"no im from queens" she joked

"oh you're definitely from midtown" i chuckled, next thing i know i was having a normal conversation with me laying my head on a girl i just met like we knew eachother for years, it was nice to talk to a girl i potentially thought was cute instead of talking gibberish

she was very understanding and looked like interested into what i was saying, i was gonna skip my geeky side when she asked about what i like but to my surprise, she mentioned it when i asked her the same, she said she loves comics and likes watching sci fi movies. i asked her if she watched star wars and she said she didnt...yet.

"wanna uhm watch it together?" i played with her fingers absentmindedly nervous if she'd reject me.

"yeah sure" her eyes lit up like she was waiting for me to ask her that. we watched the movie in bliss, thankfully she liked it! and immediately said to put the second one. and surprise surprise, we finished it.

when the credits rolled in, i saw her yawning, shifting in her seat again, i decided to be bold so i lifted her head off my shoulder pulled the arm rest away from us, took a pillow and patted my lap. immediately after doing it i regretted it, she barely knows me, what the fuck peter.

"you sure?" she asked smiling a bit, she looked like she felt something giddy inside which made me feel at peace again and i nodded.

"good night" she whispered snuggling her head on my lap, i hesitantly put my arm over

"good night, y/n" and we fell asleep like how ned slept the whooole time i was talking to her, wow we have a lot to catch up on

bonus:

peters pov

i didnt know the whole plane (our class) practically gushed over my interaction with y/n, i know its been a while since i liked a girl but betty and the rest (including Mr Harrington) practically begged mj to take photos of us since she was the closest, not that she wouldnt have done it without them asking her....

*A/N: idk what this bonus was lmao but i had to add the school feeling happy for our boy pete*

have a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening/night!

-quacksonlover

[drazzilder]

A Hellish Encounter

By Drazzilder 

Chapter 28: Last Goodbye

The next morning, you wake up still on top of Zaheer and to the sounds of Enji’s snoring. That is a record for Zaheer being outside of you but theorize that sleeping must not count or something. You must have woken him as he begins to rumble and he startles Enji.

“Shit! I forgot how we went to bed last night. Is this what’s it’s like when you wake up on top of me because I could get use to this.”

“Something like this, your just smaller than Zaheer.”

“It is nice. Oh, and don’t tell me you forgot what happened last night?”

“Oh, I can speak for both Enji and I, we never forget it. I’m thinking we might have to do it again sometimes.”

“I agree.”  

“Really? I wasn’t too much?”

“Hey, I couldn’t move my legs after the first time with Enji, if I can survive that, I’m good.”

“That’s good, because I can think a few more things we can try.” Enji says as gives you a small kiss on the lips.

After getting ready and packing up; you are about to leave when you get a phone call right as Zaheer goes back inside of you.

“Hello, is this (Y/N)?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Great! I’m Janis from John Hopkins hospital.”

“Ok? Why are you calling me?”

“There is a patient here who is asking for you.”

“Ok, I have visited kids in the hospital before, what’s his or her name.”

“Adam.”

“Adam?” You look at Enji who was listening to everything. You dropped your phone as you stand there looking at Enji with no color to your face. You’re completely frozen when he picks up the phone for you and puts it on speaker.

“Miss, does this Adam look like a beast?”

“Um, I guess? How did you know?”

“I just know. Give us some time, we will be there. Bye.”

“Adam would never go to a hospital; he must be in trouble. We have to go.”

“(Y/N) I have to tell you something. As part of the agreement of not sending you back to the US, you are not allowed back in the United States.”

“What? Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“You never wanted to go back there until now so I felt it was ok to keep it a secret from you. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s ok, but if I’m not allowed there, how can I visit Adam?”

“If we teleport right to the hospital and don’t stay long, we should be fine. This agreement also took you off the FBI watch list so no one should be looking for you.”

You take your phone back from Enji and quickly look up the hospital online. After some time, you figure out the best way to get to the hospital. After sending your luggage home, you take Enji’s hand and teleport to the lobby of the hospital, startling many members of the hospital staff. You talk to the receptionist to find out where Adam is and you make your way to his room. You freeze at the door, fearful of what you might see.

“It’s ok, I’m right here.” Enji says as he squeezes your hand.

“I know but I���m worried.”

You slowly open the door to see Adam lying flat on the bed, only an IV and a heart monitor are hooked up to him. He is covered in bullet holes and bandages. You run to his side, leaving Enji at the door, and gently wake him up.

“Adam?”

“(Y/N)? You came.” His says in a weak voice with a faint smile.

“What happened?”

“I was...*cough* I was shot, someone thought I was a monster. Kind of funny when you think about it. I have been waiting for you. *cough*”

You begin to cry at the point. “Adam, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry you got hurt. I never wanted this to happen to you.”

“It’s ok. I know you are happy.” He says with a faint smile.

“What?”

Looking at Enji, “When that man declared his love for you, the news went around the world. I saw it and I knew you were happy. I’m glad you found someone who loves you.”

“But… what about everything we had? I know it wasn’t true love but I still cared for you, you were my best friend. Was that all for nothing?

“What we had was good but what you have now is special. You even learned how to control your powers better because of him. You have grown because of him. Just look at the hero you have become. I know you love him that’s why he has a wedding ring on.”

Enji quickly covers his hand but it’s too late. You look back to Adam who has a few tears in his eyes to match yours. “Adam, I don’t want to lose you. Not like this.”

“I know you will be ok with him.” He raises his hand to your face.

“Adam…” you put your hand over his. Sitting there a moment, you start to feel something you haven’t felt in years.

“Adam? What are you doing?”

His hand begins to glow and you’re filled with that familiar feeling again. “I’m giving you the last of my energy, that way you will always have a part of me. Zaheer take care of him, same with you.” As he looks at Enji who just nods in response.

“ADAM, PLEASE! DON’T GO!!!” You plead but it’s too late. His hand falls down as his eyes go dark. The heart monitor holds its tone telling you he is gone. He was keeping himself alive just for you, to give you the last bit of himself that he could. You hunched over the bed crying when you feel Enji’s hand. It pulls you away from the bed and into his arms. You use his shirt to absorb the tears as you stand there crying uncontrollably. You manage to get out the words: “What……will happen…. to him?”

“I’ll tell the hospital to cremate him and send his remains to us. We can set up a small shrine next to Touya’s, ok?”

You can only nod in response. Enji uses his quirk to calm you down enough that you two can get out of there. You know you can’t stay long so you teleport back home shortly after. At home, Enji lets the kids know what happened and they all start to try to help. Natsuo plays racing games with you, even letting you win a few races. Fuyumi cooks your favorite dinner and even sends Enji to go buy your favorite dessert. Shoto asks for help in his newest project which did mostly go well. The last event of the day was everyone in the living room rewatching your favorite movie. You do cheer up a bit, but you’re still sad when you finally fall asleep.

Enji wakes up in the middle of the night knowing something is wrong. He doesn’t feel you on top of him like normal. Looking around the room he notices Zaheer in the corner looking concerned.

“Where is (Y/N)?”

“He’s not doing well.”

“Where is he?” he responds with more concern.

“I can take you to him. He made me promise to leave him alone but I know better. Come on.”

In a red flash, Enji and Zaheer are at the beach you first took Enji after he confessed his feelings for you. You are sitting, just staring at the ocean, arms crossed over your knees resting your chin on your arms. Zaheer goes back inside of you as Enji sits down next to you, turning on his flame beard to keep himself warm in the cold night air.

“I know you’re not ok. Please, talk to me.”

After a few minutes of silence, you speak. “I feel guilty.”

“Why? Do you feel guilty about us?”

“I feel guilty that I was here enjoying life while Adam was still on the run. We cared for each other, we loved each other. It’s not the same love you and I have but it was love. I would do anything for him but I left him. Now look what happened; he’s dead now. It’s because I wasn’t there. I couldn’t protect him. He would always protect me and save me but I couldn’t do the same. It’s because I was selfish in my actions. It’s because I…..I….I….” You try your best to contain them but stammer as your emotions can no longer be contained. You begin to cry like you never have before. The emotions have gotten so intense that you partially lose control of your body as you fall flat on your back. You can’t feel your limbs but you don’t notice through the mental pain. Your sobbing has turned into something more like howling and your eyes are burning from the volume of tears. Nothing in your life prepared you for how you feel at this moment; you lost someone so close to you, someone who saved you, someone you cared deeply for. Enji lays there with you, his hand under your head using his thumb to rub your head trying to calm you but he knows those emotions need to be let out. It seemed like an eternity before your tears slow and Enji speaks.

“You can’t blame yourself for what happened. You didn’t do anything Adam said not to do. He said to follow your heart and you did. Do you regret falling in love with me?”

“No, I couldn’t be happier I just feel like it was unfair to Adam. He had to go through almost as much as me and he deserved to be happy. Even though I love you Enji, I still worried about him every day.”

“I can sympathize with that. I finally get to see Rei again after years and she leaves again. I never wanted to lose her even though I didn’t love her like I love you. But her last action was to save you. She wanted you to be there for the kids, to be there for me. She wanted you to be happy. Didn’t she say there is a lot of love for you?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t disappoint her, don’t make her life a waste by being sad constantly.”

“Don’t you think I feel guilty about that too. I know I had nothing to do with what Rei did but I still feel like it’s my fault somehow. How did you not break down when she sacrificed herself?”

“I almost did, but I tell myself why she did it. She said she did it for both of us, for her children.”

“I know but…”

Enji goes to hug you close. “Rei gave her life because she believed in you. She saw what you were doing for me and the children. She saw how happy everyone is now and she wants that to continue. If you can’t stop the guilt for yourself, do it for me.”

“I can try to do that for you. I would do anything for you.” You smile through your tears.

“That’s my, little flame.” He says kissing the top of your head as your crying almost stops.

“Enji, I love you so much.”

“I love you too. Let’s go home.” And you disappear in a blue light.

Next Chapter

[spartanguard]

(love will see us through these) Dark Days [CSRT; 6/7]

Summary: A century ago, the United Realms of Pomem had been a land of peace, prosperity, and magic. Until war tore the land apart, leaving behind cruel leaders and even crueler laws regarding the use of magic. And each year, the youth of each realm are subjected to a fight to the death, both for entertainment and to weed out anyone capable of wielding magic. In the 99th Magic Games, past victors Emma Nolan and Killian Jones find themselves serving as mentors, while Alice Gothel and Robyn West end up representing their realm. Everyone has secrets; everyone has something to lose. Who will win? Who will die? Just don’t forget: all magic comes with a price.

rated M | 7.8k words | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | AO3

A/N: We survived the games! and there’s only one chapter left after this—ahh! Thanks as always to @captainswanbigbang​ for hosting this event and the best beta ever @optomisticgirl​. Chapter title comes from “Kingdom Come” by The Civil Wars.

Important note: So, this is the chapter where things happen (in the past) with Killian and Eloise. While it's completely consensual, it's still not the greatest of situations (they're both victims, in this scenario). So if you don't want to read that, then I advise you to skip over the flashback at the end.

part 6: Don't you fret my dear; it'll all be over soon / I'll be waiting here for you 

Alice felt like she was going to be sick. But at the same time, she didn’t feel much—like all her senses were muted somehow; like she was covered in a see-through blanket. Absentmindedly, she scratched, yet again, at the new bracelet on her arm.

“Stop it,” her mother scolded, swatting her hand away. “You’ll get used to it,” she added, a bit softer.

Alice glanced over at her mum, who was now toying with her own cuff. From the outside, it was beautiful: made of beads woven together in shades of orange that matched Eloise’s hair and, at least at the moment, matched the floral pattern that covered her flowy gown. When Alice was little, she would stare at it in awe, thinking it was merely a beautiful accessory. Now, she knew better.

And god, she understood her mother that much more. Alice’s was equally gorgeous—a sea of blues that mimicked the color of her (and her papa’s) eyes, and nearly blended into the stunning turquoise ball gown she was wearing. She now knew that those beads were made of silicon, and the wires and metal holding it together were all part of the circuitry used to block the release of magic. But it felt like her body was rejecting it, and rightly so; it was literally suppressing a part of her that had been there her whole life. So while her mother’s attention was diverted, she snuck another scratch in.

She nearly jumped when a hand closed over hers. “Easy there,” Robyn whispered, giving her a soft smile. “I’ve got ya.” She squeezed her hand over Alice’s, and even though it didn’t do much to relieve the itch that felt like it was burrowing into her soul, it was soothing nonetheless. 

“Thanks,” she said, returning the tiny grin. Even though the games had ended a few days ago, it felt like they’d barely spent any time together. They’d curled together on the hovercraft, but the trip from the Arena back to Olympus was depressingly short, and they’d been split apart almost immediately and taken to recover separately.

She’d no sooner been hurried into a hospital room than a crude cuff had been slapped on her wrist, immediately stifling her magic. Cruelly, her mother had been the one to fit her with the current, permanent model a day later, while she was still hooked up to all sorts of IV drips that were supposed to heal all her injuries and make up for malnourishment.

Eloise hadn’t said a word when she put it on her, and didn’t linger to talk with her about it. No words were really needed, but Alice couldn’t shake the feeling that her mother had put a pillow over her face at the same time.

(Her papa visited too, later that night when no one else was around; he’d held her as she cried into his shoulder, just like when she was a little girl and her first rabbit died. But this was so much worse than a pet, and she’d been the one to do the killing here and...god, she still couldn’t think about it much.)

That feeling of muted senses hadn’t yet abated, or even thinned, so she’d taken to studying things even harder, focusing on every detail; right now, she was staring at Robyn’s dress, noting the bit of tulle poking out from under the bold red taffeta at the hem, the tiny red gemstones that dotted the full skirt, and the almost fire-like pattern they made over the strapless bodice. Alice’s dress was made in the same pattern, but the colors were a complete contrast. She had to give the dressmakers credit for that bit of coordination. She didn’t know how many times she’d traced over the seams and stones of hers, just trying to make sure she could still feel; amazingly, she hadn’t messed anything up yet.

“Are you girls ready?” Eloise asked, standing by the door of the small room they stood in. They could hear a bit of the hubbub coming from the other side—from the Victor’s Gala. (Because it wasn’t enough that they had been interviewed again on live television after winning; no, they had to be paraded around for the sponsors and other past victors, too. At least the interviews hadn’t had an audience this time.)

Alice wasn’t sure she was ready to talk again, having only barely made it through the interview without stumbling over her sentences. Robyn, blessedly, picked up on that. “Yeah, we are,” she answered for both of them.

“Then go ahead. You’re on.”

Eloise opened the door just in time for them to hear Sidney Glass announce their names from the room beyond. Once again, the large room on the first floor of Tribute Castle had been transformed, now into a glittering ballroom. 

Robyn squeezed her hand and led them out, which was good, because she probably would have ran the other direction without her there. Hopefully no one noticed her delayed reaction, but she quickly plastered on her show grin and waved as Sidney guided them to the dance floor. 

It was an antiquated tradition that the Victor opened the gala with a first dance, usually with the Gamemaker, but since there were two winners, the mortification was theirs to share alone. 

“Let the dance begin!” he announced, and an orchestra started to play somewhere. For a moment, she and Robyn just stared at each other, giggling. But the rhythm was familiar, thankfully, so she guided Robyn’s free hand to her shoulder, placed hers on Robyn’s waist, and whispered “Follow me.”

There were only a couple missteps as they glided around the floor; Robyn was a quick study, and the more they moved, the more the nervous butterflies became a different kind of flutter in her stomach. 

Robyn must have picked up on it, because she slid her hand from Alice’s shoulder to her waist and wrapped it around her back, tugging her closer. “Doing okay?” she whispered in her ear.”

“Yeah,” she murmured back. “It’s just awkward, is all—everyone watching us.”

“I know; it feels like a wedding,” she said, giggling a bit.

Alice didn’t entirely hate that idea, if she was being honest, and blushed a bit at the idea; her mum would scold her for being too young or something but she was still Killian Jones’s daughter, too; she’d inherited his entire sappy side. 

Robyn was blushing a bit, too; it matched the red jewels that dotted her skin. “Just how did you learn to dance like this?” she asked, seeming to want to change the subject.

“My papa taught me,” she replied. Countless hours they had spent dancing in her bedroom at his house; sometimes it was silly, sometimes serious, and it was one of her fondest memories from growing up.

“Think he’ll teach me?” 

“Oh, definitely!” Hopefully, she’d be able to properly introduce them to each other at some point here—not just the hurried thing that had happened in their quarters…gosh, was that really only two weeks ago? It felt like a lifetime had passed in between. 

Blessedly, the music came to an end and the audience applauded. They both sighed in relief, but then—were they supposed to bow or something? They glanced around for a bit, smiling awkwardly, until Eloise ushered them off the floor. 

“God, that was embarrassing,” Robyn blurted once they were off to the side. Alice was thinking the same, but knew better than to complain like that around her mum.

Eloise, though, didn’t shoot daggers as expected; weirdly, she smirked. “Be glad it wasn’t the Gamemaker. I had to dance with one who was close to retirement and could barely stand upright anymore. He may have worn a diaper.”

Both girls cringed. 

“Anyways, now that that’s over, I want to introduce you to some people. Come on.”

‘Some people’ apparently meant half the past victors present. Not all of them were mentors; some just came for the party, and likely didn’t remember much of the introduction. Nearly all were recognizable, though, given that she’d grown up seeing their faces on the television. Some were especially so, like Regina Mills from Phrygia—famous for literally tearing out the hearts of her opponents (and who now wore a purple beaded cuff, the style of which was becoming more and more familiar)—and Emma Nolan from Misthaven, who had probably given Alice the idea of using the trees to her advantage; that was part of how she’d won. 

But it didn’t escape Alice’s notice how Emma’s eyes kept flicking to her cuff, with some odd mix of pity and concern; she didn’t want either of those, thanks, but it did make her wonder if those two things were fated to follow her forever now.

When they finally made the rounds toward the Victors from Atlantica, Alice felt like she could almost relax; her papa was looking exceedingly dapper in an all-black suit with a flattering cut, shirt open like he liked, in stark contrast to Aunt Ariel’s frilly pink gown. But his rigid posture as they approached sent a clear message: they couldn’t act familiar here; not yet. So she drew herself up a little bit more as Eloise made the proper, if entirely unnecessary, introductions.

They exchanged the same pleasantries everyone else had, albeit slightly strained; it was taking every nerve in Alice’s body not to drag them both into giant hugs and shove Robyn at them. That’d have to wait.

“I wonder,” her papa started after conversation had lulled, “You appear to be a fantastic dancer, Miss Gothel. Might I seek your hand for a turn about the floor?” He extended his hand to complete the offer.

She glanced at her mother for approval; she had no idea how this might look, if it was normal or not. It probably wasn’t, but nothing about her and Robyn was anyway, so when Eloise nodded her assent, she probably grabbed Killian’s hand a bit too roughly. He just chuckled, though, and led her to the floor.

As desperate as she was to get wrapped up in her father’s embrace, he kept a polite distance, even if the steps were ones they’d done a thousand times. “I owe you a better dance when we’re home,” he murmured. “Without so many eyes on us.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” she answered. But now that she’d won—now that the danger of Olympus making her a target was over—she’d been wondering… “What if...what if we did tell people? Like, everyone?”

Her papa gave her a sad smile. “I wish we could, Starfish—so much. But if it came out that there’d been an inter-realm dalliance like this...I don’t know what it would do. And your mother has already dealt with her fair share of trouble.” He didn’t say ‘over you,’ but it wasn’t needed; Alice knew that much of her mum’s family died right around the time she was born and no one suspected it was a coincidence.

“I just hate this,” she complained. “I thought winning made life less complicated.”

He chuckled a bit, in the way that she’d figured out meant he was amused by her innocence; normally, she enjoyed making him laugh, but it rang hollow right now. “Darling, my greatest wish for you was that you never had to face this. But know that I’ll always be there for you—that hasn’t changed.”

She sighed. “I know. I love you, papa.”

He gave a half-smile that somehow always meant more than a full one with him. “I love you too, Starfish.”

The song ended much too soon and it would probably draw the wrong kind of attention if they lingered, so he gentlemanly escorted her back to where her mother and Robyn had continued to talk with Ariel—who surreptitiously gave Alice a thumbs up of approval that made her smirk. 

“Have you guys seen the buffet yet?” she asked, then acted shocked when they hadn’t. Really, she just knew that Alice was always hungry and likely assumed she was starved right now—and she was right. “Seriously, Eloise; feed these girls!” she gushed, winking; Alice was going to have to thank her for the reprieve later. 

They said their goodbyes—lingering a bit in her polite handshake with Papa—and finally got to enjoy the delicacies of Olympus. 

Her papa was right: life was going to be more complicated from here on out. But between him, Robyn, her mother, and the other people around her, Alice knew she’d acclimate eventually. 

Also—she discovered the best marmalade she’d ever had on the buffet. That might make it all worth it. 

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

Killian didn’t have the energy to deal with this tonight. The Gala was usually his favorite part of the Games—if he had to have one—but when all he wanted to do was be with his daughter, far from here, having her here but being required to keep his distance was agony. 

Maybe if Milah was still here, it wouldn’t be so bad, but she wasn’t, was she?

At least the bar was, so after the Sherwood group departed, he excused himself from Ariel’s side to get a drink. 

While he was ordering, Jefferson arrived next to him. “That was quite a show at the end, there, Hatter,” Killian said. “Pulled right on my heartstrings.”

“Well, you know, anything for a great story,” the gamemaker replied. “I don’t know if everyone is pleased with the outcome, but it will definitely be remembered.”

“Who doesn’t love a happy ending? I certainly did.”

“Well, of course you would.”

Killian and Jefferson exchanged a long look at his comment. Did he know? Despite the comment, his expression was unreadable; it was probably best if Killian didn’t linger on it, then. 

“Now comes the hard part: topping yourself next year,” he plowed on with a plastered-on smile. “Care to share your secrets?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Jefferson laughed, albeit nervously. “But let me remind you that it is a Quarter Quell, and it will be the most memorable yet.”

Killian swallowed, thinking of the last Quell and who was in it, before smirking back. “Can’t wait.” Jefferson smiled in reply, but it almost seemed pained; it certainly wasn’t genuine, which was unusual to see in someone from Olympus—the games were typically a source of sadistic joy. “What, not looking forward to it? You’ve got the most coveted job in all the realms.”

“Yeah, I suppose. I just don’t know how much longer I can do it.” Astonishing; Killian never considered a gamemaker might have a conscience. Jefferson continued, “With any luck, I won’t have to.”

“Retiring already?” He was hardly older than Killian—much too young to call it quits, especially considering his, ah, wizened predecessor. 

“Something like that. I won’t go down without a fight, though.”

The gamemaker then excused himself, leaving Killian slightly confused; something was going on. But he didn’t feel like thinking about it tonight, so instead he started on his drink and began searching for some company again.  

He found Ariel in the crowd, talking with Emma and Graham on the other side of the room and felt his expression darken, brows furrowing. Emma’s betrayal still stung, though the intensity had dulled, especially in comparison to other blows he’d been dealt.

