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spooky-pomegranate · 4 months ago

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Eyes on Fire (pt 6)

*Enemies to Lovers inspired by the Year Zero music video*

Papa Emeritus II x Reader (18+) Word Count: 9.3k Read on AO3 Get caught up: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Summary: Your daily life is upended after becoming Secondo's assistant. Meanwhile, Secondo comes to a startling revelation as he struggles to keep his emotions in check.

*apologies for the delay. literally fell down a flight of stairs and broke my hand. but we're back baby and better than ever. (Dividers by @wrathofrats)

Out beyond the summer gardens, there is a seldomly walked path. It twists and turns around broken trees, large boulders, and the placid waters of a glacial lake. There’s nothing important on the path anymore, or at least that’s what the upper clergy tells its youngest siblings, but the footpath is dangerous. It’s been decades since the ministry diverted funds away from maintaining it to build a straighter and safer walkway from the Abbey down to the lake’s oftused beachfront. Any markers that used to stand along the old route are long gone and the only indication a path used to exist at all are the faint traces of gravel that peek out from blankets of fallen leaves and overgrown grass.

Most sane people avoid the old path. It’s not worth the risk they say. But every morning two creatures, one man and one ghoul, walk that crooked and crumbling path and neither is afraid…because they both know a secret. That at the very end of the path lies the most magical place on the Abbey’s grounds.

The sun was still asleep as Secondo and Alpha walked along the forgotten pathway until they reached a chapel. Although it should be noted the chapel didn’t look much like a place of worship. It much better resembled an ancient ruin. Only three stone walls remained standing. Two were at half their original height and the third somehow still towered over Secondo’s head. There was no door. It had rotted away centuries ago, and the floor made of stone, was covered in a layer of dark green moss that was so thick it felt like a heavily weighted carpet underfoot. The only piece of furniture left in the ruins was an altar that had been crafted long ago from beautifully marbling petrified wood. But despite its well-worn appearance, when Secondo found this place years ago he immediately knew it was special. He could feel it in the air.

Anyone who enters the Abbey, whether they are a follower of the Dark Lord or not, can feel dark magic around them. It’s often been described as an incorporeal haze. Although unseen, it lingers in every corner of the building and sits a bit heavy around you. In certain places, like the crypts and the ghoul dens, the haze is stronger. You can feel it physically. It brushes against your skin like a soft summer breeze or the flutter of silk bedsheets. But in all his years living in the Abbey Secondo never found anywhere where the haze was as strong as it was in the old chapel.

So it’s here that every morning Secondo comes to start his day, to offer his thanks, and to hope that maybe today will be the day the Dark Lord finally speaks to him. Normally each morning in the crumbling chapel is the same. Secondo kneels before the altar repeats a round of prayers and offers any confession he deems necessary. Alpha kneels quietly beside Secondo and speaks only when spoken to. Any prayer the fire ghoul makes to his Lord is a silent one. This routine never changes. Every day is the same.

But the morning after your stunt in Secondo’s bedroom, things went differently. Before Secondo could kneel Alpha was apologizing, spilling out words faster than Secondo could acknowledge them.

“I’m so sorry about last night Papa. I didn’t want to disobey you. I should have never allowed it. I didn’t mean to offend-” Secondo held up a gloved hand and the fire ghoul caught his tongue.

“It’s fine, Alpha.”

The ghoul’s eyes snapped from the mossy ground up to his master, “Really? You’re not upset?”

“Really,” Secondo answered truthfully. “I asked you to make sure she wanted for nothing and you did as I asked. I cannot be upset with you for that.”

“Thank you, Papa,” Alpha sighed before bowing his horned head and inhaling deeply. Secondo eyed the ghoul carefully, looking over every inch of his guard. Alpha looked tired. Worn down. Exhausted. His shoulders rolled forward and his orange eyes looked more dull than normal.

Secondo wondered if the fire ghoul was as burnt out as he was.

Since his summoning two decades ago Alpha had always been a quiet ghoul. He hardly ever initiated conversations with humans and if the whispers around the Abbey were to be taken as truth, Alpha’s silence was born from his deep-seated distaste of human nature. Secondo knew that wasn’t really true but he saw how siblings often gave Alpha a wide berth when they passed him in the halls. He heard the names they called him. Most siblings avoided ghouls. But they practically ran from Alpha.

Secondo never understood the cruelty. He had never really minded the fire ghoul’s reticence. He’d actually asked Primo for care of Alpha because he liked the ghoul’s quiet nature so much. It didn’t hurt that Alpha was more reliable and trustworthy than any sibling Secondo had ever met.

And they had an understanding.

Or so he thought.

Secondo had always assumed that Alpha enjoyed their quiet moments together and lack of idle chit chat, but looking at the fire ghoul now he was starting to wonder if Alpha’s care was another item to add to his list of failures. Had he ignored signs that Alpha was struggling? Should he have been checking in with him more? Was Alpha suffering in silence like he was? Did he even like being by Secondo’s side?

“Alpha?”

“Yes.”

“Are you happy?”

In all their time together Secondo had never asked Alpha that question. He wondered it many times but self-preservation had always held his tongue. Secondo had faults. He knew that. He wasn’t completely blind. But if Alpha hated him. If he hated his daily life then Secondo might just fall apart. He couldn’t be Papa alone.

“What do you mean, Papa?”

Santanas.

He was going to have to spell it out. Secondo wanted to dig a hole in the moss under his feet and bury himself alive.

“Are you happy by my side? Do you enjoy your life,” Secondo paused, swallowing against the self-preservation that had somehow turned to ash in his throat, “Do you enjoy your life with me?”

Alpha blinked.

Secondo knew Ghouls were terrible liars. Something in their design made them brutally honest. It had something to do with being born from the brimstone of His fire. Or maybe it was because they were formed by the make of His hands? Secondo could never quite remember how the story went. Primo had told it to him so long ago when he was just a boy. But Secondo knew that while ghouls could joke and play around… for the most part they spoke plainly when asked direct questions. Normally that was something Secondo admired. He liked honesty. He liked people and creatures who spoke the truth. But right now Secondo wished Alpha was more human than hellspawn. He wished he would lie. He wished for anything but the truth because he knew it would sting.

“No.” There it was. The answer he knew was coming. The sting hurt more than he’d expected. “No, most days I am not happy with you Papa.”

Secondo turned away from Alpha and looked at the crumbling chapel wall. He felt like a fool. After so much failure the fire ghoul had been the only thing keeping him grounded. He’d been the only one who’d stood by his side. But now Secondo was realizing that maybe that was a bad thing. Maybe it was selfish to hold on so tight. Maybe he should set Alpha free. After all, why should two people drown in misery when one is far less cruel?

“Would you like to return to Primo?”

“No, Papa.”

“Are you sure?” Secondo asked finding the courage to turn and look at his ghoul. “He will welcome you and your place in the band won’t change unless you want it to.”

Alpha blinked again and Secondo tried to brace himself for another sting. “I don’t think my life here is about being happy. I know you’re doing important work and I want to be a part of your legacy.”

Secondo didn’t know what to say.

He didn’t know if he liked that answer.

“But I was happy yesterday…”

…with her.

Alpha left the final two words unspoken and Secondo was thankful. His self-preservation was already teetering on the brink of collapse and he couldn’t bear to be pushed any further otherwise he’d have to die right here in this run-down place.

Secondo hummed in affirmation before closing his eyes.

Alpha had been happy with you.

You.

Secondo thought of you.

He thought of your eyes and how differently they had looked at Terzo last night. He thought of how happy and relaxed they’d been, pupils for once not blown wide from anger but instead sparkling with joy. Their iridescent color simply shining. He thought of your hair and how he’d finally seen it free from your veil. He thought of how soft your curls looked falling in waves around your bare shoulders. He thought of your face and how your lips had twisted up into that saccharine smile. A smile he’d never seen before and wondered if he’d ever see again.

You had been happy.

Alpha had been happy.

Everyone in his entire damn room had been happy.

There had been so much laughter, dancing, and joy. There had been so much happiness so much glee…and then he’d ruined it. Snuffed it out like depriving a flame oxygen. Secondo took a deep breath and tried to push away his own self-loathing.

He thought of you again and the ache in his chest started to burn. It spread moving from deep in his lungs out until everything burned. Then suddenly Secondo started to cough. He coughed so hard that his eyes watered and Alpha immediately came to his side. A clawed hand gripping his shoulder.

Secondo waved him off, trying to compose himself but the haze… it had never been this thick in the chapel before. Secondo could feel it sticking to his throat and sliding down into his belly. And then for the first time in his life, Secondo tasted dark magic. It was sweet like honey and floral like roses.

If only he could have known how he would be chasing that flavor for the rest of his life.

Apparently, you weren’t just Secondo’s Imperatrix. You were his assistant now too.

You showed up to Secondo’s office at six am as he’d asked and were greeted with the biggest stack of paperwork you’d ever seen. The daunting thing dwarfed the tiny desk you’d been given and spilled onto the floor and over the carpet in Secondo’s office. There wasn’t much of an order to things and Secondo’s instructions on getting through the pile had been curt. Sign these. Edit this. Transcribe that.

But truthfully you were thankful he didn’t have much more to say to you. You didn’t want to talk about what happened last night. You’d done enough of your own cross-examination, staying up half the night replaying it over and over and over again in your head while trying and failing to fall asleep.

You’d nearly let him kiss you. What in the actual fuck had you been thinking? Papa Emeritus the Second. You’d actually let him corner you, and touch you, and tease you, and for some ungodly reason when it was all happening, you had wanted it. You had wanted him. Something in you had shifted and you became an animal motivated solely by the lust of their heat. Warmth had coiled in your belly like a snake and even a cold shower hadn’t been enough to quench what he’d started. Embarrassingly the only thing that eventually helped you get to sleep was the little battery-powered toy you kept in your bedside table.

In the daylight of his office, knowing that you had made yourself come thinking about Secondo made you squirm. All that teasing had probably meant nothing to him anyway. You were probably just another sister in a long line of siblings he played games with. You felt toyed with like a mouse batted about by a house cat. Embarrassment was creeping in, especially since he hadn’t spent more than a few seconds looking at you since sat down at your new desk.

Secondo was focused on his own stack of paperwork. While it wasn’t nearly the same size as yours he never seemed to take his eyes off it. He barely even took a second to blink. The man worked like a dog.

If Secondo wasn’t signing papers he was on the phone. And when he wasn’t on the phone he was writing sermons and speeches and internal documents that were somehow all passed due. He never took a break, stretched his legs, or stopped for a sip of water. With everything expected of him, you started to realize there wasn’t time. There was always more to do, someone to answer to, or something that needed to be fixed. But Secondo was like a machine. He never ran out of steam. All you could do was try your best to keep up and before you knew it half the day was gone.

Your head was pounding from so much reading and writing that you nearly cried tears of joy when the lunch bells rang.

“Should I call the kitchens and tell them you’ll be in the dining room shortly, Papa?”

You stood up for the first time in hours and walked around the desk, feeling the stiffness in your legs from sitting for so long. Secondo finally looked up from his work and his mismatched eyes met yours.

“No, I’m not hungry. Just bring me a cup of coffee and some water from the dining hall,” he replied coldly before turning back to his papers. You nodded and scurried out of his office thankful to finally look at anything besides the horde of papers.

As you walked through the Abbey toward the dining hall you spotted Mountain as he tended to some of the Abbey’s ficus trees in the main hall. With a pair of sheers in his hand, he looked up and offered you a warm smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

“Hey, little flower. How’s your head?”

“Ugh,” you groaned posting up against the cool stone wall as you watched him primp and prune the small tree. “I don’t know why Alpha likes absinthe. I felt like there were bees in my head this morning.”

Mountain chuckled before setting down his sheers and picking up a water canister at his feet. “Well, I had a great time. Dew won’t shut up about it either. Says he wants you to throw him a birthday party next week.”

“Wasn’t his birthday last month?”

“Yeah,” Mountain said moving further down the hall to another cluster of trees that needed watering, “but he said the one we threw him was lame.”

“What?!” you cried following Mountain as he inspected the soil, digging his large fingers into one of the ficus’s pots. “He literally rode a bear!”

“I know! That’s exactly what I said. Little guy’s never satisfied,” he said shaking his head. “But anyway, how are you? Or maybe a better question is how much trouble are you in with Papa?”

You paused for a moment and watched Mountain work. His fingertips idly traced the soft petals of a ficus tree inspecting it for rot and insect damage. It was amazing how such a large creature could care for something so fragile.

“None,” you answered.“ I think Papa promoted me.”

Mountain’s fingers froze over the leaves before he turned to look at you fully. “He what?”

“I’m his assistant now I guess. He asked me to come to his office this morning and I’ve just been doing paperwork since. I was headed to get him some coffee now actually.”

Even though Mountain was masked and the only sliver of his face you could see were his emerald eyes you could tell he was shocked. His dark green pupils blinked at you slowly, like he was trying to calculate the speed of the earth’s orbit divided by its distance to the sun.

“You’ve got to be the only person in this place who can get away with what you did last night.”

“Yeah maybe…” you trailed off before suddenly remembering something important you’d been meaning to ask Mountain. “Hey. While we're here I have a weird question for you. It’s about Primo’s garden.”

“Shoot, little one.”

“Have you seen any snakes out there lately?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen any actually. Pretty sure Primo does some sort of magic to keep them away. Looking for a new pet?”

Apparently, you were going to have to take a trip out to the gardens and ask the old Papa some questions. But that was fine you were overdue for a chat with the eldest Emeritus anyway.

“Nah. It’s a long story. There’s a lot I need to tell you. But I really need to get going,” you said picking up Mountain’s watering can and handing it back to the big ghoul. “I probably shouldn’t test Papa’s patience anymore after last night.”

“Why don’t you come to the dens tonight? Aeth is cooking and I can make you a batch of the new tea I’ve been working on.”

“Sure Mount,” you called out over your shoulder already walking toward the dining hall, “See you then.”

The dining hall was busy.

Siblings and clergy members piled in from all corners of the Abbey, settling down at the long wooden tables for their midday meal. The room smelled of hearty stew and freshly baked bread. Summer was ending quickly and the kitchen staff had already started to transition from lighter fare to heavier, colder-weather meals. You’d miss the strawberry salads and cold gazpacho but fall was your favorite. Spiced cider, fresh apples from the orchard, warm shepherd's pie, those were the best.

You grabbed a large tray from the end of the buffet and waited in line. With every minute that passed a quiet pounding started to grow against your temples.

Thud. Thud.

You could feel it. A migraine was starting to build. The warm food couldn’t come quickly enough.

As you approached the front of the line, you selected a portion of the hearty stew with chunks of tender venison and root vegetables, a slice of warm crusty bread, and a generous helping of crisp apple slices drizzled with honey.

“Is that all Sister?” One of the kitchen staff, an older brother with dark hair greying around his ears, asked.

Thud. Thud.

The pounding in your head grew louder.

“Actually uh…” you stammered, looking down at your tray and smelling the delicious food. “Can I have a second serving of the same thing?”

“Sure thing,” the brother replied with a kind smile, ladling another portion of the stew into a second bowl.

Secondo might get pissed but you were going to bring him back food. If he was anything like you, or even remotely human, you wagered he was sporting a similarly splitting headache.

You carried the loaded tray before collecting two cups of coffee and two glasses of water from the drink station. Balancing the stacked tray, you navigated through the bustling hall and carefully avoided any wandering feet and stray elbows. But just as you were about to walk out the door a high-pitched voice called your name.

“Sister… sister wait up.” The corners of Sister Luciana’s lips quirked upward, but her twisted and forced smile didn’t reach her eyes as she jogged over to you.

“Sister Luciana,” you replied, setting your heavy tray down on a nearby table. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh aren’t you so sweet,” she cooed and you had to bite your lip to keep from rolling your eyes. “I just wanted to see if you’re okay. No one’s seen you in two days and I’ve been so worried about you.”

Satanas. How fake could one person be?

“Thank you for your concern, Sister Luciana,” you replied politely, masking your annoyance. “I was under the weather but I’m better now.”

It’d be a cold day in hell before you’d tell Luciana the truth that you’d blacked out in the catacombs after talking to Lucifer and were held hostage by Papa in his suite for 24 hours.

“Glad to hear you’re feeling better,” Sister Luciana replied. Her eyes scanned you from head to toe like she was trying to catch the lie on you. “I gotta tell ya I heard some of the younger sisters talking, you know how they like to gossip, and some of them seem to think you’ve been promoted to Secondo’s assistant. There’s no way that’s true right? He wouldn’t choose you for that.” Luciana’s eyes darted from you to the tray and the two servings of stew steaming on it.

It was people like Luciana who reminded you why you avoided friendships with siblings. Anyone overhearing your conversation probably thought she was a concerned friend. Merely a sweet sister who was worried about you after your prolonged absence. But you knew better. This conversation had nothing to do with you. Luciana only ever looked out for herself. If she was here in the dining room at lunch it meant she wasn’t in Papa’s dining room. She was just worried that someone was taking away her access to Papa. And for a sibling like Luciana power and status were everything.

“You know how rumors spread like wildfire around here,” you said, forcing a casual laugh. “But who knows what goes on behind Papa’s doors right?”

The skepticism was obvious in Sister Luciana's eyes, but you tried to keep your expression neutral. She smiled at you again and wished you better health. Luckily you were able to slink away without her pestering you further.

You briskly walked through the halls of the Abbey, the tray heavy in your hands as you made your way back to Secondo's office. The pounding in your head had only gotten worse after talking with Luciana, and with each step, you could feel your pulse beat through your skull.

When you opened the door to his office, Secondo was in the same place you’d left him, seated at his desk with the big stack of papers in front of him. His brow was still furrowed deep in concentration.

“I brought you some lunch,” you said, setting the tray down on the tiny open corner of your desk. “I know you asked just for coffee, but they had stew today and it just smelled so good I thought you might want some.”

For the first time all morning, Secondo looked up from his work. His eyes darted between the tray of warm food and you.

He stood from his desk and you braced yourself for a reprimanding. You closed your eyes and waited for the fire and fury to rain down on you.

Thud. Thud.

The pounding in your head shifted to your heart.

Thud. Thud.

It was going to burst.

You shot your hand to your chest and rubbed tiny circles trying to massage away the pain.

But then the cool slide of leather brushed against your chin and you opened your eyes. Pain forgotten, Secondo tilted your face to meet his gaze. You stared into marble white and mossy green. You had expected his eyes to darken the way they did when he was angry, the green becoming nearly black and the white more piercing than an arrow. But Secondo wasn’t looking at you like that.

He looked thankful, pleased, and dare you say it… glad.

There was a moment before you remembered to breathe.

You could smell him. Cologne, spice, and incense. The swirling muddled scent clung to everything. You swallowed it all down but the beast from last night returned and it wanted more.

To taste… would it be so bad to push forward and just have a taste of him?

Your lips parted and you breathed in deeply.

“Thank you,” he said simply, his voice barely above a whisper as his thumb brushed against your cheek. “You didn’t have to bring me this.”

Then without another word, Secondo’s gloved hand slipped from your jaw, he picked up his bowl of stew and returned to his desk.

Thud. Thud.

As Secondo walked away the pulse in your heart returned to your head.

You’d almost let him do it again.

You idiot.

You foolish and reckless fucking idiot.

What the fuck was he doing?

Had he lost his damn mind?

Between this morning's incident in the chapel and whatever the fuck was happening to him now Secondo needed a minute to just… be. He needed to collect himself.

He was thankful for the stew. The monotonous motion of simply lifting his spoon from the bowl to his mouth and back again gave him some cover. And he was thankful for it because he was spiraling. His mind was all over the place and if he’d even pretended to go back to his sermon he was sure you would have seen right through him.

He’d touched you.

Again.

He had touched you.

The same way he had last night and it hadn’t been some kind of power play or show of dominance this time. He’d touched you simply because he’d wanted to thank you but words hadn’t felt like enough. But why… why didn’t words feel like enough? You’d just brought him soup. You hadn’t brought him the moon.

Last night he had meant to tease you. All he’d wanted was to get you worked up again but somehow he’d ended up touching you. He’d cupped your jaw and slid into your space before even realizing what he was doing. And you looked at him the same way you had just now.

Your lips had parted, your breath had held, your eyes had softened, pupils growing and darkening, lashes fluttering, cheeks turning red, and you had looked… you had looked just for a moment… just for the smallest sliver of a second like you didn’t hate him. Like he wasn’t a monster. And you had…

No.

Stop it.

Focus.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Secondo cleared his mind and forced himself to concentrate. You weren’t supposed to be a distraction. You were here to learn from him and to serve Him. Whatever tricks his mind was playing on him he would squash. He would bury them inside just like he did so many other of his emotions. He had to remember what was important. What was at stake.

The catacombs.

The book.

His voice.

His guidance.

His legacy.

You were another test. He couldn’t forget that so Secondo ordered himself to focus. He finished his lunch quickly and tried his best to avoid looking at you as he returned to his work… but the ache in his chest persisted, a gnawing hunger that had nothing to do with the stew he had just eaten.

You sighed as you stared down at a particularly confusing text and Secondo couldn’t take it anymore. He pushed back from his desk. His papers now forgotten and stood abruptly. His chair screeched against the stone floor, echoing loudly in the room.

He needed air. He needed space. He needed to get away from the suffocating walls that seemed to close in on him every time you were around.

“Papa?” you called out softly.

Secondo ignored you and stormed past your desk, throwing open the heavy wooden doors to the hall.

“Hello, son.”

“Fucking hell!”

Secondo jumped back from the door. In his jumbled mess of a mind, he’d forgotten about the meeting with his father. He glanced over at the clock above your desk.

Shit.

He’d forgotten about the meeting he was supposed to have thirty minutes ago.

“It’s rude enough that you didn’t come to my office on time. Now you’re going to just stand there and block the door. Move boy!”

Secondo stuttered for a moment before stepping aside, allowing Papa Nihil to enter. Sister Imperator trailed closely behind him, pushing his oxygen tank as it creaked across the floor. In the corner of the room, Secondo saw you jump up from your desk and close the door behind Imperator. He’d forgotten to tell you about this meeting too.

Shit.

He hadn’t planned for anyone to be here for this. Meetings with his father never usually went well, and he’d like to spare himself the shame but it was too late to send you away now.

Nihil and Imperator shuffled past Secondo and sat in the two tufted armchairs by the fireplace. Secondo moved to follow them, standing in front of the fire, and resting his elbow on the mantle. The heat from the flames licked at his back as he looked down at the elder pair.

Nihil had always been a rotten bastard and a poor excuse for a father. How he’d managed to hold onto so much power in the Clergy, always amazed Secondo. He’d assumed, as did many others, that he would have been cast out of the church many moons ago if it weren’t for Imperator. It was she, he would need to placate today. She was the real power player in the room.

Through the corner of his eye, Secondo watched as you sat back down at your desk and opened a little black notebook, readying yourself to take notes. He wanted to tell you not to bother. He’d never read them anyway.

“Your lack of punctuality is concerning, my son,” Papa Nihil rasped, his voice muffled through the mask he held against his face. “Let’s hope you haven’t forgotten what we’ve come to discuss.”

“I haven’t forgotten. I’ve been working hard on it. Last night I finished a new song. It’s called-” Imperator raised a hand silencing Secondo.

“The clergy has concerns Papa. Have you reconsidered their offer?”

If anyone else in the Abbey besides Imperator had asked that question Secondo would have barked out a list of insults so vile Satan would have blushed.

“I understand,” Secondo said, forcing his tone to remain composed. “But I think the album is headed in a much better direction than the last time we spoke. Last night I-”

“I don’t understand why he even needs to write a new album. Why can’t he just sing my songs and a few of his brothers? Wasn’t that the whole point of sending him out on that little tour last month? To see if this stronzo’s could even sing?” As Nihil prattled on Secondo glanced over at you, hoping to catch your eye, but you were too busy scribbling away in your notebook to notice him.

Imperator sighed loudly and Secondo looked back at the elder pair sitting before him.

“You know why we need a new album, Nihil,” she scolded. “We need more followers. And new music is the best way to do that. It’s also why we have concerns over your album, Secondo. How will we attract more people to join us if your album is full of morose and macabre dronings? The clergy simply thinks a little outside collaboration will help spice things up. Help lift the veil a bit. Do you understand?”

Secondo clenched his jaw and tried to swallow the boiling rage that threatened to spill over. The nerve of them to suggest diluting his art with outsiders, people who weren’t even members of their congregation. His music was sacred, a vessel for the Dark One's message, not some commodity to be watered down for the masses.

“Honestly son, no one wants to hear it. Sathanas your lyrics aren’t even in English! Per Ad Ass whatever. See, I can’t even remember the damn title. How do you expect anyone to-”

“I liked it.”

Secondo’s eyes snapped to yours.

You’d set your notebook down and were staring back at him, a meek little smile spread across your face. You pushed away from the desk and crossed the room, stopping beside him. Secondo swore the flames behind him jumped when the fabric of your habit brushed against his robes.

Imperator raised an eyebrow, looking between you and Secondo with mild interest. Papa Nihil rolled his eyes.

“Sister if you're trying to get in this stronzo’s pants you don’t have-”

“Nihil enough,” Imperator growled, before turning toward you. “Please. Go on sister. What did you like about the song?”

Your eyes drifted from Secondo’s to the floor. Whatever had emboldened you a moment ago was slipping away. Your voice was soft as you started to speak.

“I thought it was beautiful. I… I couldn’t get it out of my head after I heard it. There’s something… I don’t know something ethereal about it.”

As you shook your head Secondo balled his fist by his side. He wanted to tell you that you didn't have to do this. You didn’t need to stick up for him. Nihil would always have something negative to say and for as long as he’d known Imperator she had never been his biggest supporter. But your eyes flickered from the floor to his and all his thoughts went out the window.

“No, maybe ethereal’s not the right word. It feels like… well it feels like that moment when we all gather together for Black Mass on All Hallows Eve. Everyone’s excited. A little nervous. Lust. Devotion. Passion. All those feelings we share builds that electricity in the air. You can feel it in your chest. That night it… it feels like the best of us. Like the best of our church, I mean. Everyone gathered together on the one night of the year we all looked forward to most. When the veil is thin and for most of us it’s the closest we’ll ever get to Him.”

“Sister,” Nihil whined impatiently, taking a drag of his oxygen, and tapping his long fingernails against the armrest of the chair, “get to the point.”

“I just mean. His song. Per Áspera Ad Inferí. It reminded me of why I’m a member of this church. It reminded me of why I’m here. Even if I didn’t understand the words I think it’s beautiful.”

A TIDAL WAVE.

A TORNADO.

AN AVALANCHE.

All three are natural disasters that consume. They claim every square inch of calm and bring complete chaos. Disrupting all that was.

People can rebuild. They can lay out new foundations, frame new homes, and pave new roads. But life is never the same. It can’t go back. The world will never be the same once the snow tumbles down, the wave crashes in, and the winds wreak havoc.

As Secondo looked at you he felt like one of those towns he’d seen on TV destroyed by such nature. His world would never be the same. Every thought that he had held was squeezed out. His world was disrupted. Interrupted. Changed. By you.

Sathanas.

He thought to himself.

You’re beautiful.

You’re so fucking goddamn beautiful.

In was in that moment that Secondo realized you were the most stunning creature he had ever seen. He had denied it, pushed it down, and tried to bury his attraction to you and focus on other things like his papacy, the rituals, and the Dark Lord himself. But how could he ignore it now? How could he push it down and bury this feeling somewhere deep when you’d gone and said something like that?

You went ahead and talked about the music… his music, like it meant something. Like it moved you. Like you had understood the very thing that moved him and motivated him to write it. He didn’t know when you’d heard it but that didn’t matter. You’d stormed into his mind now and there would be no rebuilding it to how it was before. He couldn’t ignore it.

Maybe he should have seen it coming. Secondo was only a human. And so far humans haven’t figured out how to stop storms before they start so maybe he should have realized he wouldn’t be able to keep this feeling locked up forever. But he was here now, wrecking his brain. He saw you now.

And you were so beautiful.

His attraction had been there since day one, just simmering under the surface waiting for the right moment to boil over. But now it was happening at the most inopportune time and Secondo couldn’t put it off one more fucking second longer.

He knew when this started.

It had been the moment Imperator laid your photo out next to the others. He remembered it clearly. He was supposed to pick his first batch of Imperatrix’s. It was a high honor and an important duty as Papa but he hadn’t been able to pull his eyes off your picture. You were smiling, standing in the warm summer sun down by the lake. Your hair was undone, long, and flowing beautifully past your shoulders and you were wearing that sundress. The sweet little yellow thing with white flowers and a hemline landing just above your gorgeous thighs.

You’d stolen all of his attention in that moment. So much so that he hadn’t even cared to look at photos of the others. He’d picked five more sisters at random. It’d been you he wanted. It’s been you he couldn’t wait to see in the dining room that first day. It’d been you he made sure was given the nicest suite. The one with the largest bath and the prettiest view of the summer gardens. He’d been disappointed when you’d told him you wouldn’t participate in the rituals but he’d tried to move on. The ritual was supposed to be only an offering after all. He’d been selfish to think of anything else.

But Santhas how he wanted to kiss you right now. He could just wrap you up in his arms, yank off your veil, grab a fistful of your hair, and leave you breathless. He could have you panting, whining, begging for more. He could do it right here in front of his father and Sister Imperator. Or better yet he could kick them out, pick you up, and push you down against his desk and show how good he could make you feel with just his hands and mouth before he even used his cock.

Fuck he could just-

“Why are we listening to this girl when she can’t even speak Latin?!” Nihil's ancient voice sliced through Secondo’s thoughts. “She doesn’t know what would make a good performer. Sister,” Nihil turned to face Imperator in his chair, “he is not ready.”

“I may not speak Latin,” you snapped, taking a step toward Nihil and lowering your voice until it became an angry growl, “but I know that Papa commands every room he walks into. So why should a stage be so different? Why wouldn’t he be ready?”

You took another step toward Nihil, positioning yourself in between the old man and your Papa but Secondo couldn’t let you throw yourself to the wolves. He reached for you, grabbing your wrist and gently pulling you back to his side. He could feel your pulse throb with fury as his gloved fingers held you back.

He wanted to pull you even closer and hold you against his chest but Secondo stopped himself. He was thankful for your defense but couldn't let you provoke Nihil any further, not when the consequences for you both could be dire. He needed you near. He needed you close. He wouldn’t let Nihil send you away for your insolence.

Not now.

Not now that you had finally consumed him.

Imperator leaned back in her chair and observed, watching the exchange between you, Secondo, and Papa Nihil. She rested a finger on her chin, deep in thought.

“Papa Nihil, your concerns have been duly noted. But, I believe the sister's perspective holds merit. Secondo you may continue with the album as planned for now. We will meet again in one month to discuss your progress.”

Nihil grumbled under his breath but eventually nodded in reluctant agreement. “Fine,” he said. “But he needs to prove himself. We can't afford any more fuckups. Capisci?”

“Sì,” Secondo answered, biting down on his cheek until the taste of copper filled his mouth, “Capisco, padre.”

A week had passed since your promotion to Secondo’s assistant.

The job wasn’t easy, but you’d learned his routines quickly enough. A cappuccino in the morning. Reading glasses cleaned and on the left side of his desk before his arrival. A fire hot and roaring before he entered and freshly-cut firewood kept stacked in the rack by the door.

The work itself was usually the same. Every morning Secondo started with the pile of papers on his desk. Signing, editing, and transcribing. As Papa, it was his duty to understand all the traditions and rituals of the church while guiding his flock toward or against the known and unknown dogmas.

All important clerical duties were done by lunch. In the afternoon, Secondo dedicated himself to his music. He wrote, sang, and played his guitar, a beautiful acoustic thing with a solid Sitka spruce top and touches of emerald green around its body. Most days Secondo didn’t leave his office when he worked on his album, preferring to play by the fire. But sometimes he did wander down to the music room, where the walls are padded and he could mix tracks when he felt so inclined. On those days his most trusted ghouls usually joined him. Alpha. Omega. Aero. Crust.

The nighttime was reserved for sermons. Secondo wrote and practiced them over and over again until his message was clear and memorized completely. You never realized how much detail was packed into each line he delivered at mass until that week. Every word served a purpose, every phrase held a deeper meaning.

Through it all you helped Secondo the best that you could. You learned that he was meticulous about his robes and paints, both of which he wore every single day, so you started keeping lint rollers in his office and a pot of his special facial paints in your pocket at all times. You learned inspiration could strike him at any moment so you also carried a little black notebook and a pen in case he ever needed to jot something down.

Alpha was around most days and you were so thankful for that. You enjoyed your time together when he did play bodyguard, posting up inside Secondo’s office like a sentinel. He occasionally would slip you little cartoons he’d draw of you or Papa. He was a talented artist and you wondered if all ghouls were born with such creativity. You wanted to ask him but for some odd reason, Secondo kept giving him time off saying things like “go enjoy yourself” or “make sure to rest.” It was strange, seeing Secondo pretend to care about someone else.

Most days you didn’t speak to Secondo and the two of you worked side by side in total silence. Although on more than one occasion you did catch him staring at you, you tried your best to stay out of his way and anticipate anything he needed.

Neither of you had taken a single meal in the dining hall in the past week either. There was too much to do and too few hours in the day to do it all. It’d become clear that Secondo’s last assistant was less than organized and the backlog of work she’d inadvertently created felt neverending most days.

Every night when you dragged yourself back to your suite you felt the same. You were tired. You were body-aching, head pounding, feet burning, doggone tired. You’d never worked so hard in your entire existence and your social life, as modest as it was before, practically vanished overnight. Your world became absolutely consumed by Secondo’s.

It’s been a week since you’d been able to see your friends in the ghoul dens. You never made it down for Aether’s cooking or Mountain’s tea the day he had invited you. You’d apologized for missing out when you bumped into Mount days later. He’d been kind and understanding, offering you a hug that you needed more than you realized. And since then he’d taken it upon himself to leave little snacks and energy drinks in your suite every night.

“You need the energy, little flower,” he had said when he’d delivered you the first round of goodies.

The other ghouls helped out too. Aurora and Cumulus surprised you with little pink Post-it notes on your bathroom mirror full of encouraging messages and adorable drawings. Aether also brought you your favorite wine. And Dew brought you his favorite weed. Swiss, the chaotic little sweetheart that he was, lent you two piles of his favorite records.

“Music to put you to sleep and music to get you going in the morning,” he had said when dropping them off at your door.

At some point, you’d eventually figure out a way to thank everyone. You just needed a minute away from Secondo before that could ever happen. But today wasn’t going to be that day.

It was Saturday evening and while most of the Abbey was preparing for a night of sin and revelry you were with Secondo, holed up in his office and staring down a stack of receipts that needed approving. Alpha had left several hours earlier and the sun was setting outside, casting a warm orange glow through the open window behind Secondo’s desk and a cool breeze swept through the room.

Secondo had set aside his latest sermon and was plucking away at his guitar. You stole glances at him every now and then, watching the way his ungloved slender fingers danced over the strings with effortless grace.

The song was different from the rest he’d been working on. This one was slower. Softer. If anyone else had been playing it you might even dare say it was sweeter.

“Ghuleh… Ghuleh…”

Secondo sang, his voice rising over the crackling fire and gliding over you like the breeze from the open window.

“Ghuleh… Ghuleh…”

You set your pen down and watched him. For all the vial names you wanted to spew at Secondo, you couldn’t deny him two things. The first was that the man had the voice of a fallen angel. You could easily imagine falling down again into the black void and meeting one of His princes. Maybe Belial or Beelzebub. You could imagine how they would probably sound the same if they sang. Confident, verging on arrogant but soft enough to corrupt any innocence they crossed.

And the second thing you couldn’t deny Secondo was just how much you liked his voice. You could listen to him sign anything. The Macarena. Happy Birthday. God damn Barbie Girl. Honestly, it didn’t matter what Secondo was singing you’d listen to it all just to hear the way his voice could flit between light and delicate to those guttural deep growls that made your cheeks warm and red.

You subtly reached up to your cheek and tried to hide the shame that they were indeed flushing red again.

But luckily Secondo wasn’t looking at you. His gaze was elsewhere. His mismatched eyes were busy staring into the fireplace’s flames as he sang.

“Putrefaction. A scent that cursed be. Under coat of dust. From the darkness. Rise a succubus.”

On the last word, Secondo stopped, turned his head, and stared at you. If your cheeks had been tinged pink before they were bright red now.

You had to say something.

“That was beautiful.”

Secondo’s gaze lingered on you for a heartbeat before he looked away. His fingers stilled on the guitar strings. Then Secondo did two things you never thought possible. He thanked you and he smiled.

The deep-set corners of his eyes that were so often set in a frown shifted upwards. And his lips followed course. Moving big and wide. You were surprised at how nice it looked on him. How handsome his chiseled face was when he twisted it this way. Not that you ever thought you’d see it, but when you had imagined Secondo’s smile you’d thought it would be awkward, forced, and uncomfortable. But nothing about the way he looked at you now made you feel any of those ways.

You don’t know why. But his thanks his smile…it felt like a truce.

Even if he didn’t know why you hated him and even if you didn’t know why he hated you something about the moment felt like a ceasefire. A break in the lingering feud between you both. You still hated him for what he’d said to you. And probably still despised you for your disobedience but right now… right now you could just co-exist. Right now that hatred didn’t feel important. Something else mattered. You weren’t sure if you could name it. But you felt it, fluttering in your chest and flickering on the tip of your tongue.

Maybe the moment was getting to Secondo too, because he set his guitar aside and stood up, walking over to the window to watch the sun sink lower in the sky before rubbing his temples.

You’d learned over the week that despite the front Secondo tried to put on he was indeed human. And he was a human being who suffered from pounding headaches just like you.

“Headache, Papa?”

“Nothing that won’t go away on its own, sorella,” he said despite mixing the white and black paint at his temples into a grey mess, as he moved his fingers in tiny circles.

“Maybe you should take a break. Is there something you do to relax?”

Secondo turned from the window and blinked at you. He looked surprised.

“I don’t have time for that.”

You pushed away from your chair and reached into the pocket of your habit, pulling out a cotton handkerchief before handing it to Secondo and pointing to the grey smudges on his fingertips.

“Well how about you take your guitar and I’ll take some of these,” you pointed back toward the stack of receipts on your desk, “and we’ll just go somewhere that’s more relaxing.”

“Somewhere more… relaxing?” He repeated, eyeing you curiously.

“Yeah, maybe a change of scenery could help clear your mind.”

The idea seemed to intrigue Secondo. His gaze flickered between you and the window where the last rays of orange sunlight were fading fast. After a moment, he let out a sigh and nodded.

“Lead the way, sorella.”

Secondo had lived in the Abbey his entire life and while he knew plenty of secrets about the old place he had never been here before.

You had led Secondo through the Abbey into an abandoned classroom on the top floor of the eastern wing and climbed out its window. Then you’d scampered up onto the roof, where a black and red plaid blanket had already been waiting. A tin bucket sat next to one of the brick chimneys and Secondo peaked inside, noticing half a dozen smoked-down joints.

You sat down on the blanket, deftly crossing your legs at your ankles, and waved at Secondo to join you. Secondo couldn’t help but think what a pair you two must make. What would people think if they saw you? A young Imperatrix, dressed in her most conservative black habit, not an inch of skin showing, and him…Papa Secondo, clad in all the finest regalia of his station donning black robes, mitre, and all. Even though the sun was almost fully set Secondo doubted that any sibling wandering the grounds below would be able to see either of you. But still, he felt subconscious about his dress. He normally didn’t mind people staring. But up here with you, he’d rather not draw stares. So he pulled off his mitre and gently set it on the roof before joining you on the blanket with his guitar.

While the plaid blanket was decently sized, Secondo was forced to sit relatively close to you. Just a handful of inches separated the two of you. So he kept his eyes fixed on the horizon in an attempt to distract himself from the proximity and began plucking away at the strings of his guitar. Normally, keeping his hands busy was enough to distract himself.

But tonight it wasn’t cutting it. Secondo couldn’t focus.

Being here with you was so much different than his office or the music room. This felt too intimate. Two people, lying under the stars, with music in the air, this felt more like a date than the tail end of a long working day. And while Secondo was ready to admit that you were beautiful he wasn’t ever going to be the kind of man that took sisters like you on dates. He was missing that thing in him that sought out companionship, or the type of love that made people weak and vulnerable. Secondo was determined never to let himself be so at the mercy of another person.

“I’ve never brought another human up here before?” Your voice cut through his idle strumming.

“Human?”

“Yeah,” you said fidgeting with your habit. “I’ve only ever brought the ghouls up here.”

Secondo raised an eyebrow. Most siblings were terrified of ghouls. But you were apparently comfortable enough to lay with them under the stars. Who were you?

“The ghouls… they are your friends?”

“They’re my only friends.”

For two people who have spent every waking minute together over the past 7 days, Secondo realized then he knew absolutely nothing about you. He shifted on the blanket, moving his long under his thighs. Then he turned his broad shoulders in your direction so he could look at you fully. He hoped you look back at him.

But you avoided his eye contact and stared up into the sky.

The moonlight glistened on your face, casting shadows in the hollows of your cheeks and Secondo was struck by how ethereal you looked, like a beautiful unholy being bathed in silver light.

“You are beautiful, sorella.”

The words were out of Secondo’s mouth before he realized it. They’d simply escaped, like taking a breath, without any consciousness.

But Secondo didn’t want to take them back. They were the truth and he couldn’t rewind time. All he could do was wait for you to say something… anything. The minutes stretched like hours. But you weren’t going to answer. You had frozen in place and the only thing that emerged from your lips were shaky and nervous breaths that puffed out into the cold night like little clouds.

Then Secondo did something stupid. He spoke again.

“You don’t like me do you?”

This time your eyes snapped quickly to Secondo’s and nothing could have prepared him for how much angry fire was burning behind them.

“Fuck you.”

“W-what?”

“I said fuck you, Papa,” you spat out Secondo’s title with ugly disdain and dug a pointed finger hard into his chest. “You’re the most selfish person I’ve ever met in my life. I bet you don’t even remember what you said to me do you?”

Secondo tried to rack his brain. He tried to think of any interaction. Any possible bump in the halls, or faux pau in the dining halls. He’d only known you for a week. He’d never spoken to you before seven days ago. What the hell could he have done in that time to make you hate him so?

As Secondo looked at you, it was obvious he didn’t remember. There was no flicker of recognition. No flashback running through his mind.

And somehow that felt so much worse. How could he not remember when you’d never forget?

“Sorella,” Secondo pled, “Tell me please. What did I do to you?”

Go back: (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)

(Read on AO3)

#ghost #ghost band #the band ghost #papa emeritus ii #ghost bc #secondo #papa secondo #papa emeritus ii x reader #ghost the band #ghost fanfiction #band ghost #ghumblr

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wintaerbaer · 1 year ago

Text

things we don’t say: part 3 (kth)

banner credit: @itaeewon

summary: Three years after graduating college, everything seems to be falling into place for you: stable job, cozy apartment, and a long-term boyfriend with a ring box hidden in his desk drawer. But when a mutual friend makes a remark that your best friend of nearly two decades is clearly in love with you, you realize that life may not be as simple as it seems.

pairing: Taehyung x Reader (with some VERY brief Seokjin x Reader and Yoongi x Reader)

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

genres: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, slooooow burn, angst, fluff

word count: 9.0k

chapter warnings: kook has literally zero chill (i’m so sorry about him), jimin channels his inner dominic toretto, taehyung is so sweet he’s giving me cavities, discussions of infidelity, swear words, namjoon still gives the best hugs

a/n: thanks for the patience in waiting for this one! for those who may have missed it, i ultimately opted to split this into two chapters, so now we’re looking at seven parts and an epilogue. :)

PREVIOUS // SERIES MASTERLIST // MASTERLIST

Read on ao3

"I can make you a drink?"

"It's noon."

"So?"

You sigh, slumping on the couch. "I appreciate it, Kook, but I'm just…" You stretch out, pressing your toes into his thigh. "Tired."

The week has gone by in a blur of tears and sleep. You'd taken the rest of the week off, thankful both that you had been carefully banking your PTO in case of an emergency and also for having a manager that prioritizes empathy and mental health. When you'd practically had a breakdown explaining your situation over the phone, she'd quickly granted you the time off—no questions asked—and told you to take care of yourself.

It's been mostly your friends taking care of you, however. After the night you came back from the beach house, you'd been whisked away to the guys' apartment to stay with them, camping out on their pull-out couch, which they’d insisted you could have for as long as you want (Taehyung had pushed you to take his bed, offering to stay in the living room, but you'd begged him not to make you feel worse by displacing him, and he'd eventually acquiesced). Maya and Taehyung had then gone back late the next day to pack you a bag with no Jace encounters.

He'd only texted you once—to provide a weak apology and to let you know he'd clear out of the apartment.

Still, your plan is to stay with the guys for a while; you don't think you could bear to be in your apartment alone right now, especially knowing that Jace has been with someone else in your bed. It's like the image is seared behind your eyelids, tormenting you every time you blink and pushing your mental fortitude to its absolute limit. You haven’t made it a single day without a breakdown, feeling as though you’re constantly trying to walk an emotional tightrope.

Except the tightrope isn’t pulled taut and is also on fire.

That being said, you welcome the distraction of having your friends around. Between Jimin working days, Jungkook working nights, and Taehyung having a flexible schedule with the museum and his photography gigs, someone is always around to spend time with you. Maya’s also taken it upon herself to pop in almost every night with wine, chocolate, or some other variation of breakup food and hang out for a while. You'd feel bad about their attentiveness (you feel sometimes like they're babysitting you), if not for the fact that it's the only thing keeping you remotely sane as you fluctuate between sobs and an overwhelming numbness.

This Sunday afternoon, it's Jungkook's turn to babysit; Taehyung left to run some errands an hour ago, while Jimin slept in late and is currently taking a shower. Jungkook's reclined on the sofa next to you, longs legs stretched out in front of him with his fingers laced behind his head. You'd thrown on a TV movie—some bullshit about a woman who goes through trials of love, only to realize that her perfect man was hidden in plain sight the entire time.

If only life were that fucking easy.

"Do you want an ice cream sundae?" Jungkook suggests as the credits roll. "I can make you an ice cream sundae."

"Are you just suggesting things that make your twelve-year-old brain happy?"

His lower lip pushes out in thought. "No, if I was going to suggest things that cheer me up when I'm sad, I'd offer to go down on you—"

"What the fuck, Kook."

"Which I'm game if you are, but I didn't think you liked me like that."

"Yeah, I think I'll pass."

"Suit yourself."

"Leave her alone, idiot. She's fragile." Jimin steps into the living room from the hall, fully dressed but still towel drying his hair. He takes in your relaxed forms on the couch—you, halfway burrowed under multiple blankets—and frowns. "You're not dressed yet?"

You blink slowly at him. "Should I be?"

"Yeah, Kook and I are taking you somewhere." He looks over at the man sitting beside you. "You didn't tell her?"

Jungkook's mouth stretches into a wide grin. "Surprise!"

You're still processing what the hell is happening—your plans for today were to park yourself in this spot and not leave—when Jimin strides over and yanks the blankets off of your body.

"Chim!"

"C'mon, get dressed. We have an appointment," he says. "And wear something comfortable. You're gonna love it, I promise."

A half hour later and you’re sitting in the back of Jungkook’s black Mercedes, watching the city pass by outside your window. Now that you’re up, it does feel nice to be out of the apartment instead of wallowing inside on the couch with a tissue box in your lap (which had been the general trend of the past week). Even listening to Jungkook and Jimin bickering about navigation up front helps to distract you from the dread that lingers like a blanket draped over your shoulders. All-in-all, you feel like you’re managing the fallout of your relationship as best as one can—at least when they find their almost-fiancé in bed with another woman. But grieving the loss still means that you’ve barely eaten, barely slept, and it’s not long before you’re dozing off in the backseat, dreaming of college—of sandy brown hair and green eyes.

You wake to Jimin’s hand on your shoulder gently shaking you out of your nap.

“Hey, we’re here.”

You’re on the outskirts of the city, it seems, in front of a squat, gray building that looks almost like a tiny warehouse. Peering up at the neon sign, you read, “Smash City Rage Room?”

“Cool, right?” Jungkook says, leaning against the side of the car.

You can physically feel the lines stretching across your forehead. “I don’t get it. We’re going to…?”

“Break stuff!” He takes your hand to pull you along. “Let’s go!”

You're led into a small, unassuming lobby—flat gray like the outside. Jimin gets you checked in with a burly-looking man behind a desk, who (after you’ve all signed some suspicious-looking release forms) promptly brings the three of you to a back room where you're fitted with protective jumpsuits, helmets, and goggles and instructed to "choose a weapon" from a rack filled with baseball bats and sledgehammers. At this point, Jungkook is practically bouncing out of his skin, the absolute picture of a golden retriever waiting for a ball to be thrown.

"You guys are really trying to distract me by taking me to Kook's version of Disneyland, huh?"

"That depends, is it working?" he says, grasping one of the hammers and weighing it in his hands.

"I'm skeptical but open-minded."

"Perfect!"

He hands you a bat, and your brawny host leads you to your final room—a wide, concrete space with a sturdy table in the middle and piles and piles of objects. Wine glasses, dinner plates, a computer monitor, and even a flat screen TV sit in heaps along the walls amongst some broken shards from previous visitors.

"You're free to smash anything in the room," the muscle man says in a gruff voice, "just no intentional damage to the building's structure. If you need something, you can flag us down through the camera up there," he points to the device in one of the ceiling's corners, "and someone will come check on you. Otherwise, just be safe and have fun. We'll come get you after an hour." Then he's swinging the door shut behind him.

You look blankly at the two men in front of you. "Now what?"

"We smash!" Jungkook says happily, already dragging the flat-screen onto the table. Then, before you can even respond: "Not like that, Y/N. Get your mind out of the gutter." He swings the sledgehammer down onto the TV screen, and it caves in on itself as Jungkook giggles maniacally.

"We thought this might help to let off steam," Jimin says, cracking a smile as he slams his bat into a propped up picture frame. "Try it!"

The two of them watch with wide, expectant eyes as you gingerly pick up a small drinking glass and place it delicately on the table.

"So now I just…?" You halfway lift the baseball bat, peering down at the poor, unassuming glass in front of you.

Jungkook leans forward, eyes eager, gesturing with the hammer in a light swinging motion he's clearly wanting you to mimic.

So you swing, bringing the bat down onto the lip of the glass with a moderate amount of force. It shatters, pieces flying outwards like little slivers of shrapnel.

It feels good.

The guys cheer, and Jimin reaches down to grab a champagne glass, setting it in front of you.

"Now pretend this one is that asshole's balls."

You hesitate, the mention of Jace causing the fist that's been around your heart to squeeze. You're angry with him, sure, fury simmering in your belly even now. But your biggest struggle and the source of all of your pain this week has been wrangling with your lingering feelings. Four years of loving someone are not so easily erased.

But you wish you could wipe it all from your mind.

You wish you could hate him.

"Let it out," Jimin murmurs, as you continue to stare, your hands gripping the bat. "This is the place."

You visualize Jace's face in your mind. His bright green eyes, his crooked smile, the tiny scar on his forehead from when he fell off his bike when he was nine. You can practically hear his voice whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

And then you see him in bed a week ago, his lips pressed to another woman's neck.

The champagne glass explodes like a small bomb into a million tiny crystals.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Jungkook yells, and it’s then that you realize that you were the one who swung the bat.

Your body is a live wire, pumping with adrenaline and a newfound rage. Before you know it, you don’t even have the patience to pick up the objects and place them on the table. Instead, you’re spinning around in a whirlwind, destroying plates and glasses and small kitchen appliances indiscriminately.

“This is for all of the lies about late nights!”

BOOM.

“This is for the fact that I’ve barely been able to breathe this past week!”

CRASH.

“This is for that dumb-ass crooked smile like he thinks he’s the star of some shitty movie!”

WHAM.

“And this is for that stupid, fucking green jacket.”

You channel all of your anger through the bat—every tear, every minute of lost sleep turned into shards of glass and debris. The tears come at some point, but you barely feel them as you scream out your frustrations, Jimin and Jungkook cheering you on the whole time.

It’s not a magical cure-all by any means, but you do feel a tiny bit of relief ease itself into your shoulders.

An hour later, you embrace both men in the parking lot. “Thank you,” you say, “for everything you guys have been doing for me. I needed this.”

Jimin shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Hey, I owed you for that time when I got passed over for promotion, and you brought me to Bar 613 and paid for all my drinks.”

“I just wanted to smash stuff,” Jungkook teases with a grin, but he rubs playfully at your upper back to let you know he’s kidding.

Jimin’s phone chirps with a notification, and he pulls it out of his pocket, squinting at the screen before muttering, “Hmm, Tae’s not ready yet.”

“Ready for what?” you ask, a feeling creeping in that your day of surprise distractions isn’t quite over.

“You’ll see soon enough.” Jimin’s knowing smile twinkles with mischief. “In the meantime, what do you say we get some ice cream?”

“What do you mean you’re not coming?”

You’d returned from your rage room and ice cream outing only for Jungkook to swing his car into the “No Parking” zone outside the apartment and promptly kick you out to the curb, a pair of impish smiles flashing at you from the front seats.

“We have strict instructions to stay clear of the apartment for the next several hours,” Jimin chimes. “So we’re going to entertain ourselves for a while.”

You narrow your eyes at them, knowing they’re not going to spill but making a feeble attempt anyway. “What did he do?”

“Go find out!” Jimin says, just as Jungkook shouts, “Bye!” and rolls up the window right in your face.

You enter the building with a sigh, swinging the plastic bag from your wrist that holds the takeout container of rocky road that you’d gotten for Taehyung. A part of you wants to be whiny about your friends making such a fuss for you, working so hard to cheer you up, but at the end of the day, you just feel loved. Tomorrow, you may wake up with a hollow chest, your heart scraped out in the middle of the night as it has been for every day the past week, but for now, you let a little flame of happiness warm your insides.

You do hope, though, that Taehyung didn’t go through too much trouble for whatever he has planned for tonight. He’s already spent a majority of the past week hovering, holding you when you cry, and otherwise keeping a close watch on your moods. And in spite of him trying to be subtle, you’ve noticed how he doesn’t close his bedroom door all the way at night so he can listen for you.

He’s a great friend, the best, but the fact that you care about him, too, means that you don’t necessarily want to burden him, don’t want to be the source of his worry.

It sucks that you’re doing a shit job of it.

Probably just a movie night, you think during the elevator ride up. Like we’d do in college.

But when you slip the key into the lock and slide the door open, your heart immediately leaps into your throat, the bag of ice cream almost slipping from your fingers.

The apartment has been positively upended, furniture rearranged, flipped, stacked, and draped with blankets to create a massive pillow fort in the middle of the living room. It has to be almost eight feet tall, and you wonder what the rest of the rooms look like as you spy all three of the guys’ desk chairs incorporated into the structure—clearly, the entire apartment was raided to create this behemoth. Around the dining room and kitchen, dozens of candles have been placed and lit to give the open space an ambient glow, accentuated by the lowering sun dipping down outside the massive windows.

When the door swings itself to latch shut with a soft click, there’s a rustling sound before Taehyung’s head pops out of the fort, and he beams as he comes to stand in front of you.

“What do you think?” he hums as you continue to stare incredulously at the scene behind him. You try to say something, you should say something, but tears begin to flow over your cheeks instead, causing the room to blur and Taehyung to pull you into a hug. “Okay, I have to admit this is the opposite of what I was going for.”

You press a watery chuckle into his chest. “This is incredible,” you gasp, shifting back to look at him.

“I’m glad you think so,” he says. “And that’s not even all. Come look.”

He guides you to the kitchen, where you now notice the counters are littered with all of your favorite comfort foods alongside the snacks you used to share growing up: sugar cookies and popcorn, potato chips and pretzels, brownies and bite-sized chocolates.

“Just like old times. And—“ He lifts the lid off a pot on the stove, and you’re quickly enveloped in the soothing scent of tomatoes and basil. “Spaghetti for dinner.”

It was the first meal you ever made together. In retrospect, the lumpy, acidic sauce you concocted in your parents’ kitchen that day was far from perfect. But at the time, you’d called it the best meal you’d ever eaten, and Taehyung has spent the subsequent years perfecting his own recipe. He doesn’t make it often, but when he does, it’s the perfect blend of nostalgia and warmth.

“And to think, all I brought you was this,” you say sadly, dangling the bag limply from your hand. But Taehyung snatches it from you in a flash, digging in like it’s a Christmas present. When he pulls out the papery white container, he grins like it’s much more than just half-melted ice cream.

“Rocky road?” he asks, smiling even more widely when you nod. “This is amazing, Y/N. Thank you.”

You study him quietly as he puts the ice cream away in the freezer—just to soak in this beautiful, home-shaped human being—and he raises his eyebrows at you when he turns back around.

“What?” he asks, the corners of his mouth twitching like he’s trying to hide yet another smile.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you glance away. “Nothing.”

But the truth is, standing here in his kitchen, observing his tender movements as he carefully rearranges the snacks on the counter top—it’s the first time in a week that you’ve been able to breathe. And maybe it’s just because it’s been days of suffocating pressure around your chest, but the air pushing through your lungs now feels sweeter, richer as he looks up to capture your gaze again and gently takes your hand in his.

“Come see the inside.”

He pulls you to the mass of furniture and blankets, sweeping back an opening in the fabric to usher you in, and you gasp as he reveals the pillow fort of your childhood dreams.

It’s massive, tall enough for you to stand comfortably in, with wide walls and a tented ceiling that seems to suggest Taehyung has somehow tethered it to the apartment’s actual ceiling. The floor is absolutely packed with pillows, cushions, and heaps of additional blankets, and if you aren’t mistaken, there’s a literal mattress (maybe two?) buried underneath it all.

But the part that has your throat constricting on a sob, tears streaming once again, is the tiny side table he’s placed to the side, your star lamp glowing on top.

“How did—“ you choke, still taking it all in. The fort, the snacks, the lamp. “How did you—?”

“Found the lamp in your closet when we went to get you that bag of clothes.”

“And,” you wave a weak hand at the scene around you, “all of this?”

“Chugged a couple energy drinks,” he chuckles. “And Maya came by for a bit earlier to lend a hand.”

“Tae,” you say, wiping at your cheeks.

“Y/N.”

“This is…” Beautiful. Magical. Extraordinary. No single word seems adequate enough to describe what you’re feeling, his recreation of your childhood tradition to the nth degree tipping you into a state of practical euphoria after the hell of a week you’ve just had. You’d swear you feel like you’re about to combust with the amount of relief that’s flooding through your body in this moment, anger and grief giving way to joy and an overwhelming sense of fondness for the man in front of you.

You never complete your sentence, but Taehyung still seems to grasp your meaning, reaching out to squeeze your fingers one last time in a gesture of acknowledgment and understanding before he simply says, “Let’s eat.”

The two of you gather yourselves heaping bowls of pasta before burrowing into your pillow fortress, backs pressed up against the couch, which is being used to support one side of it.

“How was the rage room?” Taehyung asks, tomato sauce staining his lips.

“Surprisingly cathartic. But…”

“But?”

You rub at your temple before letting your hand fall in a huff. “Temporary. It all is. Every time I think I’m getting a moment to catch my breath, I feel like I’m being punched in the chest a second later.”

“It’s only been a week,” he says. “You’re grieving. It’s going to take time.”

“I don’t want it to though,” you snap, immediately regretting your tone, even though Taehyung looks unfazed. “I just want to turn it off. He did this terrible thing, and I should hate him for it. I want to hate him for it.”

“But you don’t,” Taehyung says, jaw clenching.

Throat swelling, you choke on the words as they find their way out. “I thought I was going to marry him.” The all-too-familiar pressure in your chest rears its head again, suffocating you from the inside. “We had all these plans.” Your breaths turn shallow, coming out in short, rough pants quickly joined by tears that Taehyung rushes to wipe away.

You’ve never known love could hurt like this until now, and for all intents and purposes, Jace was your first real love. You’d had a smattering of boyfriends in high school, but never anything long term until him—nothing that ever made your heart feel like it was going through a shredder, a blender, and a hurricane all at once when it ended. And it’s not just your idea of him or your relationship that you’re mourning, but also the future that you thought you’d have together. The dreams you had dared to dream when you’d traded ideas of rings and children and white picket fences while tangled together in bed.

Sensing an imminent panic attack, Taehyung pulls you into his lap and loops his arms around you, coasting his hands up and down your back in long strokes. He’s done this every time you’ve broken down around him over the past several days, the physical sensation giving you something else to focus on when the thoughts and memories of your now-ex come flooding through the mental barriers you’ve been trying and failing to construct.

You concentrate instead on the ministrations of Taehyung’s hands, the warmth of his large palms resting over your shirt, the glide of his fingers tracing your spine over and over. His fingertips trail up to your neck (inhale) and back down to your sacrum (exhale) on a loop as you clutch the soft fabric of his own shirt. And as the dread looming under your skin begins to ebb away, you notice how your breathing has synced up, pressed chest to chest like you’re two halves of one whole. It’s calming, the light press of his ribcage expanding against yours, and it serves as enough of a distraction to get yourself under control, your feelings stuffed back into their box for the time being.

When you lean back to look at him, his dark brown eyes map your face, steady as ever.

“Better?”

“Better.” You nod weakly. “But life would still be so much easier if love worked like a switch.”

His brow tilts downward a fraction, a touch of melancholy passing over his face. “If only.”

“That makes me an idiot though, right?” you ask. “To still feel for him even after that.”

“No, it makes you human,” Taehyung says, before his expression suddenly turns grave. “Has he contacted you?”

You sniffle, rubbing at your nose. “Nothing besides that one text saying he would clear out of the apartment.”

“Good,” he murmurs. “Listen, I think everything you’re feeling is normal, and you shouldn’t put any pressure on yourself to process it any particular way.” A pink tongue swipes over his bottom lip. “But please, Y/N. Please promise me you’ll never take him back if he asks.”

Truth be told, the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind until now—imagining a teary Jace on your doorstep, begging you to give him just one more chance. In spite of your lingering feelings for him, the image only stirs up a dull rage, disgust burning like acid in your stomach.

“Not a chance,” you say, twining your pinky around his for a brief moment, and he visibly relaxes, leaning back against the couch. “I don’t think I ever want to see him again. But it…it hurts.”

You struggle to pull in a breath that doesn’t want to come, chin dipping down to your chest before Taehyung begins to move. Long fingers reach out to squeeze your hips before nimbly dancing down to your ankles bracketing his legs, where they give you another squeeze. He works his way up your body from there, moving his hands to your knees. Squeeze. Your ribs. Squeeze. Your shoulders. Squeeze. Elbows. Squeeze. Wrists. Squeeze.

He’s pinching each joint of your fingers between the pads of his own when you finally ask, “Tae? What are you doing?”

He doesn’t even look up, zoned in on his task. “Putting you back together.”

“Is that how it works?”

“Yeah, Hobi and Joon have been giving me lessons.”

You snort, and it appears to be the reaction he was hoping for because he beams up at you as you keen forward with laughter until you’re practically sharing breath, faces mere inches apart.

Time freezes; something in the universe shifts.

Your eyes wander over his face, tracing the paths between details that you subconsciously know are there but which you’re not sure you’ve ever truly looked at: the deep brown of his eyes, the mole on the tip of his nose, the plush curve of his lower lip.

He’s beautiful. It’s something you’ve always been aware of—an obvious fact of life in the same way the sky is blue—but you’re also lucky enough to know that his beauty goes beyond a handsome face. It’s also in the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs with his whole body, the way he always carries crackers in his bag for photo shoots at the park so he can toss some to the ducks.

The way he’ll upend his entire apartment to help heal your broken heart.

Artificial stars dance around the fabric walls like fireflies as you become hyperaware of how his hands have drifted back to your hips, barely there but warm. It’s soothing, you think, to be held between the boundaries of his palms, as if nothing and no one can touch you here. But it’s always been that way, hasn’t it? He’s always been your primary source of comfort, your north star at every turn, propping you up within the safety of your own little world like he does now.

His warmth is a siren’s song that has you shifting closer, your hands sliding from his chest to his shoulders, when his grip on your hips suddenly tightens as he breathes out your name.

“Mmm?”

“We have snacks to get to.”

The bubble pops as Taehyung shifts you off his lap, darting away to the kitchen. You, however, stay firmly rooted to your spot in the blanket fort; your mind whirs, an unfamiliar tingling sensation gently working its way through your nerve endings and making your stomach dip. It’s not at all unpleasant, but you don’t know what to make of it, thoughts turning without reaching any kind of foregone conclusion until Taehyung ducks back under the blanket and into your space, arms overflowing with snack bags.

He smiles at you and your stomach dips again.

But your mind quiets.

He’s your person, you think. Undoubtedly now more than ever as he settles back down next to you like the rock he’s always been.

“Story time?” he murmurs, the light passing across his face as he hands you a bag of your favorite chips. You gently place it in your lap without opening it, still jittery from the way he held you only seconds ago. Watching you with hooded eyes, he frowns at your lack of movement, the way your fingers have stilled on the plastic. “Something wrong?”

“No,” you say, sitting up straighter so he doesn’t feel like you’re ignoring him. “Wouldn’t be a blanket fort without a story, right?”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say the light on the walls is now radiating from Taehyung himself as he launches into a clearly premeditated narrative about a princess and her devoted, best friend of a knight. After being betrayed by a prince from a neighboring realm, the two embark on an epic journey to restore their own kingdom, traversing mountains and crossing oceans together to retrieve the enchanted crown jewel that the thieving prince had stolen away. Another handsome and charming prince captures the princess’s heart during their adventure, and, once her power is restored, the two marry in the most beautiful and romantic ceremony the kingdom has ever seen.

“And they live happily ever after,” Taehyung says with a flourish. He reaches over to steal a handful of potato chips before slipping a hand behind his head and settling deeper into the mattress. You frown down at him.

“But what about the knight?”

He slides a potato chip between his lips, lifting a dark eyebrow in confusion. “What about him?”

“Where’s his happily ever after?” you ask, almost annoyed on the fictional character’s behalf. “He climbed a mountain and fought a dragon for her. What did the prince do? Just stand there and look hot?”

His expression changes, eyes widening in subtle surprise. “It’s not his story.”

“But—“

“It’s not his story, Y/N.”

He says it with finality, so you drop it, left to grumble internally about what you feel was an unjust ending for the caring and loyal knight.

It was a sweet tale, but you can’t help but think that you would’ve written it differently.

The return to work isn't as bad as you anticipated. Your boss, Jia, noticing your frayed nerves, has been easing you back in slowly with a handful of softball projects just to get you going again. As much as you think you needed that week to cry and wallow, it feels good to get back to some form of normalcy and have work to focus on and keep your mind off of things as much as you can.

The shadows linger though, anxiety grabbing hold of your chest every time you remember you'll be going home to a different apartment that night instead of the one you shared with Jace.

Jimin's been joining you for lunch every day, hanging around outside the office cafeteria before you get there like he's staking you out. You call him out for it on Thursday, and he looks sheepishly down at the table with a nervous chuckle.

"I kinda promised Tae I'd make sure you eat."

"Of course," you sigh. Taehyung's been getting up early every morning to cook both of you breakfast, insisting that it's part of his normal routine.

He forgets that you used to live together, and you know he's more of a granola bar guy in the morning, eager to get himself out the door and moving as soon as possible.

"You're all doing too much for me," you murmur. "You shouldn't have to babysit me like—"

"We don't have to do anything," Jimin says forcefully. "We want to be there for you. We do these things because we care about you."

"I know, but I just…" You swallow hard. "I don't want you all to see me as this broken thing that you need to protect."

Jimin's whole demeanor softens, and he reaches across the table to take your hand. You'd be worried about how this looks—two coworkers holding hands at lunch—if you didn't feel the tears welling up again, the urge to cry sticking itself in your throat like molasses as you try to choke it down.

"Y/N, that's not what we think," he says softly. "You're our friend. And you're hurting. And after the trauma you went through, it's perfectly understandable for you to need a little more attention and care than usual. Honestly, if anything, I'm worried that you seem to be taking things better than expected, and I think that's because you're trying to put a brave face on for us sometimes."

He’s not off-base. Especially after your Distraction Day, you've been doing your best these past few days to bottle everything down so your friends don't worry as much, taking your time to cry in the shower or quietly at night when everyone else is asleep.

"All I'm saying is that you can lean on us. That's what we're here for. And if your tough face can't fool me, you're definitely not fooling Tae. Let him help before he goes crazy with worry.”

Honestly, relying on Tae has been the least of your problems, even though you’re a little concerned about how he’s been waking up earlier than usual for you. That man has been your rock for years, and receiving comfort from him is almost second-nature at this point. It’s how the two of you operate. Everyone else, however…

“I’m fine with Tae,” you tell him. “But I’ve never felt this…vulnerable around the rest of you. It used to just be Tae and I, hiding away from our problems in my room, and now—“

“You have us!” He beams. “That’s a beautiful thing, Y/N, can’t you see? You’re not alone anymore. Not you, not Tae. You have us. All of us. We’re going to get you through this. And if you need a silver lining, I don’t know that I’ve ever seen Jungkook and Maya this united against a common enemy before. I could’ve sworn I heard them the other night trying to figure out the best way to slash Jace’s tires without getting caught.”

“Don’t make me cry at work,” you say, blinking furiously to try and clear the sudden moisture from your eyes. “I think Jia is already prepared to send me home if I don’t stop sounding like I’m learning how to breathe for the first time.”

He laughs gently, giving your hand a squeeze before relinquishing it. “It’s going to get better, Y/N. I know I just called you our friend, but really, we’re family.”

The summer presses on in a haze as you focus on just getting through one day, one step at a time: get out of bed, go to work, come home, shower, try to get a few hours of fitful sleep, eat somewhere in between all of that. And before you know it, an entire month has passed.

Taehyung continues to make you breakfast every morning and insists on taking you to your favorite ramen place at least twice a week for dinner, watching you with concerned eyes from across the table. You’d give him shit for it if his worry didn’t feel so justified. If he wasn’t so persistent in making sure your base needs were being met, you’re not entirely sure you can say you wouldn’t be starving yourself in grief. And you know it makes him feel better to see you eating—how happy it makes him to care for others—so you don’t resist when he pushes an extra pancake onto your plate or orders you a second helping of noodles to go.

It’s one of your scheduled ramen nights when you get back from work a little later, a particularly emotional day preventing you from getting your tasks done on time. You drop your bag in the living room with a sigh, thankful that no one is around to ask you how your day was—you’re really not in the mood. Taehyung had sent you a text letting you know that he wanted to take a shower before you head out, needing one after a long day of photographing clients in the baking July heat. You can hear water running in the bathroom, so you assume he must still be in there.

The living room makes you feel vulnerable with its vaulted ceiling and tall windows, like you’re laid bare for the whole world to see. Because of this, you decide to wait for Taehyung in his bedroom, hopeful that you might be able to find some reprieve in his tucked-away space.

You’ve been in Taehyung’s room before, of course, but you’re not sure that you’ve ever taken the time to really peruse. Unlike Jace, Taehyung’s space is neatly organized, and you’re first drawn to the large bookcase that dominates the wall adjacent to the door. He’s stuffed it full of art anthologies: Van Gogh, Renoir, Monet, and Pollock giving way to old photography textbooks on the bottom shelves. About halfway down, you spot the bound collection of his own work that you’d had made for him as a college graduation gift (you got one for yourself too, and he’d blushed beautifully when you asked him to sign it).

Across the room, his bed is carefully made, dark bedding tucked cleanly under the mattress. In place of a nightstand and opposite the dresser, he’s set up a series of box shelves for his photography equipment—you spot lenses and tripods placed alongside gadgets you would have no idea how to use. His desk sits to the left, an impressive PC setup backed by a large cork-board brimming with post-it notes, business cards, and a photograph that has you stopping in your tracks.

The first photograph Taehyung ever took.

It’d been the spring right after you both turned sixteen, and Taehyung had finally saved up enough money from his newspaper job to buy his first camera at the secondhand shop. You’d gone along, bouncing up and down with excitement for him so vigorously that the shopkeeper kept giving you strange looks over the counter.

New toy in hand, Taehyung pulled you to the park, where the cherry blossoms were in full bloom—clusters of pastel pink contrasting wonderfully against the bright blue sky. You bought yourselves some kkwabaegi at a nearby food stall as Taehyung sat on a bench figuring out how to operate the camera. Distracted by the numerous dials and buttons, he didn’t even realize you had returned until you dusted his cheek with a bit of cinnamon sugar, teasing that his cheeks were just as fluffy as the donut you subsequently handed him with a smile.

Snacks finished, you strolled along the petal covered path, chatting about everything and nothing as Taehyung continued to fiddle with the controls.

“Are you going to be able to figure it out?” you asked, skipping ahead to pluck a wildflower out of the grass after several minutes had passed without him taking a single photo.

“Actually, I think I’ve just got it.”

“Really?” you said, turning around to face him and freezing at the sound of a click and the sight of the camera held at the ready in front of his face. His grin was full of mischief as he dropped his arms at your stunned look, and you rushed back to his side to give him a joking shove. “I wasn’t ready, you jerk. I’m going to look like an idiot.”

But Taehyung was still smiling widely, already striding down the path to line up his next shot. “Don’t worry. You looked perfect.”

You’d forgotten about the photograph after that day, as Taehyung never actually showed it to you. You figured that it probably didn’t turn out right, a blurry candid, and was scrapped. Now, looking at it, it’s not his best work, but it’s not nearly as bad as you’d pictured in the moment.

It’s you, backdropped by the pink of the blossoms, with delicate petals dancing around your form. Your eyes are bright and eager as you turn to face him, the corners of your lips upturned in the beginnings of a smile and the small purple flower raised halfway to your chest.

In spite of the struggles you know you were dealing with at home, you look content. Happy.

“Oh, you’re home.”

You jump, spinning around to face where Taehyung suddenly stands just inside the doorway, and you feel something flip low in your belly.

It’s not that you’ve never seen him shirtless—years of going to the beach house together have taken care of that—but here, in the low, intimate light of his bedroom, the sight of his mostly naked body strikes you in a way that it never has before. The veins in his arms and hands pop from the heat of the shower, skin tanned by his time spent outdoors. His dark hair is still wet and, as if on cue, a drop of water falls off the end of a ringlet, your eyes following as it rolls over sharp collarbones, down a toned chest and smooth stomach, and into the towel sitting low on his hips.

Taehyung clears his throat, and one look at his flushed face tells you that your perusal of his torso hasn’t gone unnoticed.

Why are you even looking?

“I—uh—sorry,” you mumble, snapping out of your trance also flustered, words spilling out in a jumble of unexpected nerves. “I had a rough day and just felt so exposed in the living room, and if Jimin or Kook showed up and asked me how I was, I was going to lose it so I came in here as a distraction, and I promise I wasn’t trying to snoop or anything—“

“Y/N, hey.” He crosses the room to where you stand, smiling gently down at you. “I don’t mind.”

You swallow, still looking for something to distract from the fact that you were very obviously just checking him out. “You still have this?” You point at the photo of yourself, and he looks at it, expression overcome with sentimentality.

“Yeah.”

“A reminder of how far you’ve come with your work?”

He turns his eyes back to yours, slow and warm as they settle on you. “A reminder of a perfect day,” he says, voice low, before creases form at his brow. “But your day wasn’t so good?”

Your gaze drops to the floor, and you suck your lips between your teeth in a gesture that is answer enough for him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He doesn’t push; never pushes. If you told him no, you know that’d be the end of it, and he’d spend the rest of your night together coming up with different threads of conversation to divert your attention. And perhaps it’s this awareness—his consistent and mindful respect of your boundaries—that makes you so willing to open up.

“I just can’t stop asking myself if I missed signs. If I could’ve done something different. Something better.”

“Y/N—“

“We were together four years, Tae. Four fucking years.” You pull in a breath, fighting off the stinging of tears in your eyes. “And in the end, I meant next to nothing to him.”

It’s the part you’ve been struggling with the most, how you gave him years of your life—nearly half of your twenties—and let him dig his fingers into your heart only to pull it apart like clay.

Revealed bits of yourself to him that you’ve only ever showed one other person.

That man stands in front of you now, gently scrutinizing your face as he considers your words. His hands drift your way as if of their own accord, hovering into your space without ever truly touching.

“Would you want to though?” he finally asks.

“What?”

“If you could’ve done something differently. Knowing what you know now.” A pink tongue darts out to lick his lips. “Would you?”

It’s a fair question, and you know what the right answer is supposed to be. You’re supposed to say that no, that son of a bitch can burn in hell for what he did. He’s trash, you can do better—all of the empty platitudes that are supposed to be expressed when a betrayal like this takes place.

But his actions don’t erase the years you spent together. Don’t mean that what you yourself felt wasn’t real.

And you loved him. You really did.

“I don’t know.”

Taehyung doesn’t exactly seem thrilled by that but nods nonetheless, his fingers wandering back to his sides to fidget with the edges of his towel. “You must know that none of it was your fault, though.”

“But if it was?” you question. “If I could’ve been a better girlfriend, a better partner—“

“It still wouldn’t have justified what he did.” There’s an edge to his voice now, a hint of anger. “Don’t you dare let that asshole make you feel like you deserved it.”

“But—“

“No. No buts,” he says roughly, hands shooting up to grip you around the elbows. “What he did is inexcusable. There’s no making sense of it, and there’s no one to blame but him.”

You know in your heart that what he says is true, but your newfound insecurities have had you questioning your sense of self—that maybe you had a part to play in what happened. A relationship is two people after all, maybe he wouldn’t have cheated if you had—

“You did nothing wrong,” Taehyung continues, reading your mind. “He made an active choice to sleep with someone else. If he had an issue with your relationship, he had a hundred other ways to approach it. He chose to do what he did.” His hands slide up to your shoulders, appraising. “You are kind and thoughtful. Fiercely loyal. Always want what’s best for those around you. You still get breathless for the first snowfall each winter and make the most delicious triple chocolate cake.” Fingers give you a gentle squeeze. “And you never take shit from anyone. Especially people who don’t give you the respect you deserve.”

His words are a balm sinking deep into your skin, but his voice sets something alight in your core, your veins thrumming at the spots where he holds you.

What in the world is this?

“Don’t let him convince you you’re anything less than the incredible person you are,” Taehyung continues, oblivious to your perplexed state. “And if he couldn’t value that, someone else will. Lots of other fish in the sea.”

He holds your stare, gaze boring into you like he can telepathically eliminate every doubt and insecurity rattling around your skull, and a stray voice at the back of your mind thinks that whichever woman eventually gets to wake up to those eyes every morning is going to be so damn lucky.

He frowns, licking his lips again as he finally notices that you’re not altogether with him. “Are you okay?”

Y/N, what the hell?

You give yourself a little shake, playing back what he just said. “I don’t know about that.”

“You’re not okay?”

“No,” you say, taking a step back so you can loosen his grip and clear your head. “About the whole fish thing. I kind of get it now.”

He’s clearly not following. “Get what?”

“Your break from dating,” you say. “Why you wanted to stop for a while.”

He raises a long finger to rub at his bottom lip. “That’s…not quite the same.”

“Why not?”

“There were…” He tilts his head as he considers his word choice, and another drop of water slides down his chest. “Underlying circumstances.”

Now it’s your turn to be confused. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means it’s a story for another time when you’re not trying to deflect by turning this around on me.”

“I’m not deflecting,” you argue. “I’m just saying I understand where you’re coming from now. Dating sucks. People suck.”

He chews at the inside of his lip, studying you. “That wasn’t my intention when I told you that.”

“Yeah, well when you told me that, we didn’t know that my boyfriend was fucking another woman,” you scoff.

He sighs at your crude reminder. “There is a third option, you know.”

“What’s that?”

“Just let yourself be,” he says. “You don’t need to rush into anything either way. If something happens, it happens. If not, then no pressure to look for it. But maybe don’t close yourself off from opportunities entirely just because one bastard made a terrible decision.”

“Tae,” you begin with an exhausted, rattling breath. But he cuts you off, already anticipating your protest.

“I just know you, and I know you’ve always believed in love. Dreamed of finding ‘the one’ and settling down.” He wrinkles his nose. “Made that whole wedding mood board after Haneul kissed you for the first time when we were fifteen.”

That makes you laugh. “Hey, you helped me cut out the pictures.”

“I did.”

You look at each other for an instant, twin smiles reflected on your faces before yours falls. “I just don’t know.”

“And that’s fine,” he says kindly, gently. “It’s okay to need time, and it’s okay to want to step away from dating for a while. It would just be awful if he ruined that part of you, you know?” His voice lowers even further. “It’s a wonderful part of you.”

You feel warm all over, like the comfiest, fluffiest blanket has been draped around your shoulders.

Honestly, what would you even do without this man?

“You’re a great guy, Tae. Do you know that?”

He blushes, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, and a tingle runs down your spine before he finally looks away.

“We should get going,” he tells you. “Namjoon and Hobi said they’d meet us.”

You dip your head, the moment gone. “Okay, but I’d recommend putting on some pants first.”

His face turns a deeper shade of red.

“Over here!”

Hoseok waves you down from a table at the back of the restaurant, pulling you in for a hug once you get there, just as he has every time he’s seen you since the incident with Jace. You’re then passed along to Namjoon, who embraces you with almost bone-crushing pressure.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, swaying you side-to-side. You just nod into his chest, giving him a tight squeeze before he releases you so you can slide into the seat next to Taehyung.

Aside from the hugs and the fact that the entire dinner is a ploy by Taehyung to get you to eat, the night feels relatively normal, and you’re grateful for it. Hoseok and Namjoon dramatically complain about the perils of medical school, regaling the two of you with stories about catastrophic anatomy labs and exam mishaps to your and Taehyung’s delight. The first blip comes when Hoseok absent-mindedly mentions an all-nighter of studying for boards while simultaneously working on seating arrangements before he immediately cuts himself off, throwing you a remorseful look.

“It’s fine, Hobi,” you say. “The world doesn’t just stop because my relationship did. And I’m still excited for you and Sunny.”

He nods but still looks apologetic, causing Namjoon to hop in with a change of subject. “Oh, by the way, I have my roommate situation settled.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh, I’m moving in with my friend Yoongi at the end of the summer.”

“Your childhood friend?” Taehyung asks.

“That’s the one,” Namjoon confirms with a nod. “We’re planning on having a little housewarming party once we’re settled if you’ll be up for it.”

“Sounds fun,” you say. “And I’d like to meet him.”

“He’s a great guy. Musician. He’s moving into the city for work.”

“Well if you vouch for him, I’m sure he’s wonderful.”

You don’t notice it, but Namjoon gets a glint in his eye. Sipping on his water, he glances between you and Taehyung before saying, “Speaking of great guys, I’d also like to introduce you to someone.”

Taehyung stills beside you; you freeze in equally stunned silence.

Hoseok’s eyes nervously dart to Taehyung then you as he says, “Ah, Namjoon, I don’t think—“

“If you’re up for it, of course.” Namjoon looks only at you, his tone casual as if he doesn’t notice the sudden tension. “He also just got out of a long-term relationship and is kind of a mess about it. I’m thinking it might do both of you good to get back out there in a low pressure situation, especially with someone who understands.”

“I…” You don’t know what to say. You’d meant what you said to Taehyung about taking a break from dating, but you also trust Namjoon. He wouldn’t set you up with a creep, and maybe he does have a point about a low pressure date to at least take that first step.

But isn’t it too soon? You and Jace were together for years, and it’s only been a little over a month. Are you supposed to take more time? Or should you just get that first date over with? It hits you suddenly that you don’t even know how to meet people now that you’re out of school. How do capital-A Adults even find dates? Maybe it would be better to meet up with someone that’s already been vetted by one of your friends instead of some random on a dating app.

Namjoon speaks up again as your mind spins. “It’s entirely up to you. I can give you his number, and if you decide to reach out, great. If not, no harm, no foul.”

Still undecided, you turn for a second opinion. “Tae, what do you think?”

But he’s staring intently at Namjoon, expression indecipherable. Namjoon finally shifts his attention from you to engage in an intense staring contest with Taehyung across the table, the two of them clearly having some kind of silent conversation while Hoseok looks on in obvious discomfort.

You’re sitting there—just trying to figure out what the hell is going on—when Taehyung abruptly faces you, slipping a hand over your knee.

“I think you should go for it.”

His eyes are sincere, his hand hot where it rests on your skin.

“Other fish in the sea, right?”

You blink at him. Well, that’s that then. If there’s anything in the world you have complete faith in, it’s that Taehyung would never lead you astray.

Turning back to Namjoon, you shift so Taehyung’s fingers fall away. “What’s his name?”

Namjoon smiles.

“Seokjin.”

a/n: the next two parts are my favorite, and part 4 is already around 85% written so i'll be looking to get that out asap! in the meantime, please consider leaving a like, reblog, or feedback!

taglist is open!

#taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #taehyung imagines #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #taehyung #bts fic #bts fanfic

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acerathia · 1 year ago

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The Lament of Erebus || Chapter 1: The weight against their soles

Summary:

They appeared in the dead of night, ripping people out of their homes and lives, only leaving scattered clothes fluttering in the wind. There was nothing else left of the missing people. OR Midoriya Izuku is quirkless, despite his protests, despite the feeling churning in his insides. It seems like fate has a cruel way to show its affection, as this lead to a social death sentence. And he has lived like that all his life. That is until society began to shift, creatures of the night swallowing people residing in the dark. The question is, what is the connection between them and Izuku?

Wordcount: 1.5k

Read it on AO3 || Masterlist

Tags/CW:

Minor Characters Death, Abuse of Power (Government), Censorship, Isolation, Alternative Universe,

Note:

Literally filled with anxiety rn but still posting it. I hope you enjoy it!! Also currently unbeta'ed, so some slight changes may occur oops

Izuku had been four when he was diagnosed as quirkless. The doctors didn't care about his missing toe joint, they had no proof for the absence of his quirk but their belief. There was no way he could still manifest a quirk, their arguments sounded the same. No matter how the little kid tried to argue with them. He knew it wasn't true, he had a quirk. But how was a four year old supposed to describe how his insides felt? How his shadow seemed to grab his ankles, weighing him down? He only barely registered something going on, but never, truly understood what. So he had to continue with his life, medically quirkless and yet.

Some people sensed some kind of wrongness in him, surrounding him, almost swallowing their footing around him. That played a big part of his school life. Isolated, not bullied, but ignored to the degree of neglect. And if someone was knowledgeable, they knew, they were aware, how studies showed how isolation affected the brain, how it destroyed someone.

But Izuku? He had his mother. She didn't care how fast lamps seemed to break around him, or how the dark places moved and grabbed in his company. She cared for him when no one wanted to, no matter the situation, he was her boy after all. And thanks to her Izuku remained sane, her smile lighting the corners of his brain, saving him from being swallowed in himself. The world had Inko Midoriya to thank for, or nothing would have had the chance to remain for all this time.

And in another timeline, maybe, he could have discovered the thing inside of him, used it to become the hero he always wanted to be. But everything had a consequence. And poor Izuku, his timeline just wasn't the one he wanted, maybe the one he needed, but he only was the victim of the circumstances. The actions of someone else skewed with his possible future. Leading to the current state of events, Izuku stuck there as the everyday civilian.

He had barely turned twelve when the butterfly effect truly kicked in. The appearance of mysterious creatures destroying every hint of a normal life anyone could have led in a world full of quirks.

They appeared in the dead of night, ripping people out of their homes and lives, only leaving scattered clothes fluttering in the wind. There was nothing else left of the missing people.

For such a long time people assumed kidnappings, some shady dealing in the usual groups. But no matter how deep the heroes crawled, they couldn't discover any trafficking ring, any gang, that could just make people disappear without even the smell of blood lingering in the air.

But they tried, they dug until they reached the deep, dark water of existence walking through the city, grabbing at everything and anything, even resuscitating old cases. Nothing. Not until a pair of proheroes got grabbed, on their date.

The pair had been minding their own business, walking through the streets, talking, laughing after the dinner they enjoyed. It hadn't been their first date and it shouldn't have been the last. But not everyone got lucky with their wishes and hopes for their future.

They have been on their way home, just through this alley and the door was glowing at the end of it. They were proheroes, they could manage a familiar alley just fine. And they knew that, their pace slowing, not wanting to end the night just yet.

And maybe, if circumstances had treated them better, they could have gotten out, like they did times before. But they didn't hurry up, their steps just a bit too slow, the shadows dragging their feet to a stop.

Their giggles filled the alley, if only they didn't. Maybe they stopped for a kiss, a hug, maybe they themselves didn't know why they halted their steps, surrounded by the moving shadows. There was a single breath before the darkness engulfed one of them, crawling and scratching. And even if the victim suffered immense pain, no sound could even be perceived in the first place.

The shadows scratched at the soles of the other, but fate had planned another outcome. Their quirk lit up, banishing the shadows into their corners, into their seats at the edge of everything. And once they had left, nothing existed of the partner, their clothes, unscathed, draped over the floor. The hero scrambled to pick them up, before stumbling out of the alley, the heaviness in their steps banished with their light.

The hero, filled with the feelings of determination, protectiveness, hurried to the next police station, not allowing their pain and fear, their anguish, to even come to the surface, intend on leaving these ugly feelings for the shadows of the house, not their home, not anymore.

They told the police what they saw, how the darkness swallowed their partner, soundlessly leaving these clothes not even tattered. The police didn't like that story, they tried to outright deny it, but too many factors proved that tainted event. The cameras viewing the exits of the alley, the clothes, every single lie detector, even the human one. They all told them how they felt the truth, how, at least for them, it actually had happened.

And oh, how much the investigators hated that. How bad they wanted everything to be a lie, because how were they supposed to catch something like that? Something impossibly illusive? They had to resign from the case, hand it over, as much as they tried to resist. As much as they tried to resist, they were aware how powerless they were, how they could not contribute to this case any longer.

The heroes received the case. But everyone knew, at least the people filled with knowledge about how this society ticked, the case landed onto the desk of the Hero Public Safety Commission. The government. And what would the HPSC even dare against these creatures? What could they possibly do, which the police couldn't have done?

Some people thought their measurements were over the top, not understanding the gravity of the situation perhaps, some worshiped the commission for their actions, looking at them like saviors. But in truth they only introduced a lockdown. Nobody was allowed to leave their homes at night, the lack of light strengthening the shadows. Of course everyone got compensation for everything they might have lost in such a situation.

And the heroes? Those poor heroes. If they considered themselves lucky, they didn't get deployed for the service at night. The rest on the other hand had been thrown into the darkness, with nothing but their flashy quirks to help them. Because they would be fine, shadows hated the light and their powers were bright enough to protect them, weren't they? Why else would they be heroes if they couldn't even protect themselves? And every hero had to obey the whims of the HSPC or else they would lose everything they ever fought for.

Maybe some would consider the underground heroes the victims in this particular situation. They had to work in the day, making everything they built naught. But they too had more things to consider than their preferred life path. The lives of the common people hung on them to compensate for the lost heroes, not dead no, but lost to the fight with the invisible darkness.

And twelve year old Izuku had no idea about any of this, why would he? Well, he did, to some degree, because people notice things when they lose them. And they lost their freedom to wander into the night, and more importantly, they lost some of their dear heroes to the night. In more than one way, but they only knew what the government told them. Which wasn't enough, barely the truth.

So Izuku stayed at home, not that he would have done otherwise, and his mother, with his last bit of luck, had only to work in the brightness of daylight. But if everything had remained like that, we wouldn't have the story right now and I wouldn't have anything to tell you, wouldn't I? Because there would always be something that goes wrong, and for Izuku it was multiple things at once. He simply messed up once and fate took that mistake and knitted the future.

And considering why we all were here, we all knew how much of a hero nerd Izuku was, almost in every possible direction fate could have gone, he was one. So nobody should be surprised by the following events.

Of course Izuku noticed the change of pattern in their behavior and in their patrol routes. And he wanted to know why. Why did the government actually implement the nightly lockdown? Was there something else but the allegedly rising criminal rates at night? There had to be, or the change in the normalcy of the heroes wouldn't make sense.

Luckily, he didn't decide to break the lockdown on a whim, or else the story could end right here. No, he did what he could do best and analyzed and investigated. And this decision marked the beginning of his involvement and how he would grow to regret his decisions.

#midoriya izuku #izuku modoriya #midoriya izuku centric #midoriya centric mwah #midoriya fanfic #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #weaving the web

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classysassy9791 · 2 years ago

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They named her Kagome after finding her injured and unconscious on the subway. Suffering from amnesia, she recuperates under the care of a semi-retired surgeon and a fresh young doctor. But when dark and violent flashes of her past come back to haunt her, Kagome begins to wonder if her past was worth remembering. Especially when a man she doesn't recognize quite literally lunges into her life, accusing her of murder.

Fandom: Inuyasha Genre: Drama, Mystery Pairings: InuKag, MirSan Warning: Dark themes throughout

Ch. 1 l Ch. 2 l Ch. 3 l

Chapter 4 Word Count: 4900 Can also be found on AO3

Kaede’s favorite place was her backyard patio. She could access it straight from the kitchen. Each morning she woke up and made a pot of coffee, filled up her mug, and found solace while curled up in her preferred chair. She relaxed easily into the blue plush cushion, almost being swallowed up by the thick, wicker arms. As she sipped on her hot morning brew, she soaked up the tranquility of the dawn.

A small forest bordered the back of her small yard, creating a beautiful home for all kinds of wildlife. Not only that, but Kaede also prided herself in the garden she had created, along with the man-made small pond. Her backyard was a sanctuary for nature, and in that it became her own place of serenity. Here she could watch the squirrels play, absorb the sweet birdsong as if it were nectar, and relish in the buzzing bees as they pollinated her flowers.

She had first started the backyard garden projects as a means to help her find peace from the grind of everyday life. It had been a way to keep her hands and mind busy. It was almost like a form of therapy; a way to relax the mind and heal the spirit. She figured it was one of the few reasons why she still remained sane.

Kaede smiled at that thought as she sipped on her coffee. Between showing Miroku the ropes as a young physician, and taking in an orphaned child, she had her work cut out for her. Who knew her semi-retirement could become busier than her days as a world-renowned surgeon? She definitely hadn’t foreseen this years ago.

With a sigh, she allowed her mind to wander back to another lifetime - where the thrill of midnight calls and surgical scrubs filled her life. Being a trauma surgeon, she lived off of the adrenaline of car accidents, gunshot wounds, and the standard ridiculous holiday shenanigans-gone-wrong. Even as a young teen she had found a strange delight in medical television dramas and documentaries. There was something about the idea of putting someone back together after tragedy or saving a life that lit a fire in her soul. It had been her calling, and she had relished every minute of it.

But, like with all good things, it had to come to an end. Very prematurely, in her opinion, as she hadn’t even peaked in her career. There had been denial at first, as she challenged the diagnosis that would end her life as a surgeon, and then anger - righteous vexation aimed at her creator because why her?! - followed by bargaining with the Chief of Surgery, all of which did her no good in the end. After she had been placed on leave while she dealt with the end of everything she had considered dear, she fell into a deep depression.

Kaede had always been about the medicine, and when she could no longer practice it, she felt lost. Like a compass that had no North to point to. She drifted through each day like timber floating through the sea.

And then she received a phone call.

Late one night while she sipped on her second glass of wine, wallowing in the what-could’ve-beens and what-would-never-bes, she received a phone call from one of her old patients, Amari Nobunaga - a man she had put back together after a terrible car accident that left him blind in one eye, missing a spleen, and without a sense of smell. They had grown close during his recovery, enough that she had given him her cell number she used for work in case he ever needed anything. And he had finally decided to take her up on her offer.

It was his mother, he had told her urgently, who had been having abdominal pain for days. She had been admitted to the emergency room at the hospital she practiced at - had practiced at - and he wanted to know if Kaede would come and give a second opinion.

Now, Kaede had full faith in her colleagues who had taken over her cases and on-call schedule while she was on leave, but the urgency in Amari’s voice called out to her. He had trusted her with his life before, and now he was trusting her again with his mother’s life.

It didn’t take long for Kaede to grab a cup of coffee from the nearest late-night drive-thru and rush to the emergency room to meet them. It was then that she realized that although she may never fully practice as a surgeon again, the medical knowledge she knew and her caring heart was more than enough to still heal and aid those around her.

Soon after, she bought her clinic and settled down in a community nearby, building a life she had never dreamed of - one that filled her days with happiness. Everything that happened since was a blessing in disguise.

The back door suddenly slid open, tearing Kaede from her thoughts, as she glanced over to see a disheveled Miroku with his own cup of coffee. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” he replied, followed by a deep yawn. “Why are you up so early on a Sunday?”

She snickered. “It’s almost seven. This is late for me.”

He murmured his agreement. Due to Kaede’s early morning work schedule during the week, her internal clock made sure she was up before dawn. Miroku had no idea how a person could function like that.

“How about you?” she asked him in return, glancing at his bed head and the bags under his eyes. “You look like hell. Why are you up?”

Miroku scratched the stubble along his jaw. “That couch in the clinic isn’t as comfortable as you think.”

Kaede narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you complaining to the woman who gives you so much?”

“No, not at all. The couch is perfectly suitable,” he said with a chuckle. “My work hours are just killing me.”

She turned her attention back to the yard, watching as a bird flew between the trees. “You’ll be fine. Only a few more years.”

He gave her a sideways glance, but didn’t comment. What he wouldn’t give for two weeks away from medical journals and scut work. There was no doubt Miroku loved the profession he had chosen, but it would be nice to skip all the work grind and jump straight to being a surgeon.

“Have you heard from him at all?”

Miroku shook his head at Kaede’s words. “Not a peep. I sent him a few texts since Friday, and he hasn’t replied.”

She sighed. “I hope he’s all right.”

“No sense in worrying about him,” Miroku admonished softly. “It’ll only give you more gray hairs than you already have.”

Kaede smacked him lightly in the stomach. “Watch it. You’ll be gray before you know it.”

He chuckled. “Don’t remind me.”

They sat in companionable quiet for a few minutes, enjoying the awakening of nature as the sun continued to rise over the horizon. These moments were few and far between, so they relished in them. Between a child to care for, medical careers, and a clinic to run, their lives were always kept busy. And now they added one more undertaking to concern themselves with.

“So, about Kagome,” Kaede stated, nursing her cup of coffee.

Mirou raised a brow. “What about her?”

She clucked her tongue thoughtfully. “I think I’m going to take her to the hospital tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Well, I want to run some tests on her. See the extent of the damage.” She scowled. “Not like I can do an MRI of her brain here.”

Her words were disgruntled. Obviously, she still harbored ill-feelings toward Miroku’s decision to bring Kagome to her clinic instead of an emergency room. He averted his gaze guiltily. “Wouldn’t the hospital ask questions?”

Kaede shrugged. “Not sure. I’ll have her checked in as a Jane Doe; make up a story of how she got in her condition. I have a few strings I can pull to make it all legit.”

He nodded his agreement. For the time he had known Kaede, he knew better than to question her judgment. She not only had the medical intellect, but the street-smarts as well. “I trust you.”

“You better,” she grumbled. “I’ll take her with Rin and me.”

Miroku sipped on his coffee, watching Kaede from the corner of his eyes. Regardless of her sometimes chilly demeanor toward him, and her irritable encounter with Kagome, Kaede had a heart of gold and wouldn’t leave anyone out in the cold. So, it didn’t surprise him that she wanted to continue to aid their new ward.

A soft knock against the glass sliding door drew their attention to Rin, who stood on the other side while rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Kaede finished the last of her coffee and stood up, reluctantly leaving her quiet escape.

“Hey, there, sweetie,” she greeted Rin as she slid open the doors. “You hungry?”

The little girl nodded. Kaede stepped inside and took her hand, shutting the door behind her. Miroku watched them disappear into the kitchen before pulling out his cell phone and turning his attention to the screen. No new text messages had come through since the night before. He drank his coffee indignantly. Even though he told Kaede not to worry, he couldn’t stop himself from doing the same.

He opened up his messages and scanned through the one-sided conversation from yesterday.

10:30 am: [Hey, where are you?]

2:52 pm: [This is getting really old]

11:23 pm: [Stop ignoring me]

Mirou sighed, setting down his coffee mug, and holding his phone with both hands to type.

[Is this how it’s always going to be, Inuyasha?]

“Well, all your vital signs look good,” Kaede commented as she wrote down the numbers from the monitor into the notebook she kept at Kagome’s bedside. “Your blood pressure is still low, but stable, and you haven’t had any fevers.”

Kagome looked up at her with a guarded gaze. She had only interacted with the older woman on less-than-desirable terms, and had no intention of playing nice. The faster this doctor fixed her, the faster she could get the hell out of there.

Slipping off her glasses, Kaede gave Kagome a disapproving look. “Stop scowling. It’ll give you wrinkles.” Kagome’s scowl deepened.

“Look,” Miroku began, once again playing the buffer between the two women. “This is a good thing, Kagome. It means you’re on the road to recovery.”

She averted her gaze. Recovery was a subjective term. To them, it meant she was physically improving - the antibiotics were working, the intravenous fluids were combating her blood loss, and her life was less likely in danger. But to Kagome, she didn’t feel like she was recovering at all. She had hoped within a day or two her memories would start to return. Although she felt unsure about what exactly her past held, she still needed to know who she was. Did she have people she cared for? Was anyone missing her? Did she have friends, or a job, or a home? The questions were never ending and constantly circled her mind like a carousel.

“I guess,” she replied listlessly. She tried to adjust the sitting position she had in bed, but found it nearly impossible to move without launching unbearable pain. Her shoulder only throbbed once in a while, a treatment of ice and a heat pad keeping the aches at bay, but her other wounds caused white, hot searing pain to wipe her mind of thoughts and to twist her stomach so far as to make her want to vomit.

Each time Miroku or Kaede checked on her, they offered her morphine or something of the like, but she stayed firm in her resolve - no narcotics. Although she herself didn’t know why she remained so against anything stronger than an over-the-counter pain medication, something told her to stay away from them. It could’ve been because of the drowsy effect they caused, or another reason altogether. Either way, Kagome would just grin and bear it until her wounds healed.

Kaede pushed a few buttons on the IV pump and hung another bag of antibiotics. “I think this evening would be a good time to move you to the house.”

Kagome looked at her curiously. “The house?”

“Our house,” Miroku clarified. “It’s not far. We have a room there that’s currently unoccupied that’ll be much more comfortable.”

“No thanks,” she clipped in response.

Kaede scoffed. “I’m not moving you to my home for your sake. I need this room to see patients, and I’m not about to close my clinic just because you’re being stubborn.”

Miroku chuckled. “Kagome, I promise we won’t bite.”

“Speak for yourself,” Kaede grumbled.

He ignored her and instead focused on Kagome. Her expression remained reserved, her good arm folded over her abdomen like a sheath, and her fingers curled tight around the comforter. He had never seen someone so on edge before. “I know you’re scared,” he tried slowly, sitting forward with his arms leaning against his thighs.

“I’m not scared,” she attempted to deflect, but she wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Cautious, then. You’ve been through a lot, but have we given you any reason not to trust us?”

Miroku knew he had her there. Besides taking her gun away, they had done nothing to show animosity toward her. When she had been alone and dying, Miroku had brought her to their clinic to try to save her, even though she had pointed a gun at him. Kaede had worked tirelessly to mend Kagome’s broken body and keep her from the brink of death.

They had even given her a name.

Kagome frowned before sighing with resignation. She couldn’t argue, and Miroku knew it. “Fine,” she eventually relented.

“Good. I’ll go prepare your room.” Kaede set down the notebook and gave Miroku a pointed look before leaving the room.

Once she was gone, Kagome found herself suddenly under Miroku’s heavy gaze. She looked over at him, his indigo eyes searching hers, and realized there was a reason Kaede had left them alone. “What?” she demanded, curling the comforter tighter in her hand.

“When we first met, you had told me you didn’t want the police involved,” Miroku reminded her.

She raised a brow. “And?”

He tilted his head back and forth, trying to figure out the best way to voice his concerns. Finally, he leveled his gaze on hers again. “Because of your injuries, Kaede wants to take you to Memorial Hospital tomorrow.”

Immediately, Kagome felt panic tighten her throat and found it hard to breathe. Her memory had been wiped clean, but she knew that hospitals meant questions - questions she couldn’t answer - and curious eyes she wanted to hide from. These feelings weren’t new for her; she had felt this overwhelming anxiety and fear of anyone prying into the mysterious darkness that was her past since she had woken up in this bizarre world of the unknown. She didn’t understand what was driving these feelings. Perhaps it was instinct - a subconscious voice guiding her where her memories couldn’t. She only knew the profound need to listen to it.

“No,” she said, shaking her head defiantly. There was no way she was going to any hospital, Kaede and Miroku be damned! She’d rather take her chances limping on the street. “No way.”

Miroku sighed. “Listen to me,” he tried, wanting to pull her back from whatever emotions were surging through her. “I promise that we will keep you safe.”

“I’ll protect you,” he declared, his warm breath whispering against her cheek.

She wanted to believe him. She did. “It’s not about me.”

Strong arms enveloped her. “I’ll protect them, too. I promise.”

“You can’t promise that!” Kagome snapped, her chest aching and tears welling in her eyes of the voice that whispered in her ear. Flickers of images passed through her mind, but none she could make sense of. Hazel eyes blazed with anger born from fear as she glared at Miroku. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep!”

“What’s your plan, then?” he argued. “You want to get better, right? You want to leave this place that you think is so terrible?”

Kagome bit her lip, her vexation palpable as she glowered at him. She silently cursed Miroku and Kaede’s names. How dare they force her into something, knowing she had no method of refusal? The situation she found herself in was the furthest from ideal, and she despised the fact that she had not a sliver of control over her own life.

But why did she find herself this angry? Sure, the circumstances would have anyone on edge. Yet, there was something about the loss of control, of knowing she had no say in what happened to her, that ached with familiarity. Like her emotional scars were a roadmap of sorts, one that told the travels of her personal war - a war she knew nothing of.

She wanted to cry out in frustration, the tumultuous vehemence nearly overwhelming. She clenched her hand into a fist and brought it to her forehead, as if to keep all of her thoughts and feelings under control. Her body shook as a whimper forced its way out. Dammit. Damn it all.

Miroku exhaled deeply as he watched Kagome slowly fall apart. She fought so hard to keep it together, but it was obvious she was struggling. He couldn’t even imagine what she was going through. “Kagome,” he tried again, this time his tone softer. “Kagome, look at me.”

When she didn’t respond, he reached out his hand and rested it gently against her shoulder. At first, she shied away from his touch, flinching at the sudden contact, but he pressed onward. He wrapped his hand carefully around her shoulder, his thumb rubbing soothingly over her skin.

“It’s okay,” he consoled. “It’s okay.”

As if his words gave her permission, Kagome finally broke down crying. Her tears came as though, long last, her accumulated ocean of suppressed emotions began to trickle through. Everything she had bottled up for the past two days had finally reached a breaking point. It revealed itself in a way of raw, devastated sobbing.

Miroku had never seen anyone so vulnerable. He carefully enveloped Kagome into his arms, pulling her to his chest, and she let him without any resistance. The fight had left her, leaving behind a crumpled woman who simply needed to grieve.

He murmured words of comfort as he held her, running his fingers through her hair. Kagome sobbed breathlessly, his shirt soaked with her tears, her body trembling. He held her tighter, trying to keep her together. There was something so heartrending about the way she collapsed into him - as if for the first time in her life she allowed herself to mourn.

Once again Miroku found himself wondering what exactly had happened in Kagome’s past, and how deep those scars ran.

Sixteenth Avenue had never been a place for those with weak stomachs. It rested just outside of what the city had come to know as their own personal skid row, the homeless camps setting up shop only a block east. Most people avoided the area altogether, except for naive tourists lost in the big city and those who intentionally wandered there with dishonest reasons. It was where innocence and dreams went to die.

Kagura Sho’s black boots clicked solidly against the sidewalk, her gait steady even as her world trembled. Her upbringing had been anything but perfect. She had walked the streets of duplicity and corruption her entire life, and knew them just the same as the backs of her hands. Fear of the streets had faded long ago; she tackled them without ever losing an ounce of composure.

But tonight, her heart wanted to beat right out of her chest.

The Merrimaker dive bar sat on the corner, its bright neon lights inviting anyone with shaky conviction to stop in for a night; like a siren singing a song. Kagura marched to the entrance and pulled open the door. The smoky scent of tobacco mixed with the yeasty brew of beer hit her immediately. No matter how often she stepped foot in the place, she could never get used to the sounds and smell. The bar was filled with hundreds of conversations told in low voices, all drowned out by the rock music that drifted from the jukebox.

She wrinkled her nose. She could never understand the appeal to this hold-in-the-wall. It was small and unglamorous, with dim lighting and dated decor. But she figured the inexpensive drinks and the don’t-ask-don’t-tell benefit had something to do with its charm. It served local clientele with a cash-only service, further interesting the less favorable characters.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” an imposing man near the entrance called out. Kagura’s frown deepened at the sound of his voice and the taste of bile coated the back of her throat. Considering the way her night was turning out, the last thing she wanted to do was deal with him.

Kyokotsu Aoyama occupied that particular barseat by the doorway most nights of the week. His mountainous frame scared off anyone looking for a fight, which was probably why he had been dubbed the unofficial security guard of the place, but the guy was dumber than a box of rocks.

“Kyokotsu,” she snipped, never one for pleasantries.

He chuckled at her obvious disdain, running his fingers through his jade-colored hair. “Not like you to wander in this early in the night.”

“I have business to attend to.” Kagura ignored his crooked grin and brushed past him to the bar.

A familiar bartender with a bandana covering his head stood behind the counter and locked eyes with her. “In back,” he said to her unspoken question, nodding his head toward the rear of the bar.

She threw up a wave and proceeded to the table in the right corner. The walk from the bar to where her target sat seemed too short, not nearly enough time to try to quiet the drumming in her ears caused by her rapidly beating heart. Her limbs practically shook and she would give anything to turn tail and run, but bolting away like a timid fawn would be far worse punishment. There was no escaping the backlash, even if she wasn’t the reason for the failure.

Almost instinctively, as if to shield herself from what was to come, Kagura pulled her long, double-breasted jacket tighter around herself. She swallowed thickly as she approached the table, already feeling the unease as six pairs of eyes turned in her direction. A handful of them she had only laid eyes on once or twice, none of them privy enough to be welcomed into the inner circle. The man in the center of them was the one she had been looking for, and he stared back at her with a wicked look in his eyes.

“Kagura.” Her name rolled off his tongue like sweet venom, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand at attention.

She curled her left hand into a fist, her right hand holding tighter to the bag slung over her shoulder. “Naraku,” she greeted. The man she detested more than anyone else, Naraku Onigumo, who stood at the center of her nightmares, had always been someone she avoided like the plague. But, tonight she had a message to deliver, one that would rock the very foundation under him. On the one hand, a part of her craved the look on his face when she told him what had happened, as he realized his plan had failed. On the other hand, she knew his actions following would bring calamity to whoever stood in his way.

He grinned at her, that sadistic grin that made her skin crawl. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Yeah, you’re never one to show face unless ordered to,” his right-hand man, Byakuya Kageyama, said as he smiled like a Cheshire cat.

Naraku leaned forward, his dark hair falling over his shoulders, as he twirled the glass of scotch he had in his hand. His beady eyes fixated on her. The way he looked at her made her feel like he was peeling away each layer of her skin achingly slowly, relishing in what her screams would sound like as he did so. There was something about being in his presence that unsettled her. She had recognized it as soon as they had crossed paths years ago, yet found herself drawn to him. Bitten by hunger and terrified of watching her sister suffer gave rise to weakness, leaving Kagura ripe for the picking.

And he pulled her out of the frying pan and into the fire.

“It’s about Shikon,” Kagura finally answered, keeping the tremble out of her voice.

Naraku stopped swirling his glass as his lips twisted into a frown. “Why is it that every time you decide to show up unannounced it brings bad news?” he inquired, his eyes continuing to study her with their piercing glare. “Did Bankotsu misunderstand my request?”

Kagura fiddled with the hem of her jacket uneasily. “Not exactly.”

“Leave us,” Naraku instructed the rest of his guests, his eyes never leaving hers. The four people Kagura didn’t even care to know the names of abruptly stood and left the table without so much as a fuss. Not many people questioned Naraku these days. Those who did never lived to tell the tale.

With the group’s parting, Kagura was left to face Naraku and Byakuya alone. Not exactly the best predicament, but it really couldn’t be helped. She squared her shoulders as Naraku stood and rounded the table to stand directly in front of her. The kingpin stood a whole head taller than she and looked down at her, as if condemning her for her inferiority. His red, shiny, impenetrable eyes concealed whatever emotions and thoughts he may have toward the botched misstep. Some people were afraid of Naraku’s perceived forthcoming wrath, but Kagura knew when Naraku hid his emotions, that was when he was the most dangerous.

“So,” Naraku started, the corner of his lip pulling into a detached smirk. He leaned against the table, picking up his scotch glass and bringing it to his lips. “What about Shikon?”

His relaxed nature sent every instinct in Kagura’s body screaming. Living on the streets embedded a person with a sixth sense for danger, and right now all the alarm bells were ringing. “Bankotsu got in touch with me. Said there was an incident. Apparently the Thunder Brothers and Yura are dead, and Shikon is missing.”

The pain rocketed through Kagura’s face before she even realized Naraku had moved. Her head jerked to the side and her foot stepped back from the blow, a surprised yelp erupting from her lips. She stood frozen for a moment, her mind trying to catch up with what had just transpired. Her cheek throbbed with heat from where he had back-handed her.

Most would cower from the infliction of force Naraku never feared to show, but Kagura sometimes believed she was a glutton for punishment. Instead of pleading for his forgiveness, she regained her composure and matched his glare with one of her own.

Naraku set his glass down on the table, the smirk he had been sporting wiped clean from his face. He looked pissed. From the other end of the bar, people would think he was just having an off day, but Kagura knew better. She could tell by the tightness of Naraku’s jaw, the absence of his usual jovial attitude, and the look in his eye that the kingpin was beyond furious.

He ran his finger along the rim of his glass, a deep humming tune being played. “Where is Kikyou?”

“Missing.” Kagura prepared herself for another lash out from Naraku, and nearly flinched as he moved to take another sip from his wine glass. “We’ve lost track of her location, and we’re assuming she took Shikon with her.”

Finishing his scotch, the ice clinking together, Naraku set down the empty glass on the table and collected his jacket from his chair. As he moved past Kagura and fixed his collar, he paused. “Find her and Shikon. Don’t fail me.”

Without another word, he walked away from the table and exited the bar. It still took nearly a full minute for Kagura to release a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She winced, instinctively holding up a hand to her throbbing cheek. “Damn that bastard.”

Byakuya observed her from where he had stayed seated, his eyes drifting from where Naraku had exited to Kagura’s angry expression. “You know, that bold nature of yours is going to get you killed one of these days.”

Kagura sneered at him. “Bite me.”

Part of her knew Byakuya had a point, but she simply brushed off his warning. She had bigger problems right now. If she didn’t track down Kikyou and Shikon, she wouldn’t live long enough to care about how bold she was. Naraku would do away with her without a second thought.

#inuyasha #kagome #inukag #miroku #sango #mirsan #kagura #naraku #kaede #fanfiction #inuyasha fanfiction #my fanfiction #the closest moment to the dawn #sassy stays classy

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lunar-wandering · 3 years ago

Text

Sparkling Laughter

the giggle glow au is the only thing keeping me sane right now

Word Count: 2.6k

Read on Ao3

MK hadn't really noticed it at first.

Between always being in a brightly lit area and mainly focusing on training, it wasn't exactly like he saw Wukong laugh often.

So maybe it took him a while to notice.

But after he noticed, it was kinda hard to miss.

Wukong straight up glowed when he laughed.

And MK didn't mean that figuratively. No, he meant it very literally.

A single chuckle was enough to get Wukong glowing like a nightlight. Full out laughter could very nearly light up a whole room.

"You know, the stories never mentioned that you glow." MK said, one day, a few monkeys climbing all over him. The monkeys messing his hair up was what had prompted Wukong to start laughing in the first place, and MK figured there was no better time than the present to bring it up.

"It was never really something that others deemed important, I guess." Wukong said, shrugging, still faintly glowing with a few remaining chuckles as he helped remove some of the monkeys from MK. "It's definitely not showstopping or cool, so it was just left out."

"I think it's neat." MK said, "You're kinda like... a light up toy or something."

"Hm, not sure how I feel about that comparison." Wukong said, pulling the last monkey off of MK's shoulders, and ruffling MK's hair, fixing the mess the monkeys had left it in. "There you go, bud, all good as new."

"Thanks, Monkey King." MK said, scooping up his bag from where he'd laid it on the ground, summoning the staff and getting ready to vault back to the city. "Y'know, we are just doing game night tonight. You're welcome to join if you want to-"

"It's fine, I've got something to do tonight." Wukong said, giving MK a smile that didn't feel...fully real. "You go have fun with your friends."

MK slowly nodded, not fully believing Wukong, but figuring that arguing would probably get him nowhere. So he turned, jumping off of Flower Fruit Mountain, and leaving Wukong all by himself.

Two months later, on the ship, Mei found a game of Twister in one of the closets.

It hadn't taken much to convince everyone else to join in, that is, other than Macaque, who insisted on not taking part. Not even 4 minutes into the game, Red Son forcibly kicked Wukong out, on the grounds that his tail gave him an unfair advantage. This left only Tang, Pigsy, Sandy, MK, Mei, and Red Son on the Twister mat.

Macaque lazily spun the spinner with his tail.

"Left hand blue." He said, voice a complete deadpan. Mei moved to reach over across MK-

And Tang fell down, bringing Pigsy down with him, who accidentally bumped into Red Son, who, knocked off balance, fell into Mei, who fell down on top of MK.

In the end, only Sandy was left still in 'standing', the others in a pile on top of the twister mat.

".....Sandy wins?" Macaque said, a questioning lilt in his voice, prompting MK to look over at him-

Which caused him to notice the expression on Wukong's face.

It suddenly struck MK that within the one week everyone had been on the ship, Wukong had yet to laugh, which in hindsight was rather concerning, but right now that meant that the other's didn't know-

"Uh guys? You might want to shield your eyes." MK said, barely managing to say it before-

Wukong burst out laughing, doubling over, and lighting up like a flashlight, accompanied by a few sparkles shining in the air. Macaque startled at the sudden noise, and ended up falling off the couch, which just made Wukong laugh harder, glowing brighter as a result. The others yelped at the sudden brightness, MK's warning not having registered in time.

Wukong, registering the fact that he was currently blinding the others, calmed down a little, the glow lessening as he went from full out laughter to soft chuckles.

"S- sorry I just-" He started, clearly trying to keep himself from falling back into hysterics again. "You looked so funny I just- I couldn't help it-"

Mei was the first to manage to blink the residual spots out of her vision and register what had just occurred.

"You glow?!" She asked, incredulous, the others also sporting similar expressions of surprise.

Things proceeded to go downhill from there, questions getting thrown out without any answers. At some point, in the chaos, Wukong straight up left the room without anyone noticing he was gone until Macaque pointed it out.

Of course, after a day or so, the hype of the new information had died down a little.

But not completely.

It was early morning, and almost everyone was in the kitchen. Mei and MK on their phones, Pigsy working on breakfast, Sandy pouring some tea, Red Son sipping some coffee, Tang reading a newspaper, and Wukong leaning against the kitchen wall, looking lost in thought. (They'd all long since learned it was pointless to try to wake Macaque up, he was not a morning person.)

Overall, it was an average morning.

And then Wukong started giggling, glowing softly. He was clearly lost in thought, probably completely forgetting where he was at the moment. Mei looked up from her phone to glance over at him.

"What, did you think of something funny, 'Sparkle Snickers'?" Mei asked, and Wukong-

Wukong's giggling abruptly cut off as became aware of where he was again, and as soon as he registered what Mei had just said, he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck in a flustered motion.

It took a moment for the others to connect the dots.

"Oh you've got to be kidding me." Mei said, an evil smirk appearing on her face. "Glitter Gleam."

Wukong's tail waved back and forth in a nervous gesture.

"Giggly Nightlight."

A nervous smile formed on Wukong's face.

"Twinkle Toes-"

"Okay, stop." Wukong said, a hand covering his face, a faint blush visible on the tips of his ears. MK almost felt bad for him, but at the same time...

"C'mon, after everything I've tried teasing you with, nicknames about your Giggle Glow is what gets to you?" Mei asked, laughing a bit herself as Wukong squeaked as the word "giggle glow" left her mouth. "Seriously? This is what embarrasses you?"

"It's not embarrassing-" Wukong said, which was a sentence nobody really believed, considering the way he still wouldn't look at them and the fact that the faint blush still hadn't faded. "It's just, not....cool, y'know?"

"No, I don't know." Mei said, leaning forwards on her elbows. "Please, enlighten me."

Wukong stuttered, clearly trying to figure out how to explain it, as MK set his phone down on the table.

"Is that why the stories don't mention that you glow?" MK asked, "You don't think it's cool, which, by the way, it totally is, but since you believe it isn't you got them to cut it out cause you're embarrassed over it?"

"It's not cool! And I'm not embarrassed!" Wukong denied, fur bristling as the others leveled him with a look that clearly showed that they didn't believe that statement one bit. He looked around the room, registering everyone's expressions-

He could tell they weren't going to let him live this down.

So he did the first thing he thought of.

He turned and ran away, hitting the light switch as he did so, sending the room into complete darkness so no one could see where he went.

"Wh- hey!" MK cried out, standing up and fumbling for the light switch. As he did so, he heard a thump, a muffled yelp, and a door shut, but he was mainly focused on trying to find the stupid light, why could you never find it when you need it-

The light switched back on, revealing that MK had been a good distance away from it. Macaque stood beside it, looking confused.

"What is going on?" He asked, looking confused.

"Monkey King ran away over something stupid." Red Son said, filling the shadow monkey in on the situation.

"So, what, you're all going to go look for him?" Macaque asked, sighing when the others nodded in response. "I should've expected that...."

"C'mon! You can search with us!" Mei said, grabbing hold of Macaque's arm and dragging him with her, MK and Red Son following close behind. Tang, Pigsy, and Sandy opted to stay in the kitchen, in case Wukong ended up circling back. MK, Mei, Macaque, and Red Son ended up walking through the halls, keeping an eye out for any sign of the Monkey King.

"Couldn't you just, y'know, use your hearing to find him?" Red Son eventually asked Macaque, who stumbled a little at the question, having not expected to be addressed.

"Who, me?" He asked, looking...oddly nervous. "Nah, he has ways of getting around it anyways."

"...Are you sure?" MK asked, now feeling just the slightest bit suspicious. "I remember you saying that you could hear anything-"

"I'm sure! I won't be any help here, I assure you!" Macaque said, shrinking down a bit as the three continued to stare at him.

"Y'know, you've seemed a little off this morning...." Mei said, and Macaque scratched the side of his face nervously. "Are you....okay?"

"What? Oh, I'm fine." Macaque said, chuckling nervously- and immediately realizing his mistake, as a faint glow resonated from him for a few moments. It wasn't long, but it was enough.

"Monkey King." MK said, and Wukong turned, dropping the Macaque glamour as he ran down the hallway, the trio chasing after him. he rounded a corner, and the trio turned to follow, but MK paused, hearing a faint banging coming from the closet door. He stopped, letting the others continue to chase Wukong, and turned, opening the door-

And the real Macaque tumbled out, onto the floor.

"I'm going to kill him." He mumbled, distractedly letting MK help him stand up. "He locked me in the closet. I'm going to kill him."

"Yeah, maybe save the murder for later." MK said, turning to follow where he'd seen the others gone.

He eventually found them, standing in the common room, looking around them with a healthy does of suspicion.

"Where'd he go?" MK asked.

"We know he hasn't left this room. Red Son made sure of it." Mei said, Red Son holding up a tablet to show he'd hacked into the ship's security systems. "But as for where in this room he is...."

"...As much as I hate this, I've got an idea." Macaque said, the others looking at him with mild shock. "Don't look at me like that, I'm only doing this because it'll be funny, and cause I wanna get revenge on him for locking me in a closet."

"The floor is yours." Red Son said, doing an over dramatic bow as he said it. Macaque rolled his eyes (and MK mentally decided to bring up the shadow monkey's own dramatics later-) but he stepped forwards, into the center of the room.

A shadow clone appeared, slowly emerging from Macaque's own shadow. It stood there for a moment, still, before turning and merging with a shadow on the wall.

A few seconds passed.

And then a faint glow, as well as some muffled giggling, came from behind one of the cabinets. MK quickly moved forwards, reaching behind it-

And pulling out a doll-sized Monkey King, holding him up by the edge of his clothes.

Wukong squeaked, quickly switching back to his usual size, sending MK a bit off balance, and trying to run away, but MK refused to let him, holding tight to the edge of Wukong's outfit. It took a few minutes of struggling, (which Macaque clearly enjoyed, if his own muffled laughter was anything to go by.), but eventually Wukong gave up, sighing as he fell down onto his back, laying there, defeated. Mei and Red Son moved to stand closer to him, and MK lightly nudged him with his foot.

"You ready to admit that your Light-up Laughter is cool now?" He asked, and Wukong groaned, rolling over so that his face was hidden by the floor.

"Stop giving it stupid names!" He whined, "And it's not cool!"

"I should warn you." Macaque said, sitting down on the nearby couch, "You're not going to make much progress on this. He was like this even back when we we're 'friends'. I'm surprised he didn't grow out of it, honestly."

"You shut up." Wukong hissed, sitting up a little just to glare at Macaque before going back to laying face down on the floor. "I should've never let myself laugh in front of any of you."

Well. That sentence was, on some level, mildly concerning, but MK decided to brush past it for now.

"Aw, c'mon Monkey King." Mei said, kneeling down and poking Wukong's arm, repeatedly. "You can't just mope over a few nicknames forever."

"Watch me."

"If you keep this up, we'll have to start calling you the emo monkey, instead of Macaque." Red Son said.

"Should I be offended by that?" Macaque asked, "I feel like I should be offended by that-"

Wukong didn't respond, continuing to lay face down on the floor. Mei continued poking his arm. After a few minutes of consideration, MK started to lightly nudge Wukong as well. Red Son knelt down beside MK to start poking Wukong in the back with a pencil he'd found on a nearby desk. Macaque watched this go down with thinly veiled amusement.

After a few moments of no response from Wukong though, Macaque sighed, standing up and making his way over. Silently, he created a few pairs of sunglasses, handing them off to each member of the trio, indicating for them to put them on. A bit confused, but willing to go along with it, they complied, sliding the glasses over their eyes. Macaque, having affirmed that their eyes were protected, slid his own pair of sunglasses on, then looked down at Wukong, contemplating.

And then he leaned down and skittered his fingers behind Wukong's knee. The reaction was immediate, Wukong squeaking before breaking into loud laughter, lighting up like a beacon, sparkles shining all around him. It was nearly bright enough to make the trio shield their eyes, even with sunglasses. Wukong kicked his leg out, very nearly missing hitting Macaque in the face, rolling over and getting up, practically scrambling to get away from the other monkey.

"Don't do that." He hissed, once he'd managed to get a hold of himself, the light dimming and vanishing completely. (Mei, quietly, mumbled something about wishing she'd gotten that on camera.)

"Either you stop moping around and accept the facts about your, what did Mei call it- right, 'Giggle Glow'-" Macaque said, giving Wukong a threatening look. "Or I tickle you again. Your choice."

".....Fine. Fine!" Wukong said, "It's cool! Whatever! Can we just drop this already?!"

They didn't drop it. They very much didn't drop it.

Whenever Wukong so much as lightly chuckled, someone would comment on the glow. At some point, he genuinely considered the idea of just never laughing in the others presence ever again, but that plan was quickly laid to rest-

The others were just. Too. Funny.

"Kill me." Wukong muttered, his face on the table, a faint glow still surrounding him from residual laughter. "You guys are going to kill me."

"Yep, that's the plan!" Macaque called from the door way. "Can't believe it took you so long to figure that out, Sparkling Peach-"

"I hate all of you."

#Monkie Kid #Giggle Glow AU #my writing #i procrastinated on all my other fics for this

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scrawnytreedemon · 3 years ago

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AIGHT so. sephiroth? maybe even yazoo? possibly godrick? yknow??? eyeaaaaah

LET'S GO LET'S GOOOOOOOOOOO--

(GODA M M IT TUMBLR why won't you let me moved the images??? aughhh. Guess 'Rick gets a spot to himself 🙄 Typical.)

Sephiroth: IT'S HIM IT'S HIMMMMM THE LONGTIME BLORBO THE ONE AND ONLY!!! Fucking iconique motherfucker. I am PISSED that I have not gotten a bingo, but I suppose that's because he's not What The Actual Fuck™ enough, attraction-wise.

Literally have this post(ALSO by your prompting, thank you for that) that goes into just... So much of how I feel about him. What haven't I said? He's gender he's neurodiverse he's sad he's terrifying he's mother and he is son. He's got it All. Literally the Man(?) of ALL Time.

Was debating on filling in the "they got done DIRTY by fans," but honestly I've seen so much more sane shit. I think Sephiroth tends to provoke thoughtful discussion merely by his complicated and yet iconic nature(it also helps that he's hot buthgkjfgjhk y'know).

Love this womanman to bits. Congrats on becoming your own mother, Ros!!! Good luck with your kids (:

Yazoo: OKAY SO... Yazoo. Poor fucking Yazoo. Fucked over by his own hair. No GOTDAMN screentime for a trio that already suffers from shoddy execution, barring Kadaj's character development. He gets overshadowed so much, it's insane.

This goes for the Remnants in general, but I think fandom tends to reduce all their characteristics to jokes. And on one hand! They are hilarious as shit, just fucking, behaviourally. Absolutely unwell teenagers. There's also the fact that Advent Children's tone is just... a fucking Mess, like everything else in that movie.

But I think it does alot of disservice to Yazoo's character to reduce him to "he's high"-- It's a funny joke, yes, however I think that misses alot of Yazoo's cold vigilance. If Loz is the attackdog, then Yazoo is the watchcat. Where Loz is blunt, Yazoo is sharp. Whatever Kadaj misses, Yazoo picks up; he's implied to be his right(or left)-hand man for a reason.

Moreso than Kadaj, even, Yazoo's purpose is hinged on the will of another: he's a shadow of a shadow of a shadow of a shadow. And while I'm sure he has some personal investment in finding Jenova, I think ultimately he's tied to Kadaj; wherever he goes, Yazoo follows.

I think his dynamic with Loz is so interesting. It's painted antagonistically the moment they're introduced. And while AC doesn't give us more to work with, it's incredibly intriguing. The fact they're meant to complement each other, and yet are simultaneously repelled.

This post goes into alot of detail on that. That story idea is STILL on my fuckigngng list, and I hope I can get to it one day. It'll be the final part of my "Daisies in the Wind" series on AO3.

Don't have "wow they're a horrible person" or "they did nothing wrong" crossed off because... It's complicated? I don't think they really had much choice in the matter, nature and nurture both working against them, but also it's undeniable that they wrought serious harm. A case where deep healing is needed for both sides.

Godrick: WELL, WELL, WELL, if it isn't my current muse! Now with added, "WHAT THE FUCK," as per our conversation last night~ AND WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT! A BINGO! NEARLY THREE!!!

Okay, RIGHT, time to play a little Devil's Advocate:

I think Godrick's place as Designated Richboy Weenie is well and truly deserved; he's a pathetic phuckign guy, and we love that for him.

HOWEVER!

However,

I, personally, would like to add a little pathos to this. I'm sure we all understand that being the stand-in for your ancestor, the Sickest Demigod of All Time, after he gets ganked is alot of pressure; but consider this:

What if Godrick was chronically ill?

What if he had a legitimate reason to be deeply dissatisfied with his body, beyond just plain vanity? Oh, believe me, I'm sure vanity factors into it a great deal; but I don't think the line is quite so sharp. If your body kept falling out from under you, and you could not make peace with it, wouldn't you wish to replace it, too?

Imagine dealing with that while fleeing from your ancestral homeland, too. Suddenly, more than ever, you're the beacon of hope for a shitton of people who have been displaced along side you. Who look to you for guidance, and a way forth.

While it's evident that Godrick began grafting before the fall of Leyndell, it must not have gone far enough if he was able to hide among the womenfolk in his fleeing. The implication here being that shit got worse in exile.

We are not going to talk about Godefroy; I am baffled as to how Fromsoft let this senseless copy-paste slip through the cracks. It makes no goddamn sense. I hate it here!

Actually, fuck it. We are. I propose Godefroy being an ancestor who dipped a toe into grafting, but was summarily deposed and nearly all records of him excised. This was ill boding, and they wanted to ensure no one ever got the fucking idea to try anything like this again.

But, Uh oh! Godrick is a resourceful fucker, clever with no wisdom, and ends up able to find something. He manages to reverse engineer it, thereby unlocking the Holy Fucking Grail in regards conquering his weakness; conquering his flesh.

And all it'll take is desecrating the sanctity of life itself.

Oh, I'm sure he'd sworn to keep this a secret, at first; promised to do the bare minimum and nothing more. But, ahhh,

How can you when the thrall of power is so sweet?

Even more when everything's fallen apart.

WHAT I'M SAYING IS... I think Godrick had if not reasonable, then understandable, even pitiable motivations at one point. Even then, it spoke to a willingness to toe the line. This shit only got worse, and worse as the years wore on, far, far away from home. Because that's all he has: a longing for home. He tells as much in his final breath; a yearning rhapsodical.

Not knowing that even if he were to return, there'd be nothing left.

---

THANK YOU for asking, Maso!!! Love you lots <333 Here's hoping my rambling on this guy entertains you, lmaoooo.

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riversofmars · 3 years ago

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Rare Pear March - Day 30

Prompt: 5 + 1 Times (alternate prompt)

Pairing: Liv Chenka/Helen Sinclair

Rating: G

Summary: Through the course of their many adventures, Liv is trying to find the right moment to confess her feelings for her best friend.

Read on AO3 or below

The Right Time

The first time, there was space between them. Not just figuratively, but literally. They were hanging in the depth of space, weightless, with darkness around them, timers mercilessly counting down the seconds of breathable air remaining. They were waiting for either rescue or death.

That was the first time Liv Chenka considered telling Helen Sinclair that she was in love with her. The feeling had crept up on her. She hadn’t entertained the idea of romance in a long time, not since her fleeting, heartbreaking encounter with Martin. 1963 had been the last place she would have expected to find the person she would one day consider the love of her life.

She would tell her, she had decided, at the very end of the countdown. Early enough for Helen to be able to respond if she wanted to, early enough to make sure that in her last moments, she would know she was loved by the person next to her. Late enough so she wouldn’t have to endure the heartbreak for long should Helen not return her feelings. Late enough that if she did, they wouldn’t be left to mourn the loss of their future together for too long. The future they could have had, hadn’t they been trapped in a hopeless situation, contemplating the things they could have done, had they only acknowledged their feelings sooner.

So Liv waited, arranging the words in her head. Should she simply say “I love you”? Should she explain it? Should she tell her how much she loved the sound of her voice? Her sharp mind? Her kind heart? She could. She could talk about her for hours and all the things she had grown to love about her. But there wasn’t time. She wouldn’t mind spending her last breaths on telling her how beautiful she thought her, how awe-inspiring, how wonderful. She would have no regrets about that.

She took another deep breath and continued the countdown in her head, dedicating a wonderful quality of the linguist’s to every number as she squeezed her hand.

And then, rescue came and the words remained unsaid. She would tell her later, she decided, when there was time. They had to save a universe first because without the universe, they would have no future together. That was something worth fighting for.

But then, they got split up. Helen disappeared into the Time Vortex and Liv was left on Gallifrey with the Doctor. It had been devastating. The med-tech had broken down in her best friend's bedroom in the TARDIS. She had curled up on her bed and hugged her pyjamas to her chest that still smelled like her. She didn’t hope again until the Doctor told her there was a chance of following Helen and the Eleven, that there was a chance the linguist was still alive. Liv chose to grasp hope with both hands, to hold it tightly, as she had held her friend’s clothes as she had cried for her. She promised herself that if she found her again, she would tell her everything. She would tell her that she loved her, consequences be damned.

Rykerzon, where they found her at last, had been chaos and Helen had been clever enough to keep sane and safe. Of course she had, Liv wasn’t even sure why she’d ever had doubts at all. Helen could do anything. Their reunion was a short moment of heartfelt relief! A ‘It’s brilliant to see you!’ and a ‘I hardly dared hope you’d come looking. In all of time and space!’ , a bone crushing hug and a ‘Follow me!’ as Helen had grabbed Liv’s hand and dragged her along. The linguist’s hand in her simply felt right and it made her heart race more than the running ever could. There wasn’t time to talk, not then. They had to stop the Eleven and the Kandyman and of course they did.

Once they were reunited in the TARDIS at last and Liv waited for a moment alone with Helen, the Doctor hadn’t made it easy. Liv’s heart pounded in her ears, anxiety keeping her in a tight, unrelenting grip, when the Doctor suggested Helen could make a home with the colonists. ‘I could do good here,’ she had responded and Liv had dug her nails into the insides of her palms, the painful action keeping her from speaking out. She couldn’t have her stay behind, she couldn’t, and if she decided to, she would tell her way. She would tell her she couldn’t take another step without her by her side. The ‘Hang on, Helen is coming with us, isn’t she?’ she uttered with disbelief, trying to remain calm and Helen’s ‘I wasn’t sure if I still had a place.’ hurt her deeply. ‘That’s ridiculous! We came looking for you!’ was something Liv wanted to follow up with ‘I love you, please don’t leave me’ but she didn’t, not just yet, not while the Doctor was there and she was awaiting her decision tensely. The ‘I’d like to come with you, if you’ll have me.’ was what allowed Liv to breathe freely again, to experience joy and contemplate love once more. ‘It’s good to be home,’ Helen had said, and it was. Liv felt like her home was whole again. She wanted to take a moment then, ask Helen to come with her, talk, away even from the Doctor but he had other ideas. He suggested a special adventure and the way Helen’s face brightened at the suggestion, Liv couldn’t bring herself to ask for a delay. So they set off, headed towards another adventure. As they crowded around the console, Liv stood close to Helen, just shy of putting her hand on hers. There would be time later, she figured, now that they were together again. Once they had a moment alone, she would tell her.

Her third chance came when they settled down at a table in the Complex on Kaldor. It was strange being back, it put Liv on edge but there was nothing for it. She was alone with Helen at least, even at the Doctor’s own suggestion. It left her to wonder whether he had done so on purpose, she even muttered ‘Sly old Doctor’ when Helen commented that he was more perceptive than they gave him credit for and must have noticed that she wanted to spend time with Liv. The med-tech tried not to give too much weight to her words, not to get her hopes up too high but it was difficult when the linguist looked at her with such fondness. And then she said ‘I’ve… never really had a friend before. Or someone like you. But you’re more than that. We’re family.’ and Liv’s heart jumped into her throat, her mind blanked, the only response she could manage was a ‘Yeah, I’ll drink to that.’ with a raise of their glasses. It was the right time, Liv decided as she set her drink down and fought her nerves. Even being back on Kaldor, even having the robots around with the unnerving voice of her sister, this was the right time. She watched Helen fondly as she wiped the foam off her top lip with a chuckle and a ‘Oh you’re right. Delicious.’ and she took a deep breath, prepared to declare her feelings, once and for all.

They were interrupted again. Kit Laver, who Liv had never been exactly fond of, picked exactly the wrong time to interject into their conversation. Things went out of control after that. The Robots happened and once again, they had to run for their lives. Liv protected Helen as best as she could, she always would, even to the extent of throwing herself at a Robot that could have easily killed her. It was fortunate that said Robot turned out to be her sister in disguise but that brought a whole new world of trouble with it. And an unexpected desire to build bridges. That, however, would have meant leaving Helen and she couldn’t do that. Of course it had been her clever friend that came up with the perfect solution, the way of doing both. It would be hard, Liv knew that, to be away from her for a whole year but she knew she had to try and fix things with Tula. And for Helen, it would only be the blink of an eye as they used the TARDIS to jump a year into the future. How should Liv have refused, despite her fears that something might go wrong, when Helen had asked her to trust her. There was no-one she trusted more. The trust had not been misplaced. A year later, they were together again and the Doctor took them to celebrate Christmas when all Liv wanted to do was tell Helen how much she had missed her, and how her love for her had only grown as she had thought of her every day.

Christmas had been a whirlwind of experiences. Liv thought she might finally find the right moment, strolling across the Christmas Market, particularly once she was told of the role Mistletoe played that time of year. But as she should have expected by her fourth attempt, the universe found new and creative ways to keep them apart. That time, Liv found herself dragged to the very depths of hell itself as a goat demon rose in the middle of Salzburg. And Helen? She would go and spend forty years by herself. A life. Travelling through time and space by herself trying to find a way to save Liv and the Doctor. And of course she did. Lovely, beautiful, clever Helen Sinclair learned to fly the TARDIS and saved everyone at her own expense. The realisation of what she had done shook Liv to the core when she gathered the old woman in her arms that had collapsed out of the TARDIS. Helen had grown old. Without Liv. And she was dying. The med-tech’s mind started reeling, she couldn’t grasp the reality of it. She had only seen her friend hours ago, to find her so utterly changed was jarring and terrifying. She had to do something. And she did.

It was the most ridiculous notion that a wish might save her but a wish had gotten them into the mess, a wish might be able to get them out of it. It was the most heartfelt, the most serious plea she had ever uttered, and like in a Christmas fairytale, Helen was returned to youth. Liv had wrapped her arms around her, fighting tears in her eyes and wished her a ‘Happy Christmas’ . She couldn’t say ‘I love you’, not with so many people looking on and her emotions rough and raw. She would do so in a quieter moment, back in the TARDIS when Helen had recovered from her ordeal.

After that, there was no quiet moment. Not when they faced the Eleven again and even worse, he ended up in the TARDIS with them. Liv hated having him there, she remained wary while the Doctor tried to help him and Helen tried to mediate. It left Liv feeling unsettled, anxious, and she retreated into herself. She felt vindicated on Parakk when he finally showed his true colours but the doubtful joy of having been right was short lived when the Ravenous came and they were split up once more. It was worse than the last time because they didn’t know where to start looking. It was better because they had done it before and Liv had grown faith in Helen’s ability to survive. She knew she was out there somewhere, she had to be.

The firth time she was gripped by the urge to declare her love, it was when they were reunited once more and Helen struck down the Master with a punch. For one very intense moment, Liv was not only extremely relieved not to have been thrown out into space, overjoyed for seeing Helen again but also very hot under the collar. She needed a moment to shake her head free but there was no time to throw herself at Helen, kiss her aching hand in gratitude and then her lips with passion. They had to deal with the Eleven and the Ravenous. They had to save the universe. Again. As they chased towards danger, Liv was left to wonder if there would ever be a moment to say all those things she had been carrying with her for so long. And as the TARDIS spun out of control, hurtling towards an unknown destination with virtually no power, she wondered if she would get the chance to say anything at all, ever again.

Liv stood alone in the living room at 107 Baker Street, the very same day that they had crashed in 2020 London.

The flat that her and Helen had taken up residence in was mostly empty. They had no possessions since the TARDIS had folded in on itself. They had no money to buy anything with. They were lucky to even have a roof over their heads. The house that the Doctor had owned for goodness knew how long, had changed a lot since Liv had last stayed here in 1970. What had been a cosy home had been turned into flats. They were lucky one had been unoccupied. Right now, it was quiet and peaceful and the way time stretched around Liv as she waited was entirely unfamiliar. There was time. There was nothing to do.

Helen had gone out to try and buy some food with what little money the Doctor had had in his pockets. He was at the TARDIS now, trying to fix it to limited success, so his companions were left to simply wait. Liv had looked around the flat for bits and pieces remaining from previous tenants. At least the flat had been furnished and she had found some useful things. She had managed to light candles that she had discovered in an old sideboard. She had gotten an old record player to work and soft music filled the somewhat empty space.

That was how Helen found her when she returned: Standing in the living room, waiting, eager to do something she had been forced to delay for far too long.

“Liv, what’s going on here?” Helen asked in surprise when she returned with a loaf of bread and a tin of beans. She took in her surroundings, the soft light of the candles reflecting in her eyes and she looked beautiful and Liv smiled, her heart full.

“Helen, I’m in love with you,” she said. She wasn’t going to delay another moment. She had delayed too many times.

Helen’s expression softened, she smiled as a moment passed between them, uninterrupted and joyful.

“I love you, too, Liv,” she answered and that was it. She crossed the short distance, stepped into her open arms and they kissed. First tenderly. Then more deeply. There was no rush now.

“I should have told you before but things kept getting in the way,” Liv apologised and Helen chuckled:

“I think the only danger that awaits us here, until the TARDIS is fixed, is death by starvation.”

They didn’t have much but they had each other. And time. At last.

#Doctor Who #fanfiction #fluff #5+1 times #liv chenka #helen sinclair #liv x helen #dw fanfic #doom coalition #ravenous #femslash

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another-mikaelson · 4 years ago

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so i've finally been able to get over enough emotions to put my feelings about the finale out there.

for one, ellie was so out of character this episode. would she ever leak classified nsa files? no. would she ever ice everyone out and quit her job? no. would she literally challenge gibbs to his face? no. would she actually not tell nick about this? NO.

like nick said, she had a choice, and the writers decided to have her make the most un-ellie choice. she would never, NEVER, leave without saying a word. "sometimes there's nothing left to be said" my ass.

don't get me wrong, i'm happy for emily. she's done so much work on this show, and she's one of the only reasons i watched it in the first place. her character was fiercely relatable, and ellick was just another bonus that came along with it.

but the way the writers wrote her off? unacceptable. ellie bishop did NOT deserve to be written off and remembered as a straight up bitch in her last scene.

and that kiss she had with nick? it was supposed to be a goodbye kiss. it was the kiss that got us hyped for this episode, but in the end, that kiss costed a piece of all our sanities (and my sleep, for that matter).

and the way she just flipped him off like he wasn't important anymore absolutely pissed me off. for the majority of this episode, nick's been on her side no matter what, and at the end she just decides to say goodbye and leave him heartbroken.

what the actual fuck.

nick's eyes had more emotion in them in that last scene than ellie did all episode long, and now what? what's nick going to do now? he can't very much cry into a pillow, can he? no.

while we're talking about this, let's dive into ellick.

the writers spent SEASONS building them up, giving us little bread crumbs here and there, and the few major episodes we got with them were blessings to my eyes.

but it was all for nothing.

two episodes ago, we had them finally talk it out, and we all hoped it went well. it finally seemed to be closure for us, and we just wanted them to have a happy ending.

then we got a whole episode with nothing hinting as to what happened.

and out of nowhere, we get a "i didn't mean for us to happen"?? so what the hell happened? can we get answers? the writers canNOT leave us hanging like this.

on ncis's instagram, i can tell we're all not the only ones in this kind of pain. everyone is mad, and the writers need to fix what they messed up for us.

this episode kept me up all of last night. i couldn't get them out of my head, and the way ellie's sent off is the worst character sendoff i've ever seen in my life. they might as well have just killed her off.

at 2:47 am, i finally accepted the reality of emily leaving the show, but the one part i will REFUSE to accept is the fact that they wrote ellie off like this. these fucking writers did us all dirty, and did ellie even dirtier.

another point i'd like to add: what the fuck did odette do to ellie? it's almost like she's been brainwashed. from what i've seen on ncis in the past, the cia is practically evil (see: ci-ray, cia officer walsh), and of all the agencies ellie could've joined, the cia would be the last option.

and ellie would never tarnish her reputation just so she can go on a deep cover op. NEVER. now she'll be on the run for god knows how long, and she'll never be safe again.

nick would never let her go on a deep cover op without him too, for that matter. NEVER.

i guess i can speak for myself here and hopefully a few other people when i say that i've always thought that ellie and nick would end up together. and they're together in my book. they will always be together.

whatever the writers did was NOT okay and unacceptable. they've done this with multiple couples on this show, and of course we fell for it again.

i like the theory that nick knew all along that she was going undercover, and i'm going to keep that theory.

now the question is, how is ellie going to free herself? because i will not go on knowing that ellie's on the run for leaking a classified file, something she might as well have been brainwashed into doing.

and what of nick? how's he going to be next season? is he going to go back into his season 14 self? uptight, tightly wound, untrusting? because if he is, then ncis might as well just end.

in conclusion, i'm not mad at emily for leaving, or mad at the show. i'm mad at the writers. they did us all dirty, and somehow they managed to fuck everything up in just an hour. and i hope they learn their lesson if/when ncis is cancelled because of this.

i haven't been part of this fandom for long. and i know people have been on here longer and those people have much more relatable emotions about this episode, but i just want you all to know that even though i'm a relative newcomer, i'm also hurting. deeply. i haven't smiled since last night. and for someone who smiles 96% of the time, that's saying something.

you guys probably know that i write ellick fics on ao3, and i will continue to do so, just to help out the ellick community, and to keep myself sane. in fact, i'm writing one right now and it should be up soon.

and as much as i hate to say it, i don't think i'll be watching this show as a fan anymore. i might watch it periodically just to see how nick is doing, but that's about it.

this show had a good run, and i'm glad i got to be part of its fandom while it lasted.

until next time x

#ellick #ncis #my thoughts #ellie bishop #nick torres #18x16

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wheresmynaya · 3 years ago

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Hate to Date Ch.5 | Brittana

A/N - Big shoutout to those who donated a coffee to me through ko-fi last week! It was a really nice treat that helped me stay somewhat sane during this lockdown (which hopefully only last a few more days).

Anyway, a longer chapter this week thanks to all the free time I have lol. Enjoy! 💙

Available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) & under the cut!

When Santana awakes the next morning, it’s to the sound of distant laughter. It takes her a second to decided whether or not she’s actually awake, because that laughter? She’s pretty sure she knows who it belongs too and if that’s the case: What the fuck?

The last thing she’d expect is for Brittany to go rogue, but as she pushes herself to sit up she notices that the blanket Brittany stole from her last night has made its way back onto the bed.

Her pillow too!

In fact, with a glance around no one would be able to tell that they slept separately last night.

Santana hates to say it, but she’s just a little impressed.

When she finally makes her way downstairs, Santana finds that the record player has been broken out and the sounds of Donna Summer fills the air. As Santana gets closer to the source, she finds Brittany and Maribel standing around the kitchen counter dressed in aprons.

They don’t notice Santana at first, too busy concentrating on whatever pastries they’re working on. Brittany has her blonde hair tied up in a messy bun while Maribel wears her reading glasses, and together they knead small mounds of dough with their hands as they chat.

Santana watches with curious interest; she’s never seen her mom cook with anyone else Santana’s brought home. Usually her guests are a little hesitant to leave her side let alone abandon her altogether in favor of hanging out with her mom.

Suddenly her eavesdropping is interrupted by a swift poke to her ribs.

“Jesus!” Santana shrieks which instantly earns her another poke and a scowl. She rubs at her side as Abuela brushes past her. “You trying to give someone a heart attack?”

Upon Santana’s interruption, Maribel and Brittany look up to find her standing in the doorway. It only takes a moment before the blonde is slipping into her role of girlfriend again and making her way over while Abuela joins Maribel.

“Mornin’, Sleepyhead!” Brittany greets happily before a quick kiss is pressed to Santana’s cheek. “I thought you weren’t getting up until noon.”

“We’re not far from it,” Maribel notes with a nod to the clock.

Santana smiles apologetically as all eyes are on her, “Sorry. It must be the jetlag.”

Brittany chuckles, “There isn’t a time difference though.”

Santana doesn’t answer, just follows Brittany over to the counter where Abuela stands eyeing their handywork. She makes a few pinches to the dough here and another adjustment there, always ever so critical of the cooking being done.

“What’s going on here?” Santana asks.

“Just getting ready for tonight,” Maribel replies. “Lots to do, but Brittany offered to help us.”

“Oh really?” Santana glances to Brittany.

The blonde just shrugs, “I’m an early riser. I figured I’d make myself useful.”

“Unlike Santana,” Maribel smirks.

Brittany chuckles, “Yeah. It’s a struggle to get that one out of bed.”

While the pair laugh together, Santana wishes she could roll her eyes. After how they ended the night before, she wasn’t sure if Brittany was going to stay on top of her game but it seems like she’s more determined that ever. Santana didn’t think it would be at her expense though.

“Well that was nice of you to help out,” Santana compliments in favor of being snarky.

Brittany shrugs, “I just hope that mine don’t stick out like sore thumbs compared to Maribel’s.”

Santana glances to the counter and nods, “I’m sure they’ll turn out great.”

“They will,” Maribel assures. “You know Abuela watches everything that comes out of this kitchen like a hawk.”

There’s a small smile on Abuela’s lips before she goes back to stirring a pot of something on the stove. Santana notes the silence and wonders if Abuela has still yet to say a word to Brittany, but there’s no time to ask as Maribel tosses her an apron.

“You know the drill, Santana. If you’re going to be in here you better start working,” Maribel instructs with a sudden sternness.

“Mami,” Santana pouts. “Can’t I at least have a coffee first? I just woke up…”

Maribel tuts, “You and your father are so similar. Always needing coffee before doing anything. Why couldn’t you have taken after me instead?”

“Yes, an age old question,” Santana sighs as she looks to Brittany. “Have you eaten or did they just put you straight to work?”

Maribel cuts Santana with a glare while Brittany only chuckles to lighten to mood.

“I ate but I could go for a coffee.”

“Awesome,” Santana then tosses the apron aside and takes Brittany by the hand. “I’m stealing her and your car now. Be back later!”

Santana assumed Brittany would’ve willingly followed, but surprisingly Brittany looks back at her work with a look of hesitance. Would she really rather stay behind? Santana figured she’d be dying to break away for a little while, but apparently not?

“Will that be okay?” Brittany ends up asking. “I can continue helping when we come back?”

Santana’s eyes widen. What is she doing? Gunning for the perfect daughter award now too?

Maribel and Abuela share an unreadable look before nodding to Brittany.

“That’s okay, Brittany,” Maribel replies. “There’s more than enough left to be done.”

“Awesome,” Brittany bounces a little on her toes before leaving the kitchen.

Santana turns to follow after her when Maribel calls out to her. The sound of her being beckoned in that tone already has the hairs on the back of Santana’s neck standing on end.

“Yes?”

“You could learn a thing or two from her,” Maribel scolds. “When’s the last time you’ve offered to help around here before running off?”

Santana doesn’t have a response, just nods before she follows Brittany outside.

Once they’re in the car, Santana feels like a weight has been lifted. Even behind closed doors, they still have to maintain the act because walls are thin and you never know who might be walking by. However, being trapped alone together in the car is like the first real break since they got off the plane.

Despite the break though, the silence between them is heavy.

Santana’s gripping the steering wheel like her life depends on it with her eyes focused hard on the road while Brittany only stares out the window. The tension reminds Santana of last night and once again, the annoyance is back in full force.

They’re only in the car for five more minutes before Brittany speaks.

“Have I done something wrong?” She asks.

Santana blinks, breaking her staring contest with the road in favor of glancing to Brittany. The blonde has her brows furrowed and there’s a look of confusion on her face. It makes Santana feel ridiculous for being annoyed in the first place which annoys her even more.

“I don’t know,” Santana grumbles.

She can still feel Brittany’s eyes on her, burning holes into the side of her face but she can’t look at her anymore. Looking at her makes Santana feel irrational and she hates it because she doesn’t understand why that is.

“Is this about what Maribel said before?”

Santana clenches her jaw, but doesn’t answer. She didn’t think Brittany heard her, but apparently she did. Knowing that only makes Santana feel worse, but Brittany frowns and tries again.

“Is this about last night?”

“I said I don’t know,” Santana suddenly snaps.

Brittany purses her lips in thought as they fall even deeper into awkward tension. In reality, Santana really doesn’t know what she feels. She was never great at navigating her feelings let alone talking about them so Brittany’s badgering just puts her on edge.

“Well figure it out,” Brittany finally replies after a long pause. “I’m laying down some pretty solid ground work and I don’t want you messing it up with a mood swing or whatever is going on with you.”

Santana laughs bitterly, “Oh, that’s right! I forgot you’re apparently the World’s Greatest Girlfriend who can do no wrong.”

“What?” Brittany frowns. “Where is this coming from?”

Santana grits her teeth, “I have to deal with everyone thinking you’re so perfect on campus and now I have to deal with in here.”

“Isn’t that why you asked me to do this?” Brittany argues. “I don’t know why you’re suddenly giving me shit.”

Santana shakes her head, “Because I don’t understand why you always have to go above and beyond! You just kiss everyone’s ass and it’s so annoying!”

“You literally asked me to play this role, Santana. You asked me to be here,” Brittany replies. “You wanted this to be convincing so that’s what I’m doing.”

“Yeah well, you don’t have to make me look like shit in the process.”

“Are you kidding me?”

Santana doesn’t answer, just focuses on the road.

“Here’s a thought, maybe you wouldn’t look so shit if you gave just an ounce of effort,” Brittany tells her. There’s a firmness to her tone that makes something within Santana rattle. “So what if I’m trying to bond with your family? You told me that’s what needed to be done! Don’t get mad at me because I’m actually trying. You want different results? Put in the work.”

“Okay fine, whatever,” Santana huffs as she pulls into the Starbucks drive-thru.

Brittany huffs to and crosses her arms. She’s a little red in the face – surely Santana’s doing – and it seems so out of place on the blonde. Santana’s been able to wind her up in the past, but she’s never seen Brittany look this visibly pissed. At least that’s one thing Santana doesn’t have a problem doing.

But the longer they sit in silence, Santana begins to reflect on her words.

It really wasn’t her best work, but she’s been known to struggle with shutting the hell up. Once she’s on a roll, it’s like she can’t back down. Whether she’s right or wrong, she’s got to have the last word.

Even now, she knows she was out of line coming at Brittany after she’s been nothing but great but there’s this little voice in her head – let’s call her Snixx – and Snixx likes to stir the pot. Snixx likes to encourage the anger and frustration inside Santana and Snixx doesn’t care how it effects anyone.

As they get closer to order, the guilt really starts to set in next.

That coupled with the heavy silence has Santana feeling like such an ass. Of course she can’t admit that she was an ass because like…pride but they can’t go back to the house with this weighing on them either.

There has to be something she can do, something she can say to ease the tension? Something that can break the ice?

“Did you want anything?” Santana asks in a meek voice.

Brittany’s a little hesitant to answer and at first Santana thinks she might be getting the silent treatment now, but then there’s a quiet sigh.

“Is this your way of saying you’re sorry for being a jerk?”

Santana rolls her eyes although she feels a blush setting in. Brittany looks at her like she’s completely transparent and it makes Santana want to run and hide. It’s like Brittany knows that Santana knows she messed up, so why be a dick about it?

Karma, Santana guesses.

“Do you want a drink or not?” Santana asks but her tone lacks the usual sass.

Brittany seems to notice, but she stares back challengingly anyway.

“Peppermint Mocha,” She finally answers.

“Okay.”

“With whipped cream.”

“Okay.”

“And peppermint sprinkles, not the chocolate shavings.”

Santana sighs, “Okay. Anything else?”

“And maybe one of those cake pop things.”

Santana can tell Brittany’s just messing with her now. If this is her way of apologizing then it’s only fair that Brittany orders whatever she wants.

“Is that all?” Santana asks.

Brittany ponders for a moment before nodding, “That’s all.”

“Okay,” Santana answers and goes on to relay their order to the cashier.

Once they’ve got their drinks and snacks, Santana parks the car in a spot that overlooks the busy road. They mostly sit in silence; Santana nibbles on her panini while Brittany sips on her drink. The radio is on so there’s at least something to fill the void, but Santana doesn’t really find much joy in repetitive Christmas music.

As she changes the station, Brittany frowns.

“I was listening to that,” She says as she changes it back.

Santana matches her expression, “You like this?”

“It’s nice.”

“It’s depressing.”

Brittany gives her a look, “How?”

“Bells will be ringin' the sad, sad news,” Santana belts out suddenly.

Brittany starts to smile, “Okay of all the Christmas songs –“

Santana sings over her, “Oh, what a Christmas to have the blues.”

“I don’t think this is the best representation of – “

“My baby's gone. I have no friends. To wish me greetings once again!”

This time Brittany doesn’t interject; she can’t because Santana’s singing overpowers her. There’s a little smug grin beginning to form on Santana’s face as she finishes on the last note though.

“See?” She says in a normal voice. “Depressing as hell.”

Brittany chuckles, “Okay. That one was depressing, but can we talk about the elf in the room?”

“That I’ve got a killer voice?”

“Not that,” Brittany waves her off.

“Uh rude.”

“I mean, it’s alright,” Brittany smirks, “Are we just going to ignore the fact that you knew the lyrics to that song by heart?”

Santana rolls her eyes, “My dad travelled for work a lot when I was younger. He was almost never home for Christmas so take a lucky guess which two songs my mom constantly had on repeat.”

“Rough,” Brittany replies.

“Yeah,” Santana nods. “The holidays are overrated.”

“Okay Scrooge,” Brittany jokes.

“It’s true! It’s just party after party and everyone’s suddenly all about joy and world peace or whatever. Don’t even get me started on the headache that is Christmas shopping. It’s all a nightmare because the Lopez clan is huge and they all need gifts.”

While Santana rambles Brittany only stares down at her coffee in thought, her finger tracing the lid in slow circles.

“But hanging out with your family,” Brittany mentions. “Having them all in one place every year, that’s kind of nice?”

“Is it?”

“I don’t remember the last time mine were together like that. I’m not really that close with my family.”

“Lucky you,” Santana jokes.

“Yeah,” Brittany says quietly which causes Santana’s smile to drop.

She remembers how she spent this year’s Christmas – alone at home with a bottle of wine and Netflix – and how much of a welcomed break it was from the usual festivities. Santana loved the alone time, but Brittany? She remembers her saying she’d still be on campus and it makes her wonder how she spent the day too or more importantly, why she didn’t return home like everyone else?

Santana doesn’t ask though, unsure if that’s a line she’s willing to cross.

“Well, you’ll get your fix tonight,” Santana tries joking again. “Like I said, the Lopez clan is huge. They’ll be changing your tune, just give them an hour.”

Brittany smiles but it isn’t as bright as it usually is.

Once they get back to Maribel’s, Brittany joins Maribel and Abuela in cooking once again. Santana’s a little reluctant but she tags along too, remembering what Brittany said before about effort and Maribel’s final words about learning something from the girl.

Santana already has to deal with Brittany always one-upping her on campus – she doesn’t need it at home too. So although there are other things she’d much rather be doing, she sits alongside the three of them. They talk about Santana and Brittany’s studies, the assignment they’re working on together while throwing in little details about how their relationship progressed.

“Don’t you all need to get ready?” Eddie interrupts the chatter with a confused look on his face.

Neither of them realize it, but they’ve ended up spending the entire afternoon chatting. It’s not something Santana usually does, but it surprisingly wasn’t all that painful since conversation didn’t solely consist of dissecting her love life. Maybe having a fake girlfriend by her side is something she should’ve done a long time ago?

“Oh! You’re right. We better get ready,” Maribel mentions once she sees the time. “Everyone should be arriving within the next hour or so.”

“As if anyone shows up on time,” Santana jokes.

Maribel gives her a look before turning to Eddie, “Do you mind bringing out the extra chairs?”

“Already done,” He grins. “I can finish up here. You all go.”

Santana doesn’t have to be told twice before she and Brittany head upstairs.

Similar to last night, Santana and Brittany move quietly around each other like a well-rehearsed dance. Brittany parks herself in front of Santana’s bedroom mirror with her makeup bag while Santana heads to the bathroom to get changed into something a little more formal.

Once Santana finishes up awhile later, she rejoins Brittany in her room where she finds her lounging on the bed scrolling through her phone.

“Finally,” Brittany comments while Santana closes the door behind her.

“Perfection takes time,” Santana quips. “I see you packed a New Year’s Eve sweater. Didn’t know those were a thing.”

Brittany snorts as she prepares to dish out a comeback, but Santana’s surprised that it never comes. Instead, the annoyance shifts as Brittany looks at her for the first time.

“Oh, you’re dressed so...”

Santana frowns at the possible implications before checking herself out in the stand up mirror. It’s her usual attire for these kind of events – long sleeves to counter the short hem that someone’s bound to scold her about, knit for the cold because it’s ballsy to have her legs on display in this temperature, and deep red because she looks best in that color.

When Santana turns back to Brittany to ask what the problem is, the blonde is tugging at her sweater and glancing at her skirt.

“Should I change?” Brittany asks shyly. “I feel kind of underdressed compared to you.”

Santana softens upon hearing the unexpected tone. It’s not like Brittany’s showing up in ripped jeans and a hoodie, so Santana’s not sure where the concern is coming from.

“No you’re fine,” Santana ends up assuring her with a shake of her head, “I like your boots.”

“Oh,” Brittany sticks out her boot to show it off a little more. “I have them in black too, they were on sale.”

“Love me a good deal,” Santana jokes.

“Me too.”

Brittany then goes to stand, eyeing Santana’s dress before looking down at her sweater again.

“You sure this is okay though?” Brittany asks. “I don’t want your entire family thinking I don’t clean up well.”

Santana sighs, “As much as I’d love to lie to you so that I can listen to everyone bag on your fashion choices, that wouldn’t really benefit me. When you look good, I look good.”

Brittany’s brows furrow with confusion, “You’re not really good at giving fashion advice.”

Santana rolls her eyes, “I’m not used to someone asking, that’s why.”

Brittany frowns and it has Santana softening again.

“You look good,” Santana tells her. “I’m sure someone’s going to think you look very cute in your sweater. It’s bound to get loads of compliments tonight.”

Brittany mulls over Santana’s words for a moment before nodding.

“Was that better?”

Brittany nods again, “Yup.”

“Okay great,” Santana looks back at herself in the mirror and tussles her hair. “Are you ready to get down there now?”

Brittany sucks in a deep breath, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

As soon as the new couple makes their appearance, they’re bombarded by several family members. There are compliments all around, cheek-pinches, tight hugs and lots of congratulating. If Santana didn’t know any better, she’d think that someone told them that she and Brittany are newly engaged judging by the swarm.

Then again, Maribel’s probably told them that Brittany and Santana have been dating for weeks now which is way longer than any other relationship Santana’s had. Gossip in her family travels very fast, especially when it’s about her.

Any other girl Santana has brought home would’ve caved under the attention Santana’s aunts and cousins are giving them, but Brittany surprisingly does well. She remains kind and polite as introductions are reeled off and once again Santana finds herself being a little impressed.

Awhile later, Brittany’s seated in an arm chair surrounded by some of Santana’s aunts while Santana watches from afar as she gets them both a drink. She can hear Brittany’s laughter, much like she did that morning, and wonders what’s so funny. The aunts that she’s with are some of the older, more gossipy ones so they can’t be that hilarious.

“I see Brittany’s getting along well with everyone,” Maribel notes as she comes up beside Santana.

“I told you she’s pretty charismatic,” Santana answers.

“Uh-huh,” Maribel hums and turns to Santana. “There’s something different about her.”

Santana attempts to keep her cool, not wanting to give away how Maribel’s comment makes her feel uneasy.

“I know,” She replies before it because suspicious. “I think that’s why we work so well together.”

Maribel nods, “Opposites attract.”

“That’s what they tell me,” Santana answers.

“Hmm,” Maribel turns to start pouring herself a drink. “You know Maria’s here.”

“Who’s Maria?”

Maribel frowns, “My friend? I set you up with her daughter?”

Santana instantly cringes, “Oh please don’t tell me Francesca is here too? I don’t need that kind of drama in my life.”

Maribel chuckles, “She’s not here.”

“Thank God.”

“Does Brittany know about that?”

Santana quirks a brow, “Does she know about you setting me up on blind dates against my will?”

Maribel’s expression hardens.

“No,” Santana answers. “That’s not something I wanted to explain to her considering it was super embarrassing. Our relationship was new anyway, I didn’t want to scare her off.”

“I see,” Maribel replies. “I guess it ended up working out anyway.”

“It did,” Santana says as she looks back to Brittany who’s admiring one of the aunt’s wedding ring. “See what happens when you don’t meddle in my love life?”

Maribel just swats at Santana’s shoulder. “I didn’t meddle. It was just a little guidance.”

“Okay Mami,” Santana laughs before heading over to Brittany.

Blue eyes flicker to meet hers once Santana gets close enough. They’re unreadable as Santana perches on the arm of Brittany’s chair. She leans down, her lips close to Brittany’s cheek.

“Let me know when you want a break,” Santana discreetly whispers before handing her a glass of wine.

Brittany smiles in thanks, “It’s not so bad. They’re way more interesting than my family and the food’s a whole lot better too. And you’re right, everyone loves my sweater!”

Santana chuckles and goes to sip her drink while Brittany jumps back into the conversation happening around them. The more she drinks, the less concerned about every little movement they make, the less worry she feels about what everyone’s thinking and if they’re believing this act.

As they get closer to midnight, Santana loosens up more.

When Brittany leans back a little and slides an arm around Santana’s hips, she barely flinches. She actually leans into it, moving to play with the tips of Brittany’s softly tussled hair while the blonde tells the aunts about some reality show they all watch.

Santana’s not really listening, all the voices in the room and everything happening is all a blur. Not because she has a slight buzz going, but because this is what happens every family gathering. The aunts gather and gossip, the uncles drink and talk about business, the younger cousins run around, the older ones seclude themselves to one room where they sit on their phones and Maribel and Alma pump out dish after dish making sure everyone’s fed.

Usually Santana would’ve snuck out to the garage with her date by now for a quickie or at the very least a steamy make out session, but she finds herself in a very different position this time. She has to pretend like she knows anything about a long lasting relationship or any relationship really that doesn’t revolve around sex which is a new concept for her.

“Well look who it is!”

Suddenly another one of Santana’s cousins makes their presence known in a flashy wave of their arms. Santana knows the voice before she sees who it is, but Brittany’s looking up at her in confusion.

“Who’s she?”

“My super spoiled cousin,” Santana quips as the girl steps closer.

“I’m one of many, but the only one that matters the most.”

Santana rolls her eyes and glances to Brittany, “See what I mean?”

“Hi,” She greets with her hand out. “Sugar.”

“Hey,” Brittany replies as she takes the girl’s hand. “Sweetheart?”

Sugar’s eyes narrow while Brittany looks back innocently.

“Sugar’s her name,” Santana supplies.

Brittany blushes, “Oh!”

“It’s actually a nickname,” Sugar corrects.

“It’s not,” Santana laughs and turns to Brittany. “My uncle was totally high when he thought of it.”

“He was not!” Sugar huffs. “That’s just a rumor which he put to rest years ago.”

“Not a rumor,” Santana whispers to Brittany.

“Anyway,” Sugar rolls her eyes in a similar fashion as Santana before looking to the blonde. “You must be Brittany. The serious girlfriend everyone won’t stop talking about.”

Brittany glances up at Santana then back to Sugar, “That’s me. Hope it’s all good things you’ve been hearing or this would be super awkward.”

“Oh they’re super good things!” Sugar replies enthusiastically before moving to sit across from them. The aunts that were there have moved on to the kitchen, but Santana’s sure it’s because they can’t stand Sugar either.

“Of course they’re good,” Santana says as she drapes her arm around Brittany’s shoulders for a cuddle.

“I kind of find it suspicious,” Sugar tells them simply.

“What?” Brittany and Santana say in unison.

“You seem nice,” Sugar says to Brittany. “Relatively normal and a lot less trashy than the usual Santana brings around.”

“Nice Sugar,” Santana scoffs. “Talk to my current girlfriend about my past relationships.”

Sugar waves her off, “I’d hardly call them that.”

Brittany catches Sugar’s hand and gasps, “Wow, that’s a nice ring!”

Santana looks to her, amazed by the smooth distraction.

“Isn’t it?” Sugar beams at the engagement ring on her finger. “It weighs a ton!”

“Looks like it,” Brittany smiles before sitting back. “Is your fiancé here?””

“Yeah. Where is Mr. Moneybags?” Santana wonders as she eyes the room.

“Don’t call him that and he’s working.”

“Oh, what does he do?” Brittany asks in attempt to keep the spotlight off of them and on Sugar instead.

Santana scoffs, “I don’t know if I’d consider getting high on your own supply working.”

Brittany looks to Santana curiously.

“Brett’s a stoner,” Santana tells her.

Sugar swats at her cousin’s arm, “He’s not! He’s actually the nation’s leading cannabis connoisseur and he takes his work very seriously.”

“Of course he does,” Santana winks before mouthing to Brittany. “He’s a stoner.”

“I saw that,” Sugar frowns before turning to Brittany. “There’s a lot more to the job than you’d think. You know he’s recently signed a deal with Bobby Flay to collaborate on a new cookbook? He’s basically a ginger Snoop Dog.”

“So he raps too?” Brittany asks innocently.

“Well, no,” Sugar replies. “But that might come later down the line.”

“God, I don’t think anyone needs to hear that man rap,” Santana laughs. “And Bobby Flay? Is he still relevant?”

Sugar rolls her eyes and goes to admire her ring, “I don’t ask questions. I just cash checks.”

“Wow,” Brittany says. “Well, I can’t wait to meet him.”

Sugar smiles appreciatively.

“I still can’t believe your dad is okay with you marrying this guy,” Santana jokes. “My mom would lose it.”

Sugar shrugs, “You know daddy, everything’s a future business venture. Anything to boost the Motta name.”

A realization hits Brittany, “Wait…Motta? As in the infamous Motta Pianos drug scandal?“

“Different Motta,” Sugar abruptly says. “At least that’s what daddy told me.”

Brittany looks to Santana skeptically but Santana just shrugs.

“Well,” Santana glances at the time. “Hopefully he turns up soon.”

Sugar rolls her eyes, “He promised he’d be here in time for midnight and he never breaks his promise.”

“So, so romantic,” Santana teases.

Sugar waves her off again, “You wouldn’t know a thing about it.”

“I don’t know,” Brittany pipes in. “Santana’s pretty romantic when she puts her mind to it.”

Santana’s brows rise, same as Sugar’s.

“Really?” Sugar questions.

Brittany nods, “Believe me, it caught me by surprise too but she’s got a sweet side to her. It’s one of the many things I like about her.”

Santana finds her ego getting a good boost even if the compliment is made up.

“Santana’s a total teddy bear underneath her hard exterior,” Brittany adds as she smiles adoringly.

Sugar doesn’t look too convinced though, “Why can’t I picture that?”

Santana rolls her eyes, “Probably because no one has ever made me feel the way Brittany has. She makes me want to do things different, things I wouldn’t do with anyone else. She makes me want to slow down.”

That seemed to resonate a little more with Sugar while Brittany squeezes at Santana’s thigh and coos.

“Oh honeybunch,” Brittany goes to pinch her cheek. “You know, just the other week Santana surprised me with a candle-lit dinner.”

“I did?” Santana accidentally blurts. Brittany gives her a pointed look and Santana quickly changes her tone, “That’s right, I did.”

Sugar looks between the two suspiciously.

“You should’ve seen it, Sugar,” Brittany says. “It was the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me, a little cliché but I loved it. There were rose petals and jazz and Santana cooked this beautiful meal. It was totally unexpected.”

Sugar blinks and looks to Santana, “You did that?”

Santana masks her slight surprise and sells it, “Anything for my girl.”

“I don’t know,” Sugar looks at them skeptically. “You don’t do romance. You hate it.”

“I-I don’t hate it…”

“You do, you’ve specifically told me on numerous occasions that romance is for suckers.”

Santana smiles nervously at Brittany, but the blonde is quick to dispute Santana’s previous stance.

“Well, she’s definitely changed her stance,” Brittany says lovingly. “Show her the pictures.”

Santana looks back at her wondering if she forgot that they just made up this entire romantic moment on the spot and they’re aren’t any pictures. She of course can’t ask her so she has to be crafty.

“I don’t have any,” Santana thinks on her feet too. “I mean, I don’t have any that I could show her. Those pictures are for us.”

“Oh! That’s right,” Brittany goes along with it. “We just couldn’t help ourselves. We didn’t even eat until hours later.”

“Oh no, we ate.”

“Gross,” Sugar scrunches her nose. “Nevermind, this sounds accurate now.”

Santana laughs, “You should’ve been there. Actually, maybe not because there was a lot going on.”

Sugar starts to grimace again, “Please stop.”

“Brittany practically jumped me.”

“Did I?” Brittany challenges. “I recall you were the one doing the – “

“Okay, way too much info!” Sugar quickly interrupts.

“Sorry. Anyway, it was very pretty,” Brittany says.

“Probably some of my best work,” Santana adds.

Brittany agrees and goes to kiss Santana on the cheek, “You’re the sweetest.”

“You hear that?” Santana quips at Sugar. “I’m the sweetest.”

Sugar eyes the both of them as she sits back. “Shit. I guess this really is serious.”

After their talk with Sugar, Santana and Brittany move about the other guests and mingle. By now, Brittany’s met most of Santana’s family and so far everyone seems to like her. Santana knows from past experience that it’s still too soon to tell though, but Brittany seems to be holding up a lot better than she expected.

“For the lovebirds,” Sugar says as she waltzes over with a couple party crowns and hands them off.

“Nice!” Brittany grins happily and puts on the crown with ease.

Santana sighs, “These are so lame.”

“I’ll tell your mom you said that,” Sugar quips.

“Snitch.”

“Grump.”

“I like them,” Brittany interrupts with a flick at the crown, the new year in bulky, sparkly numbers. “I feel very festive.”

“Aren’t they? And they match your sweater which is super cute by the way,” Sugar compliments before looking to Santana. “I still don’t understand she’s with you.”

“You don’t need to,” Santana tells her before sliding her out the way in favor of standing closer to Brittany. “We should get our bubbles now. I see Abuela walking around with them.”

“There’s bubbles here too?” Brittany asks in surprise. “You guys really go all out!”

“I’m talking about champagne,” Santana replies with a smirk. “Come on.”

They leave Sugar once again and make their way over. Abuela’s returned to a small table lined with champagne flutes and holds a bottle of something expensive in her hands.

“Need a hand?” Brittany asks, ever so helpful.

Abuela looks between them and shakes her head before speaking to Santana, once again in Spanish only. Santana finds herself feeling a little annoyed by Abuela’s behavior, but she only listens and nods. She’s not trying to pick a fight and Abuela knows how to cause a scene.

Meanwhile Brittany looks away, attempting to mask the dejection.

“I said I understand,” Santana suddenly says. She softens when she realizes her tone and quietly takes the two flutes Abuela holds out for her and Brittany.

“Thanks,” Brittany says softly as Santana leads the way elsewhere. It takes her a moment before she asks, “What was that about?”

Santana shakes her head, “She’s just being petty.”

“Oh,” Brittany goes to take a sip of her champagne. “Is it me?”

“It’s not.”

“Are you sure? I’ve been trying to bond with her but the language barrier makes it a little hard. I didn’t know that she doesn’t speak English.”

Santana shakes her head, “Oh no, she does. She’s just fucking with you.”

“Wait what?” Brittany looks to Abuela in disbelief. “Why would she do that?”

“Like I said, she’s petty.”

Brittany looks back at her, wanting more information.

“She doesn’t think you’ll last,” Santana clarifies. “She’s tired of spending the time to learn someone new just to never see them again so…she’s just not going to do it this time. She’s not going to try.”

Brittany frowns and Santana actually feels a little bad about being so truthful. Her abuela is as stubborn as they come, so Brittany shouldn’t really take it that personally but the look on her face tells Santana she’s a little too late.

“Look, who cares what she thinks,” Santana reasons. “The person we really need to focus on convincing is my mom.”

Brittany nods, “Okay. Right.”

“Yeah, so don’t mind her,” Santana says and clinks Brittany’s flute with her own. “Drink up, I’m winning.”

“It’s always a competition with you,” Brittany smirks before taking another sip.

For the next hour, they snack on all the various dishes and continue drinking until Eddie announces that they’re fifteen minutes away from ringing in the new year. Most of the guests have on some type of party hat or party glasses and Eddie goes to turn on the live stream of Times Square Ball Drop while flutes are topped up.

Santana and Brittany join the others as everyone migrates to the living room, everyone awaiting the screen to fill with the countdown.

“Do you have a resolution in mind?” Brittany asks.

Santana glances to her at the unexpected question, but Brittany’s eyes are focused on the screen before them.

Santana’s never been one to make a resolution because she doubts she’d ever commit to actually keeping it. However, for the sake of answering Brittany she thinks about it. Most resolutions are about losing weight or getting fit which doesn’t apply to her because she’s already got a smoking hot bod. Other popular resolutions relate to a career – which she doesn’t have yet – or her love life – which is set since she already has a fake girlfriend.

At a loss for an answer, Santana shrugs.

“I don’t think so,” She says. “How about you?”

Brittany shrugs too, “I don’t think I know yet either. Maybe travel more or learn a language? Something like that.”

Santana nods, “Well I can definitely help with the travelling one. Thank God I’ve got access to my dad’s frequent flyer miles.”

Brittany chuckles before they’re interrupted by Santana’s family beginning to count down the last minute before the new year. Santana laughs at their enthusiasm while Brittany joins in, shouting just as loud as everyone else. The walls are practically rattling as everyone counts down together.

“5…4…3…2…1!”

“Happy New Year,” Brittany tells Santana in a much calmer voice.

Santana replies, “Happy New Year.”

There’s suddenly an awkward tension between them because couples around are kissing each other, family members hug, meanwhile they just stand there not moving a muscle. Santana tries to relieve the tension before anyone notices and quickly kisses Brittany’s cheek.

“The cheek?” Sugar points out.

She’s hanging off her fiancé Brett – who really did turn up in time – and there’s a look of pure judgement on her face. She’s also drunk as hell, but Santana tenses at being called out anyway.

“Woah. Chill babe,” Brett tells her coolly.

“You saw that right?” Sugar asks him.

“See what?”

“Honestly, Brett!”

The louder she gets, the more attention is pointed their way and it makes Santana feel even more antsy. Maybe this is it? Maybe this where they get found out? Santana can’t say they’re not into PDA because that’s so not her so what other excuse could there be?

“Just do it,” Brittany whispers suddenly.

Santana looks at her in surprise while Sugar’s wrapped up Brett trying to feed her a glass of water. She can’t have a whole debate with Brittany right now, she can’t point out that they’ve yet to kiss each other anywhere else besides the cheek, she can’t opt for a different way out because the blonde is already pulling her in.

Brittany’s hand cradles Santana’s cheek while the other falls to her waist. It’s hard for Santana to stay in character because she really didn’t anticipate having to do something like this in front of everyone – which is pretty silly considering it’s New Year’s Eve and people usually kiss their partners.

God, why didn’t she think of this?!

There’s no time to beat herself up about it though. She braces herself, giving Brittany total control for the first time.

The last thing she sees is piercing blue eyes flickering between hers before they flutter shut.

The next thing she feels are the soft lips pressing into hers with a kind of gentleness that she isn’t used to. What Santana’s used to is hard and fast, all teeth and an insatiable need – not this…tenderness.

Then just as fast as it happened, it’s over.

Brittany pulls away, blinking slowly while Santana does the same. There’s a split second where those around them cheer – even Sugar – but Santana doesn’t really hear it. She’s too busy staring at Brittany, still in complete disbelief that she just did that.

She just kissed her.

Once the novelty wears off, everyone goes back to mingling with each other around the house while Santana and Brittany stay put.

“I’m surprised I didn’t throw up,” Brittany comments lowly.

Santana’s taken aback by the comment and snorts, “I’m a little nauseous if I’m being honest.”

“Oh really?”

“It was a real struggle for me.”

Brittany snorts this time, “How do you think I feel? I thought you were meant to be the experienced one, but kissing you was like kissing a wall – you didn’t even move!”

“I was clearly taken by surprise…”

“Bullshit. I gave you a signal.”

“What?” Santana laughs, “What signal?”

“The look,” Brittany recreates a stare that doesn’t really give Santana much.

“Was that it?”

“Yes!”

“It’s not a very good signal.”

Brittany rolls her eyes, “Seriously though…that was a close one.”

“Very,” Santana agrees.

Santana and Brittany hang around downstairs awhile longer before guests begin to head home for the night. With a late morning flight the next day, Santana and Brittany retreat to Santana’s room too to get ready for bed.

Again, they do their familiar dance of taking turns in the bathroom and getting changed into their pajamas in private until they find themselves standing in front of the bed. Santana glances to Brittany, seeing if she’ll be setting up the makeshift bed again.

She gets her answer when Brittany reaches for a couple pillows and starts pulling off the comforter.

“Really?” Santana jokes as she plops down on the bed. “Can I at least get another pillow?”

Brittany shakes her head as she builds her nest of cushions and blankets.

“You’re up there and I’m down here on the floor,” Brittany replies. “Who needs more pillows?”

“You chose to be down there.”

“Because I’m not getting in a bed with you.”

“So you’ve said a million times,” Santana replies as she gets comfortable under the covers.

“Well get used to it because it’s not happening,” Brittany tells her. “Ever.”

“You know, you’re probably the first person that has said that to me?”

Brittany snorts, “With your reputation, I believe it.”

Santana’s jaw drops a little, “Ouch.”

Brittany pokes her head up from the end of the bed, “Don’t act like your feelings are hurt.”

Santana raises her chin, “They’re not.”

Brittany eyes her before sinking back down. Once she’s out of sight, Santana slumps wondering why the brunt of how everyone views her actually relies on other people. Her mom and Abuela, even Brittany, don’t see her for her but instead the people she surrounds herself with.

It starts to really set in that her accomplishments, her fantastic grades, her near perfect GPA don’t seem to mean much when she has the kind of reputation she does. Does no one see how ridiculous that is? It’s her personal life, so what if she doesn’t want to be tied down?

She can understand her mom and abuela taking that stance, because they’re old school but Brittany too? Not that she cares about her opinion, but she figured she’d have a different point of view considering she wasn’t raised in the dark ages.

Apparently though, it doesn’t matter and the frustration she feels upon the realization keeps her up for another hour or so before she finally tires herself out.

Despite the late night, Santana awakes earlier than usual. She finds that even Brittany’s still asleep before she quietly sneaks out of the room and heads downstairs. She can hear Maribel in the kitchen and the smell of fresh coffee fills the air.

“This is a sight,” Maribel notes from her spot at the counter.

Santana just grunts and scuffles her way over to the coffee pot where a mug awaits her.

“Hungry? I’ll make some breakfast soon.”

Santana shakes her head, “This will be okay for now.”

Maribel hums and together they sit at the counter and sip their coffees in silence. Santana’s slowly starting to feel like a person again as the brew goes down, but Maribel doesn’t let the silence stick around.

“So Brittany,” She says.

Santana’s brows rise as she glances to her mom. She couldn’t even last five minutes without bringing up her relationship.

“I think she’s really lovely,” Maribel admits. “Not the usual kind of girl you bring home, but it’s a nice change. A welcomed change.”

Santana nods, biting her cheek in the process because those feelings she fell asleep to are still strong. The last thing she wants to talk or even think about is how happy Maribel is with Santana solely because she with Brittany now. Yes, that’s the point but it still.

“I just hope that she’ll stick around a little longer,” Maribel adds.

“She will,” Santana answers resolutely.

Maribel only sips from her mug slowly.

A few hours later, Santana and Brittany are on their flight back to campus.

Like the first flight over, Brittany’s tense until they get to cruising altitude and she can busy herself with homework.

Santana on the other hand keeps her earbuds in and tries tuning out the world. Unlike before, Santana doesn’t have any interest in helping Brittany cope with her dislike for flying. She just wants to listen to her music and disappear in a bag of gummy bears after an exhausting past couple of days.

Not that they were physically exhausting, but try pretending to be into someone as annoying as Brittany. It’s a lot of work, especially for Santana, and she’s just about hit her breaking point.

She does pretty well in holding everything inside until Brittany leans over the arm rest that separates them, breaching her personal bubble. Her hand is going for Santana’s bag of gummies and like a spoiled toddler Santana jolts the bag away before Brittany can reach it.

“Can I help you?” Santana snaps.

Brittany frowns, “Are you really not going to share?”

“These aren’t for you.”

“What happened to what’s mine is yours?”

Santana gives her a look, “We’re not married. We’re barely even dating.”

Brittany’s frown deepens and the way she stares makes Santana focus hard on the bag in her hands. But even when she avoids eye contact, Santana can still feel the judgmental glare.

“Can you stop staring at me?”

Brittany huffs, “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Then what’s your problem with me?”

Santana scoffs, “That’s a pretty loaded question.”

“Well, answer it because I’m sick of the attitude.”

For Santana, those words are like lighting a firecracker within her.

“You wanna know what my problem is?” She snaps. “Ever since you transferred to Columbia you have been nothing but a pain in my ass.”

“What? You can’t be serious.”

“It’s like you’ve made it your mission in life to one up me every chance you get,” Santana tells her. “I used to have the highest GPA and I was on track to be valedictorian until you came along. You know how it feels to work your ass off to get to where I am only for it to be taken away? A second time? I bet you don’t.”

Brittany slumps in her seat, “I-I’m not doing it on purpose.”

Santana doesn’t hear her reasoning. The floodgates within her have been blown wide open.

“Not to mention your head is so far up Professor Martinez’s ass you might as well wear it as a hat!”

Brittany stiffens, “You don’t know a thing about me, Santana.”

“Please,” Santana scoffs. “I know your type. Pretty, blonde and smart? You’re the epitome of privilege.”

Brittany’s jaw drops but she quickly grits her teeth, “And what about you? Hot-headed Latina with a chip on her shoulder because she was probably burned by someone like me in the past?”

Santana’s taken aback, but there’s no way she’s going to waver in front of Brittany. It doesn’t seem to matter though, because Brittany sees the crack in Santana’s façade.

“See? I can stereotype too,” Brittany tells her upon the silence.

Santana shakes her head, “I don’t need this.”

“There you go quitting again,” Brittany points out. “Probably a result of this girl. God, she really must’ve done a number on you. Makes sense why you can’t commit to anything.”

“Why are you so sure there’s a girl?”

“There’s always a girl.”

Santana feels like she’s beneath a microscope, but she looks back at Brittany challengingly.

“Well congrats, Brittany. You’ve got me all figured out. Great job,” Santana replies, her words full of sarcasm.

Brittany shakes her head, “You know what your problem is?”

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

“You’re afraid,” Brittany tells her simply. “And it’s so obvious. You’re afraid of commitment. You’re afraid of opening up. You’re afraid of your own mother because if you weren’t we wouldn’t be in this mess. You wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Santana bites her cheek even though Brittany’s words really struck a nerve within her. She can’t react though, she can’t let Brittany know that she has successfully landed a blow. So Santana does what she does best and retreats.

“You’re lucky we’re stuck on this stupid plane together because the moment it lands, that’s it,” Santana tells her. “This is over. I’m done. I don’t care about the job or what my mother thinks. It’s not worth the headache of being stuck with you in this stupid relationship!”

“Good!”

“Fine!”

“Great!”

The two of them practically huff and cross their arms, turning away from each other since they can’t stomp off for dramatic effect. The silence is heavy and thick though and it only intensifies the longer it weighs down on them.

Santana knows she might blowing things out of proportion, they both might be guilty of that, but how else was she meant to react? In reality, she knows she can’t give up this easily. They’ve already laid down the ground work, she can’t let it be for nothing.

Swallowing pride has never been something Santana’s particularly good at doing, but she needs to figure it out before their plane touches down. She just hopes that whatever the reason might be that Brittany’s doing this is enough for her to give this a second try.

“Look,” Santana says timidly a long while later. “I’m sorry for how I acted.”

Brittany glances to her but doesn’t say a word.

“I know I can be a bitch sometimes and it’s something that I struggle with,” Santana admits. “But from now on, I can try to be less of a bitch to you. That is if you want to keep doing this, because as much as I hate to admit it – I can’t do this without you.”

Brittany mulls it over before nodding, “That was a much better apology.”

Santana’s smiles back in relief. There’s a somewhat more relaxed quiet, but it doesn’t last very long.

“I’m sorry for what I said before,” She says. “About you being afraid. That wasn’t very nice.”

Santana smirks, “Honestly, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Yeah,” Brittany sighs. “I don’t know why I said that. I don’t even know if there is a girl. I guess I was on a roll, being around you really brings it out of me I think.”

Santana chuckles lightly, “Well…there was a girl so you weren’t entirely wrong.”

Brittany turns to her with brows raised, but Santana keeps her eyes averted elsewhere.

“Well, while we’re on the topic of not being wrong,” Brittany pauses. “I am a little bit of a kiss-ass in Professor Martinez’s class.”

“I knew it.”

“I just never had a teacher like him, okay? I might’ve gotten a little excited about it.”

“A little?”

“What?” Brittany replies timidly. “It’s nice to be praised for thinking outside of the box rather than being punished for not staying in it.”

Santana quirks her brow at that.

“For once, being different is seen as something good,” Brittany continues. “You have no idea what it’s like to be belittled, to be seen as this dumb blonde for so long just because my brain worked differently, to be pushed aside because no one thought I’d amount to anything.”

“But you said you went to MIT,” Santana replies. “Unless you were just saying that to impress my mom?”

“No, that was true,” Brittany nods. “MIT was where I realized I was gifted. It was like I went from one extreme to another. I went from no one caring to suddenly everyone caring. They didn’t care about me though, they cared about what I could do for them.”

Santana stays quiet and listens. She’s not familiar with this side of Brittany and if she’s being honest it’s kind of eye-opening.

“I didn’t know,” Santana replies softly.

“Most people don’t. I’ve had a lot of people just…give up on me,” Brittany tells her in a sigh. “You have no idea what that feels like, to be left behind.”

“Yeah,” Santana frowns as Brittany’s words strike a chord, “I kind of do.”

That takes Brittany by surprise, “Really?”

“Maybe not the same context but I definitely know the feeling,” Santana replies then holds out her bag of gummies to share. There’s a kind smile on her face for once as she says, “It sucks.”

Brittany looks down at the bag and smirks before she takes a couple pieces and pops them into her mouth.

“You know,” She says as she chews. “I kind of hate that we have this much in common.”

Santana chuckles, “Me too.”

#Hate to date #Brittana #Brittana fanfiction #Enemies to Lovers #Fake Dating AU

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haloud · 4 years ago

Text

things we could burn in one go (eminence) - chapter 9

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Starts Forlex Ends Malex, Other Characters May Appear, Tags Subject to Update, Mutual Pining, Breaking Up, Getting Together

Chapter Summary: Michael and Isobel reckon with the fallout from Michael’s choices; Maria and Max catch up with him post-recovery.

Excerpt:

Maria sat on the steps, an old CD radio of Rosa’s beside her playing a classic Rosa mixtape, a Third Eye Blind track Michael only half-remembered flowing around her, her humming running under it, glittering minerals in a riverbed. She was surrounded by papers, pinned under painted rocks to keep them from being snatched away, her hair tied back by a rainbow scarf, and she bent over to write in a binder propped on her knees.

Michael rapped on the pillar behind him to get her attention, and when she looked up she smiled and set the binder aside.

“Guerin! You’re up! What brings you here with the sun in the sky?”

“Where else am I gonna go to get my sea legs back?”

“Well, come pull your ass into port and sit with me.”

She patted the low stair beside her and Michael did as he was told, swiping his hat off his head as he approached her. For her it was wordplay, but Michael cradled to his chest something more true than maybe she’d intended—Maria was a safe harbor, a port in a storm. No matter how bad things got, her warm heart and practical mind were a reminder to never give up. Just sitting beside her was enough to make him smile, even though he sat with a good six inches buffer between them, still unsure what boundaries were appropriate, still navigating the uncertain waters of being friends with an ex who meant something.

(Wednesday, 11:00 am)

Michael flipped Alex’s key over and over in his fingers, running it along his knuckles, pressing his thumb into the teeth until they left a locking-imprint on his skin, then doing it all over again. At some point, maybe it would start to feel real, if he reminded himself of the thing often enough.

The repetition and stimulation of the rough teeth, the cool, smooth metal, soothed him as he waited on Isobel’s porch. She’d called him here in the first place, so eventually she’d open the door. Until then, he waited. And as he waited, he thought of Alex, because what else was there to think about these days?

(A thousand things, like Jones and Project Shepherd, Max and Liz, and all the work piling up at Sanders’s, but Alex had a way of blotting everything else out, and, no matter how much his brain tried to get him to feel stupid or naïve or childish for hoping yet again, he was going to let himself bask in that shade for once in his life.)

He hadn’t left Alex’s house, still, except to go to work and get things from his own place. At Alex’s, he was still sleeping in the guest room, the both of them afraid that they’d fall back into their old patterns too fast if they fell right into bed. But during the day they shared that space, a kitchen, a den, existing alongside each other as they read or cooked or composed, and the routine wasn’t so different from the tense and quiet days right after Michael’s injury, but at the same time they were nothing alike, not when each tiny glance could mean so much, not when fingers on the soft rasp of turning pages were fingers he could touch, that could touch him.

Everything was different. It was terrifying, and exhilarating, brand new and nostalgic. It had only been a day; it had only been half their lifetimes.

“Ew, you’re glowing.”

Isobel’s voice started Michael out of his thoughts, and he jumped, shoving Alex’s key into his pocket. She was glaring at him, but still he relaxed, because Isobel’s snark was a form of love and her turning scorn in his direction was a sign things were getting back to normal between them.

“It’s all natural,” he drawled as she stepped aside to let him inside.

“Right. Did something happen, or is this just some lesser known side effect of being brought back from the brink of death.”

“Uh…”

In a way, sort of, if only because Michael’s own stupidity had driven him and Alex closer together, but that wasn’t exactly a direct correlation or anything admirable.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p.’ “Just…”

He fell silent. How was he supposed to talk about being in love? He’d never done it before, and this was a first he hadn’t anticipated facing.

“Alex and I…” he tried again, but found himself only able to smile, still without words, and he raised his arms in a helpless shrug.

Isobel’s eyebrows raised. “Oh my god.”

“Yep.”

“I’m still pissed at you, but if Manes is making you his side chick after everything, I’m going to rip his spine out through his—”

“Isobel, no! It’s not like that,” Michael laughed, shaking his head.

“Well what’s it like, then? I cannot handle him breaking your heart again when we’re already dealing with Max.”

He replied, “My heart is fully intact,” as he headed in and dropped down on her couch, throwing a hand over his heart for dramatic effect. “No, uh, Alex and Forrest had a fight, which sucked, but it led to us getting a chance to talk more about, y’know, us, and what we wanted, and each other, so…”

“So this is rebound,” Isobel snipped.

“Can you stop?” Michael said, half-laughing. Even her pessimism on the subject of love couldn’t pop the bubble around his heart right now. He patted the couch beside him, and she hesitated for a few seconds with her arms crossed, before capitulating and joining him.

“Oh, fine,” she groused, leaning against the arm of the couch farthest away from where he was sitting. “Your funeral.”

The words landed like a lead balloon, and Michael winced as her face grew stormier.

“I’m—”

“Don’t,” Isobel held up a hand in his face. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Well, what do you want to hear?”

“An explanation, Michael! What the hell were you thinking? Why would you do that? What if he’d just straight up killed you, did you want us to find your body in a cave somewhere or, or never, blown to smithereens by a man who literally breathes fire! You’re so stupid, and selfish, and—” She cut herself off, furious tears welling in her eyes even as the rest of her face didn’t change.

“I know! I know, you’re right, it was stupid. I wasn’t thinking, or, well, I was thinking, but my head was all messed up.” He rested his forehead in his hands and running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think any explanation is going to make any sense now, out of the moment, but I just…everything was going to shit, and I couldn’t do anything for Max, and I thought Jones might have answers, or could help me unlock new powers like you’ve done on your own. So I could protect everyone.”

Isobel threw her arms up and got to her feet, pacing around the couch; Michael tracked her, anxiety dipping and spiking every time she circled him. Her anger pulsing when she passed behind him made his skin crawl, and he shifted in his seat.

“I don’t even know what to say to that,” she finally spoke, stopping in front of him.

He kept his head bent forward, staring at his knees.

She continued, “I really don’t. I’ve been trying for twenty-one years, but I still don’t know how to get through to you. How to convince you that you’re not alone, that people want to protect you. To help you. But I’m not Max. I’ve never pushed or pried or fought to cling onto you when you shook us off. I just hung around because I knew you’d always come back.” She took a deep breath. Her voice stayed steady and deliberate. “But Michael, this has gone on for too long, and you went too far this time. You have to let us help you. Otherwise—I don’t know. I just don’t. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

Drops of water speckled the tops of Michael’s knees, and he sniffed, swallowed, mouth dry, throat tight and aching. His sister’s gentle hands threaded through his hair, cradling both temples, right hand over Max’s lingering handprint, but no matter how careful that touch was, he flinched.

Isobel tipped his head up so he had to look her in the eye and said, “You’re my brother, Michael. I love you so much. And I would do anything for you, just like you would—and have—do anything for me. But you need to let me! From here on out, I need you to fucking work with me. We’ll figure this out, okay?”

Tears trickling down his face and dripping from his chin, Michael nodded, not trusting his voice, and Isobel fell forward, his arms opening up to catch her, and they stayed like that for a long time, Michael rocking her back and forth, her clinging desperately to his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he finally croaked, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Or Max. I just, I can’t stop myself, sometimes, I know it’s not an excuse, I know it was stupid, I know—”

“I know,” she interrupted his stream of self-loathing, sitting back to look him seriously in the face. “I was in your head, remember?”

She’d found him beneath a vaulted ceiling, stained glass in shifting, alive, alien colors, walled in with his demons. Defining himself inside the devouring maelstrom by the battles he understood. His whole life, he’d sewed himself back whole, and his work wasn’t pretty, but the patterns made sense, and they kept him sane even when the odds demanded otherwise. The image flashed behind his eyes, but that’s all it was, an image. He shook his head.

“Not really.”

“Well. I didn’t really go snooping, no matter how tempting it was,” she said with a self-deprecating roll of her eyes. “But let’s just say…you don’t owe me any explanations you aren’t willing or ready to give. Those belong to you. I know I haven’t always understood that in the past. We both have things to work on, okay?”

“Okay,” Michael rasped, squeezing her tight again. “I…want to work on them with you.”

“Then it sounds like we’re going to be okay,” she softly replied.

(3:00 pm)

Isobel didn’t let him leave the house until both their eyes stopped being red and puffy from crying; It took multiple episodes of some Food Network show he’d never heard of before she agreed to let him out of her sight, and, in deeply un-Isobel-like fashion, she followed him to the door and pulled him into another hug for the road before she let him leave.

The drive from Isobel’s to the Wild Pony wasn’t really long enough to fully ruminate on how bad he must have scared Isobel to warrant this level of reaction. Logically, he’d known, but emotionally it was just beginning to sink in.

Over the past year, he’d been faced with losing Isobel and with losing Max multiple times—had lost Max, in fact. He knew how it felt. Why should the loss of himself be any different to them? In low moments, sure, thoughts shifted beneath the murk of his mind, lurking demons from childhood, that they didn’t need him, they had each other, a more special bond, he was the odd one out, outside, out in the cold. But on the day to day, he didn’t devalue himself like that, not in so many words, did he? But—

To be surprised? That Isobel was afraid, that Max was afraid, that the both of them stood on the precipice of grieving him and had to process the horror of that fall after snatching themselves back at the last minute? It was a slap in the face, a rude awakening. A lesson that for all these years he’d resisted learning.

The first step to protecting those who loved him was to protect himself. He couldn’t keep shelving it as the lowest priority. They were one and the same.

It sounded fake to his own ears, but he’d just have to say it until the lesson sunk in.

With the windows rolled down, the idle breeze tugged Michael’s hair across his face and cooled the late-summer stickiness from his skin. It was just after lunchtime, a little early for Max to be at work, but since he wasn’t at Isobel’s house, it was faster to check for him here than to drive all the way out to his own place.

If there was one positive to his near-death, it was the way Max was invigorated by a purpose. The healing drained him, of course it did; it could have killed him, and that weighed on Michael’s conscience, but afterward, after it worked and he’d pulled Michael back from death, he smiled. He slept. He bustled around Alex’s house babysitting Michael while Alex was at work, and now, with a little distance from fragile death, that didn’t chafe as badly.

Max deserved a better thanks than Michael had thus far been able to render, and with Isobel’s words still ringing in his ears, there was no better time than now.

He pulled up to the Pony, the fairy lights strung across the patio dancing in the wind, the wood of the old building all pale and real in the sunlight. The old, familiar sign above the door was off as long as the bar was closed, but Michael still took a moment to glance at it nice and long, remembering the feel of fixing it under his hands so the whole place felt less liminal, less like a mirror vision of the beating heart that was the Wild Pony glowing under the night sky, lit from within rather than from the sun.

Faint music played as Michael parked and left his truck, so he rounded the corner of the building to suss it out and smiled at what he saw, leaning against one of the trellis supports.

Michael rapped on the pillar behind him to get her attention, and when she looked up she smiled and set the binder aside.

“Guerin! You’re up! What brings you here with the sun in the sky?”

“Where else am I gonna go to get my sea legs back?”

“Well, come pull your ass into port and sit with me.”

“What are you working on?” he asked.

“Oh, you know me.” She gestured vaguely to the arrangement of papers and tucked her feet up beside her, leaning toward Michael, cutting the space between them in half like it wasn’t worth noticing. Some of the tension in Michael’s chest unwound at her ease around him.

“Hustling?” he prompted.

“Yep. I’m just organizing the events I have planned for the upcoming season and making sure I have space set out for scheduling, details, budgeting, the works. High school me would die with envy; my system was never this good when I was trying to study.”

“I’m definitely impressed. Let me know if there’s anything I can help with, anything you need built, or an extra set of ‘hands’ for decorating.”

“How is that going?” she asked, brows furrowing.

“I’m still getting my strength back. Just gotta keep pushing through and hope whatever Jones did didn’t mess me up for good.”

“I’m sure he didn’t.”

Her hand extended but stopped before touching him, until he turned his hand palm-up, asking her to take it. She did, squeezing him.

“You’ll figure it out,” she said. “And the TK aside, have any of the other powers cropped up? The light, the teleporting? Those were the ones Alex told me about.”

“That’s all I remember, really. And no. I haven’t even tried, honestly.” He looked at their joined hands, her wrist bare of the pollen bracelet he’d promised her and wasted, thrown away like trash in a corner of Jones’s cave. This is blasphemy…

“Do you think you will? Try?” Maria asked, head tilted.

“I…hadn’t thought about it. Been focused on getting back to square one with the TK, but…”

Was doing more with his powers still an option? Was he willing to try, and fail, and fail again, without folding and submitting to all the voices in his head that told him every failure was proof positive of the erstwhile adage that he was worthless?

“Well, you have time,” Maria said, squeezing his hand again.

“What about you?” Michael asked. “Any visions?”

Her face shut down. She let go of his hand to smooth both hers down her knees then fold her arms around herself, turning her head away. “No. Still nothing. A few dreams, but it isn’t always easy to tell what’s a normal dream and what’s a vision, and with you out of the woods, the most dire ones are already Jossed.”

“What about Mimi?”

“Huh.” Maria pursed her lips for a second, then said, “I haven’t noticed any change in her? But I’ll have to ask and see what she says. I’m not even completely sure our powers work identically, with the things she’s said about being unstuck in time…I don’t always get that same feeling.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Michael promised her. “Even if it means having to go back to Jones and ask what he knows—”

“No!”

She wheeled on him and smacked his arm lightly.

“Absolutely not! Michael!”

“Not alone, obviously!” He defended.

“Not at all. Jesus Christ. I’ll tell Isobel you said that—I’ll tell Alex—”

“Maria, c’mon,” Michael whined, taking her hand again in an attempt to connect them and calm them both down. “I just don’t want to rule out that he’s meddling in more ways than we know. I still think he’s fucking with Max. You deserve answers, if that’s what’s going on.”

“Not at the cost of your life. Not ever. It could be a hundred other things, too. Stay away from him, Michael, I’m serious.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Good,” she said firmly, wrapping her arm around his again and leaning into him. He let out a long, slow breath as she relaxed.

“You know, in Jones’s cave…”

“Mm?”

Michael carefully encircled her wrist with his fingers. “I lost the bracelet I made for you. The backup one I promised.”

“Are you feeling guilty about that? Because please, don’t,” she replied, covering the hand on her wrist with her other. “That is the last thing on my mind.”

“But I—”

“Hush. I’m glad you had it with you, whatever happened to it. It’s good that you opted to protect yourself, even if it didn’t work.”

“I thought your powers were offline.”

“The visions, maybe. But I don’t need to see the future to read you, Guerin.”

“You are something else, DeLuca.”

“Oh, I’m aware.”

“Hey, Maria—oh! Michael!”

The two of them turned toward the backdoor at the sound of Max’s voice.

“Hey, Max,” Maria said. “Is the inventory finished?”

“Yeah, I was just coming to report back.”

“No need to be so formal,” she teased, standing up and brushing dust from the seat of her pants, looking at the papers around her with her hands on her hips. “I was hoping to get your opinion on some plans, Number One, but someone interrupted, so they’re not quite ready yet.”

“Guilty as charged,” Michael drawled.

Max reached out a hand, and Michael took it to humor him, letting him haul him to his feet.

“I’ll let you off the hook this time,” Maria said as she led the way back into the bar, cool and dim in the daylight. “You can sweep up to say you’re sorry.”

“My pleasure,” Michael said, reaching out a hand, hoping he could summon the broom as nonchalantly as he once could. It sat unresponsive until a spike of formless frustration zipped through him, at which point it flew to his hand fast and hard enough to sting his palm when he caught it. Great. Just what he needed right now—puberty flashbacks.

“I need to run,” Maria said, stowing her binder behind the bar. “Late lunch with Rosa. I’ll see you later, Max—Michael, it was so good to see you. Say hi to Alex for me, okay? I know you’re gonna see him before I do.”

She left with a wink while Michael was still pink and stammering. Maybe Alex had told her already—or maybe that was just Maria, putting him so at ease it was easy to forget how much she saw. His chest glowed so warm he couldn’t stop blushing at that casual acknowledgement, that easy validation, that he and Alex—that Alex and he were what they were to each other, now, again.

“Wait, is she talking about you staying over there, or does she mean—dude!” Max grinned ear to ear and bounded out from behind the bar to pull Michael into a back-slapping hug. “Congratulations!”

Old, brotherly habit had Michael squirming out of Max’s affections, but it didn’t dent his exuberance; he retaliated with a swipe through Michael’s hair, making him duck further out of range, huffing and laughing all at once as he tried to fix it again.

“Yeah, um, Forrest and Alex broke up, and then one thing led to another, so.”

“I’m really happy for you, man.”

“I—thanks. I’m…I’m really happy, too.”

The sudden urge to comfort Max gripped him, a strange survivor’s guilt that things would be working out for him and Alex and Max and Liz would still be so far apart. But it wasn’t his place to throw that in Max’s face now, so he bit his tongue and basked in Max’s honest happiness for him.

“Could you feel, uh, any of my emotions through the handprint?” Michael asked. He ran his hand through his hair over the spot on his temple where Jones had held him, erased by Max’s healing hands, then dropped it back to his side abruptly, flexing away the phantom stiffness that still plagued him, that probably always would. He gave it a shake as if to chase away nervous tingling.

“Nah. But it’s not like I’m looking; I respect your privacy, man.”

“’preciate that,” Michael snarked, and Max just shrugged.

“Any particular reason you ask? I don’t need to know what you and Alex are up to,” Max joked.

Michael considered his answer for a little bit as he made his way between the tables. After all, it wasn’t as if this was the first handprint Max had ever given him. The ones on his neck and hand cut off by his death aside, dozens of times over dozens of years, Max had practiced healing on him and they’d explored that connection. Michael was always the guinea pig; he never wanted for injuries to work on, after all.

But there’d been a lot of handprinting over the past year and change. Max felt something from Liz; Liz felt something from Noah; Rosa and Max had a connection strong enough to tether Max to the world of the living. And then there was Michael, with Jones’s voice in his ear, dripping condescending words about his lack of psychic ability being phenomenal, considering.

At various times in his life, Michael had looked up at the stars and wondered in the silence what it was in him that was irreparably broken.

“Just curious. It’s been a while, and all juiced up like I was, I was wondering if anything felt different.”

“Nothing different. Just you.”

Max smiled like that was a good thing, a comforting thing. And you know what? In between the adrenaline of change, good and bad, in between the rock of Project Shepherd and the hard place of Jones, on an afternoon in a closed bar, a home to both of them, alone with his brother, Michael let it be.

He cleared his throat. “Good. So there’s no…interference or anything? Nothing weird lurking around up there?”

“Not that I can tell; Isobel would probably know better than I would. Whatever he did to you was bizarre, man. It wasn’t like the way, uh, the way I’ve killed people before. Or the way Noah killed.”

“I don’t think he was just trying to kill me.”

Michael made his way over to a booth and beckoned Max over; he lingered over his work for a glance at the clock and then came and joined him.

He continued, “He kept going on about teaching and knowledge and this being the wrong way but the most efficient. He knew it would hurt me, but maybe it would have worked better if he did it to someone more, uh, receptive than me.”

“What are you talking about?” Max leaned over the table, brow furrowed. This close up, the dark circles below his eyes were more noticeable. “Michael, what he did to you wasn’t in any way your fault—”

“I know, I know, that’s not what I mean. Just…look, I saw the security footage from Caulfield, from the day of the Valenti incident. The way that alien approached Jim Valenti and put his hands on him was identical to what Jones did to me, and I think maybe that guy was just trying to communicate but it fucked up a human in a way he either couldn’t expect or was too out of it to realize. And, well,” Michael gestured to his own head. “I’m the most human of the three of us up here.”

“I…huh.” Max sat back and drummed his fingers on the tabletop as he processed that. “Well, whatever the case, it proved you and Isobel were right about him. He can’t be trusted. Nobody should have any more contact with him. We’ll start doing our monthly drop offs contactless until we all figure out what should be done with him.”

His voice was firm, businesslike. Traffic Stop Max was Michael’s least favorite version of his brother and he’d hoped that his turn to the civilian would’ve put that guy to rest, but he had a tendency to rear his head in a crisis.

But in this case, he saw through him, and that façade was hiding something.

“How do you feel about that?” Michael asked, leaning back and slouching, reflecting Max’s rigid body language the way he had for a decade, cops and robbers style.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel about it. He almost killed you; we’ll do what has to be done.”

“Uh, it definitely does matter. You’re the closest thing to a next of kin he’s got, as far as we know. If anyone gets to decide what happens to him, it’s you.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“Is it? ‘Cause, look, I know I fucked up a lot of stuff running off to Jones half-cocked like I did. I don’t want to set off a chain reaction of more bad mistakes that rips us apart again when we’re just startin’ to…” Michael trailed off with a self-conscious shrug. It was realer than he’d intended to get, but it was the root of the issue, wasn’t it?

Max’s face softened, and Michael slumped lower in the booth.

“You’re not. You won’t.”

“You’re just saying that—”

“Michael.”

That tone was always a coin flip if it’d get right under Michael’s skin or if it’d shut him up. It landed on the second one this time, to Michael’s relief.

Max said, “No chain reactions. What we were doing before wasn’t working, okay? I knew I wanted something from Jones, but I couldn’t bring myself to reach out and take it. All you did was force us to make a choice when I would’ve dug my heels in and not been able to for a long time otherwise.”

“The answers you’re looking for, though, you deserve to look for them if it’s what you need,” Michael forged on, battling his clumsy tongue. “I should’ve said that before. You deserve to know who you are and to learn who that is in whatever way you can. Everybody deserves that.”

“Thank you. I mean that. But I was getting so desperate—the things I was thinking of doing—I scared myself, okay? I didn’t think—I don’t think I am that person. And being this person I am right now and who I want to be right now is more important than any answers about the past, if that’s what it means to find them.”

Michael sat with that, looking Max up and down, sitting with his own feelings as much as Max’s words. Parsing his own reactions to Max was something he took steadier, more carefully than most other things in his life. It was a set of muscles he needed to practice with as much as he needed to get power back to his telekinesis.

“Okay, man. I respect that,” he said finally, leaning over the table to punch Max in the shoulder. Max made a face and rubbed that spot.

“Ow, man, thanks, I guess.”

“Damn, did I get you in your writing arm?”

“Try my drink-mixing arm. If I’m off tonight, I’m ratting you out to Maria.”

Michael let out a scandalized noise and slipped out of the booth.

“Where are you going?” Max laughed, dark eyes shining with life in a way Jones’s never could. For all they were identical, Michael barely saw the resemblance.

“To lay low, what do you think? You’re makin’ me a fugitive.”

“Uh huh. Good luck; you know she’s just going to ask Alex.”

“Damn it. The things I do for love.”

A smile on his own face as soon as he turned his back, Michael was almost at the door when Max called his name and he turned to face him again.

“Michael? Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Asking. Listening.”

Those two words held a lifetime of desperate loneliness between them, and Michael would be sitting with that, too, as long as he was holding it in his head, making it a conscious decision, to do right by his brother.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said.

“I wanted to,” Max replied simply.

“Well in that case…I guess you’re welcome.”

Michael’s phone buzzed in his pocket, not the single pulse of a text but the longer jangling of a phone call. He fished it out, smiling when he saw the name, and he didn’t even wait to get privacy from Max before answering.

“Alex—”

“Thank God. Where are you, Michael? Are you okay?”

“Alex? I’m fine, I’m at the Pony, what’s wrong—”

Max hurried to Michael’s side.

Alex repeated, “Thank god. Don’t come home, do you hear me? Do not come back to the house until I give you the all clear. Stay with Max and Maria.”

“What? No!”

But the line cut off midway through his protest, leaving him with nothing but the dial tone.

#my fic #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #malex

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meltingangels · 4 years ago

Text

As it’s been up on AO3 for a while now, I am making my first Cyberpunk fic available to read on tumblr!

Fic Title:

It's Not a Shrine

Fic Summary:

"What the fuck, V?" (I made a post on tumblr about how funny it would be if V was some kind of Samurai/Silverhand superfan. And how Johnny would react if he walked in and saw all these posters and shit on the wall. And I needed some serotonin, so here we are)

So I made this random post on tumblr and someone said they’d like to see it ‘made canon’ so here I am with this. Whether it progresses or stays as a oneshot depends on the reception.

Basically, I thought of what would happen if V was into older/indie rock music, and a big fan of Samurai- Johnny Silverhand’s group. And how he would react (if he didn’t show up in V’s apartment like he does that first time) if he walked in and there was this huge-ass poster of him on the wall.

Just have at it, lads. This starts off kinda serious, to set the scene. Also because I feel starting off serious makes the end part all the funnier.

Also because I don’t know how to do a short oneshot.

V figured that whatever was on that fucking relic had to be a pretty big deal, if Dexter Deshawn and Evelyn were willing to up against Arasaka to get it. Sure, it would have been nice to know exactly what that was, but given how much time and planning had gone into every other aspect of this insane heist, they’d just shoved any thoughts about the relic itself to the back of their mind.

They just had to focus on somehow pulling this off, which...even with all the planning...was going to be a fucking miracle. Any aspect of the plan could end up getting fucked up, or someone could end up fucking them over, but the fact that a successful heist would propel them into the fucking stratosphere of Night City’s underworld- with a paycheck to match- was just...well.

Too much to resist. Who wouldn’t want to take up that sort of opportunity? They’d be insane not to try. Anyone who was worth anything in the sprawling underground network of the city’s gangs would know who they fucking were.

It’d come with it’s drawbacks of course, but once people know they’d gone up against fucking Arasaka and stolen a relic from right under Yorinobu’s hands?

Most wouldn’t even dare to touch them.

Yeah, the idea of ‘making it to the big leagues’ as Jackie had said it, was too much for either him or V to resist. Sure, they’d talked about it a hell of a lot, going over the risks and all. Which outweighed all their past jobs put together. What they’d done so far was small-time stuff. Just general merc business, nothing to be overly proud of. Certainly nothing to attract any big names. Truth be told, V still wasn’t sure how Jackie had managed to get them the gig in the first place.

But they hadn’t questioned it. Just like they’d stopped questioning the heist when presented with Dexter’s plan and the hefty reward they’d negotiated. Which, again, was more than most of their past jobs put together. Given how much money and time was going into the heist, despite the fact it would take a miracle to pull off without a hitch, it seemed almost foolproof.

But it had gone wrong in every possible way. Despite claiming the plan was pretty much bulletproof, and he had some of the most reliable sources for all his information, Dexter had still somehow missed the fact that the fucking Emperor had come to talk to his son. A huge factor that had turned everything upside down. Not only had they been made unwilling witnesses to the heir of Arasaka murdering his own fucking father, the entire hotel going up on alert had sent literal shockwaves through their oh-so-foolproof plan.

V and Jackie couldn’t get back out through the elevator and ended up shimmying along the literal edge of the balcony, with a fucking glass roof on one side, and a sheer drop on the other. And because everything had gotten completely screwed, they’d had to take the glass roof option. The rush of adrenaline and fear coming from sliding down the tilted roof, with dozens of bullets raining down way too close to their backs, was nothing compared to having pain ripple through them as every last breath was knocked out of them.

Then there had been the sense of terror, sending chills down V’s spine, when they turned to Jackie and saw the blood seeping through his white-collar shirt. The knowledge that they somehow had even less time than they thought. That was...honestly...V didn’t think anything could have been worse than that. Looking up from the scarlet red, to the sudden paleness of Jackie’s face. A face that looked more in shock than anything else, eyes hinting at the fear he quickly tried to hide behind his usual jokes and bravado.

V had barely taken her eyes off of him the entire time, terrified that every time they looked over, he’d be dead on the floor. But, somehow, against the odds of that stomach-turning injury- and the countless waves of Arasaka guards armed to the teeth, they’d made it. Made it out, the chip safe and secure in Jackie’s head, to the relative security of the Delamain vehicle. Where V had almost let out a laugh at the fact they’d made it.

Only for Jackie to bleed to death in the back seat, while she was powerless to stop it. The feeling of his blood seeping out over her fingers, bunching her jacket up against the wound, had somehow been fucking nothing compared to how he’d reached out to touch her face and smile. That same crooked, warm smile, eyes shining like this wasn’t the last time they’d be doing so. Or how her heart had finally shattered into a million pieces when that hand fell down, and his body went slack. Honestly, no amount of alcohol or drugs that Night City could offer would ever get that out of her memory.

V knew it would haunt her nightmares for years, if those ever stopped. Then there was those first moments without Jackie, with her stumbling out of the car covered in her best friend’s blood. With the scarlet fucking covering her up to the elbows, staining her own white shirt the same way it had ruined Jackie’s.

She could remember stumbling into the motel, and before she had it in her to find her way to Dexter’s saferoom, there had been a thought just as terrifying as the idea of Jackie’s body being back in the car waiting for her.

The thought of having to take Delamain round to Mama Welles’ place and show her that her son was gone.

And as if that wasn’t enough of a clusterfuck for her mind to deal with