#like 15 of which weren’t on the study guide but whatever i’ll take what i can get

[merriclo]

I GOT A 90 ON MY CODING EXAM LETS FUCKING GOOOOO

[himbo-kuto]

i saw this screencap from the manga and knew IMMEDIATELY that i would have to write a lil headcanon of aone and his turtle. he is literally the most precious person who deserves the whole entire world.

i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it!

genre: fluff, wholesomeness, a whole baked bean, college!au pairing: aone x gn!reader word count: 2k warning: language

okay so you ended up being roommates with aone, futakuchi, and mai when you ended up transferring colleges last minute and needed housing

you saw that they had an empty spot and with time not being on your side, you decided to take the opportunity!! apt 205 squad!!

at first you kind of felt left out since they all knew each other from date tech but you soon warmed up to futakuchi since you had a few classes with him and mai because well-- you guys shared a room

HOWEVER!! one person you couldn’t seem to get close to was a man by the name of takanobu aone-- lemme tell u sumn about this Baked Bean

whenever you tried to interact with him, all he would do is 👁 👄 👁  or just Grunt in response

you were a bit discouraged because you thought he didn’t like you so you shied away from talking to him again :(

but futakuchi was quick to ensure you that was just his way of communicating and that he was actually really engaged in the conversation 

“oh yeah, he’s a great listener-- i talk to him for hours and he just sits and listens”

“ok futakuchi-san, but have you considered that you talk Too much for your own good?”

he gave you the finger for that one

but omg the first time aone Spoke to you????? rocked ur mf world-- what the Heck!!

you were in the mood to bake some cookies and were looking for the big mixing bowls but you just remembered that futakuchi used it to try and make a baking soda volcano 

why??? who knows but all you do know is that he put it ALL the way on the top shelf-- and for what????

but u know-- bein dumb as dirt u tried to use a swivel chair to try and reach for them

and of course it was all the way in the back like wtf curse these tall men-- 

and so you got on your tippy toes and right as you were about to reach it, Of Course the chair decided to turn 

and u were 🤏🏼 this close to eating shit but thanks to the one-- the only-- tol angel baby aone, he stopped the chair dead in its tracks just in time for you to regain your balance

“are you okay?”

you were so shook (one from almost breaking your face and two-- AONE JUST SPOKE AND SAVED YOU!!!) 

at first you just stood there blinking down at him with the bowls in your arms like hinata season 4, episode 15 - 15:37

he held up his arms to you and you blushed so hard because was he really about to carry you down????

but before your mind had anytime to roam, he pointed to the bowls and you realized with your real eyes that you were not the one to whom he was referring to 

it wasn’t long until you got over your initial iron wall with aone (…. 😏)  and he actually ended up being someone you hung out with on a regular basis

mai was always out studying for her practicals in the library while futakuchi… well.. who even knows what the heck that man is up to..

but ANYWAYS!! you guys would hang out mostly in the living room to watch TV, do homework and eat meals-- he always helped you with your math homework and you helped him with his architecture models!! 

you didn’t really know what he liked to watch but he didn’t seem to oppose whatever you had on-- however, you Did notice that whenever you put on volleyball he stared very intensely at the TV only stopping when commercials came on

aone Always ate your home cooked meals without fail

literally such a sweet and appreciative boy as opposed to futakuchi who would complain but one time aone gave him That Look™️ and he shut right the fuck up

that day forward futakuchi ate all your meals like a good boy

aone has also become very protective of you-- in high school, he may have locked onto the aces of the other teams, but in college he locked onto his close friends to make sure they were safe

one time you guys got onto a cramped bus to go grocery shopping and all it took was this creepo man to just Look at you the wrong way for aone to stand right in front of you and shoot this man a death glare that said “if you even think about touching her i’ll put you into the ground” 

HE MAY HAVE A HEART OF GOLD BUT DONT MESS WITH THE PEOPLE HE CARES ABOUT OR ELSE IT’S HANDS 

but know this ladies, gents and my non-binary friends, we MOST DEFINITELY sit next to aone on the bus and engage in the best of conversations because tHATS WHAT THIS MAN DESERVES!!!!!!!!! 

not to mention all the times he has saved you due to your clumsiness and overall single brain cell fueled activities 

one fateful day you were sitting in the living room as you saw aone come home with a whole bag of groceries

he didn’t put them into the communal fridge so you were a bit confused as to why he took them straight into his room

you weren’t one to just bust in there to try and find out so later when you guys were eating dinner you asked him what he bought at the store

he listed off a bunch of produce and then said that they were for his turtle!!!!

you were all !!?!?!??? 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 TURTLE?????? WHERE??? HOW LONG HAVE THEY BEEN HERE??? CAN I SEE THEM?

he goes on to tell you that he’s had the turtle ever since they all moved in!! but it never came up in conversation so you never knew until now

him and futakuchi rescued the turtle but when they tried to let them go, they didn’t go anywhere so they kept them!! 

so after dinner you both quickly washed the dishes, and he brought you into their room to show you his turtle

you were honestly a bit nervous going into their room-- like what were you to expect??? was it going to be messy?? stinky?? clean??? were there any secrets????

but to your surprise it was fairly clean and simple-- even futakuchi’s side (which you assumed was aone’s doing)

you looked around his room to find all these old pictures of date tech on the wall, many of them with futakuchi and mai

there was even a photo of all the third years clinging to aone like koalas on a tree and though his expression was faint, you could tell that he was happy

it warmed your heart to see that he got along with his teammates and held these memories close to him-- they accepted him for who he was and that was more than enough for you

he also had plethora of architecture books on his shelves which made you wonder why he picked that major in the first place

but you shrugged it off as you looked over to his desk

there was a table next to it with an enclosure and a cute little turtle sunbathing underneath a lamp inside

you scurried over to the tank, getting down on your knees to get eye level with the animal while you slowly brought your face to the glass  

the turtle was half curled into its shell, looking up at you as he gave you a slow blink

you could’ve sworn you felt your heart explode and melt all at once in that Exact moment

you looked up at aone with 🥺 eyes before looking back to reptile to see them poking their head out to fully greet you 

you squealed internally as you wiggled your finger as your salutations

“do they have a name?” 🥺 

“ichigo-desu...” (strawberry)

you thought your heart exploded before?????????????

oh bitch you felt like you were about to go into full blown cARDIAC ARREST MY G O D!!!!!!

“did futakuchi name them?”

“no i did…”

you literally hunched over, and leaned onto the desk for support as your heart was filled with his soft boy energy because there was no wAY!!! DID AONE JUST NAME THIS TURTLE ICHHHIGOOOO BITCHHH AHHH

but lowkey aone was also being filled with your soft energy and got all blushy-- but thank god you were too occupied by his turtle to notice

“do you want to feed him a strawberry? it’s his dinner time too”

you could not have said yes faster to this man 

he went into his personal fridge and there you saw all the groceries he had earlier that day!! he pulled out a single strawberry before handing it over to you

he walked over to the tank and cautiously pulled out ichigo before placing them on the ground

HOWEVERRRRRR!! what came next you didn’t expect at all

he walked around so that he was behind you, gingerly reached for your hand and guided you to hold the strawberry out for ichigo 

ichigo craned their neck in the sight of the fruit and started chowing down

and by God you hoped that aone could not hear your loud ass heartbeat and see your red ass face-- (you were surprised that ichigo wasn’t going after you since your face might as well have been a strawberry)

you two sat in a comfortable silence as you watched the little reptile enjoy his dinner 

as ichigo drew closer to the leafy bit, you wanted to ask aone if he was allowed to eat that part 

so you turned your head to the side to speak but immediately closed your mouth as aone’s face was only centimeters away from yours 

you thought you were red back then???? bitch buckle up cause we’re reaching a new LEVEL of red

at that moment you were no think, no thought, head EMPTY as you just stared at his profile 

all of his features were strong... the bridge of his nose, his jawline, his expression-- he himself was a strong man and you just wondered how all this soft, fluffy, wholesomeness was packed into this 192cm man

and just as you relaxed into this position

FUTAKUCHI BUSTS THROUGH THE DOOR WITHOUT ANY KIND OF WARNING JUST TALKIN OUT OF HIS ASS 

at first he’s so absorbed into his own conversation that he doesn’t even notice you guys in that position

but when he does??? it’s like those moments in animes where you’re all chibitized and you just have circle eyes and a blank expression o_o

you IMMEDIATELY come to your senses, releasing the rest of the strawberry and aone’s hand

if you could peace fade in this moment, you would’ve definitely flashed futakuchi a duces

but alas, you could not..

so you scrambled to your feet-- but not before thanking aone for letting you meet his turtle-- and RAN out TF of that room heart a BEEATTINN

from that day on, you visited aone and his turtle a lot more-- even going so far as buying things for ichigo!!

“hey aone-san, did ichigo like the squash i cooked?”

“mm.”

“hey aone-san, does ichigo like the new hide?”

“mm.”

“look aone-san! he can’t grip onto the cherry tomato!! it keeps rolling around!”

“mm.”

many of your conversations went along like that and he always appreciated the amount of effort you put into them

he wasn’t a man of many words but did his best to make sure you knew that he was listening and engaged

at one point mai and futakuchi said that “he has spoken more words to you in these past few months than he has with us in 3 years”

you were surprised but also flattered by the fact that aone was comfortable enough to open up and have conversation with you 

although it was a bit of a rough patch in the beginning, you were glad that you became a part of the 205 squad! it was you, aone, futakuchi, mai and ichigo against the world!!

[fiveisnumber1]

Timeless - Five Hargreeves x Reader

Word Count: 3828

Warnings: None

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23

_________________________

Pt 11 - Lost In The Past

You didn't know how long it had been since you started crying but there came a point where you could cry no more. The tears no longer fell and your screams were nothing more than gasps of air. You felt empty like every last bit of emotion inside you was just released into the hollow house. Wiping the tears from your eyes you felt a gentle hand stroke your hair.

"There there, why don't we go get you some food to eat? You must be hungry after all that crying." Grace says

You turn your head to look at her and give her a small nod. Grace extends her hand to help you stand from the floor and when you stand she wraps an arm around you, guiding you to the kitchen. Sitting you down at the kitchen table, Grace starts to cook while you try to come to terms with your new reality. You had so many questions and yet you weren't sure if you had the words to vocalize them.

"Grace?" You call

"Hm?" She replies

"What happened since I've been gone?" You question softly

"Well George W. Bush served as president until 2008 when Barack Obama was elected to the presidency. The company Apple invented the iPhone in 2007 which revolutionized technology by giving phones touch screens. Youtube, Facebook, and other social media platforms grew to international success during the time you were gone. The-" Grace replies but you cut her off

"No, I mean...what happened here?" You say

Grace stops cooking for a second and turns to you.

"Oh. Well, you and Five went missing on the same day eleven years ago and things were never quite the same. Your disappearances took a toll on both your family and ours. I remember that about three years after you left, your parents packed up and moved to wherever they went. They were so distraught and I don't blame them it's very difficult to lose a child. I recall that back then Diego really tried his best to track them down in case you ever came back."

"What happened to Diego? And the others?"

"Diego left the house right when he turned eighteen, and Vanya, Klaus, and Allison left shortly thereafter which happened about six or so years ago. Luther stayed but now he's up on the moon doing some important research for Mr. Hargreeves!"

"You forgot about Ben." You state

"Oh right...Ben. Ben died on a mission in 2006. I don't know if you saw in the courtyard but there's a memorial statue for him there."

"He died?" You reply shocked

Grace nods.

"Yes and that was the straw that broke the camel's back, after you and Five went missing, and Ben's death, the rest of the children had no desire to stay in the house. It's difficult having to lose all your children one by one..." Grace states before putting on a chipper voice "Anyway here's a grilled cheese sandwich!"

"Oh." You say surprised at her quick shift of emotion "Uh, thank you."

"No problem (Y/N). Feel free to walk around the house and if you need anything else just ask! I'll be in the laundry room." Grace says before leaving

As she exits the kitchen and heads upstairs to the laundry room, you stare at the grilled cheese before pushing the plate away and putting your face in your hands. Everything felt like it was moving at a million miles per hour and you couldn't make it stop. You needed to get your mind off of things. Lifting you head out of your hands you stand up and grab your sandwich off the plate and walk towards a calendar on the kitchen wall. It read November 22nd, 2013. You shook your head and decided to leave the room. Strolling out of the kitchen and around the Umbrella Academy, you look at paintings of the former academy members. With each painting, the number of kids grew less and less as if time was making them disappear. You continue to walk around as you eat your sandwich taking in the empty sights. Passing different rooms, memories replayed in your mind so strongly that it was like you were right there in them again. You could practically see and hear the Hargreeves kids running down the halls and fighting with each other in those dumb uniforms they used to wear but you knew those experiences were just in your mind. This building had become a haunted house filled with the ghosts of past memories that would never come back. Looking outside at the snowy scene you decide to brave the elements and head out to the courtyard.  This time instead of frantically looking for signs of life you take in the sight of death. You make your way over to the statue of what looks to be an older version of Ben. The statue has a solemn look on its face as it looks down on you.

"I guess you're the only one left here." You comment to the statue

You got no response. You didn't expect one but it was worth a shot. You looked down at the pedestal the statue was on and read the epitaph.

May the darkness within you find peace in the light

You wrote that to him in the journal you gave him for all of your 13th birthdays. Things really had changed while you were gone. With the cold starting to set in, you head back inside and go stand in the parlor next to the fireplace. Looking up at the painting of Five once more, a mix of emotions started churning inside you. Anger, grief, confusion, hurt. All of them overwhelmed you.

"You know this is all your fault Five." You start to rant to the painting "If you hadn't gotten mad about whatever it was you were mad about neither of us would be in this situation."

You pace back and forth in front of the fireplace, your feelings of hurt and anger growing stronger like the flames before you. You continue to yell louder at the painting in front of you,

"Oh leave me alone (Y/N) you wouldn't get it. Bullshit! Do you see what you've done? Look at me! I have no family, no home, no friends, nothing because of you and your stupid superiority complex! All of it is gone! Do you hear me?"

By this point, you were actively staring down the painting, pointing and screaming at it,

"I HAVE NOTHING! NOTHING BECAUSE OF YOU! I LOST EVERYTHING AND THAT INCLUDES MY BEST FRIEND! HOW DARE YOU FIVE! HOW DARE YOU LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"Child, yelling at the painting is not going to console your grief." You hear a voice say from behind you

Turning around you find Mr. Hargreeves to be standing there.

"Why do you keep the painting up then?" You retort crossing your arms

"I keep it up to remember the boy." he answers, "I told him not to mess with time travel but he refused to listen."

"He thought he was better than everyone." You comment

"He thought he was better than most people, not all, but most." Reginald replies "Now if you're going to be staying here there are going to be rules that you need to follow."

"Who said I was staying here?" You remark

"You have other accommodations?" He questions

You let out a huff.

"No." you reply annoyed

It was true, you had nowhere else to go and this was probably your only chance of having a home of sorts. You heard the stories of what it was like to live with Reginald and although you didn't want to, you knew that you had no other choice.

"Very well. I will have Pogo inform you of the daily schedule of eating, training, and studying."

"Slow your roll old man, training?" you question raising an eyebrow

"Of course. To develop your powers." He responds blankly

"Listen, if I'm going to live here and have to deal with your rules then I have some conditions. First, I will train my powers and let you research them but do NOT expect me to put on a little uniform and become the only member of the second class of the Umbrella Academy. That's not happening. Second, if you want me to learn something it will wait until the weekend because during the week I want to go to school. Third, I have autonomy of where I go both inside and outside this house. I am not going to live my life solely in one bedroom. Do I make myself clear?" You demand

"I see time hasn't dulled that sharp tongue and insolent attitude of yours." Reginald remarks

"Well what eleven years is to you has been like two hours to me." you retort

"Fine. I agree with your conditions and the schedule will be adjusted accordingly but you MUST stick to it and the house rules or I will not tolerate your requests further." Reginald replies

"Deal." You state curtly

"I'll have Grace deal with your living accommodations. Now keep quiet."

"One more thing. You got his eyes wrong, they're a brighter blue." You say gesturing to the painting of Five

Reginald turns to walk away and you flop down on the couch. This is not what you expected when you woke up that morning...eleven years ago. All of it was still so surreal and you didn't know what to do. So you did nothing, you just laid on the couch staring at the ceiling silently and let the world pass by as it had done already. You didn't notice how much time had gone by until you heard Grace call out,

"(Y/N)!"

"I'm here." You reply sitting up from the couch

"Mr. Hargreeves told me that you're going to be staying with us. I'm so happy to hear that! Now I have the pleasure of being able to take care of you too!" She says happily "Let's get you situated!"

Grace and you walk upstairs and into the hall that housed the former rooms of the children.

"You can pick whichever room you want!" Grace explains "Allison's room is all set up in terms of having girlier items, and Vanya's room is smaller but it's barren so you can decorate it however you want! Luther and Ben's rooms are super organized! We can always redo Klaus or Diego's rooms and there's always Fi-"

"I'll take a look at the rooms and let you know." You quickly shoot out

Grace gives you a slightly shocked look before smiling and saying,

"Oh alright, I'm going to make dinner then. Just let me know before bedtime so I can get some clean sheets for you."

You didn't mean to cut off Grace but Five's room was the only room you didn't check earlier. Going in there wasn't something you were prepared to do right now and it definitely wasn't the one you were going to stay in. It would hurt too much, not only because of all the memories made in there but because it looked right across at your old room which was now frozen in time. Passing the closed door of Five's room you walk down the hall and carefully examine all the other options. You saw that Allison and Luther had two of the largest rooms, and you were surprised you couldn't find a hole cut in their shared wall to secretly enter each others. Nevertheless, Luther had only left recently so you didn't want his room and Allison's room had too much of her stuff in it and you knew even with rearranging you couldn't make it feel like your own. Making your way down the hall you saw Vanya's barren room but decided against it because it was too small. Klaus' room was too messy even though he hadn't been there for years and you felt weird about staying in Ben's room since it was still his when he passed away. All that was left was Diego's room. It wasn't as large as Luther or Allison's but it wasn't as small as Vanya's. You still felt a little awkward about taking it but out of all the options it was the best choice. Hearing a bell ring you went down to the dining room for dinner. Mr. Hargreeves was already there standing behind his seat at the head of the table. You stood behind the seat at the opposite head.

"Sit." He commanded

You sat down and Grace dished out food for both you and Mr. Hargreeves. The dinner was silent, the only sounds were that of the silverware clanking against your plates. When finished you excused yourself from the table. As you were walking away Grace asked,

"Did you pick a room?"

"Ah yes, I'll be staying in Diego's room." You answer

"Well it's not Diego's room anymore silly, it's yours! I'll go get some fresh sheets for the bed."

As you head to Diego's room you quickly get an idea to try and make the room more of your own. Transporting yourself to your old room you grab three items before transporting yourself back to the academy. As you approach Diego's room with the items in your arms you see that Grace had finished making the bed. Entering, you place the items on the desk. The diary replica that your parents gave you, the music box, and the teddy bear that Five gave you. It wasn't much but the items comforted you. Putting on a pair of pajamas you got ready for bed. As you pulled the bedsheets down Grace appeared behind you in the doorway and said,

"Goodnight (Y/N), sleep well."

She started to walk away when you called out,

"Grace?"

"Yes (Y/N)?" she replies

"Do you- do you think you could tuck me in?"

You saw as her expression was both happy and sad in a way. Like there was a piece missing that you somehow filled with that question.

"Of course," She replied a smile coming on to her face

You got into the bed and Grace happily tucked you in. Pulling the covers a top of she couldn't help but feel a sense of completeness that she lost years ago. The house had been so empty since all the kids left, but now she had someone to take care of and although the circumstances were less than great for you she wanted to make sure that she could give you the best. Quietly, she turned the light off and closed the door so you could fall asleep.

After that day the Hargreeves house had become your home. Over the next month, you moved most of your stuff from your old room to your new one. Having your stuff helped to make the transition easier although it also made you miss your past. To pass the time, you religiously wrote in the replica diary about each day but instead of writing dear diary for each entry, you wrote Dear Five. You hoped that if he came back one day you could give him the diary to read about what you were up to so it was like he was always there with you. With some help, you got enrolled in school but wouldn't start until after winter break. Even as you settled into the routine of training and living, you still felt all the emotions that you had that first day. You knew you wouldn't get over them immediately but you wished you had a better outlet. Going to Grace one day you asked her,

"Grace, do you have any ideas on how to get these negative feelings out in a healthy way? I know they won't go away but I'm hoping I can make them less strong."

"Hmm. Well if you put the energy that you spend on those feelings into different activities it might help. You could play the piano again or you can take up a physical sport. I heard boxing is really good for taking negative energy out." Grace responds "Actually I think there is a boxing club in the area. How about you check it out tomorrow?"

"Alright, I can try that. Do you think they're open though, it is Christmas Eve." You reply

"If my knowledge is correct, this one is open 365 days a year." Grace replies

You nodded and once you had figured out where it was you put on exercise clothes. Grace bundled you up in a warm jacket and with that, you walked your way over to the boxing club. Entering you approached a desk where an old man sat.

"Hi, I'd like to learn to box." You say

"You're a little small to learn, don't you think?" He replies

"I have a hundred dollars that say I'm not too small." You state holding up the bill

"Can't argue with that." The old man says taking the cash

He escorts you over to a punching bag.

"Wait here, I'll get you someone to teach you." He says before turning his attention "Hey Kraken, get your ass over here. I need you to teach this kid."

Slowly a man steps out of the boxing ring where he was practicing and walks over to where you and the old man are. The old man walks away as the younger man takes off his gear.  He says,

"Hey, I'm-"

But he stops abruptly. The man just stares at you blankly.

"Are you okay?" You ask

"Sorry, you look like someone I used to know." He says

Something about this man felt familiar but you couldn't place it. The man sticks out his hand to shake yours. You go to shake it but when you look down at his wrist he has an all too familiar marking there, a tattoo of an umbrella in a circle. You look at the tattoo before looking up again at the man and start to recognize the features of the boy you used to know, now all grown up.

"Diego?" you question softly

"H-h-how did you know my name?" He stutters

"I knew it because you do know me. It's me, (Y/N)," you reply softly

You can see the confusion on his face turn into a softer expression. Although it might not have been evident to his other siblings, Diego was a deeply emotional person and you saw that exact look you were seeing in his eyes many times before when you two were younger.

"No. It can't be. You look exactly the same, you should be my age" He questions, the emotion on his face becoming more evident

"Accidentally traveling through time will do that to you. Please you have to believe me Eggo." You begged

He was having doubts that it was truly you but that all went away when you called him that name. It was a dumb nickname you gave him when one time Luther refused to let go of him. You kept exclaiming "let go my eggo" as you tried to use your powers to get Luther off. No one else but you ever knew of that. Tears formed in Diego's eyes but quickly after he wrapped his arms around you and picked you up.

"Hey everyone! My sister is back! We thought she went missing but she's back!" Diego exclaims to the people in the boxing club

There are some cheers and congratulations shouted from across the gym as Diego puts you back down. For so long he hoped that you would come back and now here you were like a Christmas miracle. You were more like a sibling to him in the short amount of time he knew you than his own siblings were. Instead of learning to box the two of you talked. You explained everything that you had gone through and your current living situation. He didn't like that you were living in that house with his father but he knew that he didn't have the means to house you nor properly take care of you. One thing he did know is that he was going to make sure that after all this misery you could have a better life. Even though time had gone on and he was older now you were still like a sister to him but now you were his little sister and he was determined to protect you from any harm the world might throw your way. He was going to be the best older brother he could be to you and make sure that you would not have to face the life he did.

And so for the next five years, Diego was there for every important moment in your life, always trying to support you and make it better. He dropped you off on your first day of school when spring semester rolled around and every first day after. He went to every piano recital you had and sat front row. When there was a father-daughter dance fundraiser he went to make sure you weren't alone. He trained you and coached you in boxing and was there for every single match. He planned a huge sweet 16 birthday party using what money he had. He was the one who took you on your first college visits when you were 17. He took time out of his days to practice working on your powers. For everything, he was there and on top of that, he regularly took you out of the house to spend time with you. You were his little sister, his true sister and he wanted you to know it.

Along with everything Diego did for you, you were grateful for some of the things you had gotten in the Hargreeves house. After about a year or so you stopped calling Grace by her name and started to call her mom. If androids could cry tears of joy Grace would have the first time that word left your mouth. Pogo had convinced Reginald to get you a piano play and in an odd act of kindness, he did. Along with that, your powers developed greatly under the supervision of Reginald and Pogo. You were able to do more in terms of manipulating the molecules in the world around you and were able to start seeing disturbances in them as well. Life wasn't perfect but through the years it got easier. But although you were growing up and trying to move on with your life, even after all those years Five never left your mind for a second. You missed him greatly and hated that the last words the two of you shared were ones of anger. You wondered if he was still mad at you. Each moment of every day Five still consumed your mind and you hoped that wherever he was, in another time and place, that he was doing okay and that one day he would come back to you.

Check out the side story here: 

The Missing Five Years - “Lost In The Past” Side story

Taglist: @xplrreylo @joebob15274 @insatiable-ivy @fruitsaladtree @angelpeachamber @academy-umbrella @lizziel1410 @ir3neeee @faith-quake @aliens-with-colas @eddiomyspaghettio @lady-celeste25 @im-dead-and-hurting @nerdypinupcrystal @cherry-ki-d @anapocalypseinmymind @vicassa @2cuteforyourlies @taylorsmakingfuckingmacandcheese @n1ghtsh4d3-67 @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @shadowycreationcupcake @macaroni-mads @metor-showers1994 @fivehargreevesforthewin @rinko-san @supernovavision @cicilisthebest @flickbix @hi-v-juice @magykal-777 @zosiaduda

[hhoriginalworks]

if you're ever ready | f.w

warnings: small curse

The brittle January air was enough to make the faces of children red while chasing after one another, and it was certainly enough to make any sane person struggle to leave their warm bed.

You were perfectly sane- at least, in the sense that with the cold weather, you found yourself getting to the underground later and rushing out the door quicker. And, while the cool breezes were a large reason you ended up scolded early in the morning by your boss, there was also the fact you still had to remind yourself of small things. You had to remind yourself to not put on your velvet robes, to leave your wand in the bottom drawer of your dress, and mostly, to blend in.

It wasn't necessarily something you would consider unnatural for you- hiding the magical part of your life away neatly in the back of your closet and folded gently underneath your summer clothes. No, in fact, it was something you had mastered as a kid, but simply in reverse. With two muggleborn parents, you were given the lecture about hiding the muggle side of you at a very young age. You spent most of your summers playing futbol and attending summer school to learn about natural science and physics. Then, when September came around, you packed away your dreams to be an archeologist and forgot that part of your life. You supposed there was irony in it all.

Today was another day of rushing out the door and attempting to find some sort of routine in a world you hadn't been apart of in a long time. "Oh, watch out," you blurted, the words, unfortunately, coming out faster than you could move out of the way.

"Sorry- I didn't see you," the man apologized, his brown eyes scanning you for any injuries. There was something uncanny about him- you weren't entirely sure if it was his face, which was scattered with freckles in the same way the night sky was scattered with stars, or it was his unruly red hair. "I'm Fred, um, do we know each other?"

You snapped out of your mindless observation of the redhead, blushing furiously and checking your watch. "I'm sorry, sir, I have to make the 10:15 tour at the British Museum. I'd give you a galleon for the coffee stain, but I'm really late," you blabbered on, the wizarding phrase slipping out before you could stop yourself. "Send me your dry-cleaning bill, will you? Just give it to Sam at the museum- he'll find me. Thanks."

You left quicker than Fred could ask your name, but something about you made him think he already knew it. "Galleon," Fred mumbled to himself, running his calloused thumb over the golden coin that sat at the bottom of his pocket. "She's got to be a witch, but she's going to a muggle museum."

Fred stood in the middle of the crowded streets, his mind reeling and his feet leading back towards the way he came. By the time Fred had shaken the thoughts about you out of his mind, he found himself in front of a building that his dad used to take him often. The British Museum, a place of history and culture, at least, that's what his dad used to say before getting distracted by the ticket printer.

"Hello, um, am I too late for the 10:15 tour?" Fred asked, shifting his weight as the elderly man looked down at him from the help desk. "I am catching up with an old friend."

"For which exhibit, sir?"

Fred glances at the growing line behind him before leaning in closer to the elderly man. "Actually, sir, I- I ran into this girl on the street and she was rushing to get here after she spilled coffee on me. I don't really know what sort of tour she was talking about, but she mentioned Sam."

"Fred?" Fred turned towards the familiar voice, only to come face-to-face with you. Fred scanned you, noticing your oversized hoodie was replaced with the black blazer and a white button-up. "Fred? If you're here to drop off your vest, I can take it after my tour. Sam, I'll take him on my 10:15 tour."

"Oh, you're Sam, well, thanks," Fred beamed, hurrying away to catch up with you. "Your tour? You hardly mentioned that you were going to be my lovely tour guide of the, erm, what are we touring?"

"You didn't mention uprooting your entire day to take my tour," you joked, matching Fred's lighthearted tone. "We are touring the exhibits that display history's underlying tones of love and passion. It's actually pretty interesting- have you been here before?"

Fred thought back to when his dad used to take him and his siblings out one at a time to muggle museums to give his mum a break and to have father-son time.  "Is this your way of asking if I come here a lot? Because I imagine employee-visitor flirting is frown upon," Fred teased, clutching his hands behind his back. "But, I'll make an exception for you."

"Actually, for this tour, it is encouraged," you laughed, a shot of confidence running through your body. "I don't think I mentioned by name- I'm y/n y/l/n."

Fred smiled, racking his mind to see if there was anything familiar about your name. "So, where did you go to secondary school?"

"Nope," you replied, straightening your uniform as the two of you neared where the start of the tour was. "You still haven't answered my question."

"Oh, um, yeah, I have- my dad stopped taking me after I almost got the two of us banned," Fred replied hurriedly, eying the crowd of visitors and tourists waiting on the tour to start. "Now, it's your turn to answer."

"Can't, love, I'm on the clock now." You shot the boy a wink and stepped in front of the small crowd, reciting your scripted welcome before leading the group towards the first exhibit.

Fred shook his head, a smile forming on his lips. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something about you that he couldn't get enough of. Fred faded towards the back of the crowd, watching you in a memorized fashion as you talked about the exhibit with a familiar spark in your eyes. "Y/N from third-year muggle studies," Fred mumbled to himself, suddenly remember how you used to be the first person to raise your hand and present your essays with excitement that matched his dad's.

The tour went quickly from there, ending in a room filled with vintage coins and various paper notes. "This is the last stop on our tour, and I encourage you to check out our numerous other exhibits. Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoyed this tour," you breathed, your mouth dry from answering the endless questions from a young girl and her sister. "Don't forget to check out the World War I coin with an engraving from Frank to Nellie. Thanks again!"

Fred slowly made his way back to your side, a knowing smile still on his lips. "So, your turn, y/n. Where did you go for secondary school?"

"A boarding school in Scotland- hardly anything famous," you replied naturally, the answer still the same as when your muggle friends asked you over the summer. "My mum and dad went there, so they practically insisted."

"Oh, interesting, I went to a school in Scotland, too," Fred beamed. "What house were you?"

"Oh, I was in- wait, what?"

"I was a Gryffindor, but I always thought I would be such a good Ravenclaw. I'm the genius of the family, except maybe Perce, but he was more of a Slytherin," Fred rambled on, a smirk tugging on the corner of his mouth. "You strike me as a Ravenclaw, or perhaps, Hufflepuff. I know you aren't a Slytherin- you haven't got the look to you."

You let out a breath you hadn't been knowingly holding. It was rare nowadays you came across another wizard or witch- you made sure it was a rare occasion. "I'm sorry, Fred, I have to go get ready for my next tour," you managed to say, moving away from Fred when he grabbed onto your wrist gently.

"I was joking about the Slytherin thing," Fred spoke up, hurt written on his face as you pulled away from him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm not what you think I am- not anymore," you whispered before maneuvering your way through the crowd, losing the redhead and allowing yourself to take a moment to stop and breathe.

However, Fred Weasley was a hard man to get away from. With a head above the crowd and determination that wasn't to match, Fred Weasley was quick to figure out where you went. And, like a persistent puppy, he found himself following not far behind.

"Are you okay?" Fred finally asked after lurking a safe distance away. A part of him wanted to give you the space that you clearly needed, but another part of him was curious about what you said. "I was going to leave, but I wanted to make sure you were okay first."

You nodded your head, his words surprisingly soothing and more gentle than you remember. "Fred, I'm not a witch, so whatever you thought was happening between us isn't happening," you blurted, the words you wanted to say mixing amongst each other as you spoke. "What I mean is- I don't know. I just- damn it, I'm such an idiot. You were wearing an orange vest and the ugliest pair of matching dress shoes- how could I not know?"

Fred leaned against the way, close enough you could see him out of your peripheral vision if you tried (you did). "I happen to like these shoes- George, my twin, has a matching pair in green. Now those are ugly."

You stifled a laugh, reminding yourself that whatever was happening was a bad idea. "I'm a muggle- just so you know."

"You weren't."

"But I am now."

"Well, I'm a wizard- just so you know," Fred quipped, matching your tone.

"You always were," you mimicked, attempting to keep the corners of your mouth turned down.

"And I am now- wait, that doesn't work, does it?" Fred chuckled, running a  pale hand through his messy hair. You hated to admit it, but it was a handsome move, and you couldn't help but swoon a little.

"No, it doesn't. I like you, Fred, which is crazy since I met you this morning, but it's true-"

"Great, y/n, because I like you too," Fred interrupted, knowing that the dreaded 'but' was bound to follow if he didn't. "Well, since that is all that is needed to be said, I'll pick you up from your place at-"

It was your turn to interrupt, "I'm not going out with you- I don't want to get sucked back into the world of magic. I have kept away from it all for two years, and I don't plan on going back now, or maybe even ever."

"Maybe?"

You shook your head at the redhead's hopeful look, knowing that he wasn't getting what you were trying to hint at. "I don't like magic anymore, Fred. I don't think I ever really liked magic, but the-the war. Muggles have horrific wars, but I never saw it up close like I did at the Battle of Hogwarts. I-I don't think my place is there anymore."

"You fought?" Fred asked the question more to himself than to you, trying to remember the hundreds of grieving faces that rested in the Great Hall at the end of it all.

"I did, and I killed. I killed, Fred. I watched the light leave their eyes, and I justified it by saying they would've done it to me-"

"They would've- you did what you had to do."

"But I didn't want to- I wanted to be twenty. I wanted to go to pubs and lie to bartenders that I was old enough to drink. I wanted to travel. I wanted to dance with my friends to music at 3 am. I didn't want to fight for my life. Fred, you grew up with magic, right?"

Fred looked down at his hand, processing your words. His family was so close to Harry that he never really thought about the years of youth he lost to thinking about the war. Of course, he had his business, which revolved around bringing brightness to such a dark time, but still he never just enjoyed being young once he joined the order. "Yeah, I'm a pureblood- not that it matters to me."

You smiled and let your fingers brush against his. "I grew up with two muggleborn parents, and I got to live an entirely different life when I wasn't at Hogwarts. You've always had magic, and I've always had another place to go if I didn't want magic. I don't want magic, Fred. I don't want to go back to using magic for mundane purposes after I did horrible things with it."

"But what happened- what you did- shouldn't taint something that is a part of you. Magic isn't good or bad- it's just there to be used," Fred urged, grabbing your hand. "Let me take you out on one date just to see where things go, and I promise there'll be no magic."

"Fred, I know that whatever we do, I'll just fall for you," you breathed slowly, letting the pads of his fingers tickle the back of your hand. "I can't make you give up magic, Fred. And, right now, I'm not willing to give up this life to be with you. I'm sorry."

Fred was sorry too, his hand releasing yours. He didn't know what to expect walking into the museum, but it certainly wasn't this. He wanted to be mad at you for not even trying to see where things go, but he couldn't. He knew that if it came down to it- he wouldn't give up magic to be with you. So, he smiled the exact same smile he gave you that morning, and he left.

And, when he left, you were left with nothing but the ghost of his touch and a small paper business card with the words, 'if you're ever ready.'

[hopewritcs]

drunk confessions.

pairing: billy hargrove x reader

word count: 1.7k 

request: "fluff list # 15 billy x reader?” ( “yeah, well, if you weren’t so drunk maybe i would.” )

summary: y/n has been tutoring billy for several months.  originally he was not your favorite person, but somewhere along the way you fell in love with him.  at the last party of senior year, you find out what billy thinks.  

notes: ok this is my first fic writing in second person ( you ) pov.  i was a bit nervous about it, but let me know what you think.  the majority of my fics will still be 3rd person, but i thought i’d give this a whirl.  

y/f/n: your friend’s name

stranger things tag list: @thekidsofneibolt,@madhatterweasley,@inspiredbynewt,@rainy-bookish-days (if you wanna be added to any tag list, let me know!!)

Billy Hargrove was not the person you’d originally thought him to be.  When he first came to school he was arrogant and self obsessed.  The kind of guy Steve Harrington and his friends were ( the kind of guy Steve used to be, actually ).  And you wanted nothing to do with him.  

Except you got stuck with Billy because he needed a tutor.  He didn’t want to admit it--even calling the fact he needed a tutor just that school in California had been “different” and he was actually ahead of everyone.  You let him believe that you agreed with him, but that you still had to tutor him because it would help him catch up quickly.  

It definitely wasn’t something either of you loved, but for three months every Thursday afternoon you met Billy at the library once the final bell rang.  The first couple of times he was so late that you thought he wasn’t going to show.  In fact, the first time he showed up it was over an hour after you’d told him to meet you and you were just about packing up for the day when the boy opened the library doors.  

Six weeks into your tutoring you found out the reason he was late was because he needed to drive his kid sister home from school before he could come back for “this dumb shit” ( his words, not yours ).  Immediately, you offered to tutor him at his house but he shot you down.  It was another three weeks before you found out why.  

You showed up at Billy’s door because you’d met with his science teacher about an upcoming test.  You’d gotten a study guide, a copy of an old exam from the teacher to share with Billy.  It was then that you learned that he hadn’t wanted you around because of his father.  Or rather, the yelling coming from inside the house keyed you in on that information.  You had been awkwardly standing on the front steps when Billy came rushing out the front door.  He almost knocked you over on his way down to his camaro.  

Of course, your original reasoning for coming over was forgotten when you saw the bright black and blue eye he was sporting.  

Flash forward to present day.  It’s the last party of senior year, just before graduation.  You’ve been looking forward to it for some time now.  The final party of senior year meant that you were as close to being out of your hometown as possible.  You were going off to college at the beginning of August, getting in to your first choice school.  You were beyond thrilled, if a bit apprehensive of moving so far away from home.  

And there was still the minor detail of you’re in love with Billy and

you haven’t actually told him.  

You figured a drink to calm your nerves and you would be ready.  Tina always had enough drinks to go around at her parties.  And, surprisingly, the punch tasted pretty okay.  So much so that you were past drinking for your nerves and you were drinking just to drink.  

Three cups of punch in you saw him across the party, fashionably late to the last party of senior year.  He waved when he saw you, but was swallowed up in a group of friends before you had the change to talk to him.  

Two more cups of punch in and you saw Billy jumping off a keg stand and head toward the kitchen.  You forgot about your mostly full cup of punch and started walking toward the kitchen.  You were just about to get to talk to Billy when your best friend pulled you away and out into the cool air.  

“You’ve had too much to drink to talk to him.”  Of course, your friend knew about your feelings for Billy.  She was the person you told everything to.  

You brushed her off, taking in a deep breath of cool night air.  “I’m fine.  And it’s now or never, right?”  

Your friend just grasped your shoulders and looked you dead in the eyes.  “You’re leaving for college.  Billy Hargrove is going God knows where to do whatever it is that he does.  What do you gain from telling him that you’re,” she paused, looking around before speaking again and lowering her voice, “in love with him, Y/N?” 

“If I don’t tell him, there’s going to be this giant what if hanging over my head and I won’t be able to focus on anything else.  I’ll always think, what if I told Billy.”  

“That’s the alcohol talking.  This is some dumb crush, you’ll get over it in college.  Bigger and better things.”  

“I don’t want bigger and better things.  I want Billy.”  

You shook out of your friends grasp and ignored her calling your name as you ran back into the party.  

You had to tell Billy how you felt, even if it meant being rejected.  

You weren’t going to live with these feelings bottled up forever.  You couldn’t.  

As soon as you stepped inside, you called out for Billy, looking around the room.  

“I’m right next to you, Y/N, there’s no need to shout.”  You heard him chuckle at your side.  Gasping, you turned around and grinned at him.  

“I didn’t see you standing there.”  You blushed, unsure if it was from being right next to him and knowing you were soon going to confess your feelings for him, or if it was the alcohol you’d consumed during the night.  

“Clearly.  I didn’t know you could yell so loud.”  He was teasing you, but you still grimaced at his words and looked at him.  

“Well it’s loud in here.  I thought you were somewhere in the crowd.  Isn’t that usually where you are at these parties?”  you asked, eyebrows quirking in his direction.  

“Managed to break away, needed a refill.”  Billy explained, waving the plastic cup in his hands while he spoke.  His eyes danced around the open space before settling back on you.  “Do you want anything?” 

“I need to talk with you.”  your words were a bit slurred, your head pounding from the alcohol you’d drunk and from the loud music and partying going on around you.  You figured the best way to do this was to come right out and say it.  

“Ain’t that what we’re doing?” 

“Isn’t.” 

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” he sounded a bit annoyed at the correction, but it was more of a playful annoyance than it had been the first time you’d done it.  

“Well sure, but, it’s so loud in here and I really was wondering if we could...” 

Your sentence got cut off as an unknown hand grabbed onto Billy and pulled him farther into the party.  You watched helplessly as he was lost in the crowd.

You were well into drunk the next time you caught a glimpse of Billy.  You had since lost your friend somewhere in the party and you were outside gulping in big breaths of fresh air.  The amount of punch you had really affecting your head.  The trees in Tina’s backyard looked like they were dancing as you held on tightly to the railing.  

Billy had made his way outside to smoke in the corner when he saw you draped over the railing of the porch.  Moving towards you, he put his hand on your back.  “You okay, Y/N?”  A grumbled and incoherent response was the answer he got, which made him chuckle.  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drunk.”

“’m not drunk.  Just punch.”  You hummed, turning to look at him as you ran a hand over your face.  

“You’re definitely drunk.  You should get home.  Who did you come with?” 

“Y/F/N, but I lost her somewhere in the crowd.  It’s fine, I can make it home.  It’s not too far.”  You assured him, standing up straight and wobbling slightly since you no longer had the ledge to lean against.  

“Come on, let’s get you home.”  Billy hummed as he wrapped his arm around you, steadying your movements.  

“You don’t have to.”

“Yeah well, you’re my friend and drunk.  Let’s just get you home and in bed.”  

He didn’t give you much room to argue about it as he began leading you down the path and around to the front of the house.  You’d call Y/F/N in the morning and let her know what happened, you were in no position to fight Billy.  You knew he was right anyway.  

The pair of you made your way down the street, passing the parked cars on the side of the road on the way to your house.  You lived only a street away from Tina’s and thus you’d walked over to the party.  

It was pretty silent as you made your way home with Billy.  He wasn’t talking much, but he did continue to glance at you out of the corner of his eyes and make sure you were walking alright.  You kept your eyes mostly toward your feet, watching as you continued to move forward until you got to your house and you led Billy around back.  

You jimmied your window open, having pushed the screen cover out earlier in case you got home late like this.  And then you turned back to Billy.  “Thanks for getting me home okay.”  Your words were still somewhat slurred, but not as bad as they’d been.  

“Not a big deal.”  Billy shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets.  

Suddenly, with the courage you had from drinking, you reached forward and looked at Billy.  You stood inside your room, him outside of it.  “Kiss me.”  you hummed quietly, blinking as you looked at him.  You expected him to do it, to give in right away.  

“You’re drunk.”  

“So?  I still want you to kiss me.”  

“Yeah, well, if you weren’t so drunk maybe I would.” 

That froze you in your step, looking at him for a moment.  “Seriously?” 

“Call me tomorrow, Y/N.”  Billy said, tapping the corner of your window before turning around on his heels and leaving you staring after him. 

[padfootagain]

The King And You (IV)

Part 4 : Pizza

 Here I come with a brand new chapter for this Caspian fic!! I hope you all like it!!

I shamelessly stole a couple of ideas from the movie Kate & Leopold that I love so much. If you know the movie, I'm sure you'll recognize the references.

Caspian is still very confused  and he needs a hug, the poor thing...

Word Count : 3345

He was back in your flat, and it was a rather strange feeling. For one thing, because it was where you had knocked him out and he had been arrested. For another, it was the perfect reminder that he had no way to go back to Narnia right now.

He had decided that he would deal with the issue the next day. For the moment he was famished and exhausted. He still had a little bit of food in his bag, and he would welcome even your floor to lie down and sleep for a few hours. The next day, he would try to find the Pevensies.

The sky was as dark as ink, filled with glimmering constellations Caspian didn't recognize. Lampposts shone through the streets, along with the headlights of the cars crossing the streets, their strange mechanic roars deafening to him. Despite the late hour, the city was still full of energy. It was not that surprising for New York, obviously.

He awkwardly stood in the middle of your living room, not knowing what to do next. He couldn't recognize several objects set against your wall, one of them looking like a large black mirror of some kind. Books covered shelves on the left wall of the room next to the window, and he felt grateful for the familiar sight, although he didn't recognize the style of the books and the material used for many of the covers. For sure though, they were not made out of leather…

"Sit down if you'd like. I'll get the pizza order… is there one you prefer?"

Caspian had no idea what a pizza was, so he preferred to not contradict you. He assumed it was food, but he was far from certain.

"No, I do not. Just choose what you would like best."

You gave him a confused and yet half-amused smile.

"You're talking funny. Why's that?"

"I… I don't know."

"Are you making fun of me?"

"Of course not. I would never dare."

You opened your mouth to question his sincerity, but opted for a shrug instead. Nothing in this day was making any sense, and at this point you had given up on trying to understand the whole situation.

You called for a pizza, while Caspian was still trying to take in his surroundings, and failing for the most part. He patiently waited for you to finish whatever you were doing, and didn't dare to imagine the reason why you were talking out loud in a tiny box… you even seemed to be in conversation with that box…

For a moment the thought crossed his mind that maybe you were mad. It was easier, if just for an instant, to consider the entire world had gone crazy instead of admitting that he was the one crumbling. But the thought vanished like specks of dust scattered by the wind.

He found himself on the verge of tears again, and had to look away from you to hide his wet eyes. He was more terrified and lost and confused than ever before. But worst than anything, he couldn't see any solution. He couldn't merely call for an adviser this time. He couldn't walk through the castle in search for Reepicheep to get his point of view. No, instead, he was on his own…

He clenched his jaw to hold back the salty droplets that threatened to escape and wet his cheeks. Instead, he tried to clear his head. Fear was a tidal wave now, and he had to try and keep his head above the water, no matter how many times he would come close to drowning. He thought about his people, his kingdom. Narnians and Telmarines alike needed him. He had worked so hard to create a better world there, he couldn't give up now. He could never give up. All these innocent souls were his responsibility, and he wouldn't let them down, not for as long as he would draw breath.

He told himself one more time that he merely had to find the Pevensies, and the thought didn't fail to slow down his pounding heart. He wouldn't be alone then. He didn't think that they would know how to send him back, but they would help him, guide him, and make sure that everything would be alright. He would have help again. He wouldn’t have to worry about where to sleep and how to find food… they would help him with this world full of foreign objects and magic devices.

He took a deep breath. He simply had to find the Pevensies, and it would all be alright. How would he do such a thing? He didn't know for now, but he reckoned that he was too exhausted and too much on the edge of total breakdown to consider the question for tonight. It would have to wait for the dawn. For now, he just wanted to eat something and rest. He didn't have to worry about finding a place to stay in this strange land thanks to you, and he reckoned that it was enough planning for one night.

"Okay, we should get dinner in about 15 minutes," you chimed as you put your phone down on the coffee table before him and sat down on the sofa, joining the King. "While we wait, why don't you tell me who you are exactly and what you were doing in my bedroom. And I would very much like to hear the real story, this time."

He didn't flee your stare but his gaze was far from confident nonetheless, wondering what to answer. He couldn't simply tell you the truth, you would never believe him. How could you? He didn't even believe in it himself. His brain was still unsure if he was simply having the worst of nightmares, or if he really was in another world. He didn't even know if you were real yet.

"I told you, I was looking for my friends and…"

"Then you don't need me, and can just get in the right apartment," you interrupted him, crossing your arms before your chest.

He could read in your piercing stare that you weren't buying it. Not any of it. You were too clever to be fooled by his lies, and he knew it.

What to do then?

"I…"

He looked for the right words, but were there really even any right words to be spoken under such circumstances? Was there a way to express what couldn't possibly be imagined?

He could hardly blunt out of the blue that he was the king of a realm in another world, could he? And yet he couldn't lie either.

"I… I'm lost," he spoke softly, slowly, his voice hesitant, but not because he was looking for a strange story this time, simply because he didn't know how to articulate his ideas into a logical explanation. "I'm… I don't know how I've arrived in this town, and I am trying to find my friends. Maybe they can help me go home."

You frowned. He didn't seem to be lying, but then, you weren't exactly a lie-detector on two legs, were you?

"What do you mean by that? That you don't remember how you came here?"

"I… I don't know how I've arrived in your city. But now I cannot find the way to leave it and go home either. Which is why I need to find some people to help me get there again."

"Can't you just take a train? Or a plane? And how can you not remember how you came? Did someone give you LSD or something?"

Caspian had no idea what you were talking about whatsoever, and by the way his stare went all blank, you couldn't fail to notice it.

"I… I don't know," he carefully answered.

"Where do you come from?"

"Very far away."

"And where is that?"

"Just… you don't know the place."

"I've always been pretty good in geography."

He shook his head, but could read on your face, by the way your jaw clenched ever so slightly and your eyes narrowed a little, that you were losing your patience. So, he eventually answered. It couldn't be too bad… you would simply not recognize the name.

"Narnia."

And indeed, you frowned hard, but couldn’t find where this country could be.

"Where is it?"

Caspian's brain raced again as fast as it could.

"It's… an independent kingdom. Very little. Very far from here. It is quite hard to get in. We like to live by ourselves."

"Are you making all this up?"

"No, I am not."

Well, after all, he wasn't completely lying, was he?

"Why can't you go home?" you asked, choosing to move the subject to another direction.

But Caspian here again didn't have any answers to give you. Or are least, none that you would accept. So he chose to terminate the conversation.

"It doesn't matter, not to you. Tomorrow, I'll go and look for my friends again, and I'll be fine, and you can forget all that happened."

"Try not to go through the wrong door again, huh?" you teased, and he couldn't refrain a little smile.

"I am so terribly ashamed and sorry for what happened."

"Let's not mention that again. I've hit you on the head, so I guess we can say we're even."

You both chuckled.

"Actually, have they done something for your head?" you went on, studying his forehead and noticing in the blink of an eye the traces that remained staining his skin of dry blood. "I've hit you quite hard."

"They give me what I needed to clean up the blood, I am quite fine, thank you."

"I should take a look… I have some disinfectant, hold on."

You stood up and disappeared for only a few seconds before coming back with everything you would need to clean the cut you were sure to find under his hair, along a few sticking plasters just in case.

"May I?" you asked, nodding to his hair, and he held his long locks up for you to see his forehead completely.

Indeed, above his temple, right at the base of his hairline, there was a little cut, barely more than a scratch. Nothing serious, you reckoned, but you cleaned it up anyway, making him wince as you pressed the disinfectant against the wound.

"Sorry, I know… these things always hurt."

"I am quite alright. Thank you."

You couldn't help but notice how dark his eyes were now that you had the occasion to look at them from up close. You noticed the single freckle under one of them. You noticed how smooth his hair seemed to be…

You shook yourself. You were NOT finding this stranger that gave you the fright of your life attractive. NO! Y/N, get yourself together!

Gosh… these dark brown eyes, though… You could have lost your soul in them…

"So… hmm… Caspian," you stuttered a little, tripping on your words because of how deep and intense his stare was. "How are you going to find your friends?"

"I… I am not sure," he admitted, and fear and sorrow seemed to drown his gaze again, much to your displeasure. "I will try something tomorrow. I don't know for you, Lady Y/N, but my day was full of enough adventures for one journey of the sun."

You giggled.

"Lady Y/N? Are you serious? Gosh, you almost sound like the character from a book or something… Jane Austen's type of Regency extreme politeness."

"Is it a bad thing, my Lady?"

You could feel the heat spreading through your face, and he did notice that you seemed a little uncomfortable all of a sudden.

"There's no use to call me Lady… no one calls people like this nowadays… they haven't for a while. What are you doing that for?"

"I… I am sorry, I did not mean to offend you."

"Offend me? Well, here's another weird thing I haven't heard in a while."

You were interrupted by someone knocking on your front door, and guessed that the pizza was already there. While you disappeared again, Caspian tried to compose himself for what was to come. What kind of magic could a pizza be? Maybe it was an ancient spell. Maybe it was a weapon… What could he do to defend himself then? For sure, his sword was still by his side, hidden under his long cloak, but what good would his blade be against your foreign weaponry? He had seen the police weapons, and didn't dare to guess what their powers were. They seemed to be long-distance weapons, considering the way the officers had pointed them at him. Maybe some kind of advanced bows and arrows. Well then, he would struggle with a sword to say the list. Was that the name of these mysterious weapons? Pizza?

You were back in no time, carrying a large but thin box in your hands that you put down on the table between the two of you. And when you opened the top, Caspian couldn't stop himself from raising a surprised eyebrow.

It looked like… food?

You took a slice and then a bite, nodding in approbation as you chewed on the pepperoni pizza. Caspian couldn't refrain a relieved sigh. You had bought food for both yourself and him, and he felt guilty for the ill thoughts that had darkened his mind just a moment before. He had doubted your good intentions, but now he could see that you didn't intend any harm. In this strange world, how hard it would be for him to lay down his trust for anyone. But maybe… just maybe… you had earned a little of it tonight.

You noticed that he wasn't eating though, when you were already almost done with your first slice.

"You don't like pepperoni? You told me to choose…"

"I'm sure I will like it," he politely smiled.

"Well… dig in then."

He thanked you with a nod and picked up some food, using his fingers just like you had done. An amused smile crept up through your lips. This man was definitely the strangest guy you had ever met.

Caspian first took one careful, tiny bite. He recognized some ingredients without difficulty, and altogether, he quite liked the taste of it. The second bite was more confident, and the ghost of a smile curved up his lips ever so slightly.

"Are you going to tell me that you had never had pizza before?" you asked in an astonished tone.

"Indeed, it is the first time I taste this food, but it is quite good."

You let out a nervous laugh.

"Wow… you…" you let out a sigh, deciding to change the subject of the conversation. "What do you do for a living, then?"

What could he answer to that… he could hardly say he was king, could he?

"I… work for… the government of my… realm."

"Realm?"

"Realm. Yes."

"Narnia, right?"

"Yes."

"And what do you do for your government? Or is it a little secret?"

"Yes, yes!" Caspian seized the perfect excuse to not answer the question. "It is quite… sensitive. I can hardly say much about it."

"Why are you dressed like that though?"

"What's wrong with my clothes?"

But the second the question passed his lips, he found it rather stupid. He merely had to look at you, dressed in a pair of jeans and t-shirt, that for him seemed all but familiar. Of course, his own clothes were quite out of fashion here.

"I…"

But you suspiciously narrowed your eyes at him, and he fell silent, waiting for you to speak first.

"Are you an artist or something? Like… are these clothes for a play?"

That was as plausible as any other explanation he could have given you, so Caspian decided to unashamedly roll with it.

"Indeed."

"And you play a diplomat? Like a… renaissance period drama?"

"Indeed!"

"Why didn't you just say so!" you asked with a loud wave of laughter leaving your throat that sounded quite relieved. "It's less scary than what I had imagined you could be! You're just… a weird actor staying in character 24/7, not a serial killer! Why didn't you just say so?"

He shrugged.

"Well… my profession is not always regarded with kindness, so I preferred to leave you in the dark on that part."

"Really? Even now? Gosh, I thought the world had evolved enough away from that. I mean, just look at the movie industry and all that…"

"You would be surprised," he mumbled, hoping that his words fitted in the conversation, but you nodded in a silent understanding, and he guessed that it meant that he had spoken well.

"Why are you always in character though?"

"I… just need to do so."

"Where are you playing? And then… hang on a minute… that all story about you being lost and Narnia and all, it's in your play?"

Caspian wondered what by Aslan's name had happened in his brain to make him think that pretending to be an artist was a good idea. He didn't even like plays that much, he much preferred songs. But that was not the point, and he forced his mind to work at full speed in an attempt to find another explanation… any explanation… something!

"I am truly lost," he answered with wary and carefully chosen words. "And I do need to find my friends to find my way back home. The rest… yes, it is in the play."

"Right…"

He was strange. The weirder person you had ever met. You reckoned that this was for now his predominant characteristic, far above his good-looks and good-manners… and his very sexy British accent as well. Was he faking this as well, or was he really from the other side of the ocean?

You reckoned you wouldn't really learn anything about him, and you knew that you should have been afraid of someone like him. And yet… yet for some reason – and I promise that it has nothing to do with me, your favourite narrator, it all comes from your heart – you couldn't find a way to feel threatened by him. He seemed so fragile…

There was a short silence, and Caspian decided to take the conversation into his own hands. It would help him avoid more questions, after all.

"Do you live here on your own? Or… maybe your husband will be back soon?"

You snorted.

"No husband, thank you very much," you shook your head, swallowing another mouthful of pizza. "I'm single. And living here alone."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Sorry? Why?"

"I… I don't know."

He bit his tongue. Maybe for this world, a woman living on her own was normal.

"Do you work then? If you live alone."

"Of course, I work," you suspiciously narrowed your eyes at him again. "Why… are you one of these sexist guys?"

He raised a hand in a soothing gesture.

"That was not what I meant. What do you do for a living then?"

"I'm a painter."

"Oh, how impressive! You must be very talented! I was never even able to draw as much as a tree."

You chuckled.

"Well… I'm good enough to pay my rent, I can hardly ask for more."

Without the two of you noticing, the pizza had slowly disappeared from its cardboard box, and it seemed that your meal was over.

"I'll give you enough money to pay for a taxi tomorrow, so you can go wherever you need to go," you smiled, standing up and picking up the pizza box. "I'll get you a pillow and blanket so you can sleep on the couch."

"Thank you again for your kindness and hospitality."

An amused smile appeared on your lips.

"Why do you stay in character talking like that?"

But you disappeared with a giggle, and he reckoned he had done good enough for tonight.

Tomorrow would be another day, and he could only hope it wouldn't be worse than this one. But then, how could it be worse?

**************************

Taglist : @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet @notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity @i-padfootblack-things  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi @presstocontinue @ilmiopiccolounivers0 @madamrogers @drinix @sad-orange-thoughts @mxrihollxd @geeksareunique @giggleberts @sad-orange-thoughts @aylinnmaslow  @benbarnes-world @ladyblablabla @drinix @joelynnp @wearetalkingtoyou @mxrihollxnd @rockintensse @cutie-bug @purplocity  @rockintensse @newtstarmander @shinebrightlikeafanbase  @millionsleeplessnights @goldenor5 @raquelbc2003 @marvelcapsicle @carolinesbookworld @roses-in-your-country-house

[softspokentulip]

circadian darling

chae hyungwon x gender neutral!reader

fluff, speckles of angst; “soulmate au where soulmate marks can manifest in various ways: from first words to flower blooms, anything can guide you to your soulmate - the only other person in the world whose mark matches your own perfectly. these marks can be clear as day, or they can be much more subtle.

however, in rare cases, where the mark might be too subtle, it is possible to have two kinds of marks, one of which manifests later in life. this is generally seen in cases where one type of mark isn’t enough to find your soulmate.

you are one such case. (you just don’t know it.)”

word count: 7926

          It is… 3:24 AM.

          You never intend to pull all-nighters. Some nights it’s harder to ignore the feeling of wakefulness than others. Like tonight, which finds your body exhausted from a long day, your eyes struggling to keep open, but your mind unable to just shut up.

          This is how it’s been your entire life. You’ve long since given up on finding ways to make yourself fall asleep: that one trick people swear up and down works like a charm has, at most, made you yawn. You’ve had enough warm milk and soothing teas to last you a lifetime. Playlist after playlist of calming music, rain audio, and even hypnosis videos do nothing for you. On nights like these, it’s easier (and less stressful) to wait for dawn, go about your daily business, and take a nap if you can while the sun watches over you.

          And you hate it.

          You hate that falling into bed is a gamble every night of whether you’ll get some rest. You hate the fatigue that haunts you most days; you hate the sympathy from friends, family, and strangers alike. They already pity you enough when they find out you’re markless - can’t you get a break from being poor (y/n)?

          3:26 AM glows bright red against your skin.

          Evidently not.

          A paper cup is set down in front of your face. “Rough night again?”

          You lift your head from where it rests atop your arms, tired gaze rising to settle on a familiar - sympathetic - face. Instead of answering, you grab the cup and bring it to your lips. The bitterness burns your tongue, jolting you alert. Nyx cringes from where she stands beside the table, as if she’d taken the sip herself. “Jesus, how do you drink that crap?”

          A chuckle bubbles out of you, sounds as resigned as you feel. “It wakes me up fast.”

          “You know, with creamer wakes you up just as quickly. Though, I guess the taste probably helps.” She nods to herself as you take another swig, the taste less shocking with each swallow. “Well, it’s your taste buds anyway, not mine.”

          You place the half-drained cup back down in front of you, and she looks like she wants to say something. “It’s not too bad once you get used to it,” you interrupt. “The first sip is the worst. Shouldn’t you be working?” Sure enough, glancing towards the counter grants you the sight of one of her coworkers impatiently watching your table. They look about ready to drag her back. She must follow your gaze because you hear her swear under her breath before brushing off her apron.

          “Right. Just, before I forget-” she rests a hand on your shoulder, and the ink sheep on her wrist blinks its eyes at you. You distantly observe that its outline is a lighter shade of black than usual. Huh. “Are you gonna be okay for the concert? If you end up feeling too tired that day, we don’t have to go.” The sheep’s head droops at her words, and a quick peek at her expression shows a hint of resignation. And you’re not a fool; you can take a hint.

          So you smile and shake your head. “I’ll be fine. You’ve been looking forward to seeing Monsta X for months. I can handle being a little drowsy.”

          Nyx doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but the coworker from before calls out her name and she takes a step back. “Alright. But please, if it gets worse, go see a doctor!” Her shout draws a few curious eyes, and you can see the red on her cheeks even from here. You roll your eyes, but hold your thumb up nonetheless. She smiles, satisfied, before turning and rushing behind the counter.

          You smile to yourself, too. You’re happy knowing she’ll be meeting her soulmate soon.

          Then your attention returns to your coffee and you frown.

          The things you have to do just to stay awake.

          The young child, whose scraped knee has been long forgotten, stares at you with wide eyes, equal parts curious and nervous. “Um,” his voice comes out small, but you’ve grown used to it by now. “I’m sorry you don’t have a soulmate.”

          And who said kids can’t be cruel? Still, you know his heart is in a good place - plus older people have said about the same much crueler. The sting to your heart is laughably ignorable. “It’s okay, Charlie. I don’t mind it. I can focus on myself, and it’s not as if I can’t be loved. I have my friends and my family, right?.” You swipe the alcohol pad across the bleeding scrape and immediately blow cool against it when he whines.

          “Mhm.” He responds, though he keeps staring at your hands. With a fond smile, you show him a selection of band-aids and happily apply the Hello Kitty one he chooses over his knees. Charlie finally starts again when you gesture that he’s good as new, and that he can go rejoin his friends. “Can I draw on you? Maybe your soulmate is lost and needs help finding you!”

          That makes your heart ache. Kid, I’ve tried that all my life. But he’s only six years old, he doesn’t understand that this is final yet, so you smile instead. “Of course. Let’s go find a marker.”

          Your voice echoes hollow, but he doesn’t seem to notice past his glee.

          It is 6:15 PM when something.. wet? scrawls across the skin of your left forearm. 

          The wind from your car’s air conditioner rolls over whatever it is, cooling it as soon as it drags across you, and, rightfully alarmed, you let out a confused hm and turn away from your phone call to inspect it.

          And you swear your heart stops beating.

          “What is it?” Nyx’s voice reaches through the static, but you don’t hear her.

          Because, just inches from the smiling red heart Charlie had drawn on your palm earlier today, in bold black ink and unfamiliar handwriting, - and an entirely different language - is something you definitely did not write.

          안녕하세요?

          “(y/n)? Everything alright?”

         Oh fuck that feels weird, the ink starts shifting on its own; the letters reshaping themselves, and the closest you can describe the sensation is the feeling of fingertips trailing along your arms so gently, as if in awe of you. And when the feeling subsides, when the new letters settle against your skin, your mind draws a blank.

          Hello?

          “I,” you struggle to be clear and concise, to talk in something louder than a whisper. You can hardly hear yourself, you doubt Nyx can. “I’m coming over.”

          “Now?!”

          “Now.”

          If you flinched even the smallest bit, you could smack her in the forehead with how close Nyx is holding your arm to her face.

          (And the only reason the temptation isn’t there is because you’re preoccupied wondering what the hell is going on.)

          Her eyes are so wide, you would worry about them rolling right out of her head if you weren’t just as wide-eyed, fighting back years’ worth of pent-up tears threatening to make an appearance.

          “Why do I recognise this?” She mumbles.

          “I did not write this my-”

          “That’s not what I’m saying!” She hurries to elaborate, looking up at you with teary eyes of her own. Her grip tightens around your wrist and elbow, and she gives your arm a small shake. “I believe you, (y/n). But this - this is fucking weird. Why did your soul mark develop now, instead of all those years ago? How? I don’t.. This doesn’t make any sense.” The uncertainty in her voice clenches your heart until it feels like it’ll shatter apart. You pull your arm free from her grip and hold it against your chest, as if cradling the mark.

          “I don’t know either! If you haven’t noticed, neither of us is majoring in soul studies!”

          Nyx deflates at your frustration, sheepishness clear in the tremble of her lips. You take a deep breath, a moment to wipe at your still unshed tears, and the dark letters catch your attention. It’s almost funny, how a single word could turn your world upside down. With a shuddering sigh, you bring your arm to your lips and kiss the message. It tastes of hope. “Please be real,” you whisper, voice muffled against the ink.

          Your friend hops to her feet abruptly, quickly stealing your attention back. There’s an excited fire in her eyes. “We have to go see a soul mark analyser! They’ll probably know what’s going on, right?” A chill settles in your bones, old and too familiar. You remember all too well your last experience with an analyser - which had started just as everyone else’s but ended with no good news, with none of the comforts you had been promised. You still remember the way your mother had wept as she cradled you, but you don’t know if she’d been trying to protect you or herself from the truth. You remember the unique and mortifying experience of giving your good friend the news in class the next day, how she hadn’t quite understood the first time, just like you hadn’t.

          Your discomfort must be obvious, or maybe Nyx knows you well, because she takes your hand and gives a reassuring squeeze. “We don’t have to go.” But you should. “I won’t let you go alone, but we don’t have to go at all.” You should.

          A hush falls over the room as she waits for your answer. For a few seconds, you seriously consider declining. You don’t want to get your hopes up only for a soulmate - your soulmate - to be ripped away from you again. It had been easier to come to terms with it because your hopes had been crushed so young, you could spend your developing years accepting it. If it happens again, will the pain be too fresh to heal from?

          But then you look back at your mark, at the questioning greeting on your arm, and you remember the ghost of a lover’s touch, the tingling warmth that had started small but wasted no time encompassing your entire being. Your heart leaps, soars through cloud nine and all the other clouds around it, and you have to make sure this is real.

          “We’ll go.”

          It is 1:43 AM, as you scroll through stories on your phone, that you realize you never tried to respond.

          How easily you forget the fatigue weighing you down. Careful not to make too much noise, you slip out of bed and find your way through the dark to Nyx’s writing desk, grabbing a pen before creeping out of her room.

          You sit down in the hallway, right beside the bedroom door, and pull the cap off. You don’t let yourself think long, fully aware that you’ll fill yourself with doubt if you do.

          Hello? Are you really there?

          And you wait. You’d forgotten your phone inside, and you don’t want to risk waking her by going to get it, so you sit in silence, staring at the wall across from you. What’s a few minutes alone with your thoughts? 

          It feels like centuries crawling along, too slow. You almost want to cry; were you wrong? Did you truly not have a soulmate and had just gotten your hopes up? You’d heard stories of people exhibiting false soul marks, usually caused by a soul unable to accept the loss of their soulmate. Could the same happen to those who never had soulmates to begin with? Was your heart aching so deeply for a soulmate, even now? You thought you’d long since accepted the fact, so why was this happening to you?

          Did you accept that? Yes, you’d brushed it aside, buried it, lived with it since you were eight years old. And of course you were devastated during your adolescent years, but you’d persevered. You were stronger now, weren’t you?

          Another moment’s silence with no response saw you sighing as you rubbed the corners of your eyes and told yourself it was because of drowsiness. You were about ready to retreat to bed to force yourself to sleep, but then you felt it. The faint touch of a pen tip - not your own - pressing your skin. Without another thought, you focused on the new ink slowly drawing itself out on your arm. Syllables formed words you didn’t recognize, and once the writing stopped, they began to trace into new letters, which formed words you did.

          Finally. You kept me waiting, darling.

          Tears suddenly burst forth, drip-dripping onto your arm, and the words smear the tiniest bit. You scramble to pat yourself dry, staining your pajama shirt in the process, before hurrying to respond.

          You’re real. I can’t believe you’re real. And you kiss your words, hoping they can somehow feel your lips.

          A much shorter wait before new words bloom, feeling like a gentle brush of another’s lips. Of course I’m real. Why are you crying?

          They’re happy tears. I didn’t think I had a soulmate. You take a deep breath. I think my soul missed you, even though I didn’t know you.

          Three taps appear as miniscule dots on your skin, and you can’t help but laugh and wonder what they look like when they’re thinking.

          I’ve always been here.

          And I missed you too.

          Exactly seven days later finds Nyx driving you to the clinic of one Dr. Valerie Luneiros, a soul mark analyser that works a town over - and the only one in the area who could fit you into their schedule so soon. You weren’t driving - at Nyx’s insistence: “You should be as stress free as possible.” Which was honestly a nice sentiment, one you were sure you’d appreciate.

          Except you couldn’t possibly be more stressed out.

          You’d been chatting pretty steadily with your soulmate for a few days after that first night. It had been a lot of fun, learning more about each other, establishing a comfortable dynamic. On more than one occasion, after discovering that anything that could be used to find one another would erase itself from your arms, you’d playfully tried to find ways to circumvent that. Naturally, none of them worked, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to mind. Being able to just talk and joke with someone in a way only you could was the most precious thing in this world to you. 

          (It should have worried you how quickly you’d grown attached, but again, you couldn’t find it in yourself to mind.)

          But then, a few minutes after the clock struck 8 PM four days ago, you’d received a message: I’ll be away for a while. Good luck with the analysis.

          And that had been the last response you’d gotten. At first, the silence wasn’t so bad. You still had a life to live, after all. Your days were too busy to feel impatient, and you spent your nights either resting fitfully or keeping your mind off the lack of messages with work and stories. When your patience had finally run out, during one night when you’d been unable to sleep and were uninterested in any of your usual distracting tasks, you’d written them a simple Hope everything is okay. And you would’ve been fine, even without a reply, but when it had promptly disappeared, anxiety lunged and wrapped around you like a serpent around its prey.

          Was your soulmate all right? Were they safe? You tried not to worry too much, comforted yourself with the trust that they would explain their radio silence once they returned.

          But four days is a lot of time to ruminate.

          And on top of that, a soul analysis clinic was definitely the last place you ever wanted to set foot in. The scent of sterilization and marginally too-strong citrus was too fresh in your memory, made you nauseous at the mere thought. The first expression of pity ever directed at you was forever burned into your brain, a wound once covered now unveiled and festering. You could still feel the cracking of your little heart once you understood what you’d been told, once you understood why your mother was crying.

          Thoughtlessly, you bring your fingertips to trail along your forearm, tracing the ghosts of letters long washed away.

          The faint sensation of fingers stroking on the other side brought you calm for at least the rest of the car ride.

          Dr. Luneiros’ clinic smells of hot chocolate.

          And to give them more credit, Dr. Luneiros themself is incredibly patient throughout your very unhelpful and highly confused explanation of what’s going on. They nod calmly along, take down notes diligently, and offer you comforting smiles whenever you need to pause. And when they ask if you could go more in depth about your soul mark history, they make it clear you can say no. So despite the anxiety about being in a place like this, you’re grateful that Nyx suggested coming here in the first place.

          But when they ask questions about your sleep schedule, - completely out of left field - you wonder for a moment if this is somehow an elaborate plan to get your possible insomnia problem checked out. Though when you glance Nyx’s way, ready to chew her out, she seems as confused as you feel. As you spill the details, - some of which has your friend gasping, like the time you’d spent three full days asleep - they jot down more notes and nod the more you share. They sort of resemble a bobblehead, actually!

          Until they suddenly smile wide and let out an “I see,” When they set their pen down and rest their stare on you, there’s a shocking amount of joy in their eyes, the constellations on their right cheek pulsing a bright golden glow. “I know what’s going on.” They say so simply, as if those five words don’t knock you out of orbit and leave your mind struggling to wrap around the fact that this makes sense to someone.

          “First of all, I’d like to apologize for the analyser that saw you when you were younger - and have a word with him. Every analyser knows no one is born without a soulmate. Though this kind of mark was discovered fairly recently, so I suppose I can understand how he missed the signs.” Dr. Luneiros stops themself from rambling on when they spot your confusion. “Right, anyway. (y/n), it’s not that you didn’t have a soulmate and now suddenly do. You’ve had one all your life; you just didn’t know how to look for them.”

          Your heart leaps into your throat and settles, choking your voice when you finally manage to ask, “What?”

          They nod, as if you’d said something to nod at. “As you know, soul marks can manifest in various forms, such as on your body, as physical objects, or even in your head.” And it’s your turn to nod, because you’ve known this since you could first remember anything. “Good. Well, they can also manifest so deeply within a person as an effect on one of their bodily functions.”

          You’re connecting the dots -  and Nyx must be too, because you see her through the corner of your eyes, staring at you with a gradually growing smile.

          “It seems your soul mark is present in your circadian rhythm, and that you and your soulmate’s are currently unaligned. Which explains why your sleeping patterns are so irregular.”

          Nyx lets out a cheer so loud and hugs you so tightly, you’d think it was her who the news was for. Still, you can’t dwell on it long because your stunned thoughts are screaming just as loudly. I’ve always had a soulmate. The realization fills your aching heart to the brim with relief, and you suddenly want nothing more than for your soulmate to be here with you already. You want to share this excitement with them, want to rejoice alongside them. Fuck, you want to see them in front of your own eyes, hold them with your own hands, kiss them until you run out of breath. Still, there is a lingering confusion that threatens to drown out your joy.

          “If that’s the case, then how are we chatting back and forth now?” You hold up your now blank forearm. “I thought people could only have one soul mark.”

          The analyser hums. “That’s usually true, yes. However, in special cases such as these, where the initial mark might be too difficult to follow, a second, clearer mark type manifests - generally an indeterminate but short amount of time before the soulmates are destined to meet.” They can barely finish getting the words out of their mouth before Nyx is screaming again and blurring your vision with how suddenly she shakes you.

          “Does that mean (y/n) will meet their soulmate soon?!”

          Oh, now you really feel lightheaded, and not just because of how much you’re being shaken.

          Did you know we’re apparently destined to meet soon?

          Washed away.

          Is everything okay?

          Washed away.

          Please answer me.

          Washed away.

          You know I can see you erasing this, genius. Are you ignoring me?

          Washed away after three minutes.

          Are you not excited to meet me?

          A short pause, before a dark cool line suddenly swipes along your forearm and washes away shortly after.

          I am. My makeup artist is too - she wants to strangle you.

          A response that draws a laugh out of you, tinged with relief and amusement.

          Your makeup artist? Are you a model?

          Something like that. You’ll know soon enough.

          Oh, mysterious. It’s not illegal, is it? I don’t know how well that lifestyle would suit me.

          Please stop writing on Mr. Hyungwon’s arm. You are making my job very difficult.

          It’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment, but you don’t blink. You see fragments of what must be a name - their name - and rush to copy what you remember down on a nearby piece of paper. Maybe anything revealing would erase itself, but as you stare down at the name you’d written, you figure that if you remember it yourself, then it should be fine.

          And you do remember parts of it. And it looks.. almost familiar.

          When you go to write on your arm again, you see your previous conversation has been washed away. Hyuwon? Your question erases itself a second later.

          Don’t make me laugh, darling, I’m supposed to sit still.

          But close.

          With each day that the concert crawls ever closer, sleep finds you easier than the night before. You feel better rested than you ever have. Your taste buds suffer less and less scalding black coffee, and you find yourself more attentive at your work - and throughout the rest of your daily tasks. Five days before the concert, when your outfit finally arrives (talk about a close call) and Nyx insists on coming over to see you model it, she’d sucked in a breath and covered her mouth with her hands, eyes glimmering with sudden tears, when she’d finally seen you since letting herself in. “I’ve never seen you so awake before!” she’d cried.

          (Followed by: “And the outfit looks so good on you! You’re gonna turn so many heads, but none of them are gonna be able to do anything about it!”)

          The universe, as it turns out, can be as blatantly obvious as it can be painstakingly subtle. Your soulmate is closer to you than ever before, and the likelihood of you meeting them the day of the concert is high. They must be attending from a different country - South Korea, if you had to guess. After all, you’ve determined that Korean is the language your soulmate is originally writing in before the mark translates it.

          And you feel a kind of excitement you haven’t felt in years, a rush of butterflies sweeping through your ribcage, wings beating harshly enough to crack bones. You swear your heart swells in size when you so much as think about your soulmate, drumming in harmony with the butterfly wings. It feels like your body has purged itself of a suffocating decay you didn’t know had taken hold, and you’re finally breathing through uncorrupted lungs for the first time. Flames eat away at thorns overgrown but make no moves to burn you, leaving a trail of soft kisses in its wake instead.

          It is… so fucking cheesy.

          But you can’t find a single part of you that minds. You think this must be what love is, and you hope your soulmate feels it too.

          It is, without a doubt, the most expensive hotel lobby you’ve ever been in.

          “And you’re certain this is the right place?”

          “I’m sure. I’m - he said it would be fancy, but.. God, I feel like we should’ve brought a present.” She rubs over the mark on her wrist, a nervous habit formed years ago, and it brings your attention to two things: one, the sheep is no longer a sheep, but a wolf almost done shedding its disguise, and two, the outline is now almost a stark white. The imagery is.. definitely concerning, but you figure the universe wouldn’t be cruel enough to deem people soulmates that would hurt each other. That doesn’t sit right, and soulmate or not, if the person on the other side of Nyx’s connection even thinks about trying anything, you’re not afraid of setting them and the universe straight.

          Anyway, you shift your focus to gauging her reaction. She seems seconds away from exploding, but the fuse is lit with both awe and insecurity, so you’re unsure which will set her off first. “We’re fine, Nyx. Let’s just find our room, okay?” When she nods, you head towards the grand staircase in the center of the room, your bags having been taken care of by an actual bellhop. You can’t help but awe at the chandelier casting an elegant golden light, shadows dancing in the corners of the lobby and adjacent halls. Carefully polished marble floor peeks out from the edges of the intricately patterned scarlet carpet, like you’re a movie star attending a high class debut. You absolutely don’t want to find out how much it costs to stay for the two days and nights her friend had paid for. Nyx had insisted it’d be all right to share, apparently, which led you to believe he’d been willing to pay that time for two rooms. “I couldn’t dream of affording this, holy shit.”

          “Please don’t remind me,” she almost whimpered. “I might throw up on all this rich stuff, and then we’d really be in trouble.” Her thumb traced over her mark, and the wolf followed her touch. “I’ll talk to him once we get to our room.”

          “Right. Let’s just focus on getting situated.”

          That night, at about 10:15 PM, despite how tired you are (and the refreshing lack of underlying wakefulness), you manage to write to them.

          So.

          So?

          I think we’re going to meet tomorrow.

          Is there something special about tomorrow?

          Kind of. And I have an idea I need to fly by you.

          I’m listening, darling.

          I want to draw something on my cheek. Something only we would understand.

          Interesting. And I assume you want to keep it on all day? Meaning that so will I.

          Right. Are you in?

          Definitely. I’ll find you tomorrow.

          Not if I find you first ♥

          Shit, that sounded creepy.

          Just a little hahaha

          Nyx won’t stop inspecting your face, and it’s honestly making you feel more unsure about the whole idea than you’d like to be.

          “Why did you write that?”

          You hum, trying to appear calmer than you feel. “For fun.” A silence stretches between you - and glancing at her through the reflection shows you her furrowed eyebrows and small pout. “What, you’ve made worse jokes.” Her response is an instant huff as she crossed her arms over her chest, and there’s a huge visual contrast between her all-dark and mature outfit and the bratty puff of her cheeks. The urge to pinch those cheeks grows, but you doubt she’d appreciate that, so you stay your hand.

          “Whatever, my jokes are great.” There’s a playful whine in her voice, and you know she’s not taking the conversation seriously. “Now come on, we have to get there soon if we want to check out the merch! Oh, and to see if there’s any fun little events they have planned!” Her “sour mood” brightens in seconds, and she’s rushing to make sure everything is ready to go. Your gaze returns to your reflection, the fondness in your eyes when you stare at your handiwork not alarming you as much as it would’ve a few weeks ago. Carefully written out in black face paint, you have your way to identify your soulmate.

          Hyuwon.

          On the drive to the concert hall, words slowly form on your arm that brings laughter to your lips.

          I should’ve expected this. You’re ridiculous, darling.

          I can’t wait to tell you in person.

          That I’m ridiculous? How kind of you.

          That I love you.

          Hours later, maybe a minute or two after it hits 6 PM, and you’re contemplating what sort of soft pretzel to buy, a drop dead gorgeous concertgoer catches your attention by extending a handkerchief towards you. Confused, you inspect the soft fabric before taking it. “Thanks?” You wonder as you start to pocket it, but they stop you with a laugh and a shake of their head.

          “Your makeup’s running a little bit.” To emphasize their point, they tap their cheek.

          “My makeup?” Your free hand instinctively imitates their gesture, but nothing stains your fingertips. “What do you-” and it clicks so suddenly, your breath hitches mid-sentence. The Monbebe’s expression flashes bewilderment and your heart plummets, falling so abruptly that you can’t catch it. You shove the handkerchief back into their hands and sprint to the nearest bathroom, forgetting about how long you’d had to wait to be so close to the front of the line. You barely get out an excuse me before you’re gripping the edges of a sink and gazing at your own reflection in one of the many mirrors.

          Just in time to see the final letters of what had once been there vanishing.

          Ten minutes before the concert starts, as you sit surrounded by the overwhelming energy of hundreds of people, something cold presses your arm.

          I’m sorry.

          Six minutes later, you bring yourself to respond.

          I guess I was wrong.

          ?

          Two more minutes and your arm is wiped clean. Nyx cheers happily beside you, and you smile when she looks your way.

          We aren’t going to meet today.

          The lights dim before you can see if your words are gone.

          Nyx says something you don’t hear over the screams and music.

          “What?” You call, unable to even hear your own voice, and she points towards the stage. Sure enough, when you look back, all of Monsta X is up there, each of them dancing incredibly, and you lose yourself in awe for a moment. One of the taller members radiates such effortless grace, even when he sings, and you can’t drag your attention away from him. His gaze sweeps over your area, almost as if he could sense your own stare, and he makes eye contact for a second. It somehow feels longer, and there’s a calm that falls over you as you smile back at him, waving without a second thought. He must get embarrassed, because you barely see his (indescribably adorable) smile before he’s turning his head away - and then the choreography carries him to the other side of the stage, and you’re reminded that Nyx had been trying to say something.

          When you shift your focus back to her, she’s leaning much closer and gesturing between her arm and the member who’d just looked at you - you think. You glance at her arm, and through the strobe lights, you see the wolf on her wrist has rid itself entirely of its sheep costume and is now completely white, with colors seeping into the inner edges of its shape. It wags its tail and seems to bark towards the stage. “Holy shit, Nyx!”

          It seems that wasn’t what she was trying to point out, because you see more than hear her groan as she briefly checks her arm. Then she stops before she can look back up - no screaming, no jumping around, no frustration at your not being able to hear her. Nothing. “Nyx?” You brace yourself to catch her just in case, but she stands still, unwavering, gaze slowly lifting to the stage.

          The song ends, and as you move to follow her line of sight, you see one member - not the one from before - looking back this way before the lights fade out.

          After the concert ends, the world comes crashing down as you wait to get out of the parking lot.

          You’re stuck waiting in a too-long line of other cars all trying to get out too, humming the last performed song under your breath and thinking about the man you’d waved at. As much as you tried not to focus solely on him for the rest of the concert, you’d found your gaze repeatedly drawn to him. There was just something that clicked in your head when you watched him, a serenity you’d never felt before (and one you hadn’t expected to feel at a concert, of all places). And more than once, you’d caught him stealing glances towards your side of the stage, though you hadn’t made eye contact again.

          Nyx hiccups, and it draws you out of your thoughts. You don’t need to look at her to know she’s all cried out. “How am I ever going to meet him?” She whispers, more to herself than for you, and your heart stills.

          The disappointment from earlier rears its head. You’d really been hoping to find your soulmate today. They’d agreed to go along with your idea - hell, they’d loved it, if their reaction was anything to go by. So why didn’t they follow through? Had they gotten cold feet? Did they not feel ready to meet yet?

          As you waited, moving your car along inch by agonizing inch, the disappointment slowly gave way to heavy-hearted understanding. A part of you had been anxious at the mere thought of meeting them all day, and though no part of you felt relieved when the word vanished, you were starting to rationalize: maybe it was better this way. Maybe you both just needed more time to get to know each other. Maybe it would be better to decide when you would meet, to discuss and have time to prepare for it. It wouldn’t be so bad, you reasoned, waiting a little longer. You’d been “soulmate-less” most of your life - what was waiting to meet them a few more days, weeks, months?

          (Not years. Years would be too much to handle.)

          (You’d really miss being able to sleep easily, though.)

          “What is meant to be, will be.”

          In the passenger seat, Nyx sighs. “Right.”

          Right.

          It takes thirty minutes to finally reach the hotel, despite what had been a mere five minute drive this morning. Leaving a concert was a nightmare, you decided.

          “My legs ache.” She croaked as she tried to massage her thigh.

          The image of her jumping excitedly about during the concert makes you chuckle. “Would you look at that, if it isn’t the consequences of your own actions.”

          Her eyes are almost entirely shut when she glares at you, and you know she’s nursing a headache. “Shush. Carry me?” As she asks, she lifts her arms towards you as if you’d already agreed.

          “No way,” you shoot her down, even though you crouch in front of her. A small cheerful noise comes out of her as she rests against your back, and you grab her thighs as she wraps her legs around your waist. Once she’s situated, you stand back up and start carefully climbing the pompous grand staircase (you hadn’t been able to find the damn elevator). The bag she holds swings back and forth at the movement, and you lift your chin to avoid getting smacked. “We have Tylenol in our room, take it once we get there.”

          “Thank you!”

          You regret the decision to carry her up all the stairs to reach the floor of your room.

          Nyx’s voice is muffled from where you lay with your face pressed into your pillow. “I’m so sorry. I really thought you were gonna put me down at some point.” You raise your head when she presses something cold to your hand and you say a small thank you before taking the water bottle she offers. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

          You drink until there’s a slight discomfort in your stomach, then you set the bottle aside and push yourself to sit up. You need to get yourself cleaned up. “I’m fine, just tired. I’m gonna go take a shower, then I’ll probably pass out or something.” You gather your pajamas and make your way towards the bathroom, and pause. With a glance back at her, you see her staring down at her mark, a colorful wolf sleepily curled around her wrist. “You’re meeting your online friend soon, aren’t you?”

          She perks up, her gaze lifting to settle on you. “Yeah! He’s exhausted and I am too, and since we’re here for two days, we agreed to meet tomorrow.”

          As you close the bathroom door behind you, you hear a knock at the door.

          Thankfully, you had a mind to get dressed in the bathroom, because when you step out, there’s a stranger casually conversing with Nyx.

          “Hello?” You wave your hand to catch their attention, and when they look at you, they both quickly erupt into shit-eating grins. That’s an expression you know means mischief, so you prepare to slip back into the bathroom and pretend to never have come out, but Nyx is jumping to her feet and hurrying to grab your hands before you do.

          “(y/n), this is my soulmate!”

          Suspicion melts away, and you smile at the two of them. “Whoa, congratulations! How did -” Getting another look at him, you realize it really is a member of Monsta X. No wonder she wasn’t sure if she’d meet them. “How did he find you?”

          She turns to look at him over her shoulder, and even though you can’t see her expression, you just know that it’s full of love. He smiles back at her so softly, like he’s been doing it all his life, and as happy as you are for them, you can’t help but feel like an intruder.

          You’re glad to see her so happy, really, you are.

          But if you have to spend one more minute in a room with these two when the sting of not having met your own soulmate is still too fresh, you’re gonna burst.

          “You don’t have to go, really.” The apology is clear on her face. Behind her, her soulmate - Changkyun, he’d introduced himself - glanced between you and his phone, typing something you vaguely suspect may be about you. You’d asked earlier if there was something on your cheek, since he kept glancing at it, but he’d shaken his head and smiled at Nyx, as if there was a joke you weren’t in on. “Please don’t go just sit next to the vending machine. I feel terrible.”

          “You don’t have to,” Changkyun pipes up, setting his phone down on his lap and focusing on you two. “I have a friend who wouldn’t mind you hanging out in his room.”

          “Maybe not, but I won’t intrude on a stranger. Besides, I can think of a lot of people who would mind me hanging out with someone from Monsta X so casually.” At that, he snickers, conceding you the point. “I’ll be okay, really. There are some seats and tables set up near the vending machine. I’m not gonna be sitting on the floor. You two have fun, yeah?” You turn to head down the hall - and stop. “Well, not too much fun, please, I have to sleep he-”

          The door slams shut, but you can still hear Changkyun’s laughter, muffled as it is.

          At 11:59 PM exactly, as you’re watching the decent quality videos you’d taken earlier, the familiar sensation of new ink writing itself out on your arm steals your attention. The words translate faster than ever.

          I told you I’d find you today.

          You can’t help the scoff that slips out, but while you’re reaching for your own pen, the most melodic laugh to ever grace your ears sounds off from in front of you and your breath catches in your throat. Footsteps slowly approach you, whoever it is (you know who it is) stops just as their legs come into your field of vision. When they crouch, you still can’t quite see their face, but you recognize the outfit (you know who this is). A hand grabs your own, their long fingers tracing shapes over your skin, reaching up until they touch the words (their words - and it feels just like the ink reshaping itself, but so much better because it’s real). You let out a shaky sigh when their other hand gently tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You can look at me.” A soothing voice whispers, as if they’re as in awe of you as you are of them, and like the sailor allured by the siren, you happily obey.

          The first thing you focus on is the fondness swimming deep in his dark brown eyes, and it takes a moment for you to register: that fondness is for you. His lips, plush and pink and oh so kissable are drawn into a soft smile, his head tilted slightly as he tries to get a better look at you. The hair that falls over his eyes is beautiful and so fluffy, you wonder how it would feel to run your hands through it (and pretend not to get flustered at your own train of thought). His touch spreads warmth throughout your body, your heart beating so much faster than is probably healthy, but you really don’t mind. On his own arm, you spot Korean words you’ve never written before, and yet you recognize it as your own handwriting.

          He ducks his head a little more, gently coaxing you to look into his eyes again - and holy shit, you recognize him. This is the man from the concert, the one who’d looked at you, the one with the adorable smile and the aura of natural grace.

          And there’s that instant, easy tranquility falling over you again.

          “I’m sorry.” The hand not holding yours strokes a knuckle over your cheek, the slight furrow of his brows regretful, and you understand what he means. (And you don’t like that almost melancholy look in his eyes.) A smile that mirrors his own tugs at your lips, and you shake your head slowly as you tentatively interlace yours and his fingers. A faint pink kisses his cheeks, and when he flickers his gaze up to lock with yours, you swear there are galaxies lost in his eyes.

          Your heart falls again, but this time he’s there to catch it. “It’s okay,” he perks at the sound of his voice, and when his smile softens even more and he looks absolutely smitten, you wonder if that’s how you look, too. “Your makeup artist..?” He nods with a sigh of relief that brushes against your lips. Your cheek grows warmer, which you just know he can feel beneath his hand. (Sure enough, his little chuckle confirms your thoughts.)

          His smile somehow grows fonder, and you know you’re in love.

          “My name is Hyungwon. Not-” he interrupts himself with a quiet laugh that you lean forward to hear better, nearly pressing your foreheads together. “Hyuwon.”

          Laughter comes as easily with him in front of you as it did when he was miles away. “Okay. My name is (y/n.)”

          After heading back to his room (which he promised he’s not sharing, so it'd be just the two of you), you lose track of time from how much you guys talk, or just bask in the pure joy of having finally united. However, your body doesn’t.

          You don’t expect the yawn that parts your lips, and he says something that sounds a bit like cute. “Tired?” At your nod, he hums before falling into curious silence. (Just as you expected, he looks breathtakingly cute when he’s thinking, his lips forming a small pout as he stares passed you.) Once he must find what he wants to say, he shifts away from the center of the bed and pulls the covers back, patting the mattress. “Sleep with me?”

          The offer sincerely warms your heart, the butterflies beating harder against your ribs, and you have no chance to stop the wide smile that comes to your face as you stare at him. I love you so much already, your mind sighs. Your chest feels tight, your heart aches so sweetly, and you don’t mind any of it. The soft yellow of the lamp on his bedside table casts him in an angel’s glow, and not for the first time since you met him, you awe at his beauty. How lucky I am, you muse as you nod and carefully lay yourself down in the spot he’s left you, that you are my soulmate, Hyungwon.

          Hyungwon’s posture stiffens a second before he relaxes. He leans over you to turn the lamp off, the trace scent of jasmine and home gently embracing you, and you close your eyes. The light clicks off, he shifts back into his place beside you, and a comfortable silence falls around you. For a few minutes, there’s hardly any movement or sound, just the soft hissing of the humidifier and your own breathing.

          The feel of his hand wrapping around yours underneath the blankets startles you half to death. You turn to peer at him through the darkness - only to find he’s already staring at you, his lips quirking into a smile when you make eye contact. He pulls you closer by your joined hands until your faces are so close, your breaths intermingle between you, and then he brings your hand to his lips. The kiss he presses into your skin is delicate and loving, unbelievably so, and when his gaze flickers from your knuckles to your eyes, you nearly gasp at the raw affection you see in them.

          “Goodnight, 자기야.”

          Though the word sounds unfamiliar, it still warms your heart all the same. “Say that again.”

          He raises an eyebrow, his smile turning amused. “자기야?”

          “Ja - gi - yah?” You repeat slowly, looking at him to see if you’d said it right. He laughs under his breath, but it’s a fond noise. He props himself onto his elbow and reaches across from you again, grabbing a nearby pen and quickly scribbling it down on his arm. As expected, when you glance at your own arm, the word has written itself out - and rather quickly translated itself.

          Darling.

          Your heart just about melts. As you turn to stare at him again, he chooses that moment to lean down and press a kiss against your cheek. “Goodnight, 자기야.”

          “Goodnight,” you breathe, almost stunned into silence when you meet his eyes.

          I love you, they promise.

          It’s the best sleep you’ve had in your life.

[fluffy-marshmallow-heart]

Secret Studies ch.15 -The Beast Returns

The Elementalist au

Beckett x MC (Oriana)

Words: 2947

Warnings: NSFW

Master List (Catch Up here)

Classes resume at Penderghast

Classes resumed, and Beckett and Oriana were walking to their first one hand in hand. Neither were talking, just enjoying the comfortable silence between them, watching the other students bustle to and from buildings. Sometimes they would catch glimpses of surprise when others saw them together, news had traveled fast about their so-called breakup, even though it never officially happened.

“Why are people so surprised we made up? We weren’t even separated that long.” Beckett murmured in Oriana’s ear.

She giggled. “Maybe they’re jealous that you’re still with me, because they wanted to date you themselves.”

  Beckett’s face flushed, an Oriana laughed. “I’m kidding. Sort of. Honestly, I’m pretty sure I know who was behind the rumor. And I’m also sure he’s been set straight.”

Arriving at their destination, they took their normal seats together in the class. As the lecture began and they started creating new potions, he saw her struggling.

“Here, let me help.” He offered, quickly moving behind her and sliding his arms down hers until they reached her hands, then started guiding her movements with the correct vials and amounts needed. He was pressed into her, and whispered in her ear, “I can always give you private lessons.”

“Mr. Harrington, I appreciate your wanting to assist Ms. Miller with her potion, however, I do not see the need for you to be directly behind her. Please move back to your own work, and Ms. Miller, if you need help, please see me.” A sharp voice rang out.

Snickers from their classmates passed through the room, and Beckett felt the tips of his ears turning bright red.

“Sorry, professor.” He mumbled, as Oriana leaned into him murmuring. “I can definitely use some hands-on assistance, Mr. Harrington. Do you think you can fulfill my needs?”

“Oh my…”

She chuckled as she saw his entire body blush, and his thoughts raced with how he can get her alone at that moment. Very unfortunately, they would not get a single moment to themselves that entire day.

They met back in the quad after their last respective classes, and as Beckett leaned in to kiss his girlfriend, his phone rang. He grumbled when he looked at the screen and saw who it was. He gave Oriana an apologetic look as he answered.

“Hello, mother. To what do I owe this pleasure?” He asked sarcastically. He still had not forgiven her for the rift she had created, and how horrible she had treated Oriana.

“I need you home for dinner tonight. Come now.”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s the first day of classes, I’m having dinner in the dining hall with my friends.”

“You mean with that trash you call a girlfriend.”

“Mother!” he scolded, and Oriana knew immediately where their conversation was turning. She cast her eyes downward, but Beckett reached for her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. She gave him a grateful smile and his heart fluttered. It took him a beat to realize his mother was still talking.

“I said no. I’m staying here for dinner.”

“Beckett Harrington, you come home this instant. We need to discuss your future and where you think it’s going and where it should be going instead.”

“I known exactly where it’s going” He gritted out.

“Home. Now. End of discussion.” The phone clicked in his ear as she hung up on him.

He sighed, running a hand through his sandy hair. “I’m sorry, Ori. I just won’t go. I want to have dinner with all of you tonight, and she has no right...”

“You should go.” Oriana cut in.

Beckett’s eyebrows shot up. “What? Why?”

Oriana wrapped both her arms around his waist and gazed up at him. “Because she’s still your mother. It’s perhaps a bit unfortunate but…still your mother.”

His heart soared, and he pulled her tightly to him. “You are amazing, did you know that? This is why I love you.” He kissed the top of her head. “I’m still not going.”

She laughed, pulling away. “I can come if you like. Just say the words.”

He shook his head almost violently. “No. No way. I am not putting you through that again.”

She rolled her eyes. “Beck, I’m not going anywhere, and she needs to get used to me. And I need to get used to her.”

“Still not happening.” He said gently. “At least, not tonight. I’ll go but…please stay here with our friends and enjoy yourself. That’s what I want for you.”

“Our friends, huh? Well look at you, Mr. Popularity. Going from having no one to a serious girlfriend and real, actual friends that care about you…and gasp! You care about them!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He mumbled as his cheeks turned pink. “I blame you.”

“Good. You should.” She smirked. “Find me when you’re back, okay?”

He gave her a half-hearted smile. “Of course.”

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him soft and sweet before pulling away. “I love you. See you later. Maybe even with our friends.” She was laughing lightly as she walked away, and Beckett shook his head, smiling. He knows she’s never going to let him live this down, the day he confessed he has friends. This girl has changed his life in so many ways.

Pulling into the long driveway that twisted its way up to Beckett’s house, dread kept coursing through him. This is not going to be easy.

Stepping inside, he found his mother already waiting for him at the dinner table.

“It’s about time.” She snapped. “You certainly took your time getting here.”

He took a deep, calming breath, and fumbled in his pocket for the worry stone Oriana had given him, finding relief as his fingers brushed against it.

“I was busy.” He responded, walking over and sitting down.

“You most certainly were not. Your last class ended a bit ago. You should have arrived much sooner than this. Your dinner may be cold now. I ate mine while it was being served promptly at the dinner hour.”

“What do you want, mother?”

“We need to discuss your future. Now, I have taken the liberty of collecting several catalogs for graduate programs, both at Penderghast and other universities nearby. You will of course stay nearby, that simply goes without question. Now, for this one, they have a fabulous architecture program that…”

“Isn’t it a bit soon to be discussing this?” he asked. “I’m an undergraduate freshman.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Now is the perfect time. If you spare yourself for that…girl…what was her name…Jessica?”

“Oriana.”

“Whatever dear, it makes no difference to me. Once you decide on a program to proceed with your undergraduate studies, that will lead into your graduate studies, you no longer will have time to be gallivanting about with her. I understand the immediate sexual gratification she may supply, but there are plenty of others who could help you with this, who will not get in your way while…”

“Mother!!” He exclaimed, completely embarrassed. “Why on earth would you say that?”

She blinked. “Well, clearly that’s what the two of you have in common, no? You have fantasies and desires that need to be met, and like a good little whore she fulfills them. Now back to…”

“You take that back.” He growled.

“I most certainly will not take back the truth. I’m aware of her financial situation and cozying up with a Harrington would be quite ideal for her. So, she becomes your whore, pretending her feelings are genuine, lets you pay for everything, and then she will become pregnant and take everything you have. Everything this family has. I will not allow it. This ends now. I thought you two had broken up, but she was able to secure you safely back in her clutches.”

“How did you know that?” He demanded.

She chuckled coldly. “I have eyes and ears everywhere and you’d better start respecting that. Wherever you go, whatever you do, I will know. And I will know about Jessica as well.”

“ORIANA. HER NAME IS ORIANA!”

Mrs. Harrington sighed. “You need to forget that name, son. It will do you no good to hold it in your mind.”

Beckett stood up from the table, clearing his throat. “Excuse me, mother. I do have homework that you are keeping me from completing. I’m certain you don’t want me to turn in any late assignments.”

“I’ll speak to your teachers, they will understand. You will not leave this house until we are done discussing what I called you here for.”

“You can’t stop me.” Beckett strode over to the door…just to find it sealed shut. He whirled back around. “Open the door, mother.”

“I will not. You are going to run right back to that girl even thought I have specifically instructed you not to.  I can see it in your eyes.”

“I love her.” He said defiantly. “And you’re right. I am going to her. So, let me through.”

“She’s bewitched you. I won’t stand for it.”

“No…no. Just…let me go!” He yanked on the door again, but it still would not budge. He muttered a spell under his breath to open the locks…but it did nothing.

“Don’t do this.” He begged. “Let me go.”

“I’m sure she’s busy anyway. Did you know you are not the only man she has been spending time with? There is another, also from a well-off family. It seems she can’t choose between the two of you, but one of you is bound to knock her up. The question is which one, and I will not allow it to be you.”

“How are you this cruel to your own son? To someone you don’t even know?” He asked, incredulously.

“I know enough. I do what I need to do to protect this family and what belongs to us. And I will not let anyone get in the way of that. Especially not some white trash girl from a low-income family…adoptive family I might add, her own parents didn’t even want her. Such a shame that she was already a problem just by being born. But she’s certainly trying to improve her situation by doing the only thing she knows how. Whoring herself out to the highest bidder.”

“ENOUGH!!!” He shouts out, as suddenly his body begins to vibrate, his skin turning metallic. Fear immediately took hold in him. This can only mean one thing.

“What is this magic?” His mother demanded, watching him. “Is she responsible? Did you send a message to her somehow? This is a heavily protected mansion, I’m afraid that no spell can…”

But Beckett was gone, having dissipated into thin air, arriving a moment later at Oriana’s side, who was battling a huge shadow beast in the middle of the forest.

“Ori!” He shouted. She turned to him in surprise.

“Beckett? Why aren’t you…Auuughhh!” She screamed as Beckett lunged in front of her, toppling to the ground. It gave her the opening she needed.

“SOLIS!!!” She shouted out, clapping her hands high in the air.

With a shriek, the monster went up in smoke, and she bent over breathless. “I see you never removed that protection spell of yours.” She joked, turning back towards him.

“Beckett?”

A low moan came from the ground, and she darted to his side. “Oh my god, Beckett!!”

He was laying on the dirt, clutching his chest. “Ori…I’m sorry…I should have been here sooner…”

“Don’t you dare apologize, Beckett Harrington. Why did you throw yourself in front of me??” She cried, trying to pry his fingers from the gash in his skin.

“You…distracted…my fault for…”

“Beckett let me see.” She begged. He finally dropped his hand, and blood came gushing out of the wound. “oh my, God.” She breathed, immediately pressing down with her own hands. “Dark to light and heal this from sight!”

A soft glow emanated out of her, and a warming, tingling took over them as his gash closed, leaving fresh pink skin where it had been. Despite herself, Oriana burst into tears.

“Why did you do that?? You could have been killed!” She sobbed, him sitting up and encircling her in his arms, her face pressed into his chest, crying tears both of relief as well as panic.

“You were about to be killed! Oriana, do you have any idea how close you came? What if I lost you just now?” He exclaimed. “I distracted you by showing up, I’m so sorry.”

He lifted her face with his fingers, gazing into her watery eyes. “Hey…hey, I’m okay, see?” He brushed his lips gently against hers. “You healed me, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine!” She cried. “I have no idea how I got here!”

His eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Beck, I’m in the middle of the fucking forest. I was walking back to my dorm, and then suddenly I was just…here!”

He stared at her in shock. “You didn’t come here on your own?”

“Why would I be walking in the middle of the forest at night? No, I was walking towards my dorm, I thought I heard someone behind me, I figured it was you, and when I turned around…I was among the trees, kneeling right in front of a fucking beast! Kneeling!!!! Like I was being offered!!!  I barely had time to react! I’d pretty much just rolled out of the way of a direct hit and stood up when you arrived!”

Beckett tightened his arms around her. If only he’d gotten here sooner. No, if only he hadn’t been locked in by his mother…or even gone to her house in the first place, Oriana never would have been alone.

“I’m just...never leaving your side again, Ori.” He whispered.

She sniffled. “I’m sorry I’m crying, I’m being stupid.”

He pulled back and cupped her face in his hands. “No, you are quite possibly the smarted person I know. This is not your fault.”

“What is happening? Why is it happening? There hasn’t been an attack in weeks…why now? And how did I get here, Beckett? It can only mean one thing.”

He agreed grimly. “It means there’s a person behind it.”

“But if they wanted to get me alone…why not strike last week, when we spent all that time apart? I was alone a lot; most people were on holiday. Why wait until classes start up? Do you think it’s a student?”

“It’s very powerful magic, Oriana. Possibly an upperclassman, but at the senior level, no less. Or a professor.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” She asked worriedly, tracing through the torn fabric where he had been clawed severely. “It was a really big gash, Beck, there was so much blood.”

“Ori, I would only not be okay if something happened to you and I didn’t get there in time.” He stood up, reaching down his hand to clasp hers. “We’re going to my dorm tonight.”

She nodded. “Yeah, Okay.”

Beckett looked around and realized he had absolutely no idea where they were in comparison to the school. “We’re really deep in the woods.” He murmured, more to himself than to her.

“Which means no one would have found me anytime soon if…” She trailed off, tears welling in her eyes again.

Beckett gently wrapped her in his arms, transporting them back to his dorm. When they arrived, he peeled off her torn and dirt caked clothes, and got her to bed before removing his own. Climbing in next to her, he pulled her back in to him, spooning her, his arms tight around her.

“Beckett.” She said softly. “If you can transport us here…we’re freshman. It doesn’t have to be an upper classman.”

“I don’t think I could transport you if I wasn’t touching you. And that monster…I definitely can’t do that. But you know me, I’ve always practiced advanced magic. I may be a freshman, but I have a wealth of knowledge stored in me. My mother made sure of that. I'm definitely grateful for those lessons right now.”

“How was your dinner?” She asked

He sighed. “Not good. I’m not going again. She…she trapped me inside. So I would be unable to come back to you. I think she was going to try to convince me, again, not to be with you, and wanted to keep me there so she could do that. But it won’t happen, ever.”

Oriana turned around in his arms to face him. “What do you mean she trapped you?”

“She sealed the doors. I couldn’t get out, even with an unlocking spell.”

“Then…how did you…”

“My protection spell with you is complicated. There’s a lot of parts to it. She wasn’t anticipating it and therefore couldn’t block that magic.”

“I’m glad you never removed it.”

He smiled and kissed her forehead. “I want you safe, with or without me…well. I want to be there if I’m not already. I never even thought about removing it, even before we were a real couple.”

Oriana stretched her neck to kiss him deeply, and he returned it with just as much emotion. “Make love to me” She whispered on his lips

Beckett rolled so he was on top of her, slowly plunging himself into her core. She moaned as he reached her depths, and he grunted as he started moving slow and sweet, showering her with kisses the entire time.

She looked deep into his eyes, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” The desire was building inside them, with Beckett picking up the momentum and her matching him thrust for thrust until they fell apart around each other. He kept sliding in and out, slowing down, working through the last of their orgasms, capturing her lips with his own.

Sated, they stayed joined together, each unwilling to break the intimate connection, their breathing turning slow and steady as they drifted off to sleep.

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[delightfully-difficult-pirate]

Assassin’s Creed: Misthaven (13/18)

Summary: For hundreds of years, the Brotherhood of Assassins and the Templar Order have waged war.  For Princess Emma of Misthaven, that war has become personal.  After a mission gone wrong, the Templar Grandmaster, placed a curse on Emma’s son that is slowly killing him.  Emma will stop at nothing to save Henry, even if it means going rogue from the Brotherhood and consorting with pirates.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Sex, Adult Language.

AN: A special thank you to @preciouscucumber for being an ever patient and diligent beta.  To @cocohook38 and @utopiozphere for the awesome artwork they have created.   And to @icecubelotr44 for her encouragement every step of the way.  

AO3

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Art for Chapter 13 by @cocohook38.   This artwork is sexually explicit.  

                Killian stood on the bow of the Jolly Roger with his spyglass pointed at Arandelle.  There were a few ships docked in harbor.  One of which, Killian was dejected to see, was the navy’s powerful flagship, the Narwhal. 

                “How do we approach, Captain, without being blown to bits before we even make it to port?” Joshua Wyatt asked.  The crew had elected the elder of the Wyatt brothers as quartermaster a few nights ago.  So far, Killian had no qualms with their choice.  Joshua had proven himself to be a levelheaded man during the seasons he and his brother had sailed on the Jolly Roger. 

                “We run up the white flag,” Killian informed him.  Joshua made a face in response and Killian chuckled.  The white flag meant surrender.  Raising it went against everything that made Killian a pirate.   It would hopefully guarantee them passage into port, but afterwards, they would be at the mercy of the local authorities. 

                Killian went to his cabin.  Emma had been recovering slowly from her magical exhaustion and still remained abed.  Her periods of consciousness had been lengthening, though, and Killian was thrilled to see that she was awake when he returned.

                “We’re about to sail into Arandelle, love.  Do you feel up to joining us on deck?” Killian asked.  He knew it was vital that Emma be visible when they arrived in port if they wanted to avoid being arrested on sight. 

                Emma nodded and Killian helped her from his bed.  He wrapped his arm around her waist to take most of her weight and guided her from the cabin to the quarterdeck.  Together, they stood and watched as Arandelle drew closer.

                One they were spotted, yhe Narwhal was heading their way with a swiftness that impressed Killian. 

                “How close of a friend are you to the Queen?” Killian asked.  His stomach was turning in knots as the large naval ship headed right toward them. 

                Emma leaned heavily against him before she spoke. “There is one last thing I haven’t told you, Killian.  And I’m so sorry I haven’t done so before this.  I’ve just been scared by how you might react.”

                Killian frowned, gathered Emma into his arms, and lifted her face to his. “I love you, Emma.  Whatever you have to tell me, that won’t change,” Killian told her.  

                He and Emma hadn’t spoken about Killian’s confession of love in the few days since the Queen Anne’s Revenge’s attack.  He had no idea whether Emma returned his feelings or not, but it wasn’t going to stop him from ensuring her of his deep attachment.

                “My name is Emma, as I told you.  However, that isn’t all of it.  Officially, I am Emma, Duchess of Swan, and Princess of Misthaven.”

                If Killian hadn’t already suspected that Emma was likely nobility by her manner, her revelation would have shocked him to his core.  Instead, he was only moderately surprised.

                “Princess, huh?” Killian muttered.  At Emma’s nervous expression, he calmly continued, “Lass, you sure are full of surprises.”

                “That’s it?” Emma stared at him, eyes wide.

                Killian grasped one of Emma’s hands and brought it to his lips, where he pressed a kiss on her knuckles.  “Once we are safe in Arandelle, I’ll be happy to show you all the proper reverence due to a lady of your station.  Please, grant this old pirate clemency until then.”

                Emma laughed at his melodramatic words.  “Clemency granted, Captain.”

                Together, they watched as the Narwhal pulled alongside the Jolly Roger.  An imposing man in the uniform of Arandelle’s navy approached the rail.

                “This is Admiral Morten of the Narwhal.  I wish to speak to the Captain of this vessel,” the Admiral yelled across the gap between the ships. 

                Killian stepped forward, Emma pulled securely against his side.

                “Admiral, I am Captain Hook of ihe Jolly Roger.  We seek safe passage into Arandelle,” Killian replied.  Even from a distance, Killian could see the distrustful look on the Admiral’s face. 

                “I know who you are, Captain Hook, and I know you to be a pirate.  What business brings you to Arandelle with the white flag raised?”

                Killian looked at Emma, who stepped from his arms and grasped the rail to keep herself up right.

                “My business, Admiral Morten.  I am Princess Emma of Misthaven and I seek an audience with her Majesty, Queen Elsa,” Emma shouted as loud as she could. 

                If the Admiral had looked skeptical at a pirate vessel boldly sailing toward Arandelle’s port, it was nothing compared to his look of disbelief at seeing Emma.

                “Your Highness!” The Admiral bellowed in astonishment.  He executed a perfect bow, removing the large hat from his head as he did so. “Her Majesty will welcome the news of your arrival.  Captain Nemo arrived last week with a distressing tale from of Misthaven.”   

                Emma grinned. “I’m glad to hear it.  I look forward to speaking with him.”

                “Your Highness, please come aboard The Narwhal so that we may transport you into Arandelle with all the honor due to a woman of your rank.”

                Killian bristled at the Admirals insinuation that the Jolly Roger was unworthy to carry royalty.  While his ship was in a rough state, she had gotten Emma this far. 

                “I am content here, Lord Admiral, but I would be honored by your escort,” she replied, her words brusque.

                The Admiral must have realized he had offended Emma, for his “Of course, your Highness,” was apologetic.          

                After that, there was no more talk and the Jolly Roger sailed into port of Arandelle until the protection of the Narwhal. 

                “Would you like to come with me to the palace?” Emma asked him as they sailed into the harbor.

                Killian shook his head. “I would, love, but I need to remain with my men.”  At least until he knew they wouldn’t all be arrested as soon as Emma disembarked.

                His crew was, understandably, tense as they dropped anchor.  Even Killian found it hard to relax at the sight of the dozen men in uniform that waited on the dock.  Thankfully, not one made a move to board the Jolly Roger after they lowered the gangplank. 

                Though Emma was dressed in a simple tunic, trousers, and a salt stained vest, Emma walked down the plank and approached the Admiral with a regal bearing.

                “Admiral, this ship and all her men are under my personal protection,” she informed the admiral in a tone that invited no argument. “I will be very distressed if anything untoward were to happen to them.”

                The Admiral’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, hard, and Killian could only imagine the look Emma had on her face to elicit such a reaction. “You have my word, your Highness,” the man replied with a half-bow.

                Killian’s heart clenched in his chest as he watched as Emma climbed into the waiting carriage.

                This wasn’t goodbye, he told himself. 

                This wasn’t goodbye.

---

                Emma rolled her eyes at Admiral Morten’s formality as he announced, “Your Majesty, may I present her Highness, Princess Emma,” as he escorted her into Elsa’s private study.

                A yelled “Emma!” was all the warning she had before she found herself wrapped firmly in the arms of Princess Anna. 

                “Emma, what is going on?  How did you get here?  Why do you smell so badly?” The exuberant younger woman peppered Emma with questions without giving her a chance to respond.

                “Anna, please.  Emma doesn’t need to be told she smells,” Elsa interrupted and Emma glanced over Anna’s head to see her beautiful friend approaching with a wide smile on her face.

                “My apologies if I do.  I’ve been aboard a pirate ship for nearly six weeks,” Emma explained.

                Anna pulled back from her hug. “A pirate ship?  Really?  Why?  Were you taken prisoner?”

                “Anna,” Elsa warned in a firm tone. “I’m sure Emma will be happy to explain later.”

                “Of course, sorry Emma,” the contrite Princess said.

                “It’s alright,” Emma comforted her.  Once she was released from Anna’s grasp, Emma found herself pulled into Elsa’s arms in a rare show of affection from her less physically affectionate friend.

                “Emma, we have been so worried!” Elsa exclaimed. “Captain Nemo told us that you weren’t present in Misthaven when Regina staged her coup, but we feared the worst!”

                “Coup?” Emma squeaked in shock. “Elsa, I’ve been at sea for weeks.  All I know is that there is a blockade preventing me from returning home, which is why I came here.”

                “I’m so glad you did and we will do everything in our power to assist you in returning home,” Elsa said as she grasped Emma’s hand.  Admiral Morten coughed in response to his Queen’s words and Elsa shot him a glare.

                “Thank you, Elsa, for your offer.  But first, will someone please tell me what happened to my kingdom while I’ve been away?”

---

                Elsa was more than happy to update Emma about the situation in Misthaven, but insisted in doing so while Emma had a bath. 

                “Do I really stink?” Emma asked as they waited while the bath was filled by some of the palace’s maids.  She’d grown accustomed to the smell of her own body odor while aboard The Jolly Roger, since there was little water to spare for more than a quick scrub down with a wet rag every so often.

                “Rather badly, yes,” Elsa admitted.  “Though that isn’t a surprise if you’ve been at sea for weeks.  Also, here, you can tell me what adventure you’ve been without Anna interrupting every minute.”

                Emma chuckled.  Anna was a wonderfully carefree woman, but she tended not to always think about her words before speaking.  After the bath was ready, Emma told Elsa her tale while relaxing in the hot, lavender-scented water.  Her friend listened in silence until the end.

                “No wonder Regina has blockaded Misthaven,” Elsa finally said.  “If you can’t get back to Henry, you can’t break the curse.”            

                Emma nodded.  It was a pity that she needed Henry’s participation in order to lift the curse on him.

                “You said Captain Nemo arrived a week ago?” Emma asked.

                “Yes.  He said Regina invaded one night and placed the castle under siege with the help of troops from Briar.  He was in Blanchard with his ship, apparently, and was able to leave before the blockade was fully in place.  He came here to request aid in locating you,” Elsa explained.

                Emma was thankful that Captain Nemo had avoided being trapped in the castle.  Half of the men and woman who served aboard The Nautilus were trained Assassins and they would be invaluable in her efforts to liberate her kingdom.

                Once Emma felt that she was rid of the weeks of built up dirt and grime and would no longer offend anyone’s noses, Elsa arranged for Emma to borrow a few of Anna’s dresses.  Autumn was almost over and Arandelle was already feeling the chill of winter.  The locally clothing would keep Emma warmer than anything Emma had brought with her when she’d left Misthaven almost three months before. 

                 “May I have Rumpelstiltskin transferred to one of the cells in your dungeon?” Emma requested.  “I’m be more comfortable if he was kept in a more secure location than the brig of the Jolly Roger.”

---

                An escort of palace guards was arranged and Emma went down to the harbor to retrieve her prisoner from the Jolly Roger.  The ship was at the same dock as when she had left it earlier in the day, though there was a larger presence of navy men in the area than she remembered.  Likely assigned by Admiral Morten to keep an eye on the pirate ship.

                 Word must have traveled ahead of her coming, because the crew of the Jolly Roger was assembled on deck when Emma arrived.  Killian was front and center, leaning against the mast, and Emma’s heart thudded in her chest at the sight of him.  His hair was still damp and his beard trimmed, so he must have taken some time to clean up.  He’d also forgone his greatcoat and was wearing a red vest Emma hadn’t seen before.  Overall, he looked quite formidable and the group of guards that had come with her hesitated at the bottom of the gangplank.  However, she knew the man beneath the Captain Hook persona and stepped aboard the ship without hesitation.

                “Princess,” Killian said with a smirk as she approached.  

                “Captain,” she replied. “I’m here to collect Rumpelstiltskin.”

                Killian nodded.  “Joshua, bring our prisoner up from the brig,” he ordered. 

                The quartermaster and his brother disappeared below deck.  While she waited, Emma turned to Killian and asked, “My apologies for taking so long to return.  Have you and the crew been treated well?”

                Killian shrugged and crossed his arms across his chest.  “We’ve been ordered not to leave the ship, but some food and drink was brought a couple of hours ago.”

                “I plan to speak to the Admiral about finding a shipwright to come see to the repairs the Jolly Roger needs.  I’ll ask him to lessen the restrictions on you and your crew as well,” Emma told him.

                “That is appreciated, your Highness.”  

                Emma frowned, bothered by Killian’s use of her rank.  He had seemed unbothered by her confession of her royal status, but perhaps he had had second thoughts since arriving in Arandelle.

                Killian’s eyes narrowed when he glanced over her shoulder.  Emma turned and watched as Rumpelstiltskin was brought on deck. 

                “Arandelle?” The sorcerer asked after looking around.

                “A necessary detour, I’m afraid.  Don’t worry, Her Majesty assures me that she has had the palace’s finest cell prepared to receive you,” Emma informed him, the last part dripping with sarcasm.

                “I can’t say I’ll be disappointed if I never have to see that bastard again,” Killian said to her as they watched the sorcerer loaded into the back of a secure carriage the palace guards had brought with them.  However, now that you’ll no longer be needing our services, my crew are anxious to see the reward promised them.”

                Emma’s stomach dropped at Killian’s words.

                Oh.

                “Of course, the remaining half of your payment, now that the job is complete.” Emma tried to keep the hurt out of her voice as she spoke. “I’ll need to speak with Elsa, but I’m sure she will be willing to lend me the amount I owe you.  You’ll have it tomorrow.”

                Emma turned and disembarked the Jolly Roger.  She climbed back into the carriage that had brought her and refused to look out at the ship and her Captain as she was transported back toward the palace.

                Though the job she had hired Killian and his crew for was ending in a different destination than originally intended, it had been successfully completed.  Therefore, it was understandable that he was curious about the gold she had promised when she had secured his services.

                He was a pirate, after all.

                So why did she feel like her heart was breaking?

                Back at the palace, Emma made sure that Rumpelstiltskin was securely locked away. To ensure he couldn’t escape, Rumpelstiltskin would have two guards outside his cell.

                After supper, Emma claimed exhaustion and made her way to the suite of rooms Elsa had long ago set aside for her.  She had intended to go straight to sleep, but found herself unable to do so.  She couldn’t stop thinking about the way she had parted from Killian. 

                Killian had professed that he loved her.  Not just once, while under duress, but again before her confession.  Though she hadn’t been able to get herself to say the same words to him in return, Emma knew that she loved him in return.

                Had he been lying? 

                Had he only said it because he thought that was what she had wanted to hear?

                Emma cursed at herself for her doubts as she punched at her pillow.

                She’d been staring straight into Killian’s eyes when he had told her that he loved her and there had been no deceit in them. 

                He loved her.

                And she loved him.

                So why?

                So why did Killian seemed so keen to remind her that he had fulfilled his end of their contract?

                Long after night had fallen, the sound of glass breaking startled Emma out of her ruminations. 

                She immediately pulled the dagger she had hidden below her pillow and slowly crept from bed.  Hidden behind its bulk, she waited.    

                A shadow passed outside the door that lead to the balcony. 

                Emma repositioned herself so that she would be behind the door when it opened. 

                A few minutes passed and Emma had begun to think that she had imagined the shadow when she heard the telltale click of the lock of the door being released.  She readied herself.

                The door crept open without a sound. 

                As soon as her mysterious visitor set foot within the room, Emma launched herself forward.  Her shoulder connected with a solid mass, which cried out in pain.

                Recognizing the voice of the intruder, Emma scrambled backwards and reached for a lantern.  When she turned up the flame, she found the pirate Captain who had been occupy her thoughts sprawled out on the floor, a pained look on his face and an arm wrapped around his ribs.

                “Killian!  What are you doing here?” Emma yelled.

                “Learning a lesson about sneaking into a Princesses’ chambers uninvited,” Killian moaned.

                Emma couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped her as she helped Killian from the floor. 

                “Seriously, Killian, what were you thinking?  We’re on the third floor!  What if you had fallen?  Or been caught by the guards?” Emma berated him as she guided him to the bed.

                “Truthfully, love, I wasn’t really thinking.  I just knew that I had to see you,” he told her as she helped him sit.

                “Really?  And what is so important it couldn’t wait until morning?” Emma asked.  Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, from both the adrenaline caused by his sudden appearance and her nervousness as to the reason.

                Killian grabbed her hand and pulled her toward him.  She stepped between his legs and was drawn into his embrace.

                “I realized after you left, my love, that my words to you on ihe Jolly Roger may have been misconstrued,” Killian told her.

                Emma’s heart skipped a beat.

                Killian continued, “It wasn’t my intention to imply that since my services were no longer needed, I wished to collect my payment and leave.”

                “It wasn’t?”

                “No, love.  But since the job is over, I felt it only polite that I give you the option of ending our association.” Killian reached up and scratched behind his ear. “You’re a Princess, Emma.  What use could you have for an old scoundrel like me?  I figured I would make it easy for you to send me away, if that was what you wished to do.”

                Emma’s heart broke again at hearing the strong, incredible man in front of her speak so calmly about his motives.  Did he really think that she would be so callous as to just toss him aside? 

                Emma kneeled down so that she and Killian were level and told him, “Killian Jones, I have no desire to be rid of you.  Not now, not ever.”

                Killian smiled, but she would still see the hesitancy in his eyes.

                So Emma continued.   “I love you, you daft pirate,” she told him, his face grasped in her hands.

                The grin that followed her confession was filled with joy, and only a tad salacious.

                “I’m glad to hear it,” Killian whispered as he leaned his forehead against hers.

                The two of them stayed that way for a moment, until Emma lifted her head and pressed her lips to Killian’s.  He returned her kiss with enthusiasm and pulled her close.

                Things heated up quickly and Emma soon had Killian bent backwards and pressed against the bed.  However, her passion cooled swiftly when her knee accidentally pressed into Killian’s side and caused him to let out a noise of discomfort.

                “Your ribs, I’m sorry,” Emma cried as she, once again, removed herself from atop Killian. 

                “I’ll be fine, love,” he said as he reached for her.  Though she was hesitant, she allowed herself to be pulled forward until she stood between his legs. 

                “I may be injured, love, but I am still capable of bringing you to new heights of pleasure,” Killian purred.  His hand skimmed down her side before disappearing underneath the bottom of her nightgown.  His knuckles brushed against the skin of her inner thigh, which caused Emma to shiver.

                “Killian,” Emma moaned as his fingers teased at her entrance.  She parted her legs to give him better access.

                “Relax, love,” Killian whispered as he slipped two fingers into her.  His other arm wrapped around Emma’s waist and pulled her close to him.  Though the fabric of her dress covered her breasts, Killian immediately found one of her nipples and proceeded to tease it with his tongue and teeth.  He did the same to the other until both were hard.

                Emma heard a ripping sound as Killian’s hook tore through the thin fabric of her nightdress.  The cool air of the room on her back caused her to shiver.

                “I borrowed this from Anna,” Emma whispered as Killian helped her remove the now useless nightgown with his hook. 

                “I’ll buy her a new one,” Killian replied before he buried his face between her breasts.

                Getting close to the edge, Emma started to rock her hips in time with Killian’s hand.  Killian repositioned his hand between her legs so that he was able to tease her clit with his thumb.  When he flicked this thumb across the sensitive nub, her orgasm washed over her.

                Killian’s fingers continued to pump in and out, which extended her climax.  When it subsided, Emma slouched forward until her head rested on Killian’s shoulder.  This gave her a perfect view of the bulge in Killian’s leather pant.  Emma reached down and palmed Killian’s cock.  He moaned and turned his head to capture her lips in a kiss.

                While they explored each other’s mouths, Emma worked on opening Killian’s trousers.  Once she had the knots undone, she was able to release Killian’s cock from the tight confines of the leather.  She gave him a light squeeze and Killian broke their kiss to let out another moan.

                “Let me take care of you, Captain,” Emma whispered in Killian’s ear before she dropped to her knees and took his cock in her mouth.

                “Bloody hell,” Killian groaned.  His hand wove into the strands of Emma’s hair but he didn’t try to guide her movements. 

                Emma took her time.  She slowly circled the head of his cock with her tongue and lapped up the salty pre-come that followed.  She teased him with hard sucks and soft licks before she leaned her head forward to take as much of his cock as she could.  It took some effort, but eventually she had all of him in her mouth.  She then hummed and would have grinned at the string of barley articulate oaths that spilled from Killian’s mouth had she been able.

                Emma pulled back for a moment to catch her breath, but her hand still stroked up and down Killian’s hard length.  It twitched in her hand as she teased the tip with her thumb.  When she ducked her head to continue her ministrations, Killian’s hook on her chin stopped her.  His hand closed around her upper arm and with a tug, she was back on her feet.

                However, she wasn’t standing for long.  Killian pulled her close with an arm around her waist and guided her so that her legs straddled his. 

                “Your ribs,” Emma whispered as Killian’s hook on her back pressed her down.

                “Aren’t important right now,” he replied as he lined himself up and slid into her quim. 

                “By all that is great and good, love…” Killian swore once she was fully seated on his lap.  Emma braced her knees on the bed frame on either side of Killian, careful to avoid his injured side.  This position gave her enough leverage to move herself up and down on Killian’s cock.

                “Oh sweet Aphrodite,” he muttered as she rode him. 

                Emma quickly headed toward another climax when Killian began to move his hips in time with hers.  When his breath picked up Emma knew that he was also close.  Emma moved her hand down to where they were joined.  She circled her clit with her thumb and stroked Killian’s cock with her fingers each time it emerged from within her.

                Once she reached her orgasm, Emma’s back arched and Killian buried his face in her breasts when he followed her to his climax shortly after.  In the aftermath, Killian collapsed backwards on the bed.

                Emma smiled down at her lover.  He looked utterly wrecked with his hair sticking up in every direction and Emma felt a twinge of pride that it was because of her.                

---

                If the unexpected guest at the breakfast table surprised Elsa the next morning, no sign of it showed on her face.  She simply introduced herself to Killian and thanked him to transporting Emma safely to Arandelle.  Admiral Morten and the Captain of Arandelle’s Royal Guard, however, were less than thrilled at the pirate’s presence in the palace, if the looks they sent Killian when Elsa wasn’t looking were any indication.

                Killian hadn’t told Emma how he’d sneaked his way into the well-guarded palace, though she had asked. He’d simply grinned and told her that “All men need their secrets,” and left it at that.  She’d been tempted to kiss the cocky smile off his face, but knew if she did they’d be late for breakfast, so she restrained herself. 

                After breakfast, she left Killian telling tales of his adventures to Anna and her fiancé Kristof. Though Elsa had gladly given her the 500 gold doubloons to settle the monetary debt between herself and Killian, there was still the matter of Liam Jones’ location.

                Emma found the Captain in the palaces sumptuous library, going over what looked to be old building plans. 

                “Trying to figure out how to break into my castle, Captain?” Emma asked as soon as she realized that the plans spread out were old architect’s schematics for the royal castle in Misthaven.

                 “Trying and failing, I’m afraid Princess,” Nemo admitte

                 Emma sighed.  The monumental task of rescuing her parents and liberating her home from Regina’s control was not one she felt at all prepared to handle.

                “I’m sure we will think of something.  Until then, I would like to fulfil my promise to Captain Hook and give him the location of Liam Jones.  Was he on the Nautilus when you escaped Misthaven?” Emma inquired.

                “He was,” Nemo replied.  

                Emma waited, hoping Nemo would give her more information on the boy’s whereabouts.  The last thing she wanted was for the lad to come across Killian while wandering the halls of the palace.  Right or wrong, he blamed Killian for his father’s death and an unexpected meeting would not end well for either of them.

                  “Captain, I can assure you that Captain Hook means Liam no harm.  From what I have gauged, he is simply concerned for the lad,” Emma told Nemo, choosing her words carefully.  Killian had shared the reasons he sought Liam to Emma one night aboard the Jolly Roger but she didn’t want to reveal her the closeness of her relationship with Killian by telling Nemo his motivations.

                 After a few minutes of silence, Nemo relented and told her that Liam remained aboard the Nautilus, where he would be assisting with restocking the vessel for its inevitable return to Misthaven. 

                “Regina won’t kill my parents, Nemo.  She wants to make them suffer, which means she will continue to target me, or Henry,” Emma told the Captain. “That means we have the time to come up with a good, solid plan before we strike.”

                Reassured by her own words, Emma returned to where she had left Killian.  He was still entertaining Anna and Kristof with tales of life on the high seas, though the Official Arandelle Ice Master had a rather credulous look on his face.

                “I hate to interrupt, but Captain, may I have a word?” Emma asked when Killian finished his latest story.                 

                “Anything for a Princess as lovely as you,” Killian said with a overdramatic bow.

                Emma placed a large satchel containing the promised 500 gold doubloons on a table, where it made a satisfying thump.  Killian whistled as he open the flap and ran his hand along the gold coins.  Thankfully, Elsa had the Misthaven coins in her treasury or Killian would be paying his crew in thousands of small silver speciedalers, Arandelle’s local currency.

                “I should get this to my crew, love,” Killian said as he hefted the heavy satchel on his shoulder.

                “May I join you?” Emma asked.  She wanted to take Killian to the Nautilus so that he could see his brother.

                Killian held out his arm in the way he did the night of the Camelot ball. “I would be honored to escort you, m’lady.”

                Emma and Killian made their way toward the docks.  The crew of the Jolly Roger were happy to see their Captain, and the gold he brought.  As Killian oversaw the divvying up of shares, Emma wandered the ship.  It had been her home for months and it felt odd not knowing the next time she would be aboard the ship.

                “Be careful, your Highness,” Victor told her when she stopped by sick bay, “some of the men aboard were less than thrilled to learn of your heritage.”

                That explains the cold looks, Emma thought.  Even a few of the men she had become friendly with had given her what she could only describe as stink-eye when she’d come aboard with Killian.

                “Nor are they too pleased with your relationship with the Captain. There have been whispers of sirens and love potions,” Victor continued and Emma couldn’t help but gawk at him in shock.

                “Surely you don’t believe I’ve cast some kind of spell on Ki… Hook?” she asked, correcting herself midway.  It suddenly didn’t seem wise to show just how familiar she was with his Captain.

                Victor shrugged.  “Sailors are a superstitious lot, m’lady, and they are having a hard time understanding why their Captain, a pirate, seems unbothered by your royal status.”

                Emma slouched against the wall, dejected.  If Killian noticed a change in her demeanor when he found her sometime later, which she was sure he had, he didn’t mention it.  He simply rested his hand on the small of her back and guided her off his ship, jovial as he had been all morning.

                Knowing she had a job to do, Emma tried her best to shake of her melancholy caused by learning she was causing a rift between Killian and his crew and suggested they stop by where the Nautilus was docked.

                “I never believed men could travel under the sea as well as a top it until I first saw the Nautilus in action.  She’s a magnificent vessel,” Killian told her they watched a few of Nemo’s men as they loaded the ship with anticipated supplies.

                “She is.  Though I must say, I much prefer being aboard the Jolly Roger.  I’m not a fan of being cooped up in small spaces without any means of escape.  At least on a normal ship, you can always go on deck.  But on the Nautilus, you can’t,” Emma admitted.  She wouldn’t say she was claustrophobic, per say, but small enclosed spaces tended to bother her.

                Killian cocked his head as he studied her. “Is that why you were so out of it when you came out of the orange barrel?” He asked.

                “I think it was the knowledge that I was being lifted and had no control over what was going on that really bothered me,” Emma told him.  After she did so, she spotted a small figure climbing from the top of the Nautilus.  She wasn’t sure if Killian recognized him, but she immediately knew it was Liam.  He was the youngest member of Nemo’s crew.

                “Killian, what do you plan to do once you know where Liam is?” Emma asked. 

                It was Killian’s turn to shrug.  “I don’t really know.   Nemo once assured me he was being taken care of, but I just want to confirm, with my own eyes, that that is true.  If it is not, I would do what I could to find a better situation for him.  Not with me, of course; maybe a school? Somewhere he could have opportunities of a better life.” 

                 Emma pressed her lip’s to Killian’s in a quick kiss after his answer.  She knew it took a lot for him to admit that his being in Liam’s life may not be the best thing for his younger brother.  

                “I think he’s doing quite well,” Emma whispered as she lifted her arm and pointed to where Liam was passing a crate of oranges to another of the Nautilus’ crew.  She and Killian were partially hidden behind the harbormaster’s office, so Liam wouldn’t be able to see them watching him.

                Killian’s eyes followed to where she was pointing and a dozen emotions battled for dominance on his face after he spotted Liam.  Sadness, joy, hope, and even a little anger. 

                “He looks like him,” Killian murmured.  Emma was confused for a moment before she remembered that his older brother had also been named Liam.  She then wondered what kind of man Killian’s father had to have been, to name his third son after one of those he had abandoned years before, but she forced herself to ignore that train of thought so she could concentrate of supporting Killian.

                “He’s Nemo’s apprentice.  While I’m sure you probably aren’t thrilled to learn he is part of the Brotherhood, I know Nemo takes excellent care of his initiates,” Emma told him. 

                Emma explained what she knew of Liam, and Killian nodded, but his eye never left Liam.  Nemo had taken the boy in not long after his father’s death, when he’d been maybe ten or eleven years old.  He was a gangly teen now, not entirely in control of his limbs and unsure of his height. 

                “Would you like to meet him?” Emma inquired.

                Killian hummed.  “Not today, I think,” he said.  He placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her away from the Nautilus.

---

                Emma and Killian returned to the palace and spent the rest of the day in the library with Captain Nemo and Admiral Morten brainstorming possible ideas to liberate Misthaven from Regina’s control.  Sadly, until the scouts Arandelle had sent out after the Nautilus’ arrival returned with information on the blockade, they could only come up with theoretical plans.

                Emma was in a morose mood that night, so Killian did his best to distract her by reminding her of how far she had already come to saving her son.  When that didn’t work, he settled on wearing her out physically until she fell into an exhausted sleep. 

                The next morning, Killian made his way down to the harbor to see to his ship.  He found his crew glaring sternly at the two Navy shipwrights Elsa had provided to begin repairs on the Jolly Roger. 

                “I have to say, Captain, I’m amazed she is still afloat,” one of the men said as he inspected the holes the mortar fire had left in her deck.

                “It was a close thing,” Killian admitted.  Though he had been willing to sacrifice himself, his crew, and his ship in order for Emma to escape, he was glad that her timely magical intervention had prevented that fate.  The Jolly Roger had weathered many battles in her years but none had come as close to sinking her than the one with the Queen Anne’s Revenge. 

                “I don’t think we have any spare cannons to replace the ones you lost, but we should be able to get her fixed up so you can be on your way in about a week or so,” the other shipwright told Killian. 

                Killian nodded and left the shipwrights debating the best manner to go about repairing the ship.  He convened his crew on the lower deck and informed them that they would be remaining in Arandelle for at least another week.

                “She be seaworthy now, Captain,” one of his crew objected and a few others yelled their support.

                “That may be, but she’ll decorate Davy Jones’ Locker if we were to get caught in even one of the smaller storms,” Killian countered.  The more seasoned men among the crew nodded their heads in agreement.  Though the warmer waters further south would get the worst of the storms, it was not uncommon for some of the strongest to make their way this far north. 

                “It’s only a four day sail to Alexandria, surely we could make it that far,” Ollie called from the back.  “They have better brothels!”

                Hoots of laughter and a slew of bawdy remarks followed Ollie’s declaration.  Even the normally serious Joshua chuckled. 

                “That may be, but do you really want to risk death to scuttle a doxie?”

                His men laughed at his flippant remark, but underneath the jovial sound Killian heard someone say, “Why not?  It’s what you’ve done.”

                The crew fell silent.

                Anger welled in Killian’s chest and he turned his gaze toward James.  The young man was leaning against the curved hull of the ship, his arms crossed on his chest.  James pushed off the hull and returned Killian’s glare once he realized that the whole crew had heard his flippant comment. 

                “We all know you’re rogering that drab up at the palace,” James said with reproach. 

                Unhappy with the insulting term James had used to refer to Emma, Killian snarled his reply, “I advise you to choose your words carefully, mate.”

                James continued his tirade, headless of Killian’s warning.  “It’s not for fear of storms you don’t want to leave Arandelle, Captain, it’s so you can continue to have that strumpet’s lips around your cock.”

                Killian reached out with his hook and snagged the collar of James’ shirt.  He dragged the other man forward until the two of them stood nose to nose.

                “My relationship with Lady Emma is no business of yours,” Killian growled in the other man’s face.

                James only grinned.  “It is when that wench is the reason you’re neglecting your Captainly duties, sir.”

                Killian shoved James away in revulsion.  His words had done their damage, though, as Killian heard a grumble of assent from the rest of the crew.  Killian looked at Joshua and the quartermaster had a deep frown on his face as he studied the crew.     

                Killian turned and addressed the assembled men.  “Is that the way of it?  You feel that I’m not serving the interests of the crew?”

                A number of men nodded.  Killian was unsurprised to see that many were men who had not sailed with him much before this job.  The men who had seemed to have less issue with his actions or agreed with his assessment of the risks of leaving Arandelle before repairs could be made to the ship.

                As Killian studied the twenty remaining members of his crew, he reviewed his options.  If he pulled rank and as Captain insisted they remain in Arandelle, he could fan the flames of discontent among the crew.  Since he served as Captain only by their will, they could hold a vote to see if the majority of the crew wished to remove him from that position.  As it stood, Killian was unsure if such a vote would go in his favor.

                Joshua cleared his throat and stepped forward.  “Let us ignore the supposed relationship between her Highness and our Captain,” he said in calm voice. “Hook speaks the truth that sailing to Alexandria now could see the Jolly Roger at the bottom of the ocean with the state she’s in.  As your chosen quartermaster, I second our Captain’s desire to remain in Arandelle until repairs are made.”

                “Why don’t we put the matter to a vote?” Ollie suggested and most of the crew nodded in agreement.

                “A vote it is,” Killian said.  “All in favor of remaining in Arandelle for repairs, say aye!”

Chapter 14

[hereshowitgoesoncewewinand]

Prompt!

Here you go, I kind of went off on a tangent but I hope you like it. I’m sorry it took so long, I will be getting to all prompts I swear. (If you want to send me a prompt then send me a number and a ship plus any other detail if you specifically want the fic to be about something!)

62: ‘you’re bleeding all over my carpet’

University wasn’t at all what Davey thought it would be like. For starters, he hasn’t formed a bond with his roommate that would last a lifetime. He hasn’t gone to loads of parties and gotten drunk. And he hasn’t missed home as much as he thought he would. The last problems weren’t too bad, he didn’t particularly like drinking and going to parties, and although he felt guilty, he’d much rather have fun than be homesick all year. The first problem however, was big. It’s not that he doesn’t have any other friends, he’s managed to get to know quite a few people in his zoology classes, and has spoken to some people who live on the same floor. It’s that his roommate never seems to be fully clothed. He’s barely spoken to the guy except when they first introduced themselves. Since then, they’ve had one or two conversations, but they’ve largely just smiled and gone back to studying or sleeping.

Anyway back to the no clothes problem. Jack, his roommate, seems to hate the idea of wearing a t-shirt end of, and doesn’t seem to be keen on wearing trousers either. He’ll walk out the bathroom after having a shower with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, and stay that way for hours, or until he has to leave the dorm. As soon as he walks into their shared room, his shirt comes off revealing his toned chest, insinuating that he spends much more time in the gym than he lets people think. And he has no worries about letting Davey, someone he doesn’t know anything about, see him fully naked either. He’ll wake up and get changed right there in front of Davey, like he wants Davey to have a heart attack.

Davey likes to think that if they got a bit closer he’d feel less awkward with having Jack practically naked, although there always seems to be a little voice in the back of his head telling himself that it’ll only make it worse.

That night Jack had gone to a party at this guy called Spot’s dorm. Davey didn’t know anyone there so he refused the invitations and instead began his essay for his next assignment. Jack had a habit of having one night stands when he gets drunk so Davey wasn’t worried about Jack coming back any time soon. Maybe that was the reason he had his shirt off, that, combined with the fact that the AC had stopped working and it was unusually hot and stuffy in their dorm.

Times must’ve passed by quicker than Davey thought because before he knew it Jack was stumbling through their dorm. Davey didn’t even look up, just mumbled a small ‘hey’ and went back to typing. When he didn’t hear Jack move again, he quickly glances around the room and saw Jack standing in the middle of the carpet, two black eyes, and multiple cuts all over his face and arms, as well as bloodied knuckled, and a bruised jaw.

‘What the hell happened to you?’ Davey all but shouted at the sight in front of him.

Davey raced towards Jack’s side and immediately put an arm under Jack’s armpits in an attempt to guide him towards a chair.

'Jack you have to sit down, you’re getting blood all over my carpet’ In response Jack began to hobble over to the chair, not trying to hide how much he was staring at Davey’s chest.

Davey repeated his initial question again, this time to be greeted with an answer.

'Well’ Jack’s words were slightly slurred 'there was this girl who was eyeing me up and I figured she looked alright, so I went over to her to start flirting and this dude came over, ya know, the one I hooked up with a few nights ago?’

Truthfully Davey had lost count of who Jack had slept with and when.

'Well anyway, he came over and was suuuuuper angry and started screaming and shouting and he punched me here’ Jack gestured to his jaw, which was now even more bruised than before, 'then the girl slapped me, but see, this is the bad part, she was wearing a ring you see, then I kinda blanked out’.

The ease of which Jack was explaining what had happened shocked Davey, he was so calm while talking about a fight he had, Davey could never imagine himself being that cool and collected after getting beaten up. Regardless, Davey figured that Jack couldn’t look after himself in the state he was in and debated whether he should call Mush and get his opinion on what to do, after all, he is the one studying medicine. Deciding against that, Davey took it upon himself to get Jack cleaned up. He went into the kitchen after telling Jack to stay put, and made a glass of water, got some aspirin, and picked up their emergency first aid kit.

He put the aspirin and water onto the table beside Jack. And opened the kit.

'Drink Jack, you’ll regret it in the morning’ Jack complied, swallowing the pill and downing the water immediately.

'Now, hold still, I’m gonna disinfect the cuts, it might sting a bit’ although Davey wasn’t sure about that, depending on how drunk Jack was, he might not feel anything at all. Davey brought his hand up to the cuts on Jack’s face and gently wiped away the blood, Jack hissed at the touch, but remained still.

'Ya know Davey, you have the best eyes I’ve ever seen’ Jack was lazily smiling, clearly still intoxicated.

Davey blushed at the compliment but forced himself to concentrate on Jack’s wounds. He could get over his crush later. Davey grabbed another wipe and began on Jack’s other cuts. Jack, however, wasn’t finished complimenting Davey.

'Hey Dave?’ 'Hmm?’ 'How did you get so toned?’ Jack was still smirking, and this time he brought a still bloodied hand up to Davey’s chest, before Davey grabbed it, exclaiming he could do without a bloodstained chest.

Davey wiped Jack’s hands and cleaned his knuckles, before stating that he can’t do anything with Jack’s bruises or black eyes except putting ice on it.

While Davey went to the freezer to find something to put on Jack’s face, Jack moved to get onto his bed, not before taking off his shirt and shoes. When Davey returned to their bedroom, he was met with a sight he wasn’t expecting, Jack shirtless on the bed, and his breathe hitched in his throat, dammit Dave, he thought to himself, get a grip.

'Um here’s your uh ice’ Davey handed the ice to Jack and moved to get into his own bed. He had been lying down for about ten minutes, almost asleep when Jack broke the silence.

'Hey Davey? Thanks, I uh, probably shouldn’t’ve gotten into that fight’

'Don’t worry about it, you’re welcome’

After that Jack must’ve gone to sleep because he didn’t speak again until morning.

Davey awoke and turned on his bedside lamp and was greeted by a groan from Jack who rolled over the pulled the pillow over his head. Somehow in the night Jack had lost his trousers and boxers as they were now strewn over the floor, leaving Davey with his imagination to guess what was left on Jack’s body.

'Sorry, I’ll get you another drink and some aspirin’ Davey was met with a mumbled noise, he vaguely heard a thanks. When he came back into the room, Jack was sitting upright on the bed, although clearly still very hungover. Davey placed the water and pills on the side and stood there awkwardly, not wanting to make a lot of noise incase he made Jack’s headache worse.

'Thanks. For this. I mean, and last night, I uh don’t really remember what I said. I remember having a fight, and walking home, and you helping me. But I can’t remember details. Did I say or do anything embarrassing?’ Jack said smiling a bit, but still in pain.

'Nah not really’ Davey was about to drop the subject, when he remembered how Jack had complimented him. Wasn’t it true that whatever drunk men say is their secrets when they’re sober?

'Well, actually’ Jack groaned as his mind went wild with the different possibilities of the embarrassing thing he had done.

'You said I had the best eyes you had ever seen, and you asked how I got so toned’ Davey was expecting Jack to be at least a little embarrassed, he would’ve been if it were him. But Jack just smirked again and at up straighter.

'Ya know Dave, they weren’t lies, you do have the best eyes I’ve ever seen, and if I remember rightly, you are really toned for someone who sits inside and reads all day. Oh and you also have this amazing smile, and your hair is just so fluffy that it makes me want I run my hands though it, and you-’

'Alright, Jack, I think you still might be a little drunk’ Davey nervously laughed, desperately trying to stop the blush that was creeping up his cheeks.

'Nah I’m not’ there was some awkward tension in the air as neither Jack nor Davey really knew what to say next.

'Dave? Come here? Please?’ Davey moved to sit on the edge of Jack’s bed, before scooting closer when Jack signalled for him to sit next to him.

Davey thought Jack was going to say something, maybe tell him that it was all actually a joke and that he didn’t believe what he had just said, and that Davey was being an idiot to believe someone as great as Jack Kelly would actually like him. What Davey didn’t think was going to happen but did, was that Jack closed the gap between their faces, pressing their lips together, while grabbing Davey’s hand to pull him even closer.

Davey was paralysed. Yeah he’d kissed someone before, but it had never felt like this, he wasn’t expecting something as simple as kissing to short circuit his brain, causing him to forget which way was up. It was a few seconds before Davey was grounded enough to realise that, oh, I should probably kiss back. Jack beginning to pull away, but Davey leaned forwards to recapture their lips, causing Jack to make a sound of surprise, but to ultimately lean back into Davey, this time his hand going to cup Davey’s cheek.

They sat like that for what to Davey felt like forever, but was in reality only about 15 seconds. Until Jack’s hand moved up to Davey’s hair, gently running his hand through it. When Davey moaned slightly at the touch, Jack took that opportunity to use his tongue, causing Davey whimper even more.

Davey, wanting to get Jack back, put his hand into Jack’s hair as well, although, instead of just running his hand through it, he lightly tugged at the roots. This, it turned out, had a great effect on Jack Kelly. The once confident and cocky Jack, completely melted away, being replaced by a moaning mess. Davey was about to repeat the action when Jack’s phone alarm went off.

Jack immediately pulled away, sighing and apologising. When Jack checked his phone, he jumped out of bed, and ran across the room towards the bathroom. Leaving Davey to sit there blushing and smiling as wide as he ever has. Wondering what had just happened.

Jack ran out of the bathroom, clearly having hastily gotten dressed, mumbling something about almost missing an important lecture. He kissed Davey again, this time it was quicker and less needy, pulling back before either of them got too invested again.

'I swear I’ll be right back up as soon as it’s over, I just really can’t miss it, I’m really sorry. Trust me, this is not how I want to spend my Saturday mornings, with you would be so much better.’

Davey blushed and leant in to give Jack another kiss on the lips before pushing him away.

'Go and get your degree Jack, I’ll be here when you come back’ Jack smiled and ran out of the room, leaving Davey alone once again to try and screw his head on straight.

[kitty-bandit]

Why do you only ever write sex

Okay, Anon. You picked a really,REALLY bad day to send me this ask because I’m in an incredibly foul mood and Igot almost no sleep, so sit back and let me tell you a thing or two.

I don’t know if you realize it, butthis ask comes off as extremely rude. Maybe you didn’t mean it that way, butthat’s how I’m interpreting it. Next time, choose your words more carefully,because tone does NOT come off in text easily.

First off, I’m going to point outsomething that I would hope is obvious. You, nor anyone else, gets to questionmy reasoning for writing what I do. I’m literally hurting no one with my fics,and unless I didn’t get the memo, you don’t have to fucking read them. You havethe option of just scrolling past my fic links and fucking off with whatever itis you do, Anon. You even have the wonderful PRIVILEGE of blocking my tumblr,so you don’t even have to see my fics on your dash or in the tags. TA-DA!!!Problem solved!!!

Second off, not that it’s yours or anyoneelse’s business, but I LIKE WRITING SEX. For me (again, FOR ME PERSONALLY), sexand love are very intertwined. A few kinky sex fics aside, most of what I writeis for Laven, and those stories are extremely loving and caring. I have mirroreda lot of my own personal experiences into those stories, crafting them to fitthe characters, and having you come into my inbox and question my reasoning forwriting love the way I do is insulting.

Which brings me to my final point—I WRITESTORIES WITHOUT SEX.

You must be new here, because I’vewritten a shit-ton of fics over the years. And to say that I “only ever writesex” is completely misguided and false. I feel like you’re just fuckingtrolling me. If you bothered to look into my fiction, you’d realize that I havePLENTY of fics that don’t revolve around sex.

Here, since I’m such a fucking niceperson, LET ME LIST THEM OUT FOR YOU.

Homecoming – Just a short G-Ratedfic in which Allen is waiting for Lavi to return from a mission.

DGM Week 2015 – While marked asrated E, this is a 7 chapter “fic” (which really should’ve been a collection)with non-connected stories. The only chapter with sex in it is chapter 7. So,there’s 6 different stories that are SFW.

Obsession – A SFW fic where Laviadmires Allen’s hair.

Shattered – A SFW fic where Lavileaves Allen for his Bookman duties.

A Moment in Time – Again, moreLaven, SFW.

Introduction – Lavi and Allen meetat a wedding.

Study Date – Look, I snuck in someHQ!! Asanoya while you weren’t looking. Also SFW.

Slipped My Mind – And here we have aSFW Laven Sherlock!AU fic.

Who Ya’ Gonna Call? – Another SFWfic where Lavi thinks his house is haunted.

What Goes Bump in the Night – SFW fic where Lavi and Allen end up camping inthe woods.

I’ll Be Alright – Short and sweetJohnnyuu fic that, well lookie here, is SFW.

Discord – SFW fic where Lavi and Allenare parents.

Night on the Town – My love letterto Howard Link and his addiction to working too hard. Also, some Laven inthere.

Enemies – Look, I wrote Poker Pairand it’s SFW.

Under the Stars – SFW Yulma.

Sugary Sweet – SFW Pieshipping.

Double Teamed – SFW Lavi x Allen xTyki. Yeah, I do OT3, too.

Wounded – SFW Main OT4.

Troublemakers – SFW Laven HighSchool AU.

Idiot’s Guide to Getting a Boyfriend– SFW Laven fic that I LITERALLY POSTED THIS WEEK.

Music of the Heart – LITERALLY JUSTPOSTED THIS ONE TODAY THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

Now, let’s ALSO get into my DRABBLECOLLECTIONS.

I’ve written a fucking load ofdrabbles for various pairings. I keep all the drabbles for various pairings intheir own separate collections. It’s easier for people to find that way. Now,while some of these are marked with the M or E rating, not all of the drabblesare NSFW. In fact, most are SFW. Let’s take a look at these, shall we?

Brighter than the Sun – Miranda/Marie.Totally SFW. 2 drabbles.

Suck My Kiss – Laviyuu. No sex, butsuggestive situations. 5 drabbles.

You’re Not the One, But You’re theOnly One – Yullen. Totally SFW. 3 drabbles.

Head Over Feet – Pieshipping.Totally SFW. 5 drabbles.

Something About Us – OT4Lavi/Allen/Lena/Kanda (various combinations of those 4). 5 NSFW drabbles, 7SFW.

A Woman’s Voice Can Drug You –Lavilena. 4 NSFW. 15 SFW.

Soul to Squeeze – Yulmalee. 1 NSFW.3 SFW.

I Just Want You to Love Me – Kalena.1 NSFW. 5 SFW.

You and I Will Meet Again – Yulma. 2NSFW. 4 SFW.

Fooled Around and Fell in Love –Lucky. 6 NSFW. 8 SFW.

You are the Only One – Laven (and mymasterpiece). 9 NSFW. 50 SFW!!! 50!!!

Follow You Down – Tyki x Allen xLavi OT3. 3 NSFW. 1 SFW.

Let’s Do Something Wrong – Poker Pair.4 NSFW. 7 SFW.

I hope you can see now that I do, in fact, write SFW fics that have nosex in them. Quite a fucking lot, in fact. So, Anon. That’s all I have to sayon the matter.

[calotta-of-choices]

Endless Hope

Chapter One:

If I Were Burning Up

His bright, blue eyes were open wide, staring straight ahead.

“Stay down!” he hissed, grasping her waist with his hand and yanking her closer. Her body was pressed up against his, chest to side. “It’s coming this way.”

She watched as his body morphed into a dark skinned, young adult. His taller figure, desperation in his chocolate brown gaze as he held out a hand towards her.

“Ilona! Give me your hand!” he urged, reaching out further. Ilona reached out to grab it before his body melted away. The brown liquid turned into bright red as it fell into a volcano. The heat hit her face, forcing her to turn away.

“You don’t understand, do you?”

She found the owner of the voice, a man dressed in a brown suit. The smirk on his face, the swagger of his walk. He was confident or arrogant. Probably both.

“Of course not. It’s too much for a test tube to comprehend,” he shook his head and raised his hand. “But you will…in time.”

Her body was being moved, jolting her awake. Her eyes flew open, finding the airplane seat in front of her. It sent a quick reminder to her brain of where she truly was.

Rubbing her eyes, the blonde tried to shake off the dream. Or was it? Felt like a premonition…

Diego noticed her awake and grinned. “Hey sleepy head. How was the nap?” he asked curiously and saw the frown on her face. “Nightmare?”

“God, I hope so,” Ilona answered and glanced out the small, plane window. Bright light illuminated the area, showing the sparkling, blue water below and the clear skies above. “That’s a view for a postcard.”

“And it’s ours for a week! Can you believe that?” he grinned, peaking over her shoulder to see the view. Around them, chatter filled the plane from the other contestant winners.

“One magical week in paradise, here we come!”

“All expenses paid, what whaaat!”

“Good thing too,” a voice sighed happily from behind her. Turning her head, she found a large, dark-skinned guy with long, dark curls. “I’m so deep in student debt I couldn’t even afford instant ramen right now.”

Ilona’s blue gaze inspected the rest of the classmates. She could easily identify the jocks, the nerds…

Her eyes widened as they fell on a certain dark-skinned guy. He strode down the aisle, eyes warm and unlike the ones in her dream. Diego rose a brow, finding what she stared at and snickered.

“Probably not the first time a girl has dreamt about Sean Gayle and will no doubt not be the last,” he commented as Sean caught her gaze. Shooting her a smile, he walked past without saying a word. “Huh.”

“What?” she asked, finding her friend on his phone with a frown. “Goldie Locks not text you back?”

“Renee, and no,” he replied, holding up his phone. In bright, white digits it read ‘5:15’.

Ilona shrugged her shoulders. “Thanks, Father Time but I fail to see the problem,” she stated sarcastically and he rolled his eyes.

“We should’ve landed an hour ago. You weren’t snoring that long,” Diego pointed out, sitting back into his chair, dark green pillow firmly snuggled onto his lap.

“I’ll see if something’s up,” she rose to her feet, moving past and heading down the aisle towards the cockpit. Carefully, she dodged the tour guide—who seemed waaay to peppy for a woman stuck with college kids for a week—as she tried to speak with the students.

Ignoring the ‘staff only’ sign on the plane, she opened the door and shook her head at the sight in front of her. The pilot’s feet were kicked up on the dashboard, hands behind his head.

“You look like you’re hard at work,” she said and when no response came, she got closer. His chest rising and falling gently, eyes closed. “Are you sleeping?!”

Her loud voice startled him awake. Groggily, he stared up at her with those blue eyes. The same that were filled with fear in her dream from before. The hope that it was all just a dream seems to be dimming with each person she ran into.

The pilot’s face scowled. “Listen, Princess, don’tcha know it’s rude to wake someone who’s taking a nap?”

Her brow rose. “Princess?” she asked as he shrugged his shoulders.

“What can I say? I give nicknames to people who annoy me,” he said and she rolled her eyes.

“Says the guy sleeping on the job. Nice work not killing us, Aragorn,” Ilona commented, crossing her arms over her chest. Now it was his turn to raise a brow. “Ever heard of Lord of the Rings?”

“Nope,” he answered but the twitch in his left eye made her smirk.

“Your shit at lying.”

“Fine. Call me Aragorn. I like it. The man was a badass. Relax. We aren’t landing til…” he said, checking his watch. His eyebrows furrowed. “The hell? That time ain’t right…” he noticed the instruments. “That ain’t right either.”

A cold chill ran down her spine as he wacked it. She knew that feeling all too well. Something was wrong. They were in danger somehow.

A flash of lightning filled her mind.

Swallowing, she moved closer to the dashboard and bent down slightly, staring out at the clear skies. “What’s the chance of running into a lightning storm out here?”

Aragorn snorted. “None. I have more chance winning the lottery than running into a storm out her—”

The sudden turbulence cut him off, shaking the plane. Ilona lost her balance and was thrown into a wall. Various buzzers and alerts screamed out, forcing the pilot into gear. Ilona saw the dark clouds and felt her stomach drop.

“Better start buy tickets then,” she snapped, gripping the back of the seat in an effort to stay on her feet.

Aragorn swore. “This stormfront’s coming in quick. Get your ass in a seat and tell everyone else to buckle up,” he ordered, grabbing the yoke. Not needing to be told twice, she stumbled out of the cockpit and various shouts greeted her.

“Where the hell did this storm come from?! It was a clear day!”

Large, angry balls of lightning flashed outside, illuminating the fear on the faces of everyone.

“This is all wrong! I can’t die here, surrounded be these morons!” a pale, smartly dressed young man exclaimed as more panic filled the room. Sean tried to get everyone to calm down but it fell on deaf ears. The reality of crashing and death was very real.

Ilona’s gaze fell onto Diego who stared at her, eyes widened in fear.

If that wasn’t a dream, then we survive this, her eyes flickered towards Sean. At least, some of us.

The plane shook and she surged forward, crashing into a nearby seat.

oOo

La Huerta…

The warmth from the sun rested on her shoulders, as if reassuring her that the crazy storm had been a distant memory. Her entire was buzzing, as if she had drank ten cups of coffee and three energy drinks. Ilona tried to shake it off and looked up at the bright sky. Squinting, she shaded her eyes with her hand, looking around.

“Hard to imagine just a few minutes ago we were dying,” Diego whistled, standing beside her. He flexed his right arm. “Think I can get a tan?”

“You’re already tanned enough,” she teased, bumping her hip with his. Something sparkled in her peripheral vision and she turned her head. It was tucked slightly under some branches. Curious, she walked over and discovered a tranquiliser dart. Reaching out, she picked it up and studied it.

“Whatcha got there, Lonnie?” Diego asked, looking over her shoulder. “Is that…a tranquiliser dart?”

“Looks almost empty. Whatever the target was, it was huge for this dose,” Ilona confirmed, studying it a bit further. “Wish I was back at Professor Marco’s lab.”

Diego put his hands on his hips. “Back it up, Velma. We’re on vacation which means no sleuthing,” he warned her firmly and she rose to her feet. Sensing eyes on her, Ilona looked around and found a girl with dark brown hair and a scar across her eye staring at the pair.

Diego saw the frown and found the girl. “What’s wrong?”

“Something’s off about her,” Ilona murmured, lips pursed as something struck her as odd. Taking a count of heads, she figured it out. “The school told us ten students, right?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed as they locked eyes with each other.

“Then why are there eleven of us?”

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Songs: If I Were A Boy by Beyonce. Burning Up by Jessie J.

[kookienomster3]

I Want The Headline (Pt. 46)

Written By: suga-of-daegu BTS Fanfiction Angst WARNING: MATURE CONTENT Mafia/Gang

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50

The prison was only a few blocks from the hospital. A large dark building that took up several city blocks. Jungkook’s eyes passed over the lone tower of the isolation wing as the car drove closer to it. His eyes narrowed, the prison entrance was on the opposite side. “Where are you going?”

You swiveled your head in his direction, curiously peering out his window looking for some sort of entrance sign. Jungkook shifted closer to you, leaning forward in his seat to get a better look at Captain Jeon’s profile. The captain side-eyed him, nodding his head in the direction of the sign they were approaching.

‘Police Entrance: Stay Left for inmate drop offs’

You saw something pass over Jungkook’s face and noticed the way his jaw clenched. The hand resting on the headrest of the seat beside you to keep himself forward tightened it’s grip. A car passed by the right window and you frowned. You all were in the left lane? Captain Jeon made eye contact with you through the rear view window, subtly motioning to Jungkook who was practically leaning into the front seat.

“Jeon.” You called softly. He looked back at you, forcing his face to remain neutral.

“What’s wrong?” For moment you just stared at him. You weren’t exactly sure what to do now. Ignoring the captain’s curious stare you knotted your fingers into Jungkook’s shirt and pulled on it. He slid back in the seat, cautiously watching you. “Are you alright?” He asked softly, dropping his arm around your shoulders. Jungkook studied the way you mirrored his unsure expression.

“Are you alright?” You mimicked. He blinked, licking his lips. As of late, all your responses to him were one word answers, this was the first time in a long time you had spoken more than a few words to him. Taking your wrist in his hands, he toyed with the hospital bracelet still dangling from it. A soft kiss was placed on your temple.

“Later.” He whispered, dark eyes staring at the curious officer in the mirror. He intertwined his fingers with yours.

The car pulled up to a closed gate, a small sentry booth situated off to the side. Jungkook’s grip tightened, his arm pulling you closer. Head pressed into the crook of his neck, you drew in a deep breath.

“I missed you, Jeon.”

His thumb caressed your cheek as he pressed a firm kiss atop your head. “I missed you too.” He echoed. In the front seat, Captain Jeon rolled down his window, sticking his hand out to shake with the sentry.

“Captain! How are you?” The other man asked, gaze flitting to Jungkook glaring at him from the backseat. “Another drop off?”

Turning his head down to yours to hide his sour expression, Jungkook angrily muttered, “I’ll fucking drop him.” Oddly, you chuckled, burying your face into his shirt to muffle the sound. You knew Jungkook had a temper, but the petty way he had grumbled it was too funny. And the way he had said it was even funnier; brows knitted and bottom lip poking out in a pout. It reminded you of when your oldest brother would tease Jin in front of his friends and Jin would poutily try to come up with some sort of sly comeback. At seeing Jin so upset, you often tried to help him, but only succeeded in making your oldest brother and his friends laugh harder; embarrassing Jin even more. Not even your best stick drawings could get Jin to play with you after you did something like that.

“I love you.” You blurted out. Which was true, you loved him. Some part of you felt like it wasn’t the exact way he wanted you to love him, but it was still love. You felt his heartbeat speed up and the feel of it ended up making yours do the same. He shifted his arm, pressing your chest closer to his. Silently, he leaned his head against yours, finger tapping against your shoulder in sync rhythm with your heartbeat. Breathlessly he whispered,

“..I’m glad..because lately I’ve been feeling like I’m the only one who’s trying to make us work.” He admitted softly, “And it’s getting to the point where I don’t remember why I love you…I just know I do.”

He rubbed his head in frustration. Why didn’t he remember? There was your first meeting in the Waiting Room. When you clung to him and his flannel in the hall. The talk about Sochi’s; he remembered the first time you kissed him. The warehouse, Areum, meeting Min Yoongi for the first time..he remembered all of those events, but he couldn’t remember when he first realized he loved you. It was just like, one minute you were there and the next he was ready to put his life on the line for you.

Jungkook drew in a sharp breath, one of his fists raising up to cover his mouth as he blankly stared down at the floor mats. His brows were knitted tightly in concentration and anger. He loved you, he knew this. He didn’t immediately love you though, there was something that happened between you two that had him realizing it. His head was starting to hurt. You had said you loved him first, he was certain of that, but when had he said it back?

“When you took whatever was in that needle.”

“What?”

“That’s when I first realized I loved you. I didn’t confess it to you until later, but that was the exact moment.” You explained, meeting his gaze,“When you, even though you were hurt and strapped to that chair, said you’d take whatever was in that needle and call off Namjoon’s raid or whatever just to protect me. You didn’t have to. And even though keeping me safe put you in so much danger, you still did it without question..but it all started with the needle. I know the exact moment and why.” You quieted. “And I’ll never forget it.” Jungkook looked away from you, pulling his body completely away. He bit his lip harshly, digging his elbows into his knees and holding his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled. “I’m sorry I can’t remember why.”

Captain Jeon and the sentry had finished their conversation long ago, the sentry already had returned to his booth and opened the gates. The car was currently slowly passing through them, but Captain Jeon was too distracted listening in on you and Jungkook’s conversation. He frowned softly at how Jungkook had turned away from you and curled in on himself.

You blinked back tears; unsure why his response had hurt so much. Hadn’t you decided on Yoongi and spent who-knows-how-long trying to find the perfect way to tell Jungkook? But instead you were blurting out in full detail the exact moment you fell in love with him. Jungkook not knowing why he loved you in the first place was a perfect way out.

But all you wanted now was for him to remember why. He was special to you; more so than anyone else. Whether you were with Yoongi or not, you wanted him to know how you felt. You loved him; romantically or not, you loved him and you knew exactly when and why.

It was completely selfish, but why couldn’t he remember why he loved you?

The car came to a stop, Captain Jeon awkwardly clearing his throat. Jungkook’s head snapped up, his hand immediately opening the door. He stepped out, hurriedly walking in the doors and leaving you behind. You sat still for a few moments, blankly staring at where he had rushed in. “He..he’s not good with expressing himself.” You murmured in response to Captain Jeon’s look of confusion. “..but even so..he’s never…” You cleared your throat, feeling something burn behind your eyes,“He’s never avoided trying to express them to me. He’s always tried, even if it makes no sense- I’ve never-” Your breath hitched,“He’s never walked away from me like that.”

Captain Jeon exited the driver’s seat, soon after opening your door and helping you out. “I’d say give him some time, but you know him better than I do.” He sighed. Patting your shoulder, he guided you to the doors, “Maybe after a visit with his brother he’ll feel better.”

Despite Jungkook being there a few days ago, no one seemed to question or even react to his reappearance. Calmly he had moved to the service desk, fingers curling around the pen sitting atop the sign-in book. You and Captain Jeon waited by the visitor chairs.

“If you need anything, just ask someone around here.” Captain Jeon smiled at you. He wasn’t at ease at the sudden distance between you and Jungkook. Since he had seen you both in the same proximity, you two had been glued together. Now, you stared at anything but Jungkook and he avoided looking back at you. Winking behind Jungkook’s back to try to get a response from you, Captain Jeon added, “And if they tell you no, just tell them Captain Jeon said it was alright.” For emphasis, he plucked his badge off his chest, handing it over to you. Delicately, you took the badge, a bit surprised at the weight it carried. By then Jungkook had finished and he stare suspiciously at the shiny item in your hand, but looked away the moment you raised your head in his direction. “For protection.” Captain Jeon piped up suddenly. “Just looking out for my little sister.” He added lightly.

Jungkook glared at him, stepping to the doors off to the side to the conference room the man at the desk had directed him to, “Don’t ever call her your sister. She already has two brothers.” He hissed. Waiting for the doors to open, Jungkook turned his back to you both and shoved his hands into his pockets. Slowly, the door opened and he hurried inside, completely ignoring you.

Shortly after Jungkook disappeared, Captain Jeon was sending you a strange look. He shrugged lightly, moving towards the same doors Jungkook had gone through. “I’m going to make sure he doesn’t start a riot or something.” he huffed. “There’s a little bench area outside if you want some air. Hopefully this will be quick.” You nodded, but only sat down in one of the plastic chairs of the lobby. Turning the badge over in your hand, your eyes passed over the hospital bracelet.

Inside the confines of the hospital room you felt horrible, too tired and weak to even lift your head, but since you had gotten out you felt much better. You had even laughed. And all that was thanks to Jungkook…who was now questioning why he had wasted so much time doting on you.

You needed a comforting presence.

Tightening your hold on the badge, you cut your gaze to the man at the desk. “Sir?” He looked over at you, surprised to hear you speak. “May..If I name someone, will you tell me if they’re here?” At that he nodded, hands already positioned over the keyboard. “His name is Jaehwa-”

“Ahh him.” The guard grumbled, “That guy is always submitting complaints, 'Oh this blanket is too thin.’ 'The food is terrible’ 'Where’s my cellmate? It’s boring without Yoongi’s funny stories’”

“Yoongi?” You repeated. Yoongi was here too? You would think that with him being a 'boss’, he’d be in federal prison or something; not the local jail. Which you never really thought about before; Yoongi as a mafia boss seemed odd. He was just..Yoongi. Weren’t bosses rough and demanding like Namjoon? You couldn’t even recall a moment you had seen Yoongi lay a hand on someone else. Choi Yoongi; that man fit the boss roll, but Min? You couldn’t picture it. He was too gentle.

“Can I see him?” Standing up quickly you crossed the room to his desk. Taking a deep breath the badge was held out. Hopefully, Captain Jeon’s badge held that much weight over the desk attendant. “May I see Min Yoongi?” You asked softly. Jungkook had been gone for 15 minutes, but you weren’t sure when he was going to come back. You felt that he’d still ignore you once he came back anyway. His realization had hit you hard, but it seemed it hit him just as hard.

The guard at the sign in table turned away from you to tap at the keyboard beside him. You peered at the screen, heart dropping when the bold text of 'Solitary Confinement’ flashed before the screen. Yoongi had spent enough time confined to a room and now he was back in one? The guard, after chancing a glance at the badge once more, quietly overrode the screen and a room number popped up. “Conference room 5C.” He spoke, pointing to a set of double doors on the opposite side of the room as the ones Jungkook had gone through. Sighing in relief, you thanked him and hurried to the door. On the opposite side, a guard led you to the conference room, his steely expression showing nothing as he confirmed that you were there to see Min Yoongi. Timidly, you consented and were seated in the room to wait.

The room was small, with no windows. A cold draft blew in from the vents, the soft rumble of the air pushing through giving some sort of sound to distract yourself from the ringing in your ears. You twisted your hands together, all of a sudden very nervous.

You were going to see Yoongi again.

The fact that he had never admitted to loving you still played in the back of your mind, and warped your memory of him. You weren’t even sure if he liked being around you other than what he was forced to endure in the room. Yes, he had been surprised to see you in the warehouse, but that didn’t mean anything. He might refuse to meet with you, or ignore you once he showed up, but you didn’t focus on that. Just the fact that he was going to be here put you at ease. That alone comforted you.

And distracted you from Jungkook’s sudden distance.

Yoongi stepped into the room alone, his eyes immediately focusing on you. He paused, gaze scanning your face, dropping down to your feet and sweeping back up. He had spent a considerable amount of time alone in a pitch black room. Everything was too bright and too loud here. It had been a long time since he had heard anything other than his own breathing and the soft whir of a camera. Your arrival was so unexpected. Yoongi felt his heart rate spike at the sight of you.

You were actually there.

His emotions went haywire as memories flashed in his mind. Seeing you, he suddenly remember much vividly the sound of your voice and how you felt in his arms. He remember falling asleep with you and waking up to you. He felt too much and it made his chest hurt. His emotions were like a flame wafting over an ocean of gasoline. At first, there was nothing. Then, everything was alit and raging.

And unstoppable.

There was an overwhelming urge to cry tugging behind his eyes, but at the same time he wanted to leave. At his sides, his fingers itched to touch you; it had been too long. Despite all the raging thoughts and feelings, Yoongi only stood there blankly. This whole thing could have been another hallucination. He had hallucinated about you frequently since being put in confinement. He warily eyed you, hesitant to approach. Cutting his gaze to the corners of the room, he searched for a camera somewhere. This had to be set up by the guards; some other ploy to get him to crack. He watched you stare back at him, a soft smile upturning your lips. Reflexively, Yoongi scowled, you weren’t really there. You weren’t there, so if he ignored you, you’d go away like all his other hallucinations.

Standing up on shaky legs, you found yourself rooted to your spot. Yoongi took a small step forward, eyes narrowing. His hallucinations never moved before. Loosening your jaw and trying to come up with something to say, your confidence faltered at his icy silence. He didn’t look particularly happy.

He didn’t have any expression at all.

[shared-diaries-online]

Entry 15 - Gifts and Curses (Part 2)

January 1, 2019

Dear “Diary,”

         Happy New Year! … ? I mean, it doesn’t feel like a new year for me. I’m in the middle of this flirtation process with the most beautiful woman in the world who just happens to work in my office, but the office is closed for the holidays. Or not really, close, but it’s easy for “non-essential” staff to get some time off. And maybe I should be concerned for my job that I’m in that category, but I also know A LOT about what the higher ups do on their business trip. And maybe that’s really what’s going on…. That’s not important.

         A "new year” will never feel like a “new year” to someone who is as obsessed with the past as I am. And Ada is a big part of that. We never got any real closure, and I am desperate to hold onto anything that remotely seems like closure. That doesn’t usually work out, but I still try.

         So if last entry cut off a bit abruptly, I apologize. For one, it was getting too long, and two, I still wasn’t quite sure how to handle certain aspects of it.

         I mean, I want to put Ada’s parents on blast, but then again, I never bothered to get their side of the story. Maybe that shouldn’t matter when I’m going to such lengths to shield EVERYONE’s identity, and I have a vested interest in keeping it that way. However, that may only be relevant in a legal case, and I’m more concerned about ethics. And yet, I don’t think they were.

         I’m being judgmental, yes, but at least, I’m aware that my blood is boiling, and I’m inclined to lash out. I went to a Catholic mass on Sunday. I jump around. Like I said, I was religious once, studied religion, and now don’t know what I want to do or where I want to be. But Catholicism lost a couple points with me for the readings last Sunday…. Yes, it was the feast of the Holy Family, so I don’t know what I was expecting, but the first reading was that passage about children honoring their parents, how you have to do it, and how sinful it is not to.

         Here’s the thing: good parents should be revered just like the text says, even if they struggle with modern technology, even if they get sick with something like dementia, even when they struggle. Good parents did everything they could to help you. They taught you things like how to use a spoon, they guided you, they supported you, and they loved you. Also, you probably vomited on them once or twice. But no matter what comical or genuine challenges you threw their way, they endured.

         Not all parents are great parents, though. And that’s a problem we don’t always think too much about. In fact, it was likely something the scripture author didn’t think about. In some ways, it may be understandable. It’s not a malicious denial but a defensive one. Destroying the illusion of safety and perfection may cause an existential crisis of some sort. But Ada’s parent’s were pretty horrible, and you can bet they didn’t deserve one fricking bit of her respect, love, and obedience. They were monsters. Through and through.

         Here’s the thing: Ada didn’t know anything about her disease. Celiac disease is manageable, especially in a gluten-free-fad age. The most important thing is to avoid gluten, but the problem was her parents never explained to her what gluten was. They made it out to be this ever-present boogie man lurking in every restaurant, home, and non-Mormon church. Really, the main things to avoid are wheat, rye, and barley. There are other things, yes, but it’s not a daunting list. I learned it all in one afternoon, and I had a short attention span in those days. They never told her that. Instead, they spent all their time filling her with head with scary stories about a monster that actually wasn’t real. Oh and talking to wait staff? They told her that it wouldn’t be welcomed. She would be hated, which was horrible in and of itself, but they would also spit in her food, contaminating it and making her sick anyway. Because, yes, gluten could make her very, very, very sick. (On this they were right but literally only this.)

         So, yeah, they gave her permission to go everywhere, knowing full well she was too scared to. I think back to their grins when they were pushing her to come with us, and I want to punch their stupid faces. They got off of it, probably. They got off on their daughter’s misery. You can’t see or hear it, but I’m seething.

         Would all Mormons do this? Obviously not, but they used their religion to justify it. I asked them about it. After she died…. They were surprisingly unrepentant for religious people. So no, they weren’t good Mormons, and they weren’t good parents, but I’ll get to that.

         When I came into her life, Ada felt emboldened to go places with her friends. Only if I was there, and that was fine. Because I always wanted to be with her.  She was beautiful, wonderful, and warm. I was drawn to her. I loved her, and in time, she fell in love with me too. I don’t know how it happened, but we were sitting in a diner together, and we were each eating gluten free pizzas. The waiter had complimented her on being so supportive of me. She smiled her beautiful smile. Her eyes twinkled as the nightmare gave way to genuine paradise.

         Ada took a bite, smirking. Then she chuckled nervously. But at first, she didn’t say anything.

         “What?” I asked.

         “I think I love you,” she whispered.

         “Think?”

         “I’m scared,” she confessed.

         “I’m scared of everything,” I hastily replied. She chuckled again. “Really. Anything can go wrong at any time. Like now. In this diner. The ceiling could fall on us. A car could drive through this large window. Anything can happen, but I like being around you. You make me happy. I love you too. So…. whatever.”

         She reached across the table and took my hand. Just for a moment. And then she pulled back. She was always like that. One second she was there, and then she was gone. But not literally gone just emotionally/mentally. I wouldn’t say she was “hot and cold,” but she was hurting. And I understood. The entire world was a new one for her, and after about sixteen years of being told to fear it, she’d need time to get used to this new world. In my mind, I was meeting her half way. And that was that.

         Which is what I should have done for the most beautiful woman in the world who just happens to work in my office, even if she was just a coworker back then.  I shouldn’t have snapped at her in the elevator. Asking me if I had food allergies was the natural course of the conversation. I didn’t need to be rude.

         I wanted to make it right. And in my mind, that meant making sure she could participate in the lunches. I just didn’t know how. It was in the back of my mind as I processed expenses and invoices as they came in. Which is not great. Here’s the thing about accounts payable: if you pay someone too much, they are not going to tell you. Second thing: if you don’t have a contract making sure you can get extra money back, they ain’t going to give you a cent back. So you have to be careful, especially when the organization’s budget is tight, especially when you’re are a new job, and especially when your predecessor got fired for being careless.

         But when guilt demands your attention, you can’t help but oblige. I replayed that conversation on repeat whenever I was sitting at my desk, and still, I managed to catch a mistake on an invoice from one of the restaurants that we buy our lunches from.

         It hadn’t been a particularly good lunch, which might have been why I was so critical of the bill. And this wasn’t me being overly critical, either. Large sections of the pan of pasta were burned. There was no amount of money we could rightly pay for that, but we certainly weren’t going to pay for four pans when we only got (terrible) one.

         The guy (let’s call him Kevin) didn’t answer when I called to get a corrected bill. He returned my call an hour later, apologizing profusely. He might have thought I was a lot angrier than I actual was; it’s just how I come across over the phone. Not that I corrected him at all… Look, I wasn’t that angry. I just wanted a new bill that reflected what we actually got (on a quantitative level).

         But what I said was “Kevin, what would have happened if I actually paid this bill? Would you have done it again?”

         It was a genuine mistake, he swore.

         “How can I be sure?”

         With gifts of course! A free lunch (and a corrected bill).

         I accepted, though it was not my decision to make.

         Our HR department handled the free lunches, and by that, I mean our HR manager, who was the only person in the so-called department. To her credit, she was able to do the work of an entire department, but at what personal expense, I still don’t quite understand. Not that I ever asked, but when she’s snippy with me, I take it in stride and never expect an apology. Instead, I’m just surprised she didn’t do anything worse.

         After I got off the call with Kevin, I called her on the interoffice line. She sounded exhausted when she answered. I don’t even know what she said. It came out far too strangled for me to make sense of it.

         I ignored the plight I could do nothing about. “Did you order the lunch for next week?”

         She groaned.

         “Relax. I took care of it.”

         “Really?” she squeaked.

         “Yeah, one of the vendors messed up our receipt. He thought I was a lot angrier than I actually am, so free lunch.” I paused. “And one less thing for you to do.”

         She thanked me and a number of deities profusely. Clearly, she was having a moment that had little to do with me, so I slowly hung up the phone. It was awkward, yes, so I took a personal moment before I picked up the phone and called Kevin back to go over the menu. I wanted to ask him for things they couldn’t mess up, but I restrained myself.

         “We’re good to go,” I said. “And we really appreciate the gesture. It’s nice to know that you guys are going to make things right when things happen. Because that’s how life works. Things happen sometimes.”

         “We at [REDACTED] aren’t going to let ‘things happen.’ We take pride in our work. How about some cookies?”

         “Well, I’ve been told to not turn down free food.”

         “Gluten free or vegan?”

         I internally groaned. They couldn’t just have normal cookies? If you can’t cook pasta, I thought, you can’t get creative with the cookies. Actually, it was just a decision I didn’t want to make. The words “gluten free” set me off, and now all I wanted to do was disengage.

         “Just send one dozen of each, and label them.”

         My tone couldn’t be argued with, though I think Kevin only wanted to send one dozen cookies. But sure enough, the next lunch came and so did two dozen cookies: one gluten-free and one vegan. They came in white sharpies with large black letters declaring their defining characteristic. The words “gluten-free” are their own were painful to look at. So I turned away just as she—the most beautiful woman in the world who just happens to work in my office—walked in, bag lunch in her hand. She at least glanced towards the food, though the odds were she couldn’t have any.

         I watched her carefully. Far too carefully.  There was certainly no need for me to stare her down. I’d like to think it was because I was just so desperate to come up with some sort of an apology: a week’s old apology. That’s not a great justification for staring. There really isn’t one. But as I watched her, the gluten-free cookies caught her eye. I saw a twinkle therein. She smirked, glanced around (but didn’t see me looking) and grabbed two.

         I relaxed. It wouldn’t be too hard for me to make this right.

Digitally Yours (and may be again sooner than usually maybe…),

Alex

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[jggukz]

help me escape, please.

genre: angsty, lots of drabble, fluff that can only be seen through a microscope pairing: jimin x reader (first person; idk why i just started writing it like that and didn’t stop) word count: 7k author’s note: this is based on a dream i had. yes, the things in this happened in my dream, and yes i dreamt of jimin. it scared me but yeah warnings: implications of violence

The camp sat in the middle of nowhere, in the barren emptiness of neglect and abandoned souls. This camp wasn’t rainbows and butterflies, telling fake ghost stories by the lit campfire or dancing to campfire songs strummed on a battered acoustic guitar. No, this wasn’t that sort of camp at all.

The Youth Institute of Refinery and Reform was an underground, government-run facility that ticked all too many of the government laws deeming it illegal, but for the past 15 years no one had done anything about it, the cold place continuing to run. With the name being somewhat self explanatory, it was a place where young men and women were sent to smash out bad habits, turn them into perfect people; refine and reform, but it was never the case. It was a place with no emotion, no mercy, no hope for help and no escape, unless the people admitted met the requirements of what was considered “better,” whatever better had meant.

With a place as cruel as this, came people who were against it. My mother worked for the government as a neuro scientist, a psychiatrist of sorts, who was too qualified and in turn too envied to be given the glory of the abilities she was capable of, so in the unfair society we live in, under the watchful glare of the government, she was assigned to the institute to monitor the individuals… Patients that were admitted. She had worked there for a number of years, the number too irrelevant to count, and over the years I would see her also mentally deteriorating from whatever horrors she’s had to encounter within. The place, of course, was supposed to be a secret or at least on the down-low, but when I was 16 I overheard her conversation over the phone with someone by the name of Director Choi, and confronted her about what her actual job was. Since she had grown frail, she gave in and told me everything but warned me that we both could be in big trouble if any information was falsely leaked.

As for me, I was a budding journalist in the middle of college, ambitious in seeking out any juicy information I could get my hands on. I had always hated what the institute had done to my mother, even though she tried not to show it, I knew, so I had nagged her for months to get in so I could investigate and file an article- exposé on whatever cruel actions were being forced on the patients, and to hopefully bring justice to the youth of the world that were held under the grips of the government, and finally after a whole year, I got my shot.

Due to my mothers extensive years in the facility, she had gained a high rank, you could say, within the hierarchy of the institute. With this she managed to get me one week inside, to do “whatever I pleased,” with restrictions. Of course. I should be happy, I mean I am ecstatic. But why am I scared? Thoughts pass through my mind as I pack my duffel bag with what I needed, and I was intrigued by what situations may arise and what I will encounter within, what people I’ll meet and how they are like. With a humph of a sigh, the stuffed duffel bag zipped closed with a final tug, and was slung over my shoulder as I bounded down the stairs.

My mother was waiting by the door, accompanied by two large men clad in all-black suits, equipped with earpieces and too-large sunglasses. A snort accidentally escaped my throat.

It’s like the fucking men in black. It’s ridiculous.

My mother shot me a glare as we made our way towards the all-black car with all-black tinted windows, and I ignored her stare as I flung my duffel bag into the vehicle, followed by hauling my body into the rough leather seat.

The drive was long, taking a full day, as I could see, even through the darkly tinted windows, the sun setting against the purple horizon of bare nothingness, shooting rays of muted warm yellows and oranges in all directions. The air turned cold, an involuntary shiver crept down my spine as my arms subconsciously wrapped over my body, closing tightly around my torso. We pull up in front of a tall grey building, which lacked windows, following that strange stereotype of sanitariums and mental hospitals. I step out of the car, adjusting the straps of my duffel bag to evenly distribute the weight on my shoulder and began following my mother and the two men inside the cold, hard building.

The two men stopped at the first security gates inside the foyer, leaving me to follow my mother in the twists and turns of narrow, dimly lit corridors to her small shabby office and adjoining lab. There was a small rap of knocks on the door to her office just as I set my bag down on the smooth marbled floors, a tall woman with a hard face, dressed in a pantsuit took a step in, silently handing my mother a clipboard. I stepped from foot to foot behind her as she flipped through the pages, analysing the neat cursive scrawled on the pages. She gave a small nod to the woman as she stepped out of the office.

“We have a new individual,” my mother told me, before silently gesturing for me to follow her out the door. Waiting outside, was one of the security guards clad in the murky grey coloured uniform I had seen many staff wearing. “A guard always accompanies a staff member. You must always be with one, please. Don’t stray inside this walls,” my mum said, in a hushed but strained voice. The way she had said it sent chills down my spine and I reluctantly give her a small nod of my head and begin trailing behind her, the guard behind me.

We reached a different room, sort of like a mini infirmary, equipped with a single bed, a small bench with medical supplies and an IV drip ready to be used at the side. My mother instructed me to sit at the chair in the far corner and stay quiet, so I obeyed, fidgeting with my hands in my lap. Not long after, there was a small knock on the door before a young man walked in, accompanied by a guard behind him.

He had his head hung low, stark black hair like a curtain covering his eyes and shadowing his face. Despite the obstruction to his eyes, I could see that his eyebrows were knitted together, his teeth catching on his bottom lip, gnawing at the plump, pink skin. He had a solid build, his shoulders weren’t very square and his body was straight, but nonetheless solid. He was twirling and tugging at his thumbs, feet shuffling awkwardly- nervously, not knowing how to present himself.

My mother started towards him, lightly guiding him by his shoulder as she nodded to the guard to leave. The door clicked shut behind him, as my mum eased the young man onto the edge of the bed and she took her seat across from him.

“Hello, I will be your doctor for your time here. You can call me Rose, I’m fine with informalities. This is my daughter, Y/N. She will be sitting in on our sessions,” my mum gestured towards me and I uncross my legs to give a small bow. He lifted his head slightly to give a nod of a bow, before hastily casting his eyes downward again, but not before I could catch the warm deep brown colour of his eyes, opened large and swimming with fear.

My mother started asking him general questions; name, age, where he was born, where he had lived and similar questions. He answered quietly and politely, always ending each of his answers with a “Miss Rose” despite my mum trying to tell him that just Rose was fine. I sat in the back, silently listening, my eyes casting over the young man seated on the bed, watching as he bit his lip and pulled on his tshirt while my mother talked to him. I didn’t know this guy, but for some reason my heart clenched to see the amount of fear he was in. That was the day I met Park Jimin.

Park Jimin was 22, the same age as me. He was born in Busan, studied dance at Busan Arts Academy then proceeded his education in Seoul until he was 21. That was all the information I had gotten, I never found out how he had come to be admitted to the institute.

After the short meeting with him, walking back towards my mother’s office, the staunch guard following me, I couldn’t stop thinking of those deep brown eyes so wide in fear that I nearly overshot my walking. I took a few too many steps past and away from my mother’s office that I was harshly tugged back, grips on forearm by the emotionless guard. Rubbing my arm, I enter the office and sit at the desk, pulling out my laptop. Opening up a new document, I begin typing. I started with his hair. So stark black that even when the light shined on it, no other hues but the darkest black appeared to the eye. The fringe of it hung low, split 2:3, grazing above his eyes in soft feather-like strands. Then his eyes. The deepest, yet warmest dark chocolate brown colour. Arguably richer than chocolate. Evenly shaped, rectangular and slightly droopy, but had been expanded in fear. His other facial features. Soft, pink and plump lips, always catching in between his teeth. His teeth, a pearly white, one front tooth only slightly crooked giving off a unique charm. His face was a rounded oval shape with full cheeks, yet his jawline had been significantly defined, the shadows below the bone harsh under the blue-light. Then his build. An average height, straight shoulders and figure. He had been slouching in recoil, but his build was noticeably strong.

With a sigh I sit back and stare at the words on the screen. Rubbing at my face, I haul myself up and take a few paces around the room. My mother soon walked into her office and explained to me that Jimin was sent to a room to get rest, and that tomorrow morning I was to accompany him to breakfast.

Breakfast.

Day 2 I woke up with a start to my alarm set for 7am, fumbling at the buttons on my phone to stop the nonsensical ringing emitting from it. Dragging my body out of bed, I made my way to the bathroom ensuite and washed my face. I stared into the mirror, analysing my plain face. I shook my head and left the bathroom to get dressed.

I checked the time - 7:46am - and step out of my assigned room, making my way to a room on a different floor scrawled in my mother’s handwriting on a small ripped piece of paper. When I reached the destination, a guard was already standing by the door. I give him a nod, before giving a light knock on the door. I step back to wait momentarily, and it wasn’t not long until Jimin steps out, his hair sticking up in some parts of his head. Instinctively, I reach my hand up to smooth down the stray hairs, focusing on one strand that refused to stay down. My eyes travelled down to his, and I heard myself gasp as they stared back in curiosity. I hastily drop my hand taking a good step back, smoothing down my top.

“Ah.. Sorry it’s a habit,” I give him a sheepish smile. He shyly smiles back in return, nodding his head in understanding before focusing his eyes back on the floor. “Uh I’m here to take you to breakfast.. Are you ready to go?” He glances at me still donning a small smile, and shyly gives a nod. I smile back, and step aside for him to walk beside me, silently guiding him towards the cafeteria.

7:59am - we were right on schedule as we entered the bustling open space through the heavy metal double doors. Almost immediately after entering, Jimin had begun tugging at his shirt, eyes glued to the floor, the black curtain of hair shadowing his face from the brightly lit cafeteria. I could see him gnawing on his lip again, no trace of a smile anymore. His eyes vaguely expanded and following the lines of the vinyl on the floor. I bit my lip, lightly touching his shoulder. “Jimin? Are you okay?” His eyes met mine, and I saw the same fear I had yesterday. Absolutely terrified and expanded so large in size my heart clenched. “Hey it’s okay, come on.” I lightly guided him to an empty table at an abandoned corner of the large space.

As I sat him down, I never realised I had been subconsciously tracing small circles on his lower back, and swatted my own hand away, sitting opposite to him. I worriedly watched him, analysing the emotions flashing on his face as I saw his shoulders rise up and down. He was hyperventilating. Hurriedly, I rushed to his side of the table and put and arm around his shoulder. “Hey, Jimin. Look at me. Focus on me.” His deep brown eyes searched mine, as his shoulders continued to heave up and down, his breathing becoming more erratic. “You can talk to me, okay? It sounds super stupid for me to say this because we just met, but I won’t let anything bad happen to you, I promise you that. Do you understand me?” And as I pulled him in for a hug, I frowned as I realised I had really meant it.

It was now 5:13pm in the evening, and I was sitting back inside my mother’s office alone, once again staring at my laptop screen and the small blinking cursor begging for me to type more words. I shut the lid down and stared at the clock. It wasn’t another 40 minutes until dinner time.

Before I realised I began pacing, my mind relaying over the events that occurred during the day. Jimin had suffered a severe panic attack, and was hastily given a mild sedative after our short embrace, his hands clawing at my arms, eyes expanded past the maximum as the guards struggled to keep him still. I had remembered my own voice shrieking, “be careful, you’re hurting him!” before Jimin’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he slumped limp to the ground.

My eyes flicked back to the clock - 5:32pm - There was still plenty of time before I had to take Jimin to the cafeteria again, but before I knew it I was out in the hallway, carefully closing the door shut. I made it to Jimin’s room in less than 5 minutes, and warily eyed the guard down, “May I see him?” The guard looked me up and down, eyes narrowing in suspicion, minutes passing before I squeaked out a please and he finally opens the door.

Inside the room, the curtains were half drawn, only a sliver of light shining through the crack in the linen. My eyes scan the room, stopping at a lump laid atop the covers in the middle of the single bed. I lightly pad my way over to the bed, gently taking a seat on the edge, tentatively reaching my hand out to rest on his back. “Jimin, are you alright?” The lump shuffles and turns around to face me, eyes still on the mattress. He gives a small nod, almost hard to miss, and begins chewing on his lip again. “Okay, well I’m right here. We don’t have to talk, we can just sit here.”

“It was my dad,” I was startled by Jimin’s voice breaking the deafening silence. “Wh- What did your dad do?” “He’s not really my dad. Step dad. He put me here.” His voice was only just above a whisper, as his fingers trace the lines and patterns spread across the bed sheets, eyes following the movements. I didn’t want to ask the wrong questions so I kept silent, donning an encouraging expression to allow him to carry on. “He abuses my mother. She has no control. I tried to stop him. I tried to stop him,” his voice trails off as I instinctively rub circles on his shoulder. “It’s okay, you can take your time telling me. Doesn’t have to be in one go.” He nods, casting his eyes to the far wall, slightly glazed over and out of focus.

I didn’t want to break the silence, but we were already late for dinner call. “Jimin, are you ready to go to dinner?” At my question, he jolts up, distancing himself from me and pressing his back against the wall. His eyes widen and his breathing begins to accelerate. “Please. Please don’t make me.” Surprised by his reaction I get up from the bed and try to approach him, but he flinches away. “Oh no, no no. No, Jimin I won’t make you, I’m sorry,” I took a step back and watched him from a safe distance, pulling at my thumbs in worry. His breathing slowed down, and his muscles relaxed, his shoulders drooping.

“I- I’ll leave you alone now,” I stuttered out, taking backward steps towards the door. “No- Wait. Stay.. For a little bit,” he raises his eyes to meet mine, showing an unreadable emotion, “Please?” Feeling my heart tug at the plea in his voice, I pull up the chair from the desk and sit diagonal to the bed. “You’re.. You’re good to talk to,” he quietly mumbles, “I only trust you right now.” My chest tightens at how small he sounds, as if the whole world was against him for doing absolutely nothing wrong and I quietly sit and watch him playing with the hem of his white tee, tracing the stitching and rolling the edges up and down. He looked so focused, I spare this chance to analyse his face. He had soft features, they were kind. And warming, I didn’t need to see it to know that his smile could warm up a whole room.

After a while, he began speaking again. He told me of his younger brother, who was taken away by his grandmother because she didn’t want him around his violent step-father. He told me about how his favourite place to breathe was this one small beach in his hometown of Busan, how the sunsets there were as soft as the colour of violets and the petals of roses. How the sea air was refreshing, and whipped a healthy glow onto your cheeks. He talked about the small bed of flowers that lined a path he used to walk to and from school, and how he would always pick a different flower to put in his mother’s hair when he got home each day. He talked, and I listened for hours, and before we knew it, the room was silent again. But it was comfortable. Jimin’s head started to droop, his subconscious beckoning him into a slumber. His eyes closed and opened lazily again as he began to nod off. Just as Jimin’s body betrayed him, and he started sliding down onto the bed, I put the chair back and quietly made my way out of the room, gently closing the door shut.

Day 3 I awoke and got ready the same as the previous day and headed straight to Jimin’s room. I knocked before entering, only to walk in on him shirtless, back turned.

“Ah! Sorry!” I fumbled with the door, almost slipping and falling while I slammed it a little too loud shut. I caught my breath and leant against the wall. The door cracked open, and Jimin’s head pops out, peering at me curiously. “Y/N? You okay?” his voice soft, with a sense of humour behind it. When I looked at him, he was showing off a small smile, amusement clear in his eyes. I push myself off the wall, slightly rolling my eyes before facing him. “How are you doing today?” He shrugs, averting back to shy Jimin, and suddenly finding the floor more interesting.

“Uh, it’s almost breakfast time..” Jimin’s head whips up, once again looking terrified at the mention of meal time, shuffling in his step. Hurrying to get my words out, I stumble while approaching him. “Uh wait- But don’t worry. I talked to my mum and we made some arrangements with the staff. They can bring food to us- I mean, you. Just until you’re like, um you know.. more comfortable. Being in the cafeteria and all.” His brows knit in confusion at my rambling, eyes searching mine, and as if on cue, one of the kitchen staff appears with a steel trolley, two trays of food on top, looking between us with a judgemental expression. She walks away, waving her hand behind her, grumbling about something incoherent. I look at Jimin. “Breakfast?”

We ate silently inside Jimin’s room, the occasional comment about the eggs or bacon coming up. I could’ve been dreaming, but I swear with my soul that Jimin kept smiling weirdly into his food, then covering himself up by coughing or stuffing more hash brown into his mouth. I decide to break the silence. “Hey Jimin, want to hear a joke?” His head perks up, his face beaming in curiosity, and gives a small nod. “What colour is a hamburger?” “What?” “… Burgundy.” There’s a pause before he breaks out in a full-out grin, his eyes disappearing, creating small little crinkles around the crescent-shapes. The once silent room was soon filled with Jimin’s ringing giggles, his hand subconsciously covering half of his face. At the sound of his laughing, my heart blooms and I can’t help smiling widely myself. He removes his hand and I suddenly gasp, finding his smile breathtaking. I mentally confirm, that his smile indeed could warm up a whole room and I feel small butterflies constricting my breathing, clenching my heart and making me light-headed. Jimin was beautiful.

We spent the rest of the morning talking, me hearing stories of Jimin’s childhood; his adventures with his real father before he was ripped from him, when his mother would bake and he’d help only to create a mess in the kitchen. In turn, Jimin asked me small questions, finding interest in my favourite colours, and being intrigued by the stories I’ve encountered and written. I could feel Jimin growing more comfortable, and opening up in front of me. I’d see hints of his habits, like how he always covers his face when he’s embarrassed or laughing, or how he’d fold his hands in front of his lap while absentmindedly talking, or the small crinkle of a frown between his brows when he’d try to recall a more distant memory.

When the room turned silent again, I decided to speak up. “Jimin, you start therapy this afternoon. Unfortunately, I’m not allowed to join you,” I could see his expression glaze over in worry, and I hurried to say more, “but I’ll be here to talk afterwards.” At my comment, he eases a little, and takes a deep breath. “You’ll be called at 3, and I can walk you there if you’d like?” He nods, giving me a grateful smile.

3:00pm came earlier than expected and we found ourselves outside the double doors leading to the therapy wing of the building. I look at Jimin apologetically, but he smiles in understanding. The guard that followed us takes Jimin by the arm and leads him through the double doors.

I returned to mum’s office and result in staring at the clock as the minutes slowly tick by, tapping my pen impatiently against my notebook. 4:02pm. Time passed too slowly, each tick of the clock hand menacingly mocking me, growing louder in my ears. 4:18pm. I groaned, rubbing my face and getting up from my seat. 4:35pm. Why was I feeling so concerned for Jimin? 4:49pm He will finish in 10 minutes. I forced myself to wait until 4:55 before making my way over to the therapy wing.

I stand outside, checking my watch every 10 seconds. 5:00pm. He should be done by now. I waited a little longer, not realising I had been pacing back and forth, glancing at the door after each round. A doctor followed by two guards come through the doors. My eyes search behind them, looking for the black curtain of hair. When I didn’t spot him, I look at the doctor who already had his eyes on me. “Where’s Park Jimin?” The doctor eyes me questioningly, before clearing his throat. “He’ll be kept overnight for closer monitoring.”

He walks away as I frown in confusion, staring at the double doors.

Kept overnight? But it was only his first session.

Still in confusion, I make my way back to the office, overthinking different scenarios which would cause Jimin to be kept overnight.

Did he say something wrong? Did he lie? He wouldn’t lie would he? Or did he assault someone? Impossible.

I shake my head. You’re being ridiculous, Y/N. He’ll be fine. You’ll see him tomorrow.

Day 4 For the whole day, I did not see Jimin. I had gone to the therapy wing twice, as well as checked his room a few times. But there was no trace of Jimin.

I tried not to think about it, because why would I be so concerned for him anyway?

And it hit me. Had I grown to care for him? No, that’s not it. I’ve only known him two days.

Or was it?

Day 5 I woke to my alarm again, groggily getting up. The first thought that enters my mind is Jimin. I shook my head as I busied myself with getting ready for the day and step out of the room, making my way towards the dining hall.

I hope Jimin is okay, what are they doing to him?

I get my breakfast and sit at an empty table, chewing at whatever food was thrown onto my tray, hardly tasting the blandness of it. Countless of thoughts enter my mind, about Jimin, not about Jimin, my mum, this building, that guard. I clear off my plate in no time, and robotically put the tray away, walking the corridors to my mum’s office. I once again sit at the empty desk, laptop flipped open in front of me, staring brightly back; welcoming but not welcoming enough. With a sigh, I get up from my seat and find myself pacing again - a habit I seem to have acquired during my short time here.

What is this feeling? This unnecessary amount of concern, the sour taste at the back of my throat? Just why were they keeping Jimin for so long, what are they doing to him? I hope he’s okay, damn it, why do I feel this way?

You care for him, you idiot.

I groan and slump to the ground, leaning against the cold, hard stone wall, scraping my hand frustratedly down my face. I wanted to scream from the amount of worry that was eating away at my stomach, churning at the thought of pain being possibly inflicted onto Jimin. Jimin who was so sweet, so pure and kind. Who has full cheeks, a warm smile and a contagious laugh. Exasperated and with insanity gnawing away at my thoughts, I get up and roam the corridors again, finding myself in front of the doors to the therapy wing. I press my face onto the small window of the door, eyes peering around, but seeing nothing in return. Without thinking, my fist collided with the door, causing a loud rattle to echo through the hard empty hallways, inflicting an inhuman-like moan to draw from my throat.

This fucking place, it makes me crazy. How can my mum stand it? There’s no sunlight, no life. It makes me sick. I want to get out of here. But where the fuck is Jimin?

A split second later, the corridors descend into pitch black, lights weakly flickering before going completely out. Small red lights that line the ceiling every few meters begin flashing at an erratic and constant speed, accompanied by a deafening siren. Blindly, I feel the walls, eyes having trouble adjusting to the lack of sight, the red lights only providing small glimpses of the sickly-looking hallways originally painted a murky yellow, but now looking like a poisonous brown. Not knowing what to do or where to go, I lean against the wall, scrunching my eyes shut from the blaring siren emitting from the speakers at each corner, the sound drowning out my own thoughts.

God, fuck. What is going on?

There is a loud bang, and a figure comes crashing out of the double doors of the therapy wing. The lighting was terrible, but there was no mistaking the black curtain sweeping back and forth over the figure’s forehead.

“Jimin?!” a strangled cry comes out of my throat. At the mention of his name, his head whips to my direction and he stumbles towards me. He stops in front of me, his knees buckling as he fists at my shirt, falling helplessly to the ground. Instinctively, I kneel and take his face in my hands. A choked sob falls from my mouth when I take in the sight in front of me. The skin swelled; a massive patch, in hues of black and purple, had been branded across half of Jimin’s face. His eye was swollen shut, his lip cracked and painted with dried blood. There were tears streaming down his face, leaving trails where there was blood smeared on his cheeks. I sat him up in a crouch, frantically trailing my hands all over his face, swiping away at his hair to get a better look at him. “Oh my God, Jimin. What did they do to you?” He grabbed at my shirt, tugging and fisting at the material, clawing at me. “Please. Please, please, please. Don’t make me go back there. Please, don’t let them take me back. Please, please.” I choke on my breath at the pain in his strangled pleading, my throat constricting at the tears painting his face accompanied by the contorted expression of agony flooding his features.

“Patient 48021, Park Jimin. He’s escaped!” A booming voice sounds from around the corner. Jimin begins to tug at me again, struggling to scramble to his feet. I help him to his feet, as they trip over each other, balance becoming something unknown to them. Still with fistfuls of shirt in his hands, his knuckles pale from the grip, he pulls me towards him, a groan emitting from his throat.

“Y/N. Y/N. Please. Please, help me escape, please.” I nod erratically, words failing to form a reply, and with all my might, I haul Jimin into a better standing position, snaking an arm around his waist and carrying his weight on my shoulders. We stumble-run around the corner opposite to where the voice came from, finding ourselves at a dead end. My head whips around at my slim options, trying to calculate what to do.

What floor are we on? Therapy wing. Therapy wing, 4th floor!

I turn my head once again, eyes falling on an emergency stairway exit. Readjusting Jimin’s body, I plead him and his legs to cooperate, as we sloppily jogged towards the door, kicking it open with a loud crash. I glance behind me before dragging Jimin into the landing of the stairway, making my way down and praying that we don’t trip and fall. On the way down, Jimin’s small voice repeated the same sentence, “Please don’t make me go back. Please, please don’t make me go back.” Swallowing the lump of a sob in my throat, I repeat the same reassurance to him, claiming we were getting out of here and never coming back.

Suddenly, four floors felt like 20, and my pace slowed down painfully, struggling to keep Jimin’s weight on my wobbly feet. A relieved whine escapes me as I read the door with a large G painted on it, and I yank it open by the handle, pulling Jimin out with me. We found ourselves in a parking lot, at the back of the building, empty all except for one car. Stumbling, and tripping over our own feet, we make our way towards the lone car, surprisingly and to my relief, finding the door unlocked. I haul Jimin into the back seat, checking all his limbs were inside before slamming the door shut. I had only driven a car once, the short commute to college meaning I never really needed to get my license, and now I’m filled with panic, praying my short experience in a car wouldn’t get us killed. I never noticed the warm, salty tears streaming down my own face until my fingers were slick, unable to properly grip the handle of the glovebox to find the hot wires.

“God fucking damn it!” My fingers fumbled with the wires, and I heard a low whimper from the back seat followed by a quiet, “hurry up, please,” weaved within choked up sobs. I had no idea what I was doing, only following the actions of the ridiculously stereotypical ‘hunky’ actors in the shitty GTA-like action movies where getaways always looked easier than it seemed, but to my own surprise, when two wires collided with each other, a spark appeared and I hear my own breath being drawn from my lungs. I try the wires again and let out a cry as the engine roared to life, a low moan growing from below the car.

Thanking the heavens the car was automatic, I put the car into reverse, and back out of the space, locking it into drive before slamming my foot on the acceleration, crashing straight through the chainlink fence and swerving dangerously onto the road. I had no idea where we were, it was the middle of no where, but I drove on the road, and I kept driving until I could see the sky painted in the same warm hues as my first day arriving to the institute, the un-tinted windows causing the saturation of the sunset to blind my eyes. I squint through the tears, and the brightness and focus on the lines painted on the road as it began to get darker and darker. Panic sets in as I realise my headlights weren’t turned on and the car slows to a stop. I pull over to the side of the road, the car becoming silent, only leaving my heavy uneven breaths and Jimin’s silent, whimpering cries to fill the small space.

Day 6 I don’t remember blacking out, but it was morning when my eyes opened again.

I frantically turn in my seat, causing a groan to sound as I notice the knot in my back. Jimin was still asleep, face screwed up in pain, his breathing hollow with his chest heaving up and down in uneven movements. Frowning at the subtle moans that come from the back of his throat, I lift his shirt to see the same coloured bruises littered on his ribs, hugging his torso, leaving next to no amount of skin-coloured flesh in sight. My eyes flood with tears, as Jimin starts awake from the gesture, scrambling to sit up and tugging his shirt down. I mumble out an apology before twisting back to the front, wiping at my eyes.

It hit me that my mum was still at the institute, not knowing I had escaped, and I pull out my phone to dial her number only to find 8 missed calls from her. I dial her number and begin to hyperventilate, waiting for the crackling on the other side signifying she picked up. I silently sob in relief as her voice sounds frantically on the other side. “Mum. Mum, I’m fine. I’m with Jimin. They did terrible things to him, mum. They beat him. I had to get him out of there. I had to.” She shushes my rambling, saying she understands. She hurriedly gives me instructions: keep driving west, and there’ll be a motel. At the motel, mention where you came from and that I was sent by Rose, they’ll let you make a phone call, and stay the night free of charge.

“Call the police, they will come for you. Take care of Jimin, you’re all he’s got now. Y/N.. Y/N, there’s something I never mentioned when I told you about the institute. I have been working with several people to try and shut down this wretched place, the couple who owns the motel are some of them. And no opportunity to end this place has arisen until now. Please be safe, stay warm, I’ll try contact you as soon as possible. I love-” My mother’s voice grew frantic, before the phone call was cut short. My jaw was slack in shock as I stare at the phone screen, my mum’s smiling face staring back in the photo. I didn’t want to think about what happened to her, but silent tears rolled endlessly down my cheeks as I put the car in drive and made my way west, Jimin silent in the back, and I could see from the corner of my eye, him occasionally glancing worriedly in my direction, his bottom lip catching between his teeth.

We pulled up in front of an old motel, and a middle-aged couple comes rushing out even before I could get out of the car. I sat emotionless, as the woman opened my door, eyes scanning me in panic, helping me out before taking me inside. “Wait, Jimin,” I worriedly cry. “He’s right behind us,” the woman cooed in my ear, petting at my hair and rubbing at my arm before setting me onto a chair, “you’ll be alright.” I wanted to faint, and I did just that, seeing Jimin crouching in front of me and taking my hand before darkness flooded my mind.

I don’t know what time it was, but it was night. I was laid on an old couch, in unfamiliar surroundings and I jolt awake.

“It’s okay, dear,” the woman spoke, getting up from her seat to hand me a glass of water. “Where’s Jimin?” my hoarse voice sounds, hand reaching to take the water gratefully. The woman nods her head to the side of the couch, where Jimin was sat on the ground, head laid on the armrest, the black curtain covering his eyes once again. “He wouldn’t leave you alone,” she spoke again, “wouldn’t let me give him the chair to sit in either.” I reach over and brush the hair from his eyes, heart aching at the sight of the bruises. He jolts awake at the sound of sirens, as I turn my head out the window to see flashing lights. Policemen and paramedics rush through the door, crowding Jimin, and checking his injuries taking him straight into the ambulance, his panicked eyes looking for me. He meets my eyes as I mouth, “it’s okay,” before the doors of the vehicle shut. My vision was blurry from new tears, as I was led to the police car and carefully placed in the back seat, streams of reassuring messages attacking me from all angles. The couple were outside the car, being questioned by two policemen, before approaching my window. I croaked out a thank you, clutching onto the woman’s hand who smiled reassuringly, her eyes still drowning in concern. I try smile back as best as I can before the police car was pulled out of the motel parking lot, the figures of the couple, who’s names I never learned, turning into small dots on the horizon.

One Month Later. I had learned two days after our escape that my mother was shot twice by a guard for fighting back, once on the side of her torso and another through her heart, before she collapsed and died. The police made to the institute shortly after, bringing authorities from several different countries and arresting all staff within the building for abuse, and mistreatment of human-kind, and skills. The place was shut down, releasing more than a thousand young patients trapped within the cold walls to their family members who had assumed they had disappeared. It turns out, the government were snatching up young people for experimentation, and not refinery. It was all a bullshit cover story that was eventually unveiled to reveal a cruel and sickening process behind the stone walls, that even my mother knew nothing of.

A month on, the story is still painting newspapers, making a feature on different news channels and causing marches against the government for their cruelty and lack of humanity.

I reach over to turn the TV off, watching Jimin in his sleep. A month on, he’s still kept in the hospital, due to his extensive injuries that were far more severe internally than externally, but he was lucky he got out before it got worse. He stirs in his sleep, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead, the skin between his brows creasing. He begins to thrash and I rush to his side.

“No, please! Don’t, no! Leave me alone, please-” I shake him awake, and his eyes fly open. “It’s okay Jimin, it was just a dream.” He sighs in relief, eyes fluttering shut as I stroke the back of his head. “I still won’t let anything bad happen to you. I made a promise, and I keep those promises.” He nods, opening his eyes to stare back at mine. I place my hands on either side of his head, and plant a kiss on his forehead, before he wraps his arms around my shoulders, pulling me into a tight hug.

Everything is going to be alright now.

[reyphorian]

A mostly in depth guide to why abortion is murder and that thing is clearly a fully formed human baby you heathen

just kidding

There’s a lot of myths and misconceptions regarding abortion and what qualifies as living and late term abortions and all that jazz so I’m here to teach you about this stuff. Granted, I’ll be avoiding statistics as much as I can only because sourcing to reputable sites and studies is hard when you’re a chronically exhausted person like me and reading through peer reviewed studies is tedious for a truly solid sourced guide, however what I will be talking about are things that are hella easy to google for fact checking if you’re really determined to tell me I’m wrong and support infanticide and I’m a satan worshiper or something. Several of the statistics can in fact be found on the Orlando Women’s Center website and will be indicated with an asterisk since all the statistics are on the same page. Also apologies in advance for using female only language. I am fully aware that there are men and non-binary people who can get pregnant and need abortions, but for the sake of simplicity for the time being, the fact that it’s mostly cis women receiving them, and the knowledge that most pro-lifers don’t realize this or acknowledge them, I will not be using inclusive language unless otherwise necessary.

Myth 1: Unwanted pregnancies can be prevented with birth control/responsible planning.

I know they always tell you not to provide anecdotes to prove points but I think this time it’s reasonable. I’m a birth control baby. In other words, my parents were using birth control (3 kinds actually!) the night they had sex that resulted in my conception. Now, if you could prevent all pregnancies simply by using a condom or taking a pill then I wouldn’t be here right now, nor would the 54% of women who received abortions even after using contraceptives during sex.* But the truth is, no form of easily obtainable birth control is guaranteed to always work. Even in the clinical testing for condoms, the pill, IEDs, and depo shots the success rates weren’t at 100%, and those settings are literally the best, meaning success rates at home are a bit lower because of mistakes or improper use. The only forms of birth control that are guaranteed to always work are hysterectomies and abstinence, the former being highly invasive, expensive, and permanent, the latter being unreasonable as most people actually need sex for the emotional bonding and mood improvement it often provides.

Myth 2: The heart beats at 18 days.

This is probably one of the worst arguments I’ve seen from pro-lifers because it indicates how little they actually know about prenatal development.

This thing right here is a human embryo at day 18, taken from a lovely chart that wikipedia has on their prenatal development article. So tell me where exactly is that heart I’m supposed to be seeing? The answer is nowhere, because it���s not a baby. It’s an embryo, not even a fetus. You’re telling me that’s the exact same thing as a fully developed and birthed baby? Nah, I don’t think so. Whatever “heartbeat” they’re hearing is nothing more than the throbbing of a literal clump of cells. This thing is no more living or sentient than a piece of lettuce in my salad last night. It’s so underdeveloped that aside from the yolk and amniotic sacs, none of those things are identifiable parts you’d hear about in a fully developed human. Every time a pro-lifer says the heart beats at 18 days, show them this and play a game of pin the tail on the donkey and see if they can find the heart because I certainly can’t. Also, the heart, as in the actual heart that looks just like the ones we have in our bodies, isn’t detected until past 10 weeks.

Myth 3: Fetuses can feel pain/The Silent Scream

The Silent Scream is a commonly cited video depicting a fetus being aborted and opening it’s mouth as if screaming in pain, however the video was debunked over 20 years ago by the medical community. The brain itself doesn’t begin forming until week 26, and the brain connections to the thalamus which allow us to sense pain and have a sense of consciousness aren’t formed until week 30. Over 88% of abortions are performed within the first 12 weeks of pregnancy*, meaning any muscle movements or open mouths are involuntary movements not caused by pain. Muscles develop before nerves, so just because it’s moving doesn’t mean it feels pain.

Myth 4: The Heart Beats At 18 Days: Return of the Heartbeat

Yeah I know I already went over this but there’s actually two parts to the famous pro-life saying. The first part was debunking the myth that an embryo has a heart. The second part is debunking the myth that a heartbeat indicates life and therefore is a living human being. So let me ask you this, why, if a heartbeat indicates life, is it that when someone’s heart stops we take time to resuscitate them? The answer is...

Brainwaves! You see, the brain is what controls all functions of the human body, sensory reception, memory, voluntary muscle movements, and involuntary muscle movements. Involuntary muscle movements are one’s we’re not conscious of doing, like digestion and heartbeats. Without the brain working, the heart stops beating and the only way to keep it beating is via life support systems. We resuscitate people whose hearts have stopped because in between the cessation of breathing, there’s 10 to 15 minutes before the body becomes too deprived of oxygen and vital areas of the brain will cease functioning, which is usually the point where a person is announced brain dead and no longer legally nor medically considered living. Going back to the points in Myth 3, the connections to the thalamus are when we develop our first brainwaves, meaning until that point, what is growing is not legally nor medically considered a living human being.

A fetus/embryo is living biologically, however, biological life is not a reason as to why abortion is murder. If biological life were necessary for something to be murder then you may as well consider eating vegetables, killing bugs, washing your hands, and taking antibiotics to be murder as well since all of those actions kill things that are biologically living. Spiders and flies are more alive than embryos and fetuses are but we wouldn’t say killing them is murder. To claim that something lesser is more important than something more developed simply because it has the potential of becoming a human shows a lack of consistency in morals, and that morals only exist when they benefit or conflict with your own personal morals (which isn’t how it works in the law).

Myth 5: Late Term Abortions

1.1% of abortions occur past 20 weeks* but none of them are done willingly in the same way abortions are done. Late term abortions are life-saving medical procedures only done on wanted pregnancies where the safety of the one or both is at risk. This usually happens on ectopic pregnancies, miscarriages, and situations where it’s no longer safe to continue carrying. Think about it this way, you’ve been pregnant for over 20 weeks now, but at week 27 you find out that the baby’s heart stopped beating. You can continue to keep the pregnancy for another 19 weeks (4.4 months), knowing that for those 4 months you are carrying a dead child, or you can get a late term abortion. Most people wouldn’t want to spend that long carrying their now deceased child, nor is it psychologically or physically healthy to do so. Getting rid of late term abortions means forcing a woman to continue to carry a dead baby until she gives birth. Imagine going up to a woman who is visibly pregnant and asking about it, only to have her tell you that it’s dead. She’s not giving birth to a baby, she’s giving birth to a corpse in several weeks. Here’s another situation, you’re well along in your pregnancy and your partner and you go to the doctor for another checkup after feeling unwell for a little while. The doctor does an ultrasound only to tell you that something has gone wrong and if you continue the pregnancy both you and the child will die. You also have several other children at home. You can either get a late term abortion and live and continue to care for your other children, or you can die with your child, leaving a grieving spouse and children. Your uterus and ovaries will be fine so you can always try again later on. These are just two of the realities that women already face or will face when you take away the right to late term abortions. No woman wants to have a late term abortion. Most of the time those late term abortions are performed on pregnancies where the parent/s already picked out a name, set up a room with toys, and had a baby shower.

Myth 6: A fetus isn’t a woman’s body

Okay, this is kinda not so much a myth as it is kinda true. See, there’s this fantastic thing we have called bodily autonomy, the same thing that makes it illegal for a doctor to take your organs for donation if you don’t have the sticker on your ID that says you’re a registered organ donor. It’s the same thing that makes rape and assault illegal. Bodily autonomy is the right to your own body. That means nobody else can tell you what to do with it, and anyone who infringes upon that right can be faced with legal charges. So basically, the fetus isn’t you, but it does exist in you, in your uterus, and it’s a violation of your bodily autonomy if you don’t want it. Forcing a woman to keep an unwanted pregnancy or requiring her to have the permission of her partner denies her the right to her own body. It means you believe in giving dead bodies more autonomy than living people. It places the health of a clump of cells over her, and seeing as it’s a clump of cells and not a sentient living human, her rights trump the fetus’ (which it doesn’t have since it’s not a person).That’s why the phrase “my body, my choice,” still stands even when a pro-lifer claims that the fetus isn’t her own body. It’s still her uterus being occupied, her nutrients being taken. An unwanted pregnancy is no different than a malignant tumor or a parasite, and nobody has to keep either of those, so a fetus should be no different.

Myth 7: Adoption is always an option/Some people are infertile and can’t get pregnant

A lot of people can’t actually carry pregnancies due to preexisting medical conditions like illness or psychological issues, or people who are transgender (like me!). Some people are psychologically unsound and pregnancies my exacerbate the issues further from the massive changes in hormones during and after pregnancy. Some people are too sick to carry or risk passing on a condition or illness to the child that would make caring for them too expensive or that would leave their life shortened so drastically that they wouldn’t live beyond childhood or even infancy. Some people who are transgender can’t have children because of the gender dysphoria and physical changes associated with pregnancy. We’re already having a hard enough time dealing with our bodies as they are, so why force us to go through something that’s literally considered the essence of womanhood and the gender that we’re not?

It’s also important to remember that there are already thousands of children in the adoption system, but it’s really only newborns and foreign children that get adopted. Once they hit toddler and child stages their chances of being adopted drop drastically. Teenagers have almost no chance of being adopted and remain in the system until adulthood. A lot of kids that go through the system also end up being abused or raped by foster parents, and it’s common to meet people who’ve had very bad experiences being in the system. Why put yet another child in there when there are plenty of other kids waiting to be adopted? Also guilt tripping people into keeping a pregnancy is a shitty thing to do. I mean, would you tell someone who’s dieting that they should eat all their food because there are starving children in Africa? Someone else’s situation isn’t going to change what someone wants to do or does with their choices. There’s other people who are actually willing to be surrogates and choose to carry a pregnancy, so there’s no reason to force someone to carry an unwanted pregnancy.

I’ve covered all the topics that I can remember and feel comfortable explaining, so if there’s any other stuff you wanna add on feel free to do so, and please share to destroy myths, misconceptions, and common arguments from pro-lifers against abortions!