She hadn’t been wrong—he probably would have done something similar, had he been allied with any other team. But he felt too much of a connection with her—and, frankly, respected Graham too much—to have done so this year.

He was just angry and shocked at the initial betrayal, but now that Alice was (relatively) safe and sound, he was a bit calmer about the whole thing. It was still a shit scenario, but not as terrible as he’d originally made it out to be.

And Emma’s friendship—or whatever it was they had—was not something he wanted to lose. Perhaps it was best they found a way to bury the hatchet, even if that was a terrible idiom to use.   

He shotgunned the rest of his drink, leaving the glass on a random table and letting the liquid confidence give strength to his cocky front.

“Not trying to steal my partner, I hope?” Killian said as he strolled up, grinning at Graham, before turning his attention to Emma. “Though I’d be open to a trade if you are,” he added, winking.

Emma rolled her eyes and gripped Graham’s arm tighter. If she was trying to avoid him, she’d have to try harder.

“They were just telling me about their son, Henry,” Ariel said with a sweet smile. “He sounds so sweet. Do you have any pictures of him?”

“Yes!” Emma said, reaching for her clutch, and pulling from it a photo of a boy with brown eyes and a mess of dark hair. Killian could see Emma in the boy’s features, but none of Graham. As if he needed any more confirmation there.

“He’s so handsome!” Ariel gushed. “How old is he?”

“Um, eleven,” Emma replied, somewhat nervously, the smile running away from her face. Eleven. The boy could be reaped next year. Killian said a silent prayer, hoping that wasn’t the plan for next year that Jefferson was talking about. But wouldn’t that be a story: the grandson and son of victors finding himself in the games? No wonder Emma had kept her distance from Olympus.

Sensing a need to lighten the mood, Killian addressed Graham. “You didn’t answer my question: would you like to trade partners? It only has to be for the evening.” Emma just averted her eyes.

“Sure, why not?” Graham answered, not giving Emma a chance to say otherwise. “Shall we?” He offered Ariel his arm and they went off to talk to Archie, an older victor from Arendelle.

Killian faced Emma. Despite his usual swagger, he found himself somewhat nervous. Not quite knowing what else to do, and not wanting to get into what was likely to be a heated conversation out in the open, he asked, “Care to dance?”

“Dance? Really?” She finally made eye contact with him, an amused look of disbelief spread across her features. “Didn’t you already do that tonight?”

“There’s no such thing as dancing too much,” he tossed back; he wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that she’d noticed his waltz with Alice. 

Emma snickered. “Okay, but I need another drink first.”

 “I won’t argue that. Lead the way.”

At the bar, they ordered two shots of rum. “To the end of the games,” he offered as a toast.

“If only that were true,” Emma replied with a sad smile as she clinked her glass with his and downed the shot. “I sometimes feel as though I haven’t stopped playing.”

That seemed to be the theme of the night. “They certainly have a way of following us, don’t they?”

He watched Emma’s face change as her thoughts drifted elsewhere, and his own would have done the same had he not been momentarily mesmerized by her beauty. Something about the light in the ballroom, paired with that familiar look in her eyes (not to mention the figure she cut in her red cocktail dress) caught him completely off guard. Goodness, it was like he was a teenage boy again. 

He took a breath (apparently, he’d forgotten to) and reached out with his hand for Emma’s, squeezing gently in case she tried to pull back (she did), and smiled. “Come on, you promised me a dance.”

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

Killian gently dragged Emma to the floor, if it was possible to be gently dragged. A few couples were out there—older victors who were mainly in town because it was something to do, bored with the monotony of life in their respective Victor’s Villages. Emma could hardly blame them; the only reason she hadn’t been bored stiff by now was that she was too preoccupied with Henry, as her parents were earlier with her. 

Few victors had children, though. Why would you want to risk your child going through that torture? Henry was turning twelve in a few months; the next several years would be torture at Reaping time, and his genealogy wasn’t as lucky as Olympus would think.

Looking at Killian, she was stunned he’d made it through without losing his sanity completely. At least he had a happy ending, even if few people knew it. 

Part of her wanted to ask him about—well, about all of it: how Alice came into being, how they managed to hide it while clearly having a relationship (if they’d even really had one; it was hard to tell based on their stilted interactions now), how he hadn’t lost his mind during every prior reaping—but now wasn’t the time. 

It was probably a good time to apologize, though. Even if, knowing him, it would be a prime opportunity to knock down all her defenses, as he tended to do. However, the rum had calmed her flight instinct, so for now, she was just going to dance.

Out on the floor, Killian placed his left arm around Emma’s waist—she could feel the cool of his hook at the small of her back—and lifted her right hand in his. He began to move in time to the music being played by a small ensemble at one end of the floor. “So you actually know how to do...whatever this is?” Emma asked incredulously. 

“It’s called a waltz,” he replied confidently. “There’s only one rule,” he said, leaning in with an almost whisper, “pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.” 

Emma rolled her eyes, but those stupid butterflies deep down took flight again. Really? She hadn’t felt like that since she was a kid.  

“Follow along, love, and you’ll be fine.”

It took some time, and she did stumble once (Killian caught her in his sure arms, responding cheekily “It’s about bloody time,” which made her groan) but she soon found herself keeping pace with Killian.

Falling into a steady pattern, Killian began making small talk. “You know, most men take your silence as off-putting,” he said, then leaned in. “But I love a challenge.” She had to laugh, both at how sure of himself he was, and at what he was trying to do.

“I think you know by now that doesn’t work on me.”

“Couldn’t hurt to try.”

Either he’d had enough rum that he didn’t care, or he’d already moved past the events of the past week. So it was probably time for her to do the same. “Killian, I’m sorry for how things ended. It wasn’t—”

“It’s done,” he cut her off. “No sense dwelling on it.”

“I know, but I still wanted to apologize, and thank you for all your help.” She hoped her smile sold it (to both him and her).

“It was my pleasure, lass. This was definitely one of the more memorable games in my career, thanks in part to you.”

She arched an eyebrow in disbelief. “I think I had less to do with it than you’re giving me credit for.”

He swallowed. “Aye, that’s fair,” he confirmed, and she didn’t miss his glance across the ballroom toward Alice. “But you definitely added some excitement, in multiple ways.”

Were it not for the rum in her veins, she probably would have had some sort of nervous reaction that would have burst a few lightbulbs; she still couldn’t believe she’d lost it around him—twice—and here of all places. Out of habit, she took a few deep breaths, but there was incredibly nothing to calm. To her surprise, though, Killian ran the brace of his hook up and down her back a couple times in a comforting gesture.

“Don’t worry, love—if I can trust you, you can trust me.” The gentle look in his eyes told her that was true; hell, she already knew it, but in general, it was so much easier to not believe it. (Because then it didn’t hurt as much when it proved to be a lie.)

Killian, though...she wondered if she might be okay. 

“Do you trust me?” he asked. 

“Yeah.”

“Good.” And then he spun her out, startling her into giggles, before pulling her back in. He laughed as she gripped his biceps to regain her balance. “I can see I’m finally winning you over, Nolan,” he said with a smirk.

“You wish,” she teased back, but gods—he wasn’t far. She really hoped that no one noticed how close they were, with her supposed husband still in the room. The Olympus gossip rags could be vicious, even if they were barely seen outside the realm.

He seemed to realize the same thing and sobered a bit, but she could still see the playful twinkle in those baby blues. “It’s a shame you’re taken,” he mused, albeit sarcastically. “We’d make such a gorgeous couple.”

“Do I need to remind you that the tricks you used on the rich old ladies don’t work on me? I know your game now.”

“Perhaps that’s true, but I do have a reputation to uphold.” His cocky demeanor slipped a bit there—as if he didn’t even believe himself, or didn’t care to.

“Was that what Eloise was?” she asked quietly.

“No,” he answered, almost whispering. “That was...a lone encounter.”

“It only takes once,” she replied, knowingly. “So you didn’t love her?”

“Not her.”

They were still dancing, though the complicated steps had eased to a shuffle. She glanced up and looked long and hard at his face, and the furrowed expression it was wearing—a familiar look of pain on his face she’d seen in the mirror far too many times. “What was her name?”

He hesitated a moment, glancing down, before softly replying, “Milah.” Emma vaguely remembered her; a beautiful victor from Atlantica, who had died suddenly a while ago—not long after Killian’s win, if memory served right. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“And you?” he asked. 

Should have known Killian would be reading her, too. “Neal,” Emma said, the name foreign on her lips. As much as he occupied her thoughts, she hadn’t said his name aloud in years. “He died in the games.”

“Is he Henry’s father?”

Emma considered a non-answer, but frankly, they were past that at this point. “Yeah,” she murmured. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Mercifully, the music ended after a few moments, and Emma broke apart from Killian, as if the weight of their conversation was driving a wedge between them. “I-I should go back to Graham.” She stared at his chest, still afraid to look up; at least she could blame it on his always-exposed chest hair.

“Allow me to escort you,” Killian said, offering his left arm and a smile that did little to hide how he was equally affected. Emma took a deep breath, took his arm, and smiled, putting back up the emotional walls she could so easily hide behind. Even though Graham was her best friend, she’d barely let him get through them; so how had Killian broken through so quickly, and so repeatedly?

Ariel and Graham were still chatting with Archie when Emma and Killian found them. “Greetings, Arch!” Killian nearly shouted as they approached, reaching out to shake Archie’s hand. 

The man from Arendelle gingerly took it and lightly shook. “Hello, Killian, Emma,” nodding at each in turn. It was hard to imagine this timid man ever winning the games, but he had somehow pulled it off—being from Arendelle, he would have been exposed to any number of technologies that proved useful in Neverland. He did his best to pass on his knowledge to the tributes he mentored, but had only had limited success; mainly with Belle French, who won a handful of years ago and was likely even more technologically savvy than Archie. She had somehow managed to electrocute a number of tributes during her games, due to some handy wire and a well-timed thunderstorm.

They'd never actually talked—there hadn’t been occasion to—but Emma had always admired Belle from afar. In addition to being highly intelligent, she also seemed incredibly sweet. “Where is Belle? I had hoped to see her tonight,” Emma asked.

“Oh, she c-couldn’t make it,” Archie answered, nervous even for him. “President Gold invited her to join him tonight, to watch the Victors’ interview.” 

Emma was still on Killian’s arm, and felt his whole body go rigid at the mention of the president. His face must have darkened, too, because Ariel asked, “Killian? Are you alright?” He seemed lost in thought for a moment, but quickly snapped out of it. 

“Of course, love; I’m fine. Just worn down from the week. But I promised this fine lady that I would escort her back to her beau.”

Emma knew she should unwrap herself from Killian’s arm, but given what had just passed between them, she was more than a little concerned. He was nearly as agitated as he’d been during the Games.

“Actually,” she said, faking a yawn, “I think I might turn in, but you can stay down here if you want,” she told Graham. He was clearly enjoying the company—and she couldn’t shake the desire to soothe Killian, or at least get him out of the public eye.

“You sure?” Graham asked—but she could read his second meaning: was she sure about trying to help Killian?

“Yeah,” she said confidently, then turned to the man on her arm. “Weren’t you heading back, too?”

He blinked at her dramatically, but then figured out what she was suggesting. “Aye; I still need to pack, I’m afraid. I promise to see your lady back safely,” he assured Graham.

“You better,” Graham threw back, smiling encouragingly. She knew what that look meant—it was the kind he always gave her when he wanted her to try something new. But she was going to ignore that.

They bid Archie farewell, who promptly and absentmindedly wandered off. Ariel pulled Emma into an embrace that Emma didn’t hesitate to return—regardless of whatever was going on between her and Killian, Emma had definitely found a new friend in Ariel. “Take care, Emma! I’ll miss you!” the other woman squealed.

“I’ll miss you, too!” She wasn’t used to such outpouring of emotion, but there didn’t seem to be any other option when it came to Ariel; it was a stark contrast to the polite but friendly handshake exchanged between Killian and Graham.

She told Graham she’d see him later, trying to be a bit less casual than she usually was, and led the way as she and Killian left the room. He relaxed immediately in the hallway, but she’d learned her lesson when it came to discussing major revelations there, and continued to guide him to the elevator.

It was already there, so they didn’t have to wait to step on board. As soon as the door closed, she turned to face him, noting the brooding grimace on his face. “What happened?”

He clenched his jaw. “Now, or then?”

“Either.”

“Milah...also spent a lot of time with Gold,” he slowly explained. “She was his favorite.”

“Oh,” she breathed. The president was not known for playing well with others...or for sharing his toys. “Is that how she…?”

“Yeah.”

It was Emma's turn to say “I’m sorry.”

Killian nodded, all the while staring at the floor. “I’d hate to see another woman face that fate.”

“I get it.”

The elevator dinged, indicating they’d arrived on her floor. Wordlessly, they exited, and found their way to the Misthaven quarter’s entrance.

“Thank you for getting me out of there,” Killian said. 

“You can only put on a brave face for so long,” Emma shrugged. She’d definitely been in that position. “And you’ve had to do that enough lately.”

He scoffed. “Yeah.”

A slightly awkward silence settled over them then. “Well, I should—” she started, gesturing at the door.

“Yes, yeah, you should—early train,” Killian stammered back, finally looking her in the eyes. He offered his right hand to her, continuing, “I...I enjoyed working with you this week. Until next year?”

She glanced at his hand, but it seemed so informal. And there was just enough rum still left in her veins, and just enough of her emotional energy had been spent tonight that she didn’t have any more left to spend thinking about things like propriety or denial.

She stepped forward, into his space, and grabbed the lapels on his jacket. Then she pressed herself forward and found his lips with hers.

He stilled for a moment, but then his hand found its way to her waist and he leaned into it, firm and insistent but gentle and soft. He tilted his head to deepen it, and for a few brief, shared moments, they were the only people in Pomem. Maybe it was just because it had been so long, but she couldn’t remember being kissed like this—reverently and carefully.

The kiss broke apart naturally, but they stayed close, foreheads touching. “That was…” he breathed, his voice wrecked.

“A one-time thing,” she answered, regrettably knowing that it would have to be. 

He nodded against her, then stepped back and took a deep breath, seeming to regain his composure. “Until next year, then. Safe travels, Emma.”

“You too, Killian,” she said with a soft smile that he thankfully returned.

As much as she wanted to watch him walk away, she instead slipped inside their quarters, swiftly shutting the door behind her. But she leaned back against it, breathing heavily.

Had she really just done that? Had she just actually kissed Killian Jones? A man she’d see, at best, once a year?

Yeah, he understood her more than anyone she’d ever known, and yeah, he was charming and smart and strong. And he’d somehow gotten under her skin and slipped behind all her walls.

Well, like she said—one-time thing. She was just getting him out of her system. She’d have the year ahead to cool off, and then they could continue on as friends. Right?

Right.

She sighed, scrubbed a hand down her face, and glanced around at the too-empty suite.

God, she hated the games.

It was definitely time to go home.

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

Seventeen years ago

The pain medications in Olympus were something else. Killian felt mostly clear-headed and in control, with just the slightest unnatural euphoria. But he’d made it through the post-Games interview just fine, he thought, so perhaps they weren’t overly strong.

Until he found himself vomiting in a broom closet outside the Victory celebration. His mental state was back on the ground—but the pain at the end of his arm had returned full-force, fire burning in a hand that wasn’t there. (And, irrationally, he was worried about staining the expensive suit he wore.)

“The drugs wore off?” a female voice asked from outside the threshold.

“Aye,” he panted. “Can you get my mentor?”

He heard the woman’s footsteps as she walked away, then a pair returned. “Milah; thank y—ouu,” he started to say as he emerged from the closet, but it wasn’t Milah walking towards him. It was Eloise Gothel, who’d won the Games a couple years ago. Like most Victors-turned-mentors, she was dressed in the style of Olympus, her red hair in a complicated updo and a flowing green gown that somehow managed to hug all her curves. He averted his gaze, though, when he realized his eyes were wandering.

“Here,” she said, holding out her hand to reveal two small, white pills. “They’re not as strong, but better than nothing.”

“Thanks,” he answered, and she tipped them into his palm. He quickly popped them, and washed them down with the glass of water she’d also brought. The effect was nearly immediate as the throbbing dulled and he could breathe again. And then took a few more sips to wash the taste of vomit from his mouth. Just one room over were all kinds of delicacies, and here he was, unable to stomach any of it. How cruel.

“I suppose I should head back in,” he said, suddenly feeling awkward in the presence of a Victor (well, another one—he still had to remind himself that he was one now, too). Especially one like Eloise, who had won in such a cutthroat manner—literally by cutting throats, after immobilizing people with her magic and making use of the poisonous plants in the arena. The thick bracelet on her wrist was likely the only thing holding her powers back now. (It was all a stark contrast to the beautiful visage in front of him; he was having a hard time tamping down his attraction.) “Were you sent out here to find me?”

“I was,” she stated matter-of-factly; the expression on her face was hard to read—possibly intrigued, or possibly annoyed. (Or both.) “But not to return you to the party. Would you like to come with me?”

“Where?”

“Someplace special.” There was genuine amusement in her blue eyes, but he wasn’t sure how sincere her half smile was. Still, he had no reason to turn her down.

“Sure,” he shrugged.

“Follow me.”

She led him down the hallway and around a couple corners to what looked like an office of some sort; he wondered if it belonged to the Gamemaker. Eloise pressed her finger against the keypad and the door slid open. He didn’t know why he hesitated to follow her in, though, until she turned around and beckoned.

Inside was nothing like he’d expected. Much of the Tribute Castle was clean and cold, sharp lines and sterile surfaces. But this room was the exact opposite: dark, warm colors covered everything, and all the furniture was the plushest he’d ever seen. An especially comfortable-looking bed was off to one side and the soft lighting made the space feel even more welcoming. 

“What is this?” he asked on a breath.

“Somewhere to relax,” she replied, falling against a cushion so stuffed he couldn’t tell if it was actually a sofa or merely a giant pillow. “Join me, won’t you?”

It certainly looked enticing—as did the company—so he complied, letting himself collapse next to her. The cushion somehow managed to both support and embrace his body, although he winced a bit at the way his blunted wrist hit it; he was still getting used to that. 

“Are you alright?” she asked, concerned.

“Aye, I’m fine,” he lied, wanting to impress the slightly older woman. The strap on her dress had slipped a bit, revealing the curve of her bosom. He may have just survived a battle to the death, but he was still technically a young, hormonal man.

“Perhaps you’d like a distraction?” she breathed, shifting closer.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Good.” And then she surged forward, claiming his lips with hers.

A blushing virgin, Killian was not, but that was certainly one of the more enjoyable nights in his memory. He learned a thing or two about how to pleasure both a woman and himself. 

They were laying in the afterglow, sharing slightly awkward smiles and giggles. For the first time since his name had been plucked, he’d finally been able to forget where he was and what was going on around him; if he was reading the slightly starry expression on Eloise’s face correctly, she felt the same. 

It was at that perfect moment of bliss, of course, that he was jarred by the sound of a cough coming from the shadows.

He jolted away from Eloise in shock; she seemed equally surprised, but less confused.

“Oh, don’t stop on my part,” the person called out, and it was easy to tell who the voice belonged to.

“Welcome, Mister Jones,” President Gold said, rising to his feet. “And let me extend my congratulations again.”

“Th-thank you, sir,” Killian answered, but he was utterly confused (both mentally and physically).

“I see you’re getting along well with Miss Gothel.”

“Yeah…” he said, but when he looked to Eloise for guidance, he could no longer read her expression.

“You know, you’re quite the handsome young man,” Gold continued, hobbling forward with his cane. “I’m sure you’ve attracted many admirers over the last few weeks.”

What on earth was the President getting at? And why the bloody hell was he here? Had he...had he watched?

“An attractive young man like you...people would pay a high price to fall into your good graces.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t follow,” Killian finally had to say, trying to sit up while also keep his modesty somewhat intact, tugging the covers over his lap. 

“Eloise, you didn’t tell him?”

“Not yet, sir; I figured it would be best coming from you.” There was just enough defiance in her tone that Killian could tell whatever was going on wasn’t entirely by choice.

“I suppose you’re right,” the President sighed. “Well, Mister Jones, you see, I have many friends who I like to repay for their loyalty and support. And I have access to the rarest, most desired commodity around.”

“What, Victors?”

“Exactly. Particularly the ones, such as yourself and Miss Gothel, who are exceedingly appealing to the eye. And, well, I like to give the very best.”

Killian blinked, stunned. The President couldn’t be insinuating what he thought he was—could he? 

“A night with a Victor covers a lot of ground, both politically and financially. You’re a smart lad; that shouldn’t come as a surprise, should it?”

It didn’t, but that didn’t mean he was any less repulsed. “So you whore out Victors to your benefactors?”

“See, I knew you’d figure it out.”

Eloise, for her part, was looking both sheepish and a bit frightened during their exchange. God, what had she been put through?

“I won’t do it,” Killian said defiantly.

Gold just cackled in reply—a terrifying sound that sent shivers up his spine.

“You have to,” Eloise murmured. “If you don’t, he’ll—he’ll hurt the people you love.” If Killian’s memory served correct, Eloise had a mother and sisters back home; was that how Gold got power over her?

“Then I’m afraid the President’s information is incorrect; I don’t have anyone,” Killian spat out.

“Oh, I have plenty of other ways of making you hurt. It would be a shame if Atlantica’s grain supplies stopped coming in, wouldn’t it? Or if an infestation of dreamshade found its way to, say, Mr. Nemo’s yard?”

That stopped Killian cold; any lingering heat from the previous activities dissipated in an instant. “No,” he breathed. “You wouldn’t.”

“I think you’ll find, Mister Jones, that there’s very little I’m not willing to do.” Gold followed with a sneering, reptilian grin. 

This couldn’t be happening. Victory was supposed to be freedom—freedom from the looming threat of the games and all the shadows they’d cast on his life. Not this...slavery. 

But he’d been in enough fights in his life, even before the Arena, to know when he was outmatched. Gold’s sneer and Eloise’s resigned expression told him enough. 

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

Gold snorted. “Glad you came around; not like you had much choice. Although,” he started, tapped his fingers on his cane in thought. “That does remind me. I’ve considered expanding this venture to the sponsorship side of things, if you were interested.”

No, he wasn’t, but Killian couldn’t help but be curious. “What would that mean?”

“Sponsorship during the games also brings in quite a bit of revenue. But I’ve always wondered just how much more it could take if there were certain other...perks attached. Would you like to help me test my theory?”

Killian swallowed. “Would I be able to choose the sponsors?”

“To some extent, yes. The ones who can afford it.”

It was the best opportunity Killian was going to have in this. He would be little more than a prostitute, but if he could have any level of choice, he’d be an idiot not to take it. “Alright,” he said, an unconfident agreement. 

“It seems we have a deal, then,” Gold replied, almost squealing, then offered Killian his hand, which was gingerly taken. “I’ll give you the full details at the next games. Eloise,” he continued, sharply, “you have another appointment in a half hour. Don’t be late.”

Without another word, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the shadows once more, letting the most awkward of silences fall onto the two left. 

Killian didn’t know how long they sat there, not moving. At some point, he shivered; whether it was from the sweat cooling on his body or in reaction to the exchange with Gold was up for debate. But that seemed to jolt Eloise, who finally started to move again; Killian slowly joined her. 

They faced away from each other as they moved about the room, gathering and putting on their clothes from the random places they’d landed. It was almost easy to act like the other person wasn’t there—until it came time for a Killian to button his shirt. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, attempting to do it with his remaining hand—and not having much luck. 

“I’ve got it,” Eloise said quietly, and finished pulling up the side zipper on her dress before coming over. 

He watched her fingers carefully do up the closures, afraid to make eye contact. He didn’t know what he’d find in her gaze—apology? Remorse? Or worse: nothing? Did it matter? She was a victim in all this, too. 

But she spoke up before he could ask. “I’m sorry for luring you here under false pretenses.” That was putting it lightly; he knew she was only doing what she’d been commanded, though. Still, he didn’t respond. “But I just want you to know that you’re the first person I’ve actually wanted to sleep with.” 

With that, she did up the last button on his shirt, placed a quick kiss on his cheek, and turned to leave. 

He waited for the click of the door closing before he moved again, hoping the brief moment of time would be enough to get his racing thoughts in order. That had been the most confusing, exhilarating, horrifying encounter of his...well, he couldn’t say life, or even week, but definitely that day—and hopefully the last such moment in his life. 

He felt used, but by Gold, not Eloise. And he would probably have to get accustomed to that feeling. 

He took one more deep breath before putting on his jacket, only wincing slightly when it brushed his bare stump, and left the room; something told him it would be occupied again soon. Hopefully, he looked presentable; all he wanted to do was go back to the plush bed in Atlantica’s quarters, but he knew he’d be expected back in the gala. They’d probably wondered where he’d gone. 

The sad, knowing smile on Milah’s face when he snuck back into the room told him, though: she knew exactly where he’d been, and why. 

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

thanks, as always!!! tagging:  @kat2609 @thesschesthair @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @amortentia-on-the-rocks @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @word-bug @distant-rose​ @wellhellotragic​ @welllpthisishappening​ @let-it-raines​ @pirateherokillian @its-imperator-furiosa​ @killianmesmalls​ @sherlockianwhovian​ @ineffablecolors​ @laschatzi​ @ive-always-been-a-pirate​ @nfbagelperson​ @stubblesandwich​ @killian-whump​ @phiralovesloki​ @athenascarlet​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @snowbellewells​ @idristardis​ @scientificapricot​ @searchingwardrobes​

[zombiesbecrazy]

look after their own

Summary: Five times Robin was pinned down.

AO3

1.

Jason hit the ground hard, feeling the skin of his knees skid in a way that he knew was going to leave a trail of blood behind. Stupid Robin shorts. Who thought those were a good idea? Bruce said that Dick designed his own costume but why the hell would he and Alfred let him go out like this? It was just dumb, increased mobility be damned. He couldn’t wait for winter so he could break out the insulated pants that he knew were in the cave.

The more he thought about it, the more irritated he was. Why on earth was he using a second hand costume? Sure, Dick had given him this one which made it special, but Bruce was a kagillionaire. He could afford a suit with pants if he could afford to make all those batarangs.

He tried to get up, eager to get back into the thick of the fight, only then aware that there is a larger body pinning him down. He twisted around, ready to sock the would be attacker right in the kisser when he recognized the masked face above him and teal markings of another ridiculous costume.

Speak of the devil, the OG booty shorts Robin himself.

“What the heck?” Jason didn’t punch him, but slapped Dick’s arms a few times, not trying to hurt him, just maybe annoy him to the point of letting go.

“Stay down, Little Wing,” said Dick, tone serious. Not like it was when he fought with Bruce screaming at top volume, more like Bruce himself when he was teaching a new skill, when Jason needed to pay attention. Low, patient, but unyielding. “Wait for it.”

“Don’t call me that,” Jason automatically replied. That was the third time Dick had called him that, dangerously close to it becoming a thing and he absolutely didn’t want it to catch on. “Wait for what?”

“Three… two… one…” Nightwing pointed his finger like he was ticking off a checkbox and as if on cue a barrage of bullets shot out over their heads, just where Jason had been standing before Nightwing had swung around, tackling him to the ground. Jason flinched at the sound, both of the gun firing and the bullets hitting the wall behind them.

Jason would have been like Swiss Cheese his Dick hadn't shown up.

“How did you know that was going to happen?”

“It’s Penguin. It’s what he does.” Dick shrugged and rolled off Jason, sitting on the ground beside him instead “Did you see that little twirly thing he did with his umbrella? He always does that before going trigger happy. Always dive when you see him do that because you have about eight seconds. It’s not a lot of time, but it's enough.” Jason nodded. Bruce hadn’t said anything about that when they had been learning about Copplepot in training, but if Dick was telling him about it and based on what had just happened, it would have to be true.

“Now what?”

“He’s gotta reload before he does it again.” Dick peeked over the fence they were behind, taking a look at what they were up against. “So I think that now is the perfect time for Robin and Nightwing to swoop in and save the day before he gets a chance to do that.”

Jason spat on his knee, attempting to wipe up some of the blood and grinned when he saw Dick scrunch up his nose at that. “What about Batman?” he asked. He had been patrolling solo, but had called in the Penguin sighting before shit had hit the fan, so B should be close by now.

Dick shrugged a shoulder, not overly bothered about where Batman was or wasn’t at that particular moment. “Well sure he can help, I guess, if he shows up, but between the two of us we don’t need no stinking Batman.” They could hear Penguin calling out, taunting them, calling them out to face him and it just made Dick smile. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve always wondered what a penguin would look like hanging upside down from a lamp post. What do you say? Waddle try?” he asked before jumping to his feet and running, apparently starting whatever plan he had up his dumb looking sleeves.

Jason groaned and scrambled after Dick to chase him down. That was a terrible joke and he just couldn’t let that fly.

2.

He opened the door and the strange ticking noise that he had been following got a lot louder, which he really knew wasn’t a good thing.  His gut had been telling him that he was doing something stupid and he should probably call Batman in, but his curiosity got the better of him and he had kept following the lead on his own.

Big mistake. Big, big, big mistake.

Tim’s eyes grew wide when he saw the glowing red numbers, counting down in what he logically knew was by the second but they seemed to be going impossibly faster than that. Relays, switches, a mess of wires; there just wasn’t enough time to defuse it no matter how good he was. The warehouse was going to blow in eighteen seconds.

Batman wouldn’t be able to handle it if he got himself exploded. He had to run and hope that he got far enough away from the blast so that it didn’t kill him. He couldn’t do that to Bruce. He needed Tim. Especially now.

He was tackled around the waist and pressed hard into the ground just as the building behind him exploded. There was a rush of warmth as the flames engulfed the area, but he was just far enough away that the fire didn’t reach him, if only by a few feet. There was debris landing around him, he was safe and secure, somehow covered by the a larger body who had pushed him just far enough out of the way to not toasted.

The figure above him groaned and pushed himself off, crawling to his knees and Tim could hear him panting loudly through his helmet. His red helmet with the voice modulator.

Red Hood. Robin. Jason Todd.

Jason Todd had recently beaten Tim to a bloody pulp in Titans Tower. Recently enough that Tim still had bruised ribs from the attack.

Jason pulled his helmet off, red domino mask on, gasping in deep breaths, hands shaking and he completely ignored Tim beside him, instead staring off at the burning rubble of the warehouse instead, watching the flames flicker and slowly destroy the remains.

“Hood?” Tim sat up, hand to his head, running his hand through his hair that was quickly filling with ash. “Why…” his voice was choked and his words stumbled over themselves. “Thanks for…” Tim coughed, lungs trying to catch up to what had just happened. He didn’t know what to say to his strange rescuer, the man that had just saved his life, and finally settled on. “Jason, why?”

Jason pulled his knees towards him, trying to curl his large frame up into a very small ball, and stared off into the fire. “No one,” Jason finally said, voice hoarse with smoke and fire and maybe something else. Tim could see the fire flickering in the reflection of Jason’s mask lenses. “No one should go out like that.”

They both stared at the building for a few minutes, side by side, but by themselves. “I thought you wanted me dead,” whispered Tim

“Yeah, well. No one gets to kill you but me.” There had been a moment, a moment there between them where they understood each other. It was fleeting, and now it was gone, but it had been there. Jason had saved him. His Robin had saved him.

“Run along back to your big bad Bat, little Robin,” Jason said, still watching the fire with intensity, showing no sign of leaving any time soon.

And Tim ran, knowing the whole way that he wouldn’t mention a word of it to Bruce.  

It was their little secret.

3.

“So I should probably sweep the leg, like in the Karate Kid?” asked Stephanie as she circled him on the mat, trying to figure out what his stance was giving away to her. They had been working by themselves for a while, Steph determined to become stronger in her fighting skills and Tim looking to still somehow help even though he was no longer help. He could say to his dad that he was helping a friend with her homework and not technically be lying.

Except in the way that he totally was. He had only lasted three days before he was back in the Cave after school just like he always had, even just for a little while before he had to leave so his dad didn’t find out. Today though, today Ives was lying for him if his dad asked. Today he could even stay for dinner and the pre-patrol debrief before he had to hurry back home.

He missed being Robin so much and it had only been a week.

“Sure. Just no Crane kicks. Those are illegal.”

Stephanie burst out laughing, losing any sort seriousness that she had barely been clinging to through the session. “We dress up like vigilantes, fight crime in the shadows and have villains who can control plants, but sure, let’s not use illegal martial arts moves, Tim.”

“Look, I know that Johnny was a jerk, but Daniel should have been disqualified.”

“You are very hung up on this.” She stopped in front of him, smiling at his outrage. He knew that he had ranted about this to her before but it was something that bothered him a lot about the movie.

“There are rules and he didn’t follow them. Especially in an organized sporting event like tha...”

Stephanie kissed him, and Tim’s body froze, but his brain started running at top speed, mildly panicking. Did this mean she wanted to get back together? Should he kiss her back? He liked kissing her, and she tasted like strawberry lip balm which was his favourite but he wasn’t sure what this meant. It would be polite to kiss her back but they might be better off friends. He was about to pull away but before he could figure out what he was going to do, he was flat on his back, Steph pinning him down, counting loudly and smacking the mat with each second.

“I win!” She raised her arms up in the air and threw her head back, cackling loudly and then rolled off Tim, and laid down on the mat beside him, breathing hard as she laughed.

He rolled his head to look at her, pretending scowl and look put out for falling for her move. “You fight dirty.”  They were sparring, not making out. There were rules . Why was he even a little surprised that she didn’t follow them?

He sort of liked that she didn’t.

“Hey, whatever works.” She chewed on her lip and had the sense to look a little nervous. “I’m sorry. That probably crossed a line.”

“Yeah, but it was nice.” Tim could feel his ears growing pink, embarrassed even though he didn’t really know why. It was far from the first time that they had kissed, even since they had broken up. “Sometimes I miss kissing you.”

“Yeah?” she asked softly, looking at his lips. “Only sometimes?”

“Maybe more than sometimes.” He could feel himself being drawn closer to her, like a magnet or gravitational pull. They probably should stop or walk away or go back to sparring. This was probably a bad idea.

Steph closed her eyes and leaned forward, whispering, “Me too.”

This definitely didn’t fall into helping a friend with her homework in any possible way and Tim was more than okay with that.

Sometimes bad ideas weren’t so bad. As long as they heard Bruce coming down the stairs in time.

4.

“Robin!” Stephanie pinned him down, legs straddled over his waist but he was struggling against him and was just so damn squirmy. “Damn it, listen to me, you little brat.��

Damian’s eyes were panicked and he was doing everything that he could think of to throw her off, and while he was a better fighter than she was, he was down to three good limbs to her four and it was enough for her to have the advantage in this position. It didn’t stop him from arguing with her though. “We have to get to him, we have to help him, we have to get to Batman.”

He had been arguing with her for a while, and she had begun to realise that he was bordering on having a panic attack. He knew that she was there, and who she was, but nothing that she was saying was registering and he wasn’t even realizing how badly that he had been hurt. She had to stop him from moving, from making a severely bad break into something closer to a permanent injury.

This wasn’t him fighting because he needed to; it was fighting because he was scared and not thinking straight.

Stephanie ran out of options and slapped him in the face. Not hard, but enough to get his attention and derail his rambling for a second, hopefully long enough that she could get through to him. Damian eyes were wide but he stopped thrashing and he locked his gaze on Steph. She tried what she had been trying to tell him before again. Maybe the fourth time would be the charm. “Batman is fine. Oracle called in backup for him and Red Robin is there.” Damian was breathing hard through his nose, chest heaving with effort, but he was listening. He nodded at her, which was better than the other times had gone so Steph kept her voice calm and continued. “You on the other hand, are completely not fine, unless you normally have a bone sticking out of your boot?” Damian’s breath hitched at that, but he shook his head. “Didn’t think so. Compound fibula fracture, kiddo. You aren’t running off anywhere.”

“But…” he turned his head in the direction of the battle below, where Batman had redirected the fight after Robin went down, trying to draw the goons away. Stephanie gently pulled his chin back towards her. It wouldn’t help for him to think that he was needed elsewhere when he wouldn’t even be able to stand.

“Nope.” She climbed off of him and helped him sit up, careful with the injured leg, but he still hissed as he moved and saw the bone poking out. Steph took her cape off and covered Damian in it like a blanket so that he wouldn’t be tempted to keep looking at the leg. “Chill out with your favourite Batgirl for a while until the fights over and someone can pick us up.”

“You should leave and go help the others.”

“Nah. They’ve got it.” Steph could hear the fight going on through the comms and it honestly sounded sort of boring. If anything Damian would be mad later that his injury wasn’t caused by something more exciting instead of just a poorly placed kick and tumble. “I’d rather hang out with you. Can I make you a splint? I’ve been practicing.”

“I don’t want your third rate splint.”

“Excuse you, my splints are now second rate, because I’ve been practicing.” Damian glared at her with his stone cold expression. “Fine. No splint. Wait for B and he’ll do it if you want a perfect splint, your highness. Want to watch cat videos instead?”

“You brought your phone on patrol? Why?”

“To watch cat videos, obviously.” Damian said nothing so she pulled up YouTube and shoved the phone into his hands “Here. I found this great compilation of them pushing glasses off tables earlier. You’ll love it.”

Fifteen minutes later, Batman appeared on the roof only to find them sitting side by side, watching a baby elephant playing with a ball in the water, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t comment on her bringing her phone on patrol, instead setting to work on splinting Damian’s leg and with what she thought might possibly be a grunt of approval.

5.

It was hard to breathe and it was the pressure on his chest was the thing that he thought had woken him up but he couldn’t be sure. Dick sluggishly blinked a few times and saw the familiar looking cave ceiling, fluorescent lights strung across. Medbay.

His foggy brain couldn’t remember how he had ended up there. Well, not specifically, anyway. He had been on patrol, he had been called in for back up for… something and that was about it. He must have been dragged back to the cave in the batmobile, but everything else was a blur of blackness and screaming and pain until there was nothing.

He tried to shift to get a little more comfortable but his entire body protested, partly due to bandages, whatever painkillers that Alfred must him pumped him with and the small dark haired body curled up beside him, head resting on Dick’s chest.

At least that explained the weight that had woken him up.

Dick slowly raised his hand and ran his hand through Damian’s hair, feeling his brother relax deeper into the touch, making Dick grin. If anyone outside the family ever knew that the small, angry Robin was such a big cuddler, he’d go on a rampage about it.

“He refused to leave your side,” said Bruce quietly, from his typical spot on the right hand side of the bed. He had his reading glasses on, the ones that he wore when he was exhausted but determined to stay awake, sketchpad in hand. Dick was just able to make out the lines of what looked like it might be him and Damian sleeping on the cot before Bruce flipped the book closed. Bruce always kept his 'doodles' private.

There was a cooled cup of coffee and abandoned tablet on the table next to the bed, as well as an empty plate, more signs of Bruce keeping watch. “Looks like he wasn’t the only one.”

Bruce hummed, and watched Dick adjust again who winced slightly as one of Damian’s elbows jabbed him in the stomach, probably over a bruise by the feel of it. Bruce frowned at the action, eyebrows pulling together. “Do you want me to take him upstairs?” He didn’t move though, probably guessing the answer. It was a fairly common tradition that only got passed over when the injuries were too severe for Damian to sleep with Dick when he was injured. He claimed that he was guarding him, but everyone knew better.

“Nah. We’re good.” Dick dropped his hand lower and rubbed circles on Damian’s back, who snored once and then snuggled in tighter. “Was I ever this small?” Dick asked quietly before he registered the words that came out of his mouth, and then huffed out a laugh, because yes, he knew objectively that he had been that small at some point, he had been a child after all, but he couldn’t quite fathom being this size at the manor.

“Smaller.” Bruce seemed to understand what he meant, taking off his glasses and tucking them into the neck of his shirt and watched his oldest and his youngest in silence as he thought about it more. “You were tiny. You would crawl into my bed after having a nightmare and I was afraid that I’d roll over in my sleep and crush you.”

Dick did remember doing that. Bruce’s size was part of the appeal of doing that; he could protect Dick from any monsters, dreams or memories that haunted him in the night. “Yeah, well, you are a behemoth who sleeps like the dead. It was probably a valid concern.” Bruce chuckled and then got up to check Dick’s vitals, both of them knowing that it was more out of something to do rather than necessity at this point.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“We always want you to stay, B.” smiled Dick, looking down at his brother. "But I don't think you need to. Robin's look after their own."

[mysterylover123]

BNHA Rewatch: Episode 61 “Deku vs Kacchan Part 2″

 mysterylover123

O.T.P.

This is gonna get kinda emotional.

Deku is turning Kacchan’s fight proposal down. Dammit Deku! He’s being serious!

Hoo boy that Kacchan face. No light in his eyes. That realization, just…just bleeding through…hoo boy.

“If the way you admired him was correct, does that mean my way of thinking was wrong?” OMG ITS HAPPENING. HE’S REALIZING IT YA’LL.

The flashbacks to bb Deku and Kacchan the feels.

The white void, it’s just the two of them. 

That Deku line from the first episode. I’m transported right back, ya’ll. It’s that first love again, that same feeling I had when I first discovered this series all the way back in summer of last year.

So Deku starts by thinking too hard about what’s going on and immediately gets blasted.

“You think too much” hoo boy recently Mother’s Basement posted the analysis of this fight and pointed out that this is actually a flaw of Deku’s that he can learn to remedy by adopting some of Kacchan’s impulsiveness. Never has the phrase “you complete me” been more accurate.

This freaking animation. It’s so beautiful. OMG.

“Wait for me” OH MAN BB DEKU BB KACCHAN RUNNING I’M DEAD I AM DYING

Cause he loves ya you dope.

Cute overload

WHY WHY WHY hoo boy Kacchan flashbacks.

Dat little trip oh man. He’s so bummed Deku doesn’t wanna fight and Deku’s little kick actually knocked him down.

Ooh boy. Here it comes. The music went out

Hold his freaking hand some day dammit

Oh god I can’t watch this again I can’t I can’t

“why is to you became strong…while I - “ OH GOD HERE IT COMES HERE IT COMES

OH GOD. Slow clap. Okamoto and Chapin both deserve freaking awards for that performance. I mean holy shit. That voice acting. Those cracks. That hit. It makes me cry. I’m tearing up right now. Cause you see, this whole episode, it really rests on the ability of Bakugou’s Seiyuu and VA to pour everything into the performance. It’s not going to hit without both of them giving the vocal acting performance of a lifetime, and they both knocked it out of the freaking park. I actually love them both as his voice; I don’t have a preference for dub over sub, as regards their performances (not the dialogue translations), because both are incredible. Just. Slow clap. All of the awards, please.

Look at how Deku looks at him. He’s the best. He just…he cares, so much. I mean, you’d admittedly have to be a pretty heartless bastard not to feel a little compassionate after hearing that speech but still. Kacchan’s so fucking lucky he has Deku and he doesn’t even know it. I want one too.

He’s crying. Me too.

Kacchan no Kacchan no nononononono 

Oh god Deku you beautiful darling

“may not be any meaning” I DISAGREE THIS IS THE CULMINATION OF AN ENTIRE SERIES’ WORTH OF 100+ SYMBOLIC CHAPTERS DETAILING YOUR GROWTH FROM ANGRY YELLING RIVALS TO RIVALS WHO SUPPORT EACH OTHER DAMMIT IT’S EVERYTHING

“May not be any meaning in winning or losing” lol are you just saying that in hindsight, Future Deku, cause you know you lost?

Deku didn’t have to do this. He didn’t have to fight Kacchan or even let him know the truth.

And note, he didn’t accept until he realized there was someone he could save. Someone who needs saving, to be helped. And this is how to help him.

“The only one who can accept his feelings is me.” Ya’ll heard that haters? Say it a little louder for the people in the back, Deku. He’s got his heart.

And look who’s smiling again, eyes lighting up again, the minute Deku started fighting back?

“I couldn’t just completely reject him” Guess who also sad that about their fiery spiky blond spouse in BNHA? Kacchan’s dad in that omake about their marriage.

Their relationship was wrong, but now it’s right. 

They never talked about how they really felt. Communication is the cornerstone of a healthy relationship, folks. Go on. Talk about your feels. Your real feelings.

Of that was one hell of a hit.

That speedy recovery though. Deku is fast. 

Oh wow Kacchan hit it too

That smile. That smile OMG that is THE HOTTEST, by far, that Deku has ever looked in animation. And I don’t say that lightly.

The translation here is either “I’ve” or “you’ve” gotten stronger. Both fit fine, which is the crazy part. Deku could be either saying that he himself has improved, or complimenting Bakugou, which does admittedly make more sense with what he was saying before, while ‘I’ve’ fits his cocky grin here better. I want him to flash a cocky grin more. It suits him. (BTW The English Dub compromises between the two and says’ we’ve both’.

Katsuki assumes Deku has a plan. Always overestimating him.

“That’s what I hate about you” OMG HE FINALLY TELLS HIM HOW HE FEELS. “I can never tell what you’re thinking” Because ya know he’s so good at understanding how everyone else thinks and feels.

He’s always being mean to Deku. Deku has seen him at his very worst and yet still admires him. Maybe that’s scary, you know? Unconditional love is…kinda terrifying. But so, so beautiful. So he has to rationalize it that Deku is just looking down on him.

Wow Deku sure took you long enough! He’s been saying that since day 1!

“I wouldn’t want anything to do with them anymore” Deku there you go being empathetic and wonderful and perfect again. So understanding you darling, darling boy.

 “Along with the parts I hated about you, I saw all the amazing things you could do.” THAT’S ADMIRATION, FOLKS. ADMIRATION WITHOUT IDOLIZATION. Without hero-worship. Acknowledging the good and the bad. Seeing a person for who they really are and always, always seeing the best of them, even at their worst.

“MUCH CLOSER TO ME THAN ALL MIGHT” Do you hear him guys? The closest person to him, closer than All Might. Closer than his freaking #1 favorite hero. The dub version has “actually in my life”, which isn’t a bad idea either. Both are true. That is so powerful. The person who

Oh yeah and again how does Deku advance in power? How does he Go Beyond? KACCHAN. Full cowling, he found from him. OFA itself, he gained by saving him. And 8%.

THAT SMILE. “I thought you were amazing.” He loves you you idiot. 

He kept chasing after him. He’ll never stop. He won’t just give up.

He passed him. And Bakugo looks happy. Possibly because he wants Deku to do better. Possibly because it seems to be confirming his might-makes-right theory. Possibly both.

ANIMATION-GASM AGAIN. 

AHAHAHAHAHAH ITS THAT CUT ITS THAT CUT DEKU’S DANCING FEET

THE VOID AROUND THEM IT’S JUST YOU AND ME 

AND THE BLOCK OMG THIS IS BEAUTIFUL THIS IS THE MOST FREAKING BEAUTIFUL ANIMATION IVE EVER SEEN

I’m serious. They brought out all the stops for this one. Of course. they knew, they had to know, that this was it. The animation, too, had to be perfect, or else it wasn’t gonna come across. And it is. Even better, in my opinion, than the animation in the stuff that came before it. Bones you are incredible. 

Higher gear. Can anyone doubt that Katsuki is important to Deku’s journey after this?

“This is gross, so I can’t say it”.. “I love you?” A reactor I follow actually said that after that line. That’s how intense they are.

Anyway IMAGE OF VICTORY SPEECH. The Ep that keeps on giving. 

Kacchan is his image of victory. The other side of him. And he adopts some of his traits.

“The part of you I hate and yet” How much love can you have for a person when you can somehow still admire the darkest, meanest parts of them? I don’t have a very perfect definition of love but I think that’s probably a big part of it.

“my image of victory is of you” feels overload. Feels O.D. 

dat crane shot.

My one disappointment with this episode is that they used the US of Smash OST instead of the Katsuki and Izuku OST for this scene. CMON GUYS. SERIOUSLY. THE KATSUKI AND IZUKU THEME HAD TO HAVE BEEN WRITTEN FOR THIS EPISODE AND THIS MOMENT ALONE. WHAT WERE YOU THINKING. 

“I have to beat you” the music the feels omg

Hahaha psych. Kacchan wins anyway. 

WOOF. Like OK this is in the manga, this positioning, but it’s only for one frame. In the anime it goes on for like, an uncomfortably long time, with the slow panting, and the close-ups on the twisting body parts, and…combined with the fact that all of Deku’s admiring girlfriends in this arc have also landed on top of him in a similar pose, and you can’t blame me for the fact that my mind went into rather…R-rated territory. 

Kacchan’s disappointed. He didn’t want Deku to lose. He wanted Deku to win.

That breaking  voice again. Don’t make me cry more dammit it’s too late.

ALL MIGHT! I need an MST3K style All Might commentary-reaction to this entire damn thing. Seriously Hori. If you ever do an extra, please make one that’s a serious of All Might panel reacting to this whole thing. I NEED THAT. 

Finishing each other’s sentences again.

“It’s too late” IT’S NEVER TOO LATE YOU CYNICAL PORCUPINE.

This is such a great moment of catharsis. Why Deku indeed? Well, you’re about to learn.

THAT LINE DELIVERY AGAIN. That Broken voice. Both voice actors are too good.

Deku’s legs though. WOWSA. A little detail I’ve noticed is that Kacchan has really buff, sexy arms and Deku has really buff, sexy legs. Because those are the body parts they use, while the reverse parts are more average.

“I’m weak too” You’re making me weak I can’t take it. His voice his voice that fucking voice

DEKU’S EYES. THEY’RE WELLING. 

HE’S GONNA CRY TOO.

I also need an All Might in my life. I kinda blame myself all the time for things outside of my control. Deku AND Kacchan both blamed themselves for what happened. For All Might’s end. And neither one was really responsible, but they’re just like that. I relate, painfully, to both of them. I have a Deku side and a Bakugo side - deep down, I think we all do. Maybe one more than the other, but that’s what you get when you create two characters who initially act as kind of…distilled embodiments of two sides of the super-hero coin. One all super with no hero, the other all hero with no super - at least, at the beginning.

THAT PIANO MUSIC IT SOUNDS FAMILIAR. IT’S ALL MIGHT’S FREAKING THEME YA’LL!

Ooh boy All Might’s BKDK Speech! Both of their teachers ship them, you guys. All Might AND Aizawa both give big, beautiful speeches about their compatibility. In case you somehow missed it. 

Being fixated on victory like you, young Bakugou…and wanting to save those in trouble, like you, young Midoriya…both of those feelings are necessary.” “You guys are perfect for each other”, says the reactor I mentioned earlier (who isn’t even a hardcore BKDK shipper, mind you, it’s just that it’s that obvious.) And it’s true. You need both. They want each other, they need each other, because they have what the other lacks. They complete each other.  

This is the shonen rival equivalent of having the couple in a rom-com confess at the end of act one instead of act three. It upsets all the cliches and is all the better for it. Though even the most hardcore, dedicated anime rivals, I don’t think have ever gone this married-couple with the ‘mutual respect’ and ‘making each other stronger’ thing.

WIN AND SAVE SAVE TO WIN. They look each other in the eyes.

Oh god not that voice again I’m dying. Don’t make me cry again Kacchan.  

“Don’t lose.” SUPPORTIVE KACCHAN I LOVE SUPPORTIVE KACCHAN.

“I’ll get stronger” CONFIDENT DEKU I LOVE CONFIDENT DEKU. 

“Of the students only you.” ONLY YOU. 

I put this moment really high on my list of Kacchan’s nicest moments, because it means a lot to me and to All Might. All Might acknowledges it. He’s a good secret keeper.

Oh and Deku thanks him too in the English Dub, BTW. Not the manga but nice dub touch. 

OMG he’s such a Tsundere.

He told him everything. HE KNOWS. The only one who knows. None of Deku’s other love interests do. And he has no interest in telling them. 

Kacchan asks why he told him. And I’ve got an answer, after obsessively rereading Chapter 11/rewatching Episode 8 a lot: BECAUSE HE LOVES YOU, YOU IDIOT. You were mad at him for lying about his quirk to you. You asked what was going on (loudly). You accused him of lying to you your whole life. So he told you the truth. Because he can lie to his mom, and he can lie to his friends and teachers and the entire freaking world. But he cannot lie to YOU. Because he loves you. Idiot baka. 

Oh and what’s that music playing there? Why does that sound familiar? YOU SAY RUN YOU SAY RUN YOU SAY RUN IT’S BACK. And you know? That’s I think because YSR symbolizes Deku’s heroic inspiration. The inspiration he both takes in and gives to others. And here, he’s both being inspired by Kacchan, and inspiring him at the same  time.

Now Kacchan is doing the same. “Chosen one” He knows. Deku is better. He’s gotta surpass him.

LOL THIS IS FUNNY. THEY SURE BICKER LIKE THEY’RE MARRIED.

This shot composition. Get it? ALL MIGHT’S THE THING BETWEEN ‘EM.

Oh and this. Yay some character development from Kacchan! Another nice moment of his in this ep. Three times! 

All Might Meta’s a bit about how Kacchan took responsibility and felt bad and does a Mom guilt trip on Dadzawa. They’re getting to be kinda married too now.  

“I went in pretty HARD”. OMG stop it you’re making me think bad things again. Just F*CK already.

Their first act as a married couple is to clean the house together. OMG domestic fluff. 

And now for the best Post-credits scene ever. 

Wow Uraraka ships it so bad. 

Oh and some Todobaku bonus! Aw I guess Bakugou just turned down his 3some offer. 

Ooh awkward silence. 

YAY! Though they did kinda wreck it by having Deku bring it up instead of Kacchan 

NOW THEY’RE HEALTHY ENOUGH TO TALK TO EACH OTHER LIKE HUMAN BEINGS.

Kacchan just praised me. Life is good.

Episode 61 is my favorite episode of my favorite show. I think it’s the best and will never be topped. Feels, left and right. It’s really just perfect. Funny, all 3 of the transcendent, best-of-the-best BNHA eps (This, 49 and 23) are basically just two characters fighting for 20 minutes. Nothing more or less. Yet they’re all so, so good. And this one is…I don’t even know how to put it into words. It’s a phenomenal tour-de-force of acting, visuals, animation, music, and of course, writing, all combining together to be just absolutely unsurpassable. Everything that makes this series good, boiled down to it’s essence. And yes, this did seal the deal for me with BKDK. I liked it before, but this made it a done deal. No going back. And I love it.

BEST GIRL OF THE EP: Uraraka for being so supportive.

RANKER: Top 5 Best Moments of This Episode: (it’s really more like a top 50)

5. Deku’s little Dance number

4. True Rivals at Last

3. True feelings at last

2. The Image of Victory Speech

1. “Why did I become...”

[t0ngue-tech]

All Yours | Seven

“’Was I not enough for you…?’

Seolhyun parted her lips but hesitated to say anything. She also dropped her head, possibly trying to get everything in her mind organized.

‘Yoongi, I’m so sorry.’ She said sadly.”

↠fluff, angst, universityAU↞

word count: 4.5k

↠series: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | ↞

A/N: yall idk what’s gotten into me. i literally just uploaded a story and here i am with the update of all yours lmao. tbh ive also been working on this chapter for a while so tyj i finished it huhu. enjoy ^-^

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“Come on, Yoongi. Just text her.” You stood in front of your mirror and adjusted your hoodie.

From the moment you woke up, had a cup of coffee, took a shower, and changed into an outfit, Yoongi spent the entire time debating if he really wanted to text Seolhyun. You agreed to go with him to see her because it was his stipulation, but he was the one hesitating.

“You know what, maybe I don’t need closure. It’s all good.” Yoongi placed his phone on your nightstand and laid back down.

“Ugh. Yoongs.” You grumbled and strode over to sit beside him. “Sure you may not need closure, but I know deep down you want to talk about your feelings. You don’t deserve to be cheated on—nobody does. Please text her.”

Yoongi glared at you for a few seconds before he softened his eyes. He mumbled something along the lines of I hate it when you’re right and reached for his phone but took a detour to grab your hand first.

“So, you promise you’re going to come with me? You’re not going to flake out?” He kept his eyes on your fingers as you lazily grazed the back of his hand.

Could he get any more adorable?

“I promise.” You replied earnestly. “But I start work at three today, so keep that in mind.”

Yoongi squeezed your hand and locked eyes with you. Never in your life did you ever picture yourself to be in this position. He held your hands before, mainly to guide you around places when you were extremely drunk but nothing like this. Yoongi had a sweet look in his eye with a smile to match and you were so sure you were dreaming. Yoongi was perfect. Why would Seolhyun want to cheat on him in the first place?

“Okay. Now, go to class.” Yoongi lifted your hand and kissed it. Your cheeks flared a bit and you probably failed to hide the disappointment in him not kissing you on your lips instead.

“Fine. But go outside and take a walk,” you gave him your dorm key. “You need some sunlight.”

After listening to Yoongi’s bullshit excuse about how sunlight was never necessary for him in the first place, you left his side to slip on your sneakers.

Why can’t time just fast forward to later? I just want Yoongi and Seolhyun to meet already so it can all be over with and done. How am I supposed to even focus in class?!

“Wait.”

Yoongi’s voice broke your thoughts and you stood up from your floor. He scooped you by your waist to press your body against his before stealing a long kiss on your lips. You felt your entire body relax and you clutched onto his nape to support yourself.

“You may have more knowledge about people’s behaviors and shit, but I know you well enough that you were waiting for that, right?” Yoongi said with a smirk after breaking the kiss. Your face bloomed crimson and you playfully shoved him a few inches away from you.

“Bye, Yoongi.” You walked away from him with bliss coursing through you and just before you stepped out of your dorm, you caught the satisfied grin on Yoongi’s face.

↠↞

I will die in this developmental psychology class, I swear.

Time in your psychology class always ticked on like you had nothing else planned for the day. You jotted down chicken scratch notes, promising yourself to fix them up when you had time later; thank goodness your professor put up the lecture slides at 7pm on the same day of class. You began to mindlessly doodle at the bottom of your paper.

So many things could go wrong later.

Three stick figures were drawn at the bottom; one with a crude drawing of a beanie, one with hair just below its “shoulders”, and one with long hair blacked out with your pen. You drew scribbles of symbols around the drawing of the figure with long hair indicating how pissed off Seolhyun would be if she saw you two together.

Ugh. I can hear her voice now.

“Why did you bring her?”

“Unless you were cheating on me first!”

You scribbled all over the drawing and turned over the page.

The same stick figures were drawn at the top this time and instead of symbols, you drew tears coming from the figure with long hair and hearts around the beanie figure; Seolhyun would be in tears, apologizing and begging Yoongi for forgiveness and he would play right into her and fall in love all over again.

This time, you fiercely scribbled over the drawing.

Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope.

Like clockwork, you drew the stick figures. Hearts were drawn around the beanie and medium haired figures while the last one had a giant X covering its face; Seolhyun is completely cut out of the picture and forced to watch how lovey-dovey you and Yoongi were.

This drawing caused your face to heat up a little. There was no way Yoongi would show any affection towards you in front of her because he wasn’t the type to purposely make matters worse.

One last time the figures were drawn back onto your paper and this time, you drew speech bubbles with squiggly lines inside that ended with periods and a few exclamation points. The most likely scenario would be a calm conversation with a few outbursts between Yoongi and Seolhyun. The last thing anyone would want is making a huge scene in front of everyone—

Wait, I don’t even know where they’re meeting!

[10:32] You: hey, where are you two going to have this conversation anyway??????????

Yoongi’s reply came through like lightning.

[10:33] Yoongz: You know the benches outside of the library?

[10:33] Yoongz: There.

Great. We’re going to be in public…

His texts didn’t stop there.

[10:35] Yoongz: I told her to meet me at 11:15 so that you have time to be here before she comes.

[10:35] Yoongz: I’ll be wearing the light brown coat you gave me for my birthday and the blue beanie you hate so much

[10:36] Yoongz: You’ll be able to find me pretty easily.

That damn beanie.

The mental image of Yoongi in the blue beanie made you snicker, but you quickly cleared your throat realizing you were in class laughing to yourself like an idiot.

[10:40] You: okay. i’ll see you then

[10:40] You: fuk that beanie doe omfg.

↠↞

“So you’re seriously going to be there? With Yoongi and Seolhyun? Possibly arguing in front of you? Right in front of your salad?!”

Walking to the library, you gave Hani a quick call to update her with everything that had happened since you told her about Seolhyun cheating on Yoongi.

“Yes, right in front of my salad.” You laughed. “To be honest, I’m kind of scared. Like why did Yoongi have to say he kissed me! Actually… I don’t know what would be worse, her knowing the truth or his lie.”

“Either way she’s going to raise hell, but if you need me, you call and I’ll come running!”

You smiled softly. Hani was serious in the most endearing way possible.

“I know—” Yoongi’s blue beanie stood out at a table underneath one of the large trees. “Yoongi’s there. I’ll call you later Hani or better yet, I work at three so you can come to the coffee shop anytime after that and I’ll update you on what happens.”

“Okay. Be safe. I love you!”

“I love you, too.”

You took a deep breath and approached Yoongi who had two cups of coffee and two sandwiches sitting in front of him. As much as you hated that damn beanie, he still looked as handsome as ever.

“Hi, Yoongs.” You smiled.

Yoongi instantly smiled at the sight of you. “Hey—no, sit by me.” He reached for your hand to stop you from sitting across from him and tugged you over to sit beside him instead.

The action startled you and almost made you lose your footing, but Yoongi supported you by the waist to let you sit down without injury.

“Th-Thanks.” You stuttered.

“Oh, here you go by the way.” He handed you a paper gift bag that he probably stole from your closet. “You left your work shirt and shoes. There’s also a water bottle in here because you need actual hydration and not just coffee swimming throughout your bloodstream.”

Everything he mentioned was sitting neatly inside the bag and your smile was impossible to hide. You’ve been nervous and jittery about meeting with Seolhyun that you completely forgot about your work clothes. Yoongi was a life saver.

“Thank you, Yoongi.” You breathed.

“Of course. Now eat, you didn’t even have breakfast this morning.”

As you had brunch, you spent the time complaining to Yoongi about how developmental psychology makes you want to jab multiple pens in your eyes. He argued that you say that about every class you have and even flicked your forehead.

“You’re doing great though, so keep on keepin’ on.” Yoongi rubbed the spot he flicked with the pad of his thumb.

You felt the weight of your school work elevate at the touch of his finger. Yoongi had the power to relieve any stress that you had in the palm of his hand and it amazed you. Maybe this was just the effect of you being whipped for him for almost a year. It sounded pathetic, but you enjoyed it nonetheless.

“A-hem.”

Both you and Yoongi tore your eyes away from each other to find Seolhyun standing at the opposite side of the table with her arms folded across her chest. Her eyebrows were furrowed and daggers shot from her eyes right into your own. The aura that came off of her was no less than intimidating and you felt as if your soul left your body.

Fuck.

↠↞

“What is she doing here?!” Seolhyun barked as she took a seat.

“I asked her to come so just leave her be.” Yoongi spat.

You silently observed Seolhyun’s outfit; she wore a casual black dress that stopped above mid-thigh and had a deep v-neck line. A cream cardigan hugged her frame and she even made time to put on makeup and curl your hair. If your suspicions were correct, she dressed that way on purpose to use her looks to win back Yoongi somehow. Seolhyun was honestly gorgeous which made you nervous. What if it reeled him back in? 

She cleared her throat again and avoided eye contact with Yoongi. “Thank you for meeting with me.” Her voice grew softer and softer towards the end of her sentence and she fiddled with the ends of her hair. This gave off a vulnerable look, almost “cute”. 

“Okay.” Yoongi said sharply.

The tension in the air was suffocating and all you wanted to do was run away, but Yoongi kept his hand on your knee underneath the table to keep you at bay.

“So? Anything else you need to say?” Yoongi kept the same tone of voice, annoyed. He truly didn’t want to be here.

“Sigh. I’m sorry okay? God, can we just talk without you being mad at me?!” Seolhyun raised her voice a bit.

“Of course I’m mad! How the hell am I supposed to be feeling? You cheated on me!” Yoongi raised his voice as well and you were even more nervous. You three were sitting in public with students walking by and you were praying to God that everyone was just minding their own business.

“Y-You cheated on me too! You—!” She pointed at him. “—kissed her!” Her finger was now on you.

Yoongi furrowed his brows and squeezed your knee. “Alright, fine. I kissed her once and like I said, I knew I had to tell you because I was feeling so fucking guilty about what I did. You were my girlfriend, Seolhyun! I had to be honest with you.”

Seolhyun tightly pursed her lips together, probably stopping herself from saying anything else.

“How…” Yoongi breathed. “How long have you been…”

Your eyes softened at the sight of Yoongi faltering. He didn’t want to say it. You reached beneath the table to hold that had that was on top of your knee. Instantly, you watched his shoulders relax.

“Um…” Seolhyun chewed on her bottom lip and picked at the skin around her nails. “Just-Just once..”

Bullshit.

“Don’t you think Yoongi deserves a lot more honesty that?” You boldly questioned. Talking was never part of your agenda, but it’s true, he deserved to know the truth after tearing himself apart from agonizing over his self-worth.

“Excuse me?” Seolhyun stared you down and you couldn’t back down no matter how much you wanted to.

“I–I don’t think you’re telling him the truth.” You tried to sound confident, but your stutter gave it away.

Seolhyun scoffed and crossed her arms. “Who do you think you—”

“She’s right. I don’t think you’re telling me the truth either.” Yoongi interjected. “For Seung Ho to talk to y/n about our situation kind of shows how close you two really are.”

“My thoughts exactly.” You said softly.

Seolhyun aggressively scratched the back of her head. “Ugh. Two months!” She blurted out. “Two-fucking-months! There’s the truth! Happy now?”

Your eyes widened then turned to Yoongi who was looking in Seolhyun’s direction with an empty expression. After remaining quiet for about a minute, a low chuckle pushed past his lips.

“Is that why we’ve been fighting so much lately?” There were hints of both sadness and anger in his tone. “This was why you’ve been so short with me? You would cut our dates short—it was because you would rendezvous with Seung Ho?”

“Y-Yoongi.” You whispered and gently rubbed the back of his hand, trying to calm him down.

“Do you know what the fuck I’ve been going through because of this?! I continuously questioned what I was doing wrong—was I not making you happy anymore? Did I do something to piss you off? Was I not buying you enough flowers on the weekends? Altering my class schedule to match yours wasn’t enough? Skipping class to spend time with you? I talked my friends’ ears off trying to figure out why I didn’t seem important in your eyes anymore…” Yoongi kept his head down and squeezed your hand to the point where his nails could draw blood from your skin. “Was I not enough for you…?”

Seolhyun parted her lips but hesitated to say anything. She also dropped her head, possibly trying to get everything in her mind organized.

“Yoongi, I’m so sorry.” She said sadly.

For the first time in a while, she sounded genuine.

“You were enough for me, but I—I guess… I guess I was being selfish and I wanted more.” Seolhyun lifted her eyes in search of Yoongi’s but he still kept his head down.

“You could’ve told me.” Yoongi choked out. “You could’ve talked to me about how you were feeling and maybe—maybe things could’ve worked out.”

It was your turn to lower your head. This was truly an issue between Yoongi and Seolhyun. There was no reason for you to inject yourself into the conversation anymore.

“Is there any way we could work past this?” Seolhyun asked.

Yoongi finally met her eyes. “No. No way in hell.”

He fumbled with your hand to let go and reached into his pocket to pull out his keyring and wallet. He detached Seolhyun’s dorm key and pulled out a polaroid photo of her from inside his wallet. “Here. I don’t need these anymore.”

Yoongi reached back underneath the table in search of your hand and you stealthy met him halfway.

“Please. Just go, Seolhyun. We’re done here.” Yoongi said firmly.

Seolhyun sat there for a couple seconds and then reached forward to retrieve her belongings. As she stood up from the table, she kept her eyes on Yoongi hoping he would say something else, but he remained silent. Shortly after, Seolhyun took her leave without Yoongi sparing her a single glance.

↠↞

Even with the hustle and bustle of students walking all over campus, the world had never been so quiet. Yoongi had his head down, face buried in the crook of his elbow while still holding onto your hand. You weren’t sure when was the best time to speak, so you kept quiet waiting for him to break the silence first.

It almost physically hurt staring at Yoongi. He had been bottling up so many painful emotions to the point where it almost consumed him. He didn’t deserve to go through this.

“Y/n?” Yoongi finally spoke, but the rest of his sentence was muffled behind his coat sleeve.

“I-I’m sorry, Yoongi. I can’t really hear you.”

“Thank you for coming with me.” He turned his head and made heavy eye contact with you. “Saying all those things… I don’t think I would've been able to do it on my own, but you being here gave me strength to do so.”

His words caused a noticeable blush to form on your cheeks. He chuckled and sat up straight to tuck a few of your hairs behind your ears.

“I think you have enough time left to get to your next class from here. I’ll walk you.” Yoongi lifted you up by your arm and you almost didn’t want to go to class. All you wanted was to sit around and hold his hand all day. The thought of that made you blush even more and this made Yoongi laugh a little harder. “What’s the matter with you? Come on.”

Unfortunately, Yoongi didn’t hold your hand when he walked you to class. This was probably because it felt too soon to do so in public. It’s not like he and Seolhyun were the campus couple, but people might get the wrong idea if they knew they were dating.

After the whole thing with Yoongi and Seolhyun, it made it even harder for you to concentrate. Now that they were broken up, who knows if Yoongi still had anymore underlying feelings for her. They were together for a year, so there had to be some leftover right? Plus, Yoongi made a comment the other night about how he thought about why you kissed him and that he “figured it out.” This meant a whole new conversation, a whole new reason to be nervous.

Fucking great.

This was a conversation you weren’t looking forward to. You needed to prepare yourself somehow, but it seemed like no matter how much you could mentally prepare yourself, you still wouldn’t be ready. After knowing Yoongi for roughly a little over two years and falling for him like an idiot, never in your life did you imagine him finding out about how you felt about him.

You would be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t even a little happy. You kissed Yoongi, held his hand, and even shared a bed with him with your feelings unknowingly exposed in the air. It made you giddy; butterflies roaming around in your stomach, fighting the urge to smile whenever you thought about him. If only the circumstances were different, life would’ve been near perfect for you.

Class dragged on, notes were written down, doodles were drawn, and next thing you knew, you were tying your work apron around your waist.

“Where’s Yoongi? He didn’t walk you here?” Seokjin asked.

“Nah. His energy gauge was pretty much empty by the time he was done talking with Seolhyun so he decided to just nap for a few hours.”

“Okay, so, what’s the tea?” Seokjin stood near you, eagerly waiting for you to tell him all the juicy details.

You playfully shoved him away and walked over to the espresso machine. “I’m not saying anything until Hani gets here.”

“Aw, come on, y/n. She won’t be here till like five or something!”

You chuckled to yourself and continued to ignore all of Seokjin’s pleads for information.

The moment Hani walked through the coffee shop doors, the first words she shouted was “okay bitch, bring forth the tea!”—this was said with a shop full of students. You were immediately put on the spot, but Hani’s intentions meant well.

You made sure to include all details of the confrontation when you told Seokjin and Hani about it. You also made sure to keep your voice low because you weren’t sure who knew Seolhyun, Yoongi, or even Seung Ho. This wasn’t your story to tell, but both Hani and Seokjin were there from the beginning so it seemed fitting for them to know it all too.

Evening came just as quickly as your shift started. Hani didn’t mean to stay so late, but she got pretty invested in the situation between Seolhyun and Yoongi. Both you and Seokjin did his best to keep all of Hani’s reactions at bay, but you had to admit, it was entertaining. At least she was nice enough to help the coffee shop employees close up.

“Wouldn’t your knight in shining armor show up by now?” Hani joked. 

“You need to relax—oh, bye!” You chuckled and threatened her with a broomstick and waved two of your co-workers who were heading out.

“It’s true, y/n. He’s supposed to waltz in here and be like ‘my lady, I have arrived. Your chariot awaits.’” Seokjin pranced around the room and even bowed and took your hand in his.

“And by ‘chariot’, you mean his legs right? Because the dorms are within walking distance?” You laughed.

“Well, yes, b-but anyways let me finish,” Seokjin cleared his throat. “So your knight in shining armor swoops in—” he went from holding your hand to picking you up bridal style. “—picks you up and saves you from the dungeon aka the coffee shop! And then Yoongi says—”

“Seokjin, what in zakum’s name are you doing?”

At the mention of his name coming from behind him, Seokjin froze in his tracks and turned around to find Yoongi staring at him with a questionable look.

“I—uh—” Seokjin panicked, almost dropping you on the floor but he still managed to place you back on your feet. “Alrighty-roo, well, Hani—babe, shall we take our leave?”

All Hani could do was laugh until her stomach hurt and Seokjin dragged her out of the coffee shop by her hand; she laughed so much that she could barely properly say bye to you and Yoongi.

“Do I even want to know?” Yoongi asked hesitantly.

“No, you really don’t.”

Yoongi helped you flip up the chairs onto the table while you continued to sweep the floor. As you two cleaned up, you proceeded to tell him about your day and apologized for telling Seokjin and Hani what happened in the afternoon. He brushed it off because he also trusted them.

Unlike your busy day, Yoongi spent his entire day eating, sleeping, and watching netflix; he exaggerated that it was a packed schedule. He even mentioned that Seolhyun still tried to call and text him, but he ignored every single attempt.

“You know, I think she dressed up that way today to lure you back to her with her looks.” You confessed.

“Huh. You think so?” Yoongi walked behind the counter where you were wiping around the sink.

You shrugged your shoulders. “Yeah, I mean, it’s been pretty cold lately and she shows up in an outfit that could barely keep her warm. She curled her hair, put on makeup, like why is doing all of that necessary to meet up with you? It seems so—what?”

Yoongi was just staring at you with a smirk plastered on his face. “Were you worried that it was going to work?”

A blush bloomed on your cheeks. “N-No. I just think it was ridiculous, that’s all.”

He stepped closer and stood behind you, placing his hands on the metal countertop to cage you in between his arms.

“You know, you observe others pretty well but from my observations from knowing you, you kind of suck at lying.” Yoongi laughed and you forced a chuckle out. You weren’t going to even deny it.

From the counter, Yoongi lifted his hands to secure them around your waist, hugging you from behind. You made a few attempts to move around to clean the counter properly, but he remained.

“Yoongi, I have to clean.” You chuckled.

“Just—” He briefly let you go to spin you around so he could hug you from the front. “Five minutes. Let’s stay like this for five minutes, please.”

It was such a genuine request, how could you say no?

Yoongi was leaning into you with his face buried in the crook of your neck. You had your arms lazily slung around his shoulders and just listened to his faint breathing. The blonde tips of his hair tickled your nose a bit, so you gently slide your hand across his nape to brush down his hair. He hugged you tighter at your sudden action and sighed.

“You’re really going to touch me like that, y/n?” The teasing tone in his voice was enough to raise your temperature and cause a blush to appear on your cheeks.

“Y-Yoongi!” You tried to push him away, already feeling embarrassed, but he just continued to hold you.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Yoongi snickered. “It’s fine, keep touching my hair.”

You were still feeling embarrassed because that was the first time Yoongi used that tone of voice with you. Nonetheless, you listened and continued to stroke his hair. Thankfully he didn’t wear that awful beanie.

Yoongi didn’t say another word and every once in a while, he’d caress your back and readjust himself. Small sparks ignited at the simplest touch and for some reason you wanted to laugh. This was everything you wanted but it did confuse you as to how comfortable Yoongi was doing all of this to you. All you did was kiss him once and the next moment he’s acting as if you two were dating for years.

“Okay, I’m recharged. Continue your cleaning.” He emerged from your body and cupped your cheek. Even if you were the one embarrassed, Yoongi still had a hue of pink displayed at the tops of his cheeks.

For the next ten minutes, you swiftly cleaned up the stations and tossed out the garbage in the dumpster out back. Yoongi waited patiently and even gathered all of your things for you from the back room.

“So you’re opening tomorrow?” Yoongi asked whilst helping you adjust your hoodie.

“Sadly, yeah. So we can talk first then I’ll head straight to bed.”

“We can talk tomorrow, it’s fine. You need your rest.”

“B-But—”

Yoongi stole another kiss from you, probably to shut you up and it worked; it left you utterly speechless. You had to get used to this somehow.

“Tomorrow.” Yoongi whispered. “For now, let’s go home.”

Home?

There was no doubt that Yoongi was referring to your dorm as home since he stayed there the entire day. The idea of him considering your place as “home” gave you butterflies.

Home was a safe sanctuary. Home was a place where someone can easily unravel themselves to be at peace. Home was where the heart was and Yoongi was there with you.

“Yeah.” You blushed. “Let’s go home.”

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♡ rae jagi

[cupcakemolotov]

Scatter the Die

I was originally just going to reblog my old post but I couldn’t find it and I decided that I couldn’t be bothered to keep digging for it. I decided to pull a lalainajanes and update/edit/re-post a thing to see if it will get me off my ass to finish the sequel. Also, I apologize, because I’m pretty sure I’ve changed the title of this thing twice now so oops.

You can find it here on A03 if you prefer.

Caroline shivered beneath the blankets she'd been tucked into, thankful that the bone jarring shakes were finally easing. One of the disapproving medics had surprised her clothing change and trussed her up like a thanksgiving turkey, but she’d been cleared from taking a ride to the hospital. A warming IV did not sound like a fun way to spend the rest of her day, and the last thing she’d have expected was to brush off her was hypothermia training in New Orleans of all places.

Magic had changed a lot of things over the decades, but the last few years had been particularly difficult. The veil was thinning and monsters sometimes wore human faces. Humanity sat poised on another apocalyptic event, and they fought it one case at a time.

Today wasn’t likely her last brush with death.

But her own state of well being wasn’t her highest priority. All around her cops and feds scrambled to collect evidence, trash bags and waiters being handed as they worked against the clock. The evidence was disappearing with the muddy rain, and once gone, they’d have no chance to collect it.

They owed the dead cops more than that.

Mouth tightening, Caroline watched the other ambulance pull out, it’s lights flashing as it’s wheels hit pavement. To lose a rookie on his first day in Homicide would be a kick in the gut for the department that was already reeling from two deaths. She could only hope he pulled through.

Goddammit.

Two weeks ago, what should have been an open and shut suicide had turned into a horror movie gone bad. What lived behind the veil was hungry and angry. Assuming her department was allowed to keep so much as a paper lip attached to the files of this one, explaining the deaths to the grieving families wouldn’t be easy. There was no right when nightmares gorged.

Oh, the Feds would make all the right noises at there having been a cop-killing Fae running loose and offer little else. It was why she’d taken to making two set of notes. So that when her case file disappeared she’d still have her back up files. But in this case, even if the Feds did make an evidence grab, at least they knew the murderer was dead.

She’d seen to that much.

"Detective?"

Caroline bit the side of her cheek at the familiar voice, glancing over to find Special Agent Mikaelson walking towards her. In his hands was a steaming takeout cup, and his jaw was set at an angle so rigid she wondered how he hadn’t cracked teeth. He wasn't wearing a coat in respect to the drizzle, and his curls looked riotous. For a moment they stared at each other before he offered her the cup.

Wary, she wiggled a hand free, and was amused to discover it was hot chocolate. Taking a careful sip, she tipped her head. "Agent?”

He leaned against the side of the ambulance with eyes that were once again dark with things she'd no intention of reading. "I've been told to keep this short."

"Elena can be fierce," Caroline murmured as she glanced over at the brunette EMT who was assessing another injury. "But she means well."

"Friends?"

She shrugged. "It never hurts to make them."

A quirk of his lips at the slight accusation in her voice. He didn't look at all bothered by her jab. She might have admired his thick skin, but it honestly just made her want to punch him in his perfect teeth.

"I owe you an apology."

She paused, the drink inches from her mouth and studied the lines of his face, both brows arching. "For what exactly? I have a list, if that’d be helpful.”

A hint of a dimple before he slipped one hand into his pocket, face sobering. "You make a habit to carry cold iron with you, Detective?"

The knife was an old safety blanket, born from teenage years spent knowing that a fae nightmare had killed her mother. Years later, the truth might have freed that particular fae from its fate, but Caroline had stopped feeling comfortable without cold iron around her.

Special Agent Mikaelson from the FBI Department of Weird didn't need to know that.

"My captain encourages police officers to carry iron, Agent. Shall I dig out my handbook?"

A flicker of something bright slipped along his pupil, and Caroline tilted her head, gaze narrowing. She knew what magic looked like. Until that moment, she'd have sworn Mikaelson was human. A complete ass, but human. Now, she wasn't so sure.

"That knife wasn't department issued," Mikaelson said with a hint of a blade in his voice.

"I'm sorry," Caroline said serenely after she took a slow sip of her drink. It was really good hot chocolate. She wondered where he'd gotten it. "Where exactly is this apology?"

His eyes were calculating, as he studied her. Those disgustingly long lashes lowered to hide his gaze, and when they lifted, his pupils were golden. The blue of his iris had narrowed to a thin band, and the color had changed to something several shades brighter. It was like looking at the heart of a star.

But other than those eyes, he somehow managed to appear completely human.

Her mouth ran dry.

"We underestimated her," Klaus said and the crisp tones of his accent had sharpened a hair. "Fortunately, it appears that you were also underestimated, and that was a lucky break. My sincere apologies, Detective Forbes, that you were pulled into a situation you shouldn't have had to deal with."

Something about his tone irritated her, and she concentrated on that instead of how she could almost feel his words on her skin. Taking a careful, deliberate sip of her drink, Caroline forced herself to hold his gaze.

"I'm a cop," she said bluntly. She didn't back down from his gaze, even when the tilting of his head wasn't quite… right. "It's my job to deal with the unexpected. How long have you know what we were hunting was a she and what it could do, Agent?"

He long had he known that this… woman could drown someone when they were standing between four walls? Caroline was certain she'd dream of screaming, the saltwater scent and the taste of brine in her mouth. The monster who'd had no face that Caroline could describe with words, she'd had no interest in another woman. The rage, the worst of the water had been used to attack the men who'd stood around her as they'd examined the scene. Surprise had been the only reason Caroline had won, surprise and an old, old habit.

Watching the life go out of a nightmare was no easier than watching a human die.

Those glittering eyes studied her. "I'm afraid that's classified."

"Is it now," Caroline said slowly, a hint of drawl elongating her vowels.

"You're a bit of an enigma, Detective," Mikaelson said, the calculation in his gaze turning to iron she recognized. "Your mother murdered; yet, you worked to clear her supposed murderer's name. You’ve filed a number of complaints with the local bureau when they couldn't produce information on a number of supernatural killers."

"Families deserve the truth," she said stiffly. "They also deserve to know what justice has been given. It's not that difficult a concept."

"Sometimes, truth isn't the right answer."

Caroline tossed the last of the hot chocolate on the ground and stood, unwrapping herself from the blankets. The oversized clothing was a little ridiculous and her hair was a tangled mess scraped into a wet bun, but right then she couldn't care. Pasting on a fake smile, she hoisted the ends of her pants so she wouldn't trip. "Yeah, well, in that case, why don't you shove that apology up your ass."

His brow arched. She didn't like how much taller her was than her when he straightened, and she lifted her chin to scowl when he stepped into her space. "Regardless, the bureau will extend its apologies to you and your precinct."

Her teeth ground together. "So that's it?"

"The case is closed."

"Oh yeah? Care to tell me what the motive was exactly?" Caroline asked. “Or why she picked men. Cops. People I worked with.”

"I'm afraid that's classified as well," Mikaelson said.

"Donovan has a daughter," she said carefully. “They all had families.”

Those burning eyes softened a hair. "The loss of any life is always a regret."

Caroline showed him the edge of her teeth. "And this mythical apology of yours. Will it include using cops as bait?"

The smile wiped from his face and his chin lowered, so they were nearly eye to eye. It struck her again, how pretty he was, with his scruffy jaw and burning eyes. His magic should have frightened her, but all it did was piss her off. He'd had this magic and she'd almost drowned.

He was such a dick.

"Is that what you believe happened?"

Of course that was what happened. Mikaelson was obviously not human, and Caroline had seen this kind of maneuvering before, when her mother had been killed. Had seen good and honest men, used as easily discarded chess pieces. She wasn't stupid and she resented that he thought she was but this was also not a battle she could win. Not today. But maybe tomorrow.

So instead of picking the fight she really wanted, she shrugged. “Are you saying you weren't using us?”

"Be very careful, Forbes," Mikaelson warned, gaze tracking a curl as it tumbled across her cheek, the wild colors in his gaze shifted like tectonic plates. "There are things in this world you don't want to engage."

Caroline wasn't sure if he referencing himself or whatever had happened to fellow cops. Not that it mattered. When had she ever let something stop her from getting answers for the families who'd had a loved one stolen? Knowing that a killer was dead meant nothing if you couldn't grasp why.

She knew that sometimes there was no good answer. This wasn't one of those times. Still, she'd no reason to tell Special Agent Klaus Mikaelson that, did she?

"I'm just a murder cop."

Mikaelson laughed. Deep and rich, dimples flashing, he watched her as the gold and wild blue faded from his eyes. "It'd be easier if you were, Forbes."

It was on the tip of her tongue, to ask him what he was. What caused eyes to shift to molten heat that way, while the rest of them remained normal. What kind of power did he have? But she sensed a trap there, saw him waiting and refused to give him the satisfaction.

Bonnie might know, anyway.

"Apparently your case is closed," Caroline said with sugary sweetness as she shifted to walk away. "So, here's to hoping I never see you again."

"I don't believe it will be quite that simple, Detective," Mikaelson said softly, voice laced with warning as she moved towards the squad cars.

She rather thought it was.

Three days later, when her Captain brought up that the FBI were digging through her old cases, she was irritated. When the official letter offering her a both an apology as well as position showed up, she dug up the card that had been left on her desk and the number she refused to input into her phone.  She never replied to the Bureau directly, but she did send a single text with a picture of a letter on fire.

The response had left her grinding her teeth.

Some things are inevitable, love.

[artificialqueens]

Got To Have You All the Time (katlaska) - kamylove

Katya’s hurt. Alaska’s far away. Anxiety, adorableness, and soul-searching ensue.

AN - Somebody asked for sick katlaska. This is not quite that. But it’s close! 

Takes place in the same fictional universe as my story They Don’t Love You Like I Love You, a few years later. The title is from a song by Faye Richmonde. There’s some icky medical stuff, but I don’t think it would qualify as graphic.

Alaska’s backstage, at an early show not far from her house, when she gets a call from an unexpected number.

“Trixie?” she says. “Or did my boyfriend lose his phone?”

“No, it’s really me,” Trixie says. “I mean, he doesn’t have his phone, but he didn’t lose it, we–never mind. How are you?”

“You sound tense,” Alaska says. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. And so is Katya, I swear. She’s damaged. But she’s fine!”

Alaska’s brain fills up with images of Katya ODing in a filthy alley and drowning in vomit, because that’s always the first thing that pops into her head. She knows it’s not true, but her lizard brain is convinced.

She’d bet that Trixie has the same problem. 

“What happened?” she asks, forcing her voice to be steady.

“She’ll be fine! But she kind of walked off the stage. Because we both know she’s an idiot.”

Alaska can’t help it. She barks out a laugh and says, “Oh, no, poor thing!” It’s very Katya to get too wrapped up in whatever she’s doing to notice the edge of a cliff.

“I know, right?” Trixie says. “She was laughing at herself in the ambulance. But she broke some bones.”

“Oh, God, which ones?” Alaska asks, hoping they’re not bones that will keep her from working, or worse, force her to sit still and do nothing while they heal.

“Nothing she needs for sex.”

Alaska shakes her head at how differently she and Trixie thought the same thought. 

“You might have to do a little extra work for a while, but-”

“I think we’ll be okay,” Alaska interrupts.

“Right. Sorry.”

Across the dressing room, an old friend of Alaska’s, a WeHo queen who should have been on Drag Race years ago, laughs loudly. Another slips out the door, letting in the sound of a Shea Coulee song.

“Are you at a show?” Trixie asks.

“I’m at ——-. It’s not a big deal. What did she break?”

Trixie hesitates, probably expecting Alaska to throw a fit. God knows Katya would if it was Alaska who was hurt, though with Katya at least 40% would be for comedic effect. Katya’s actually very calm in a crisis. Alaska’s not.

“Her arm, definitely,” Trixie says. “Probably her knee, and maybe a finger or two.”

Alaska gasps. “That’s awful.”

“Don’t panic!” Trixie says. “I’m at the hospital with her, and they already took care of the arm, and now they’re x-raying everything else. She wanted me to call you right away, but I didn’t want to leave her until she had a distraction, sorry. You know how she is.”

Alaska feels a twinge of irrational anger–it’s been at least four hours. But she knows it’s irrational. “No, it’s fine,” she says. “It’s not like I can do anything to help from here.”

“You’re not freaking out?” Trixie asks tentatively.

“No, you gave it a great intro, thank you.”

“No sympathy pains?”

“Not yet,” Alaska says. “But there’s still time.”

Trixie chuckles. “I’ll have her call you as soon as she can, okay? There’s no signal on the first floor.”

“Give her a kiss for me? With tongue?” Alaska asks, because that’s what Katya always tells each of them, whenever they’re going to cross paths without her.

“Consider it done,” Trixie says.

“Alaska, five minutes,” the club manager calls from the door as he sticks his head into the dressing room.

She’s very glad she has work to do. 

<><><>

Trixie goes back inside and waits impatiently. There’s no signal here, either, and she really needs to upload more books, or games, or something.

She’d lied a little bit to Alaska, and she tries not to feel bad about it. At least one out of the three of them needs to stay calm, and Alaska wins out simply by being a few thousand miles away.

She does feel bad about leaving the show, though. She never cancels shows. 

Also it will fuel rumors about her and Katya, which will be a pain in her ass, but will actually be better for Katya and Alaska, Queens of the Big Secret. 

There are pluses and minuses to everything.

She yawns. The adrenaline from the stage had been pumped up even more by seeing Katya fall off it and worrying about Alaska’s reaction, and now it’s wearing off. She wonders if there’s a cafeteria that sells coffee in the middle of the night.

Before she can investigate, a tech wheels Katya and her IV cart out through the metal doors. She’s groggy and miserable, but when she sees Trixie, she calls up a smile and tries to wipe the pain off her face. So Trixie calls up a smile, too.

“How’d it go?” Trixie asks as she stands up to join them.

“It hurt, but I made a new friend! This is Steve!”

Trixie holds out her hand to shake. “Hi, Steve!”

He grins and says hello.

“Did you call her?” Katya asks. “Did you? Did you?”

“She says I should give you a kiss with tongue.”

“Oooh!“ 

“Not happening,” Trixie says.

“Some support system you are,” Katya says. “Is she okay?”

“Of course she’s okay. You’re the one in the fucking hospital.”

Katya pouts. Trixie can’t tell if it’s fake. “She’s not worried about me?”

“Of course she’s worried about you. But she’s fine. She’s at-”

“I know where she is,” Katya cuts her off.

Right. Trixie knows better than to drop any potentially identifying information. Or she usually knows better. “Sorry,” she says. “Does your shared calendar list when you’re going to take a shit?”

“Of course it does,” Katya says. “We’re not animals.”

The orderly–Steve–snorts and turns it into a cough. “Sorry,” he says.

“Steve?” Katya asks. “Are we making you uncomfortable, Steve?”

This kid has no idea what he’s gotten himself into, Trixie thinks.

“I’m gay, honey. I know who you are.”

Or, he knows exactly what he’s getting himself into, and how to use it to distract his patient. 

“Wow, I did not clock you at all,” Trixie says, looking him up and down.

“It’s the scrubs. You can’t be fabulous in this shit.” He gives them a triple snap.

“And you didn’t even let on that you knew me?” Katya says. “I love you, Steve.”

“So you have a boyfriend? Girlfriend? They-friend?” Steve asks Katya.

“I do,” Katya says coyly, biting her lip. Trixie rolls her eyes. 

“And it’s not this one?” He jerks a thumb at Trixie and winks, making sure Trixie knows they’re on the same side.

“Hell no,” Trixie says. “And if this ends up on Reddit, I will come find you, Steve.”

“Steve would never do that to us,” Katya says. “Would you, Steve?”

“I go there for spoilers, not drama.”

Katya’s mouth opens in a delighted O. “Do you know who makes it to the finale this season?”

“Do you?” Steve asks.

“Oh, no,” Katya says. “I don’t know a single spoiler ever.” She crosses her heart and holds up her free hand. “I swear to god.”

It’s not true, of course. Katya always knows more than she wants to, because Alaska knows more than she wants to, from getting called back to appear in every damn season lately. 

“I don’t believe you,” Steve says. “Don’t you all talk?”

“I only talk to the non-snaky ones,” Katya says.

“Oh, my God,” Trixie says with a startled laugh. Katya’s replaced all of her old addictions with whatever high she gets from skirting the edge of outing herself, and it always catches Trixie by surprise.

“Steve?” Katya says. “My boy-slash-girl-slash-they friend is really pretty.” Even through the pain she’s glowing, like she always does when she talks about Alaska.

“You want to tell me who it is?” Steve asks.

“Never,” Katya says. “Sorry, Steve.”

They’re back in the emergency room now, and Steve wheels Katya into a curtained-off cubicle. A nurse follows them in and helps him get Katya onto the bed.

“Gotta leave you ladies here,” Steve says.

Katya waves goodbye and says, “Thanks, Steve! It was nice to meet you!”

“Thank you,” Trixie says.

“He was nice,” Katya says. “Wasn’t he nice?” she asks the nurse. 

“Very nice,” the nurse says. Her name tag says Mariela, and she looks like she’s at the end of an 18-hour shift but would otherwise be a friendly person. “How’s your pain level?”

“Excruciating,” Katya says brightly.

“You sure you don’t want codeine?”

“Unfortunately, yes, I’m sure,” Katya says. 

“We’ll get you another nerve block, then,” Nurse Mariela says. “Back in a few.” And she walks away crisply.

“Steve was a sweetie,” Katya says. “Boyfriend material?”

“He had a ring on. Are you sure they didn’t give you the good stuff?”

“What? I don’t check anymore. I am a spoken-for woman.”

“You never checked,” Trixie says.

“I did! Most of the time.” Katya holds out her good hand in a grabby motion. “Give me your phone.”

Trixie hands it over. There’s no use objecting.

Katya looks at it, unlocks it. (Trixie’s password is another thing Katya somehow always knows.) She checks the settings, shakes it, holds it up in every direction. “No signal,” she says finally. “Fucking hospital.”

“Katya, she’s fine.”

“I know. I just want to talk to her. I like her.”

Trixie knows they always talk after shows. And before, and often during. Before going to bed, after waking up, during breakfast … It’s cute and Trixie’s over the moon for them, but it does sometimes make her own love life feel like child’s play. A preschool romance, how cute, let’s push each other off the swingset.

She’s not jealous of Alaska. She’s jealous of both of them for this ethereal freaking connection they have, and she can’t even be mad about it. She likes them too much.

“God forbid you should go an hour without making googly eyes at each other,” Trixie says.

“I could make googly eyes at you instead.”

“Please don’t. Please don’t.”

Katya laughs maniacally, wheezes, and slaps her thigh. Trixie knows it’s a mistake as it’s happening, but there’s no time to stop her.

“Ow! Fuck!” Katya says. “That fucking hurt! OW! Oh, my God!”

“I’m sorry,” Trixie says, wincing.

After a few breaths to calm herself down, Katya says, “You should be." 

"I’d really like to hear you explain how any of this is my fault.”

“Give me a minute, I’ll come up with something.”

Mariela returns with a tray of needles and vials. Katya distracts herself by playing with Trixie’s phone in her free hand. She hates shots. She never even did intravenous meth, Trixie’s been reliably informed more than once.

“Hey, you have a voicemail!” Katya says. “Oh, that’s better already, thank you,” she tells the nurse.

“I do?” Trixie says. She takes the phone back as Mariela finishes up and leaves. “But it didn’t ring." 

It won’t transcribe or play, either. She can just see that it’s from Alaska.

"Is it her?” Katya asks excitedly.

“Yes, but-”

A young doctor interrupts by walking through the curtain, introducing herself, and asking Katya to confirm her name and birthdate.

Katya rattles it off, and turns immediately to Trixie. “Go call her?”

“I don’t have anything to tell her yet,” Trixie says.

“Caaalllll heeerrrrrrrr,” Katya says.

“You may need to leave for privacy reasons,” the doctor says.

“No, you can tell him anything,” Katya says quickly. 

“Significant other?" 

"Chosen family,” Katya says, and points at the phone. “That’s my extremely significant other. Caalllll herrrrrr!”

“Okay, I’m going!” Trixie says. 

As she leaves, she hears the doctor saying, “Let me just pull this over so we can take a look at your films.”

She goes outside to call, walking away from the entrance to escape the smokers, and she doesn’t bother listening to voicemail first.

Alaska answers before the first ring ends. “Trixie?”

“I told you not to panic,” Trixie says.

“I’m not!” Alaska says, but her chuckle is rueful. “I was just walking home and I thought it was worth a try.”

“Believe me, she’s dying to talk to you, too.”

“Aww,” Alaska says, just the way Katya says it.

“There’s a doctor with her now. She was about to give her the x-ray results.”

“Oh! Go back in, go back in!”

Trixie has to laugh. “That sounded exactly like her. I’ll let you know what they say, okay?" 

They say goodbye, and Trixie hurries back inside.

<><><>

Alaska’s not panicking. She’s not. But she is worried, and not used to being cut off from Katya; their relationship is founded constant, instantaneous, and frequently sarcastic contact, and has been since before they even knew they were a couple.

It’s not the codependent, drug-fueled separation anxiety she had with Sharon, no matter what Trixie might joke about. It’s more that she wants to tell Katya everything, and having to keep it all in is making both her brain and her fingers itch. 

And lurking at the edge of her consciousness are things they should have discussed by now–in all the thousands of words they exchange every day–but haven’t.

She only has one number to perform, and when she gets home, she has nothing to distract herself with but packing. Which is a lot less fun without Katya’s commentary, in person or on facetime or even in texts.

She makes herself a sandwich and only eats a quarter of it, then stands in the middle of her drag room, lost and staring at the racks. Maybe she can just grab half a dozen dresses and stuff them in her luggage and hope for the best.

She pulls out her phone, knowing it’s pointless.

She puts it away, then takes it out again. Then she goes to the bedroom and leaves the phone there, but goes back and gets it a few minutes later.

She hates the thought of Katya in pain. It’s bad enough when Alaska’s with her. (Katya had twisted her ankle in a fucking Target a few months ago and fully enjoyed Alaska’s coddling.) It’s torture to hear about it through an intermediary, even if the intermediary is Katya’s best friend.

Damn. She shouldn’t have come home. She should have stayed to cheer on the others, or dragged someone back here to talk it out. She’s still in half drag, for fuck’s sake.

She can’t call her mom, or Katya’s mom. It’s too late. All her local friends will be either drunk, in bed, or on stage. She tries her brother, who would make her laugh if nothing else, but his phone is off, and she doesn’t leave a voicemail.

"Dammit, Katya,” she says to the room. “You could have at least waited until we were on the same damn stage.”

That’s a dumb thought to think. Sighing, she lays out her suitcases, and after staring at them for a while, she grabs a random armful of clothes, half a drawer of Capezios, and her three favorite wigs, and tosses it all on a chair. And then she stands there staring at the chair.

Maybe she can fix this mess once she hears from Katya. But she has no way of knowing when that will be, and her flight is in five hours.

“Stop it,” she tells herself. She sits heavily on the floor and starts rolling up clothes and bagging shoes. She packs them, and unpacks some of them because she didn’t do it right the first time, and unpacks some more because she can’t make a single damn decision.

Finally, her phone beeps with a tone that isn’t Katya’s.

“Three broken fingers,” the text says. “Dislocated kneecap.”

Alaska recoils in sympathetic pain. Knee stuff is bad. Knee stuff could fuck up her splits permanently.

“And don’t be mad,” the next text says. There’s no time to reply before the next one appears. “She had a compound fracture in her forearm but they took care of that and sewed it up before I even called you. She’s fine!”

Horrified, Alaska starts typing before she finishes reading. “You didn’t tell me it was a compound fracture!" 

"Sorry. I knew it would freak you out. She’s FINE. They’re keeping her overnight and I think there’s a signal upstairs.”

“She had a bone sticking out of her fucking skin!”

“But she doesn’t anymore! Look, I don’t get to lose it and you don’t either. I can only handle one of us right now and that’s KATYA.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Alaska replies quickly. “You’ve been great tonight and we’re both lucky you’re there.”

There’s no response, and Alaska can’t blame her. Katya on a good day is A Lot, and while Alaska doesn’t feel overwhelmed by her anymore, she understands why Trixie does. And Trixie doesn’t need Alaska also being A Lot, on the other end of the phone line. 

She stands up, paces, glares at the suitcases, and makes an iffy life decision: she’ll go to sleep now, calm the fuck down, and get up when Katya calls or when her alarm goes off, whichever comes first.

<><><>

Alaska’s subconscious knows Katya’s ringtone, and she grabs her phone before she’s really awake. “Kati?”

“Aaaaaaal, I am a pitiful, broken shell of a biological woman.”

The humor in Katya’s voice improves Alaska’s mood immediately. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”

“Me too. God, I’m a dumbass.”

“I’d like to disagree with that, but-”

“But you can’t!” Katya says, laughing a much less energetic laugh than usual. “You can’t! It’s demonstrably true!”

“Well, you’re my dumbass, for what it’s worth.”

“Stop it. I’m emotionally fragile today. You’re going to make me cry.”

“I would never. How much does it hurt? Is Trixie still there?”

“Not too bad, and no. They have an early flight. Latrice brought me my phone and some clothes, and then they both had to go.”

Alaska’s heart drops, along with her momentarily heightened mood. “Fuck. I don’t like you being alone in the hospital. When can you leave?”

“Later today, but I can’t fly for at least three days, so I-”

“Three days?!”

“They said a week is better. Something about swelling, or an aneurysm, or-.”

“An aneurysm?”

“No, no aneurysm! That’s just what can happen if you fly too soon, and I’m not flying!”

Calm the fuck down, Alaska tells herself. “No. Okay. You’re fine. Trixie kept telling me you were fine." 

"Stop,” Katya says. “Breathe.”

Alaska sighs. “I’m breathing. I’m just–can you even take a piss by yourself?”

“I’ll figure it out. And I have no shame about pissing myself if necessary, as you well know. And there’s room service!”

Alaska looks at the clock and tries to figure out the math of her flight–when’s the latest she can leave, how long can she continue to put off packing, when does she have to be out the shower–but her brain won’t cooperate.

“I can hear you thinking,” Katya says, “and no, you can’t cancel South America. You have never cancelled a show in your life. I’ll be fine!”

“You’re not fine,” Alaska snaps. “You’re alone in a hospital room on the other side of the country with I don’t even know how many broken bones, I lost count.”

“I’ll keep count. You don’t have to. Al. Are you packed?”

“Half. What do they have you on? Is it working?”

“It’s a Tylenol drip or something, and they keep giving me these shots that I swear are a fucking miracle. I made them write ‘no opioids’ on my chart.”

“See?” Alaska says. “That’s why you need someone with you! Doctors fuck that shit up all the time!”

“Al. Is your flight still at 7:55?”

“I–yes.”

“Then you need to finish packing right now. Oh, no,” she says to somebody else. “No eggs, please. Could you take them away? Thanks.”

“They’re feeding you food you don’t even like!”

“No, they’re not. I have toast and cornflakes and orange juice and I’m fine. Pack.”

Sniffling, Alaska squeezes her eyes shut. They’re burning. “Kataya.”

“Pack.” Katya crunches on something, and then yawns loudly.

“I’m keeping you awake,” Alaska says.

“Fuck you, no you’re not. The lack of research into non-opioid pain relief is keeping me awake.” She stops for a second. “Are you crying?”

Alaska sniffles again. “It’s so dumb. I’m tired and pathetic, and you’re the one who’s hurt.”

“Yeah, but I’ve been entertaining everyone else to keep myself sane for hours, and I know you’ve been ruminating instead.”

Ruefully, Alaska says, “I ruminated so hard I had to go to sleep.”

“I knew it! I have got you pegged, gurl.” There’s a brief pause. “Don’t make a bottom joke. If you make a bottom joke, I’m breaking up with you.”

“I won’t make–oh, my God, you’re still doing it!”

“Huh? Breaking up with you?”

“Entertaining me. You shouldn’t have to worry about that!”

“Of course I should. It’s in the job description. Now pack.”

<><><>

They hang up when a gaggle of doctors and med students swarms into Katya’s room, which frankly does nothing for Alaska’s anxiety level. She goes to splash cold water on her face and finds she never even took off her makeup. So she showers as quickly as she can, throws on some clothes for her flight, and goes back to sigh over the open suitcases on the floor.

Nothing fits the way it usually does; her favorite lashes disappeared somewhere between the club and now; the sunscreen isn’t where it’s supposed to be; she has to check her phone to see how many shows she’s doing, because she can’t keep even basic information in her head anymore.

Frustrated, she throws a Louboutin at the wall and refuses to cry again.

If sleeping earlier was an iffy life decision, the one she’s about to make is unquestionably awful.

No, she corrects herself. It’s a bad decision professionally. But she’s reached a point in her life, and in her career, where she’s allowed to put her personal life first, once in a while. 

Anyone who hates her for it can just send her a million snake emojis again.

<><><>

Katya wakes with no concept of time. There’s sunlight in the room, but she doesn’t know which direction the room is facing. There are loud voices in the corridor, but that means nothing. Her stomach is empty. Her broken fingers are throbbing, but strangely, not her knee or her arm. And she smells…

“Al?” She looks around, and finds her boyfriend curled up in a stylish, upholstered chair that suggests she’s going to pay through the nose for this room.

Alaska’s got one foot under her, and the other leg thrown over the arm of the chair. She’s hugging her old backpack to her chest, with her glasses practically off her face and her neck curled at what can’t be a comfortable angle. There’s no product in her hair–she doesn’t leave the house without product in her hair–so a wisp of frizz is flopping down over her eyes.

Katya’s never been so simultaneously overjoyed and enraged to see someone in her life.

A nurse bustles in, knocking perfunctorily on the door. “Mr. McCook, you’re awake! Let’s change out that drip and get you ready for dinner.” She notices the sleeping form in the corner. “I heard your husband was here. He’s as cute as you are!”

Katya doesn’t react to the word husband–you do whatever you have to do to get into a hospital room–but it seems to wake Alaska up.

“Your wh–Kati?” She jerks up straight and looks right at Katya. She might still have a little purple shadow in the corner of one eye, but Katya can’t be sure.

“Yes, darling,” Katya says. “I’m here, and you’re an idiot, and you have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

Alaska startles when she sees the third person in the room. “Oh, hi,” she says.

“Hi there. Are you Mr. McCook also?”

Katya laughs. Alaska, barely awake, takes it seriously. “No, I–I mean, we don’t have–professionally it’s just-”

“Honey, stop,” Katya says. The nurse changes out the bag on Katya’s drip in a few practiced movements, and Katya squints to see her name tag. “Tina here isn’t going to kick you out. Hi, Tina. I’m Brian, and that’s Justin, and he’s an idiot who shouldn’t be here.”

“Fuck work,” Alaska says. She already looks less anxious than she sounded on the phone, and she starts stretching her long neck, to wake up. Katya knows which muscles Alaska will work through first, second, third, knows exactly where Alaska will be sore from sleeping like that, and she smiles.

“He’s also a workaholic suffering from temporary insanity,” Katya adds.

“Oh, no, I agree with him,” Tina says as she checks Katya’s pulse. “Family comes first, right? There are no meds in that bag. The doctor wants to switch you over to oral administration before we let you go. How’s the pain?”

“It’s actually okay. Did you give me another injection while I was asleep?”

“An injection of what?” Alaska asks.

“I told you about the miracle shots,” Katya calmly reminds her.

“Yes, we did,” Tina says, and explains what they use to numb the nerves, which Katya hadn’t known was possible until they gave her the first one. “Are you hungry, Brian?”

“I could eat a horse,” Katya says. Tina leaves with a smile, and Alaska bursts out in a laugh at the secret innuendo.

“You slut,” Alaska says lightly. “You won her over fast.”

“Hearts and minds, one fracture at a time. Remind me to tell you about Gay Steve. And Luis. And Marie Adeline. Her son’s a nurse here, too! And Kang, she’s my doctor.”

“Everybody loves you.” Alaska finally stands up and approaches the bed.

“God knows why, but I’m used to it. Hi.”

“Hi.” She leans down to kiss Katya on the forehead.

“That is not the kiss I was expecting.”

Alaska winces, and runs her tongue over her front teeth. “I don’t think I’ve seen a toothbrush in like a day, I forgot to bring it. You don’t want-”

“I do,” Katya says, and puckers up. Alaska gives her a little peck. “Ew, that was disgusting,” Katya complains.

“I warned you. The pain’s really okay? You looked like you were sound asleep.”

“I think I was. They gave me an SSRI I used to take a long time ago. Knocked me right out,” Katya says. “Now, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m an idiot, like you said.”

“Also demonstrably true.”

“And what your new friend said. Family comes first.”

Katya’s heart feels like it could jump out of her chest. She reaches for Alaska’s hand. “That is the corniest thing I have ever heard you say, and I’m never going to let you forget it.”

Alaska gives her that soft, crooked smile Katya loves, and squeezes her fingers twice, like a heartbeat.

Then she deflects with a smirk. “You know,” she says, “between Trixie leaving the show with you, and me cancelling six shows-”

“Six? That’s the whole tour!”

“-Reddit’s going to have plenty of things to talk about. I’ll reschedule, it’ll be okay. I’ll make it okay.”

She’s telling herself that, too, not just Katya. Katya rubs the back of Alaska’s hand with her thumb, and lets the subject go.

“Let’s make up a long, complex love triangle narrative,” Katya says, “where you’re the sad but sublimely gorgeous third wheel, and I’m married to a prick who can’t get it up, and I’m the quirky, unnaturally pretty girl you come to blows over.” She sighs happily. “It’ll be beautiful. It’ll be heart wrenching. I’ll cry. And then I’ll dump both of you for Willam.”

Alaska cracks up, and Katya joins her, gratefully. 

“Are you sure they didn’t give you the good stuff?” Alaska asks.

“That’s what Trixie said.”

“Because at your highest level of functioning-”

“-I come off high as a kite. The bird, not the toy.”

“There’s a bird called a kite?”

“I told you you were an idiot. Or maybe it’s like a stingray? I’m an idiot, too.”

“I couldn’t leave you here by yourself,” Alaska says, scrunching up her nose. “Somebody has to keep you alive and entertained.” She thinks about that, and adds, “Maybe the next time you do a faceplant off a stage I can be cold and detached.”

“Maybe next time you’ll be with me.”

“One can only hope,” Alaska says. Then she winces again. “Oh, fuck, I need to send flowers to Trixie. Don’t let me forget.”

“Why? She said you were an absolute gentleman. A credit to our relationship. A credit to the species homo." 

"She did not say that, and you are a lying liar.”

“She almost did!” What Trixie actually said was that Alaska was a grown-up and could handle herself, but Katya could read between the lines.

“I was a credit to the species homo,” Alaska says, “right up until I turned into a scared little goblin. I’ll tell you about it later. Did they say when you can leave?”

“They said they’d check on me before dinner and decide for sure.”

Alaska ostentatiously checks her phone. “It’s 4:30.”

“Be nice,” Katya says. “My mom’s a nurse. We like nurses.”

“I know your mom’s a nurse, shut up. Do you need me to do anything? Does the hotel know you’re extending?”

“Yes, they know.” Katya thinks for a minute. “I’m sure there’s something practical you could be taking care of, but I don’t care. Just squeeze in here, we can watch Golden Girls and you can tell me how much you love me.”

She tries to inch away to make room on the bed, but pain stabs her in at least five different places. “Ow, fuck!”

“Let me help you, for fuck’s sake!”

Alaska was right. Katya would have starved or died of filth alone in a hotel room. She grumbles about moving anyway.

Eventually they get Katya settled and the pain back down, and Alaska sits up against the headboard next to her. “Tina’s going to kill me,” Alaska says, but Katya can feel her starting to relax.

“Oh, the irony. Now shhh, I’ve never seen this one,” Katya says. Alaska’s on her intact side, her hips by Katya’s head and her legs stretched out along Katya’s body. Katya lets the warmth seep under her skin.

Alaska quotes along happily with the first episode, but then goes quiet for the second. Halfway through, she asks, “Do we know a good gay lawyer?”

“Mmm,” Katya says. “Hospital visitations.”

“Power of attorney.”

“Healthcare proxy. All that stuff.” She tilts her head back to see Alaska’s face. “Did they give you a hard time?”

“No, but I wouldn’t have been surprised.”

“Not the most queer-friendly state.”

“No. And the amount we travel…”

Katya nods. “Somebody will, eventually. You up for this?”

Alaska scritches Katya’s scalp, and Katya sighs in appreciation. “I’m in for good. You?”

Katya nods. “Till death. And then I’ll be haunting you, and we’ll have all the kinky ghost sex.”

“Well, if you’re going to haunt me anyway,” Alaska says, slow and deadpan, “it’s only fair that I get to decide when to pull the damn plug.”

Katya laughs until she wheezes, and Alaska resists for a bit before joining in.

“Luckily,” Alaska says once they’ve calmed down, “I’ve got nothing to do for the next week but help you pee, and search for lawyers on the internet.”

“Not nothing. You’ll also be giving me a lot of head.”

“That goes without saying.”

They share a suggestive smile and go back to watching TV. Alaska starts quoting the dialogue again as the last bit of tension leaches out of her body, and Katya virtually melts into her side. One scene later, she gets bored and throws a possessive arm over Alaska’s leg, tapping out a restless beat on the inside of her knee. 

They’ve talked about marriage, and decided it’s too heteronormative for them. But this, the legal shit. The legal shit matters. It’s only luck, and the privilege of having supportive families unlike so many couples they’ve known, that’s allowed them to ignore the odds for so long. 

Nurse Tina returns to find Alaska happily voice acting all the roles in one of her favorite episodes, and Katya happily tapping out a song that will make Alaska laugh when she recognizes it.

“I should make you move,” Tina says. She’s got a cup of pills in one hand and a cup of water in the other. “But you two are just too cute. I guess gay marriage isn’t so bad, after all!”

Katya tilts her head back to look at Alaska’s face. “Your point.” But she smiles at Tina anyway. 

Alaska smiles, too. “Exactly,” she says, squirming to get her phone out of her pocket. “Never mind tomorrow, I’m going to start that search right now.”

[darkarfs]

This is gonna make so many horrible people unhappy. EVERY Takeover has had at least one match-of-the-year candidate on it. Some of the most emotional moments in that brand have come from cards that even aren't quite as good. I even considered not doing this list, because, by all accounts, NXT Takeover: Tampa isn't even going ahead. But then I thought, fuck it, let's celebrate, taken all together, for my taste, the best wrestling product in the history of mankind. It's not just moves; it's emotional investment, sharply-focused, character-based storytelling, intricately-performed spectactle from the greatest physical specimens ever to lace their boots. It FINALLY legitimized Western women's wrestling in the mainstream (Michelle McCool, Trish, Molly, Mickie, Jazz, Victoria, you all were stunning performers in your own right, but you and your kind were, until NXT, only given 3 minutes: the longest women's match IN HISTORY, until 'Mania 32, was Trish Stratus vs. Mickie James at Wrestlemania 22, and it got 9 minutes.), it's got some of the greatest tag wrestling ever seen on ANY brand, it's created the longest-drawn storytelling ever, it's the best of the indies, the best of the WWE, wrapped up in a sequence of shows that were epic without being FIVE FUCKING HOURS LONG.

Where do I even start...?

Honorable mention: Takeover: R Evolution (I have to, because I've only got 10) Sami Zayn spends over a year, clawing and sweating and tearing walls down, just to get to the top of the mountain in NXT. He has the opportunity to cheat, but does it his OWN way, as beautiful, unique babyface Sami Zayn...before being no-scoped by his best friend, who debuted THAT NIGHT. The undercard isn't as strong, so I can't officially include it, but this payoff, this triumph, and this tragedy represents everything the first era of NXT was, and kickstarted it, truly, onto its first golden era. So, properly, then...

10. Takeover: Rival If you leave this list feeling like the title reigns, and thus, ERAS, of Zayn/Owens are a little under-represented by it, I completely understand. After all, so much good came from that time. American Alpha soldifying themselves as the dominant tag team, the Iron-Woman match between Sasha and Bayley, Becky Lynch putting all the pieces together, Enzo and Cass actually being GOOD...it was, still, at its heart, a developmental brand at that time. It had indie megastars, yes, but it also had the likes of Bull Dempsey. And that's not a dig at Bull Dempsey, it's just that those early Takeovers were an eclectic mix of skill levels, which is what NXT was at that time. It was a place to showcase these people. That said, some of these cards were truly *fantastic.* Case in point: Takeover: Rival. Not only was the undercard completely stacked (Hideo Itami vs. Tyler Breeze over-delivered; we had the first and still SOMEHOW ONLY Fatal 4-Way match between the Four Horsewomen; and Finn Balor vs. Neville was a solid match of the year candidate), but the main event was the first step in one of the most storied rivalries in the history of wrestling: Zayn vs. Owens. The video package is one of the best NXT ever did, and the match...was a masterpiece of simple-but unexpected booking. Zayn mistimes a leap to the outside, hits his head, and Owens responds by powerbombing him over...and over...and over again, until the ref stops the match. Zayn loses nothing, because he was never pinned, Owens is made to look even MORE the loathsome monster, and Zayn's title reign ends after just a month, without the champion nor the championship devalued in any way. It showed that NXT knew, even then, how to reward fans for their emotional investment.

9. Takeover: Portland Right now, NXT feels like it's approaching the very end of a special time in its life. Like it's on the verge of hitting critical mass. One of either Gargano or Ciampa probably leaving the company after the next Takeover, and the reign of the Undisputed Era seems to be crumbling, too. In yesteryear, this would indicate a raft of very important call-ups, neccessitating a shift in the roster and a period of calm centered around more patient character-building. NXT's existence now as a third brand throws that formula into uncertainty, but it definitely feels like they're ramping up to a finale, because goddamn, this is NXT almost at a point of self-parody. Every match is so. MUCH. Lee/Dijakovic is the pinnacle of HOT wrestling (and Lee, will you marry me?) Bianca Belair breaks out as an actual superstar...just as Charlotte decides to visit and to ruin everything, which is just dreadful timing. Gargano/Balor being everything we need it to be, and also Balor pinning Gargano with his fucking dick. And the Broserweights being VERY DUMB...but also VERY, VERY GOOD. The only thing that lets this card down...and this is obviously subjective...is that NXT has almost come TOO FAR, now, in its delivery on its main events, in that every kickout starts to beggar belief. On the level of Triple H/Undertaker at Wrestlemania 28, in that I still love it, but...hoo, it can be exhausting. Depends on how much Ring of Honor you like in your gumbo, I guess, but it feels like everyone on the roster is racing toward Tampa to explode, like a wrestling Crisis on Infinite Earths, and then MAYBE...things can calm down. Just a hair. Y'know, if Tampa even...still happens.

8. Takeover: Philadelphia If there's one man that's become synonymous with NXT, it's Johnny fucking Wrestling. You know, what would happen if a meerkat put on muscle mass and became the best set-piece wrestler this side of Daniel Bryan. We knew since he started his tag team with Tommaso Ciampa that he was an exceptional wrestler, but it wasn't until Philadelphia, and his INSANE match with Andrade "Cien" Almas, that we saw him as truly the industry's next star. It was the first Takeover match to go over 30 minutes (Sasha/Bayley at Respect went EXACTLY 30, don't @ me), it was the first NXT match to get 5 stars from Dave Meltzer (if that matters to you), and it set a new bar for Takeover main events. And while the undercard doesn't live up to it, it's still loaded with excellent matches. A.O.P. vs. the Undisputed Era is something special. Shayna Baszler makes her Takeover debut, and while she's nowhere near her prime, it cemented her immediately. Velveteen Dream and Kassius Ohno have a very fun match, and Aleister Black and Adam Cole have a ludcriously stupid no-holds-barred match, featuring two men doing with chairs what no one ought to do with chairs. But as good as all of that is, it's really a one match show, but what a match, and Ciampa ending it by being an utter bastard yet again.

7. Takeover: Brooklyn I Does the first Brooklyn Takeover feature Canadian Destroyers, 18 kick-outs and "fight forever" chants? It does not. Does it create moments of wrestling happiness that are rarely, if ever, replicated? It sure does. Firstly, Blue Pants appears and helps the Vaudevillains defeat Blake and Murphy. Seems quaint to look back on it, but it made everyone SO goddamn HAPPY that night. If you're forgetting, Leva Bates (that wrestling librarian in AEW right now) was once a comedy jobber in NXT, who wore Blue Pants. Adorable. Ignore what happened on the main roster (which is something you'll probably have to do with a lot of these shows, I imagine), but the Vaudevillains were once incredibly over (I promise!), and their win was one of several beam-inducing moments from this stellar night. Samoa Joe destroyed Baron Corbin at the height of his game, Apollo Crews debuted brilliantly (again, ignore what happens next!) and Balor and Owens' ladder match was also fantastic. Also, what's Jushin Thunder Liger doing here?? Wrestling like he's in his early 30s, that's goddamn what!! But of course, the reason we're all here is Sasha Banks vs. Bayley, and...there's still something in my eye. Anytime people want to rag on NXT for being "predictable," remind them that giving the people a moment they've genuinely prayed for...is a good thing. Bayley besting Sasha Banks at her prime just made us all...so happy. All of us. Everyone. When that curtain call took place, it was so earned. The narrative of women's wrestling dominated most of 2015, and this moment, this match, was the apex of that narrative.

6. Takeover: Chicago I And speaking of feelings...hello, Ciampa, you godless fuck. And so begins maybe the actual greatest rivalry in all of NXT. It is truly an odyessy, with twists, turns, injuries, betrayals, wounds torn open, and this is the nexus point. Well, the seeds had already sort of been planted, because Triple H knows what he's doing. Ciampa almost ALMOST turns on Gargano after their terrific match in the Cruiserweight Classic, only for the team to die another day...and what a death it was. After a great ladder match, the two stand atop the ramp, and you think "will it happen?" And the absolute bastards show you the copyright logo, just to make you think the show ends there, because it always does, seconds after that happens. You unclench, you breathe out, relax...Ciampa whispers "this is MY moment" and then...It is a perfectly engineered bait-and-switch, and exactly as vicious as it needs to be. Pats on the back, all 'round. This moment alone makes this a worthwhile Takeover, but there's also a hell of an undercard. The women's triple-threat (Ruby Riott vs. Asuka vs. Nikki Cross) is stellar, Bobby Roode and Hideo Itami have their respective best Takeover matches ever, and then there was Tyler Bate vs. Pete Dunne. An absolute show-stealer of a match, a star-making performance for both men (especially Dunne), it cemented the career of several men, and was a fully-formed GREAT show, as opposed to a good show in service to a storyline.

5. Takeover: Brooklyn IV Gargano and Ciampa's battle of brotherhood, betrayal and brainwashing was supposed to blow off at Takeover: New York, but because God hates necks, Tomato Champion was out of action, making this the final singles encounter to date, until Tampa (again, IF it even happens). This is the weakest of their 3 excellent encounters (which still makes it better than any match over SummerSlam weekend), but it also features Johnny Stupid running into a speaker, because his dumb ass can't seem to quit Ciampa. It's one of the greatest long-form feuds for a reason, mirroring Bret and Owen from 1993 into 1994, with all the repeated imagery, the callbacks, the nuances, the psychological cruelty. The street fight at Chicago II is MAYBE better, but this undercard, for me, is a lot stronger. It featured the Undisputed Era vs. Moustache Mountain, aka the Brothers Shithead vs. the Proud Circus Bear and His Beautiful Son. Velveteen Dream vs. EC3 was the closest NXT got to WWE-style storytelling and was still brilliant (remember when EC3 wrestled?), and HEY, wouldn't you know it, Kairi Sane was once a character with dimensions, as evidenced by an amazing match with Shayna Bazsler. But what makes this undercard truly stellar is Adam Cole vs. Ricochet. It is so nice to see Ricochet used well, etc., but I will still never stop pissing myself at Cole nailing him square in the jaw with a superkick WHILE HE'S MID-MOONSAULT UPSIDE-DOWN SWEET JESUS. Sometimes...sometimes...things fall exactly into place.

4. Takeover: WarGames (2018) The WarGames Takeovers are just so silly. It's a silly shoebox, filled with huge, silly men who only barely know why they're killing each other. It's as close as we ever get to WWE's now-terminal problem of "set aside whatever feuds you have right now, because it's Stipulation Month!" (see: Hell In a Cell, most Money In the Bank shows, though Elimination Chamber largely sidesteps this). The other Shoebox Takeovers are really good, no doubt, but this one stands head-and-shoulders above the rest. But there is not a bad match on this card. Kassius Ohno rides Matt Riddle's knee all the way to heaven; NXT shows why 2-out-of-3-falls is fast becoming its signature stipulation with the excellent blowoff between Sane/Baszler; Sexy Mindgames Prince had a star-making match against Tommaso Ciampa, showing why he may be the best overall character in NXT right now, and sweet lord, Aleister Black vs. Johnny Wrestling. It somehow showed that Gargano was JUST AS, if NOT MORE engaging as a dirtbag than as a good guy. And those Black Masses are presents just for me, a guy who tends to like more community theater in his wrestling than flips ("I ABSOLVE YOU...OF ALL YOUR SINS!"). And then we get to the Shoebox, and gosh it's silly! The Viking Experience, Ricochet and Pete Dunne take on the Undisputed Era, and...its a fucking LOT. 45 minutes of spots and smashing, with just a sprinkling of story, with Fish locking Dunne in his cage so he can't participate in the match. Since this seems to be what this match is designed for...let's rattle off some spots! Ricochet, jumping from one ring to the other! That amazing face-off that recreates the Captain America: Civil War poster! Perhaps the beefiest Tower of Doom in all of wrestling! And then Ricochet proving just how amazing he is...with the double moonsault off the top of the cage. What a stupid thing to do in an amazing, amazing show.

3. Takeover: Dallas I get it; a lot of people might not rank this Takeover quite so high. But it might be my actual personal favorite...? Overall...? More than any other Takeover, this show feels the most like it's filled with living, breathing superheroes. Many NXT stars are seen as just indie guys whose only gimmick is "I'm a very good wrestler," making them almost anti-WWE at the core. But NXT doesn't get enough credit for being, at its core, the best aspects of WWE. The showmanship, the things that elevate mere wrestlers to things like monsters, gods, and demons. I will always like my NXT WWE-style: the best wrestling cut with the most theater, the most camp. And Dallas is that concept, writ large. Baron Corbin coming out with lil' skulls on his shoulders. American Alpha finally becoming Super Saiyan Nerds. Asuka killing our hero, because Bayley is a person, and Asuka is a goddess who can perform brain surgery with her feet. Finn Balor coming out and going actual Texas Chainsaw Massacre on Samoa Joe. It's excellent wrestling, near-mythic visuals...and then we get to Nakamura/Zayn. The most special moment of a very special night. It is, from nearly every perspective, perfect. The hype of the crowd, salivating with anticipation. That moment when Nakamura appears in silhouette, and that violin note slides like a knife across steel, to reveal the man who set New Japan aflame. Sami Zayn getting the best possible swan song in a promotion built almost entirely on HIS back. The end of his era. That bit where they just KEEP PUNCHING ONE ANOTHER. I know it's not a perfect show (Balor/Joe stops for 3 minutes to address a cut on Joe's forehead, stalling its momentum; that Corbin/Ares match isn't as good as it could be) but that all means nothing. It's a sentimental choice, and I'd make it #1 if I could.

2. Takeover: New Orleans I went around and around in my head, and this one and #1 kept jockeying for position in my brain. But these top two Takeovers are literally note-perfect, from ship to shore, soup to nuts, top to tails. So if this is YOUR favorite? (Honestly, maybe 1 person I know who loves wrestling as much as I do will even see this mess). I'm here for you, and I understand. But this show has TWO 5-star matches from the Wrestling Observer, and I don't ever agree with that. In this case, I agree with BOTH, in the North American Championship ladder match, and the first (and so far, BEST) match in the Gargano/Ciampa feud. Everything. Is. Amazing. Shayna Bazsler became Women's Champion after BEAST-MODING her SHOULDER back INTO IT'S SOCKET to show that, YES, she gets pro-wrestling. Roderick Strong shocked the world (and the System) by joining the Undisputed Era and becoming the final Chaos Emerald needed to make that stable Super Sonic. Aleister Black took the championship from Andrade "Cien" Almas and SMILED, I fucking SAW IT! And it all depends on what you want from your wrestling, but Gargs/Tamps might actually be the best main event in Takeover history, at least from a storytelling standpoint. The crutch, the neckbrace. Each man going back to their DIY roots (the tag team - they didn't build another ring when that one broke), and then sitting side-by-side, like they did at the Cruiserweight Classic. Brothers. Completely spent. Destroyed. No one but each other. And then Ciampa shits any chance at redemption up the goddamn wall, cementing his own destruction. Every. Bit. Counts.

and #1...

Takeover: New York For a whole bunch of other wrestling fans, this has the greatest main event in Takeover history. But first, let's take a minute to appreciate how lucky we are, or were, that NXT exists. It justfies the existence of WWE, artistically, almost by itself. If this one's only slightly worse than New Orleans, it is argued, it's that the North American title ladder match was TOO good, and hurt every other match on the card. It has been argued. Not by me, but this one is somehow the most perfectly paced, perfectly sized wrestling card, on its own, ever. Every match, through alchemy or magic, manages to enthrall the crowd equally, and completely. The Viking Raiders vs. Grumpy Smaller Undertaker and the Human Pinball was off the hook incredible, and that warm "thank you" feeling has translated, currently to a man trapped in a room and a man trapped in Vince McMahon's scorn for smaller wrestlers, respectively. Matt Riddle and Velveteen Dream put on an absolute fantasy match, pitting the best of MMA vs. the best of WWE-style theatricality, and adds to the complete, demented character-world of this brand, and the fact that Dream WINS against one of the hottest new prospects is so deserved, and shows that he can, and will, shine forever brighter. Then AAAAGH WALTER vs. Pete Dunne! WALTER LAYS into poor Dunne, his chops alone having you believe that after the match, he's going to run into the arena's parking lot to FIGHT THE CARS. Then Shirai vs. Baszler vs. Sane vs. Belair and goddammit how do I even expound on that without crashing thesarus.com? And then Johnny Gargano and Adam Cole wrestled for. 40. MINUTES. With Gargano as the defacto heel because it was allegedly Cole's time. And by the match's end, he had the crowd more behind him than maybe they ever had been before. Is it a bit much? Yes. Too many kickouts? Probably. But it stands as the apex of Johnny Wrestling's journey. After everything had been taken from him: DIY, his health, his sanity, even his chance at revenge...the only thing he has left is the NXT Championship. And in that moment, he is invincible, he is more than enough.

What a show. What a host of shows.

Thanks for reading, everyone.

[micaiahsilverhairedmaiden]

I took the time to do more or less a translation NOT THAT ACCURATE of the Radiant Drama CD. Since I'm not an expert in Japanese at all (I only know some phrases and words, but it seems to me that many dialogues are very clear, since they're directly the same from the game). 

So I leave you summary of each part of the CD Drama, but don't forget that it ISN'T ACCURATE: ---

☀️INTRODUCTION☀️

Dialogue between Ike and Micaiah of Scene III, and then they both say the title of the Drama CD “Clash of Heroic Ideals”.

☀️SCENE II☀️

Ike and Soren are preparing for their fight. I THINK Ike mentions that although Shinon doesn't believe that he is the best leader, he will do everything possible to be as good as Greil. Soren tells him that he will be fighting by his side (but apparently he has a bad feeling or something that worries him), finally Titania arrives to tell them to prepare to leave.

☀️SCENE III☀️

Sothe questions Micaiah why she follows Pelleas's orders if she doesn't want to fight, and Micaiah questions Sothe if he really is the one who doesn't want to fight (the weird/funny thing is that she sounds like she's teasing him), as they would face Ike and the Greil Mercenaries, to which Sothe replies that although he doesn't like the idea of confronting Ike, he will always fight with Micaiah, since he promised to protect her. Micaiah tells him that he has matured a lot and Sothe says "Of course, I'm not a child anymore", and then a soldier come to warn that the enemy has arrived, so they leave with the shouts of the Daein soldiers supporting them.

☀️SCENE IV☀️

Basically this conversation between Ike and Sothe:

SOTHE: Commander Ike! IKE: Look at you Sothe. You’ve grown a lot. I almost forgot… You’re originally from Daein. SOTHE: I’m glad you remembered. I hope it helps explain why I’m here. IKE: Did you find the person you were looking for? SOTHE: Yes. She commands this army. IKE: The Maiden of Dawn? SOTHE: Please don’t call her by that ridiculous name. Her name is Micaiah. IKE: I see. SOTHE: Commander, I… I didn’t want to see you like this. IKE: But you don’t intend to retreat, do you? SOTHE: That’s right. IKE: Sothe, before you challenge me, you better be ready never to see that girl again. Can you handle that? SOTHE: Wh-what?! IKE: If you can’t, stay away from me. You’ll get no mercy, despite our past. I’m sorry, Sothe, but the choices we’ve made have brought us to this. There’s no turning back now. SOTHE: I understand, Commander. And to answer your question… Yes, sir, I can handle that. Whenever you’re ready, Commander.

Then Micaiah interrupts attacking Ike and they have basically this conversation:

MICAIAH: You must be Ike, of the Greil Mercenaries. IKE: And you’re the Maiden of Dawn, Micaiah? MICAIAH: I feel like I know you already. Maybe it’s because Sothe has told me so much about you. IKE: I hate to do this to Sothe, but if you stand before me as my enemy, you’ll get no mercy from me. MICAIAH: … Good. I prefer it that way. Prepare yourself!

Now Soren interrupts defending Ike, saying he will not let them harm him, or something like that... The two parties exchange blows, Micaiah is damaged and Ike tells her to leave, to which she responds that she can't do that. Then, before receiving a lethal blow of Ike, Black Knight arrives to protect her, and Sothe takes advantage to take Micaiah and to flee with her. Ike and BK have basically this conversation:

IKE: So, you are alive. Somehow, I knew it wasn’t over yet. BLACK KNIGHT: Of course it wasn’t over. You were a boy trying to live up to the memory of the greatest swordsman in history. IKE: And yet, I was the one who walked out of the castle that day. BLACK KNIGHT: You have your father to thank for that. When you told me that he had crippled himself, I realized that I had never fought him at all, merely his shadow. IKE: What are you getting at? BLACK KNIGHT: I saw immediately that you were not your father’s equal, but that one day you might be. So I did the only thing I could to keep you alive… I let you win. IKE: …You did, didn’t you? I’ve relived that fight so many times… How could I not have seen it before? BLACK KNIGHT: You were not yet capable of seeing it. But I had to let you live, so that you could continue to train and perhaps one day be worthy of Gawain’s legacy. My armor’s blessing is gone, let us see if that day is today. IKE: I promise you that it will be. Begin.

☀️SCENE IV☀️

Sothe flees with Micaiah and he's very worried because she's badly damaged, but she's more concerned if Daein loses the fight. She insists that it's her duty to fight and protect everyone, but Sothe tells her that if she returns to the battlefield, they will kill her. I think Sothe tells her that he cares more for her than the rest of the world, and then she faints.

☀️SCENE V☀️

BK and Ike are fighting and exchanging words like they both are stronger now, but then Daein soldiers make a joint attack on Ike hurting him, and when BK is about to give the final blow to Ike, Soren traverses to prevent it. BK tells him to move if he doesn't want to die, but Soren insists that he will protect Ike, and then he starts to think "Ike, maybe you don't remember it anymore... but you were the one who saved me as a child when I was about to die of hunger", and recalls his past vowing to himself never to leave Ike, no matter what. BK says that if he wants to die protecting that man, it will be so, and he attacks him, but now Titania comes to save them saying that she will not allow BK to kill more of her family again. Ike regains consciousness and Soren becomes so happy that he starts crying. So Ike, Titania and Soren together attack the BK and manage to damage him.

Then they have this conversation or something very similar: BLACK KNIGHT: Impressive. You have indeed begun to walk in Gawain’s footsteps. IKE: Do you admit defeat, then? BLACK KNIGHT: No, but I have finished taking your measure. You have made great progress, but still fall short. IKE: The next time we meet, it will be for the last time. I will avenge my father! BLACK KNIGHT: Continue to train, Ike, son of Gawain. We will meet again.

BK then tells Soren that the two of them are the same, and that even though he has found a partner for his life (Ike), he is going to live much less than Soren, exactly the same in the case of Micaiah with Sothe. Ike tells him that he couldn't understand, because they all have a reason to live...so the BK decides to leave promising that they will see each other again.

☀️SCENE VI☀️

Micaiah's very worried because the battle didn't turn out as expected and she fears for Daein's future, but Sothe tells her not to give up, that they can still save their country. Micaiah says something like that although she isn't as strong and imposing as Ike, she will not give up and will do anything for Daein, I also think she thanks Sothe for fighting by her side ... and I'm not sure what joke she says to Sothe that makes him somewhat uncomfortable, but something of the style "If Ike and I were to fight again, would you still choose me?" (I'm not sure about this, but I think it's something like that 😅)

[mimik-u]

Flower Child (Chapter 12): Monday

AO3

i.

Monday morning found Yellow Diamond in her study, watching nothing as dawn slowly drew itself around her like a pinkish cape. The shadows under her eyes pooled in the soft light, and the crow’s feet edging them became stark, black, defined. (God, when was the last time she’d had a full night’s sleep? When was the last time she hadn’t stayed awake—fighting and chasing away and courting sordid demons? When was the last time she’d seen a proper bed?) Even still, she was already impeccably dressed for it to not even be seven yet. Her golden hair was swept upwards in a coiffure sharp enough to cut yourself on, and she wore a black suit in the matter-of-fact way that the sky wore the sun. Her heels were perfectly practical (thank you very much), her face meticulously painted on.

Put together but not quite, she stared at nothing.

Maybe the wall.

Maybe the minuscule crack in the door.

And could not bring herself to think about the three meetings she had today, so consumed by the thought of Blue.

Blue was getting out today.

She would assume the stage.

She would get into a town car and not go to the cemetery where their dead daughter lay.

The world would spin on, and for once—for the first time in four years—her wife would spin with it.

It made Yellow so damn happy.

And it made her so damn sad at the same time.

Blue was moving… not on, never on… but forward.

And it wouldn’t be because of Yellow.

She took an impulsive drag of her coffee and half-hoped it would scald her.

(She hadn’t been enough. They hadn’t been.)

When the analog clock on the wall unwillingly dragged her into the next minute, the CEO finally slid her golden gaze from the door to the intercom panel propped next to her lamp. She pressed one of the buttons, eliciting a crackling noise at first, before the line was abruptly snagged by a voice that was equal parts panic and equal parts sleep: “Yes, Mrs. Diamond?!”

“Did I wake you?” Of course, Yellow knew that she had, but she at least had enough courtesy to feign otherwise.

“No, ma’am!” Poppy gamely lied. “What can I do for you?”

“I need you to do a favor for me,” she said, biting her lip. She could have added please to let the maid know that she was serious, but reticence was this particular woman’s both strength and weakness.

“Anything, Mrs. Diamond!”

“You can knock that off now. We’ve already established who I am.”

“Of course, Mrs—” Poppy caught herself with a little squeak. “O-of course.”

Yellow sighed—quite dramatically in proportion to the circumstances really—but pressed on anyway. “I need you to call up to the flower shop and send an arrangement to someone in Empire City Hospital. I’ll leave my credit card on the desk.”

It wasn’t a particularly unusual request. Yellow was sending flowers and champagne bottles to business associates all the time. Even through the staticky transmission, she could hear Poppy scribbling these directions down on paper.

The scratching stopped. “And whom shall I direct the flowers to, ma’am?”

She inhaled sharply.

Oh, hell and shit.

She only knew the kid’s name and approximate age (older than five but certainly younger than twenty).

“His name is Steven,” she sniffed haughtily (to disguise her ignorance, of course). “Young boy. You should be able to locate him.”

“A-ah, yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Yellow leaned back in her chair and looked quite pleased with herself until she just as suddenly didn’t; with a sudden thought, her dark brow depressed into a frown over her eyes. (When was the last time that her mouth and eyes and chest unbent in a smile? When was the last time worry didn’t transform her entire physiognomy, didn’t make her appear ten years older—ten years more grim and demanding and cold?)

“And, Poppy?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Make it anonymous.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

ii.

Monday morning found Poppy on the verge of hysterics as she called three different extensions in Empire City Hospital trying to inquire after a sick boy named Steven.

No, she didn’t know his last name!

No, she couldn’t tell you a room number!

No, she most certainly was not pranking them!

Gah!

iii.

Monday morning found Priyanka Maheswaran nursing her third tumbler of coffee as she surveyed Steven’s guardians from over its rim. In Room 11037, they stood in the empty space where Steven’s bed had once been. The technicians had just taken him down for a couple of scans for UNOS, but even though the five adults in the room objectively knew that, the absence of the boy unnerved the air. Abandoned wires spilled across the scorchingly white floor. The heart monitor on the wall was a flat black, leering at them with its emptiness.

Pearl’s hair seemed to be positively standing on edge.

They were all in shambles—each of them, in their own ways.

The doctor gathered herself into some semblance of professionalism and half-wondered if such posturing was but an exercise in pointlessness. Surely, these people could see through the cracks, the holes in her carefully constructed facade.

Surely, they knew that she cared.

“I’m going to be blunt with you—”

Amethyst cut across her with a wry smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “You always are, Dr. M.”

“True,” Priyanka conceded with a sigh, “and so I see no reason to be anything else with you all.”

She was as sharp as one of her surgical instruments and equally as direct.

Greg’s eyes bore her down, were haunting in their worn sockets.

It was his damn child.

It’d once been his damn girlfriend.

(At the funeral, he pressed Steven against his chest and wept in place of a eulogy.)

“Even with dialysis,” she said, clutching her cup like it was a lifeline, “and even with the extra support we’re giving him here in the hospital, we’re still racing against the clock. His heart is working harder to compensate his kidneys, and his lungs are working harder to compensate his heart.”

He was dying.

That was the cold and hard truth.

Priyanka did not say it, for she didn’t need to—the unspoken words landed in the room anyway, striking precisely, like bullets, the carnage written all over their faces. Pearl’s hands on her stomach were gored with it. There was a third eye on Garnet’s head where her troubled brow met in the middle.

(At the funeral, Pearl had to be lightly pulled away from the casket. She stared at nothing. She said nothing. She stared at Rose.)

(At the funeral, people whispered that Garnet was callous for looking so stoic, so put together, so tearless. They didn’t notice her hands, how they trembled by her sides.)

“Ya gotta say something, Doc,” Amethyst said when the silence got to be too much, when the room started to feel too empty. The air around her was frenetic, charged. She looked liable to be both the predator and the prey trapped in a corner. “That’s what’s wrong. Now what’s the solution?”

(At the funeral, Amethyst cried openly, viscerally, and yet, still found the strength to pull Pearl away from the casket, to squeeze Garnet’s hand, to hold Steven when Greg had to bury his face in his hands.)

(At the funeral, Priyanka made herself notice all of these little things, forced herself to carve them into her memory, one scalpel incision at a time, as both a punishment and a reminder. Somehow, someway, she could have done better, could have been better. Moving forward, she would, dammit. She would never attend another funeral like this.)

“The solution, of course,” she sighed, “is a viable kidney, and I know you don’t want to hear that. I know that it’s the same thing I said last time and the time before that, but dammit, that’s what it’s going to take.” 

If anger seared the edge of this proclamation, it was not an anger intended for the broken people standing across from her. It was for the woefully inadequate transplant system where eighteen people across the world died every day because they couldn’t get the organ they so desperately needed. It was for the unfair fact that neither Greg nor Amethyst nor Garnet nor Pearl were matches for the boy they would all give their lives to protect. No hesitation. No blinking. It was for the incredulous idea—ludicrous, absurd, preposterous!—that even if they did find a kidney, that this family wouldn’t have the means to pay for it because health care was so screwed up in this damn country.

If Priyanka was angry, it was for the utter insanity of it all.

The madness.

There was no rationality in a fourteen-year old dying.

“It’s so perverse,” Pearl whispered into the silence, “that we’re here again.”

It was a familiar stage, a familiar scene.

Just someone else in the bed that had once contained a woman with kind eyes and a warm smile—a brilliant, compassionate heart.

Garnet looked away, clenched her fists by her sides.

“It has to end differently, though,” Greg said, a plea in his voice and his eyes. It was scratched across his entire body. It was a scar. “I… I can’t… do that again. I can’t lose him.”

It was wonder that he didn’t shatter where he stood, that they all didn’t. Amethyst reached up and placed a hand on his back.

(This was a familiar image, too.)

(Hell, it was a memory—simply transplanted into the here and now.)

“Greg… all of you—” She began and abruptly stopped. Priyanka Maheswaran was as sharp as one of her surgical instruments and equally as direct, but for once in her life, she didn’t want to be. She wanted to tell this family that their kid was going to make it, that they’d find him a kidney, that the surgery would go well, that love and joy and peace would win at the end of the damn day. She wanted to give them hope; she desperately wanted a modicum of the sensation for herself.

But what could she say?

What could she possibly fucking say?

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice cracking, “but this is all I have.”

iv.

Monday morning found Connie Maheswaran unfolded across the backseat of her dad’s cruiser, scrolling through another medical journal, only occasionally stopping to jot down notes in a tab-marked, dog-eared, well-worn, well-loved composition book. When he wasn’t pretending to be interested in his heretofore very boring stakeout, her father’s wire-rimmed glasses peered at her from the rearview mirror.

“You’re sure looking studious for it to be a sunny day in July,” he quipped lightly. Some old alternative band warbled through his ancient cassette deck as he said it, lending him an inadvertent lyricalness. Connie, penciling down donor qualifications in her neat handwriting, mmm’d in distracted reply.

“Oh, I get it,” he shrugged playfully, feigning hurt. “You’re busy. Alas, I’d forgotten the singleminded passions of youth so removed am I by the passage of time. Woe unto me!”

“You’re such a dork, Dad.”

Donors must have a compatible blood type with the patient.

“Oh?” He raised a bushy eyebrow in the mirror. “Is that a polysyllabic response I hear?”

Donors must be in good physical and mental health before consenting to the surgery.

A master of irony, Connie sparred back with a nice and succinct, “Yep.”

Donors must be at least eighteen-years old to qualify for surgery.

These six words were logical, reasonable, were only to be expected—and yet, ice dropped through the twelve-year old’s stomach anyway; a burning sensation pricked the corners of her eyes. She wiped at these feelings furiously, scrubbed them away with the back of her hand.

“Touché,” her dad sighed.

v.

Monday morning found Pearl dragging her feet against the wooden deck, her overnight bag dripping carelessly from her shoulder, a world and a boy and a boy who was her world pressing against the column of her spine. Her fingers shook as they fumbled first with her keys and then with the handle of the screen door. 

The hot, July sun taunted her pale neck one last time before she finally escaped into the dark house… only to be immediately swallowed by its emptiness.

God, it was desolate.

So wrong and so vile.

Gray light wept onto the wooden floors.

To her left, there was no Steven in a bed that was left unmade from the last night he’d slept in it. M.C. Bear Bear dangled halfway off the mattress, deserted and derelict without the boy who brought him to life with a smile and a laugh.

To her right, the reading nook in the corner of the room almost looked untouched, betrayed only by a slight crookedness skewing one of the cushions. Steven had knelt there, and Steven had fallen, and now Steven wouldn’t be leaving the hospital for a very long time if… if… if?

(If ever again.)

The dull thud of his fall echoed in her head.

It dropped into the pit of her stomach and ruined her.

(“I’m sorry,” Priyanka Maheswaran had said, and Priyanka Maheswaran never said sorry, "but this is all I have.”)

Pearl clutched her rumpled shirt and tried not to shatter as she limped further into the living room, where a lump on the couch caught the corner of her eye. 

The lump, of course, was Peridot, wrapped in a blanket and snoring slightly. Without her glasses on, she looked particularly young—vulnerable. (Though, ferocious as she was, she’d claw someone’s eyes out before ever acquiescing to such gooey epithets.) 

Pearl didn’t necessarily want to wake her, but she didn’t want to leave her on the hard couch either, so in the end, she approached quietly and skimmed her knuckles lightly against the girl’s exposed shoulder.

Emerald eyes flew open with a jolt.

A startled cat tore from under the blanket and streaked out of the room.

“Nyeh!” 

“Sorry,” Pearl apologized as Peridot scrambled to find her bearings and her glasses and a little shred of dignity, too. Once her frames were adjusted on her pointed nose, she looked positively scandalized—which was fair, of course. “Just wanted to let you know I’m here. I’m going to nap for a few hours before my shift, so you’re welcome to go home for a bit or crash in a bed if you’d like.”

But scandal turned into realization turned into somberness in the other’s face.

Pearl found that she wasn’t ready to face it; her duffel bag slipped slightly on her shoulder.

“Where’s Lapis?” She tried quickly, but Peridot was quicker—intuitive and stubborn, a deadly combination.

“Swim practice. Never mind her.” Peridot waved a flippant hand. “How’s Steven?”

She knew the litany of lies by heart now.

He’s fine.

He’s stable.

He’s resting.

He’s fine.

And she tried to summon one on her lips for Peridot—she tried so damn hard to stay together—but how could she?

How could she fucking do it?

“… Pearl?”

"Peridot, I... I—" Tears leaked from her eyes.

And dripped down her beaky nose.

And splattered her sweater with their ruin.

Something was building in her stomach, in her chest, in the column of her throat.

And she tried splaying her fingers across her mouth, tried damming up the carnage, but—

"Pearl!"

—she was falling apart.

Or she'd already done so.

And this was just the explicit proof:

Pearl collapsed to her knees and wept.

vi.

Monday morning found Greg Universe on his metaphorical knees. He was desperation reconciled, a man not really sitting on a bench, so much as he was a man being supported by one. A phone was in his hand; there was an exhaustion on his shoulders.

“Ya could have called me sooner, y’know,” Greg’s cousin said on the other end of the line. There wasn’t admonition in the sentence, just resignation.

And concern.

And grief.

Andy had just met Steven a couple of months ago, but like all people who came into his son’s orbit, found it impossible not to love him, not to care. Andy had taken him up in his old plane and shown him the stars, and Steven had shown that cantankerous old coot that he didn’t have to roam the world looking for home.

Greg spidered his hand across his forehead and looked down at the concrete between his feet—the minuscule cracks in the pavement, the imperfect rubble. He burned all over; he wanted to burn the world to the ground; he wished the ground would swallow him whole; his son was sick.

“I didn’t want to face it, Andy,” he whispered, his voice strained tight, on the verge of breaking. “I’ve already lost Rose… I didn’t… I couldn’t—”

But his cousin took pity on him and quickly cut him off. “—I know, kiddo… I know. Listen, I’ll go get tested and get back to ya, okay?”

“Okay.” He closed his sagging eyes. “Thanks.”

“Tell Champ that I’m gonna bring him something cool the next time I fly down there.” Andy’s thick Jersey accent was slung with emotion (or whiskey one), all the hard consonants broken and slurred. “Ya got that, ya bald bastard?”

Greg chuckled lifelessly. “Yeah, I hear you loud and clear.”

“Good man,” and the phone clicked off just as warm hand landed quietly on his shoulder, drawing him back from the darkness. Of course, it was Garnet, who had been his companion in exhausting their contact lists and asking friends and family to get tested. Of course, it was Garnet who always knew exactly what he needed in the moment that he did.

She was steady like that, dependable.

Somehow, he found it in himself to wonder who was the same for her? Who was steady? Who was dependable? Who was the shoulder she leaned upon, if she needed to lean at all?

She’d always been so self-sufficient, so contained and in control.

Or was it Steven?

The possibility hit him suddenly, like a train.

(He thought on it; he chewed; he concluded: it was probably Steven.)

“You can’t beat yourself up, Greg,” she murmured. Sunlight glinted across her sunglasses, eradicating even the suggestion of her eyes beneath them. “We didn’t think we’d be here this fast. We thought we’d have more…”

“…time,” he finished quietly and choked a little at the end.

(“I’m sorry,” Priyanka Maheswaran had said. He then waited for the blow, and she promptly delivered. “But this is all I have.”)

There wasn’t any more time.

There was only waiting and hoping and waiting and hoping and—

They’d been waiting and hoping for eight months now.

Garnet’s fingernails dug into his shirt.

“S’not that I want to be hard on myself,” he mumbled, swiping clumsily at his snotting nose. “It’s just that I feel like I’m failing my kid, y’know? He’s in there fighting for his life, and I… I can’t do anything about it!”

The concrete mocked him with its gray, blank face; he wished it would rise up from the ground and strike him; he’d give anything if it would clock him cold; he deserved it; or maybe he didn’t; maybe everything was all screwed up, and he just didn’t really want to feel a damn thing—for hours at a time, for days.

“But, Greg,” Garnet whispered, her voice tight around the edges, her grip on him tighter. “Look at you. Look at that phone in your hand. We’ve been calling people all morning. We’ve been fighting for him for months.” She almost sounded angry, which was a rarity in and of itself for this particular woman who so masterfully boxed all of her emotions down and away. “That isn’t nothing.”

But then, suddenly, without warning, further complicating everything he knew about her, Garnet balled her free hand into a fist and knocked it hard against the bench. Her knuckles came back imprinted with the striations in the wood.

“It can’t be nothing,” she growled. “All of this can’t be for nothing. He can’t just—” But she stopped short, apparently choked, and Greg closed his eyes again.

Steven could just die, and that would be that.

It would be their entire world.

It would all be for nothing.

The sun was so damn bright today; it burned, and it burned, and it burned.

vi.

Monday found Amethyst teetering beneath a hella big flower arrangement as she stumbled into Room 11037.

God, the container was almost as huge as her head and just as full of crap—which was to say, beautiful sunflowers whose golden petals unfurled symmetrically around dark anthers. The strain of carrying it reddened her fingers as she did well to deposit it on the moveable tray Steven ordinarily used as a table when he ate.

(Not that he did eat.)

(Not really.)

The thud of the vase hitting the table jolted Steven from what had been a half-lidded gaze to a well-alert panic.

“Wha—?”

“Sorry, Steven,” she apologized, still panting from the exertion. She then leaned against the foot of his bed, wrapping one of her newly sore arms against the frame. “Didn’t mean for that to be so loud. Stupid thing was just so heavy.”

Encumbered as he was by wires, he couldn’t really move his head to take a closer look at the arrangement, but all the same, panic softened in his eyes—became appreciation and awe in a blink.

It hurt Amethyst to look at him.

(She would never look away.)

“Ohmygosh!” he croaked in one impressive breath. “These are so pretty. Who sent them?”

“Beats me,” Amethyst shrugged, quite unfortunately exacerbating the soreness in her shoulders. “Nurse said that your secret admirer wanted to stay anonymous.”

“Aw,” he grinned, “I have a secret admirer?”

“Ahahaha, somethin’ like that. Could it be the old lady?” Not that anyone was asking, but she thought it was quite admirable of herself to show restraint enough not to go with a more colorful moniker. “She’s rich enough to send something as fancy-schmancy as this.”

Steven thought on it for a moment—lifted his dark eyes towards the ceiling and hummed tentatively. The fluorescents overhead crowned his black hair with a harsh halo and illuminated the deep grooves beneath his eyes, the hollows in his face, the yellowish pallor of his skin.

Jaundice was setting in, making a fine mockery of his youth.

(God, would it hurt to just look away just once?)

“Truuuuuue,” he eventually conceded, “but I don’t know why she just wouldn’t bring them with her.”

Oh, yeah.

That was something that was happening.

It was a hella good thing Pearl was working today.

“Oh, yeah. She’s coming later, isn’t she?”

“Yup. Two o’clock.” Amethyst glanced over her shoulder at the clock on the wall—it was nearly one—and then turned back to him, a small frown puckering at her lips.

“That isn’t a long time from now.”

“And?”

“And, buddy, my pal, my friend,” Amethyst smiled bitterly, “I hope you know what you’re gonna say to her because you look like shit.”

“Rude!” He stuck his tongue out and approximated some semblance of a faux offended expression, but his brow furrowed above his bruised eyes all the same.

These past three days had done their number on Steven, and he was a far cry from the boy who bounced in the elevator ride up to Blue Diamond’s opulent penthouse suite, and he was absolutely the ghost of the kid he was eight months ago.

(He used to pounce on Amethyst’s back and demand that she fake wrestle with him.)

(He used to play on the beach for hours.)

(He’d been so vibrant and alive and present and capable, and God, how was it even fair that he wasn’t anymore?)

“Just tellin’ the truth,” Amethyst sighed. “I dunno much about her, but going off the bathrobe and smudged mascara alone, I wouldn’t guess that she’s got a strong constitution.”

Steven batted back with a worldweary sigh of his own.

“I know,” he murmured, “but, also, like, I dunno, Amethyst—I think strength for her might just be wandering around in a bathrobe, you know?” On top of his blankets, he softly skimmed his thumb across the knuckles of his other hand, careful to avoid all of the intravenous lines. “Honestly, I think… she might struggle with even that.”

The translation was clear in his face: Blue Diamond struggled to even be.

At that very moment, Amethyst was simultaneously irritated and sympathetic, understanding and unkind. She began to pick viciously at one of the loose threads in Steven’s blanket; her long bangs fell unceremoniously over her right eye.

“If that’s true, then she might break just seeing you, Steven.”

He thought on this, too, closing his eyes and settling his thumb across the ridges of his knuckles.

She hated when he did this.

Hated how still he looked.

(And yet, she still couldn’t bring herself look away.)

“Maybe”—he opened his eyes—“but maybe not… I want to help her, Amethyst. I think she needs it.”

You're the one who needs help, she wanted to say.

(He looked so sincere as he said it, so kind and warm and believing in the idea that a broken, old lady could be saved by his smile alone.)

You don’t owe a damn thing to this lady.

(He didn't owe a damn thing to all of the other people he'd helped, but he still did it anyway.)

Take care of yourself.

(What more could he do?)

Fight for yourself.

(What more could any of them do?)

For me.

(I can't lose you, buddy.)

For us.

(We'd be lost.)

But those options would fundamentally be unSteven, and it was so Steven to be so damn selfless, to extend a flower to a grieving woman in a cemetery, a hand and his stupidly big heart to what was clearly a person in need.

“Yeah,” she finally said, her voice thick with emotion, “I gotcha.”

On that tray that he used but didn’t use because he couldn’t hold down solid food anymore, a flower head leaned towards Steven, as though it was itching to say hello.

vii.

Monday found Blue Diamond standing at the threshold of the exit (and the beginning), her long hand pale against the handle that she had been gripping for hours now—weeks, months, years.

(It’d been minutes, but time swallowed her up and spit her out back again. She was here in her penthouse suite preparing to visit a boy in the hospital; she was in that fatal night from all those many years ago, screaming.)

She was coming, Steven Universe.

Her silvery hair swept down her back in its signature braid; a dress, not a bathrobe, unfolded down her curvy frame. 

In just a moment or hours from now—weeks, months, maybe years—she would walk out of the door.

(It would be a few minutes; it’d be a near panic attack; it would be bravery.)

She was coming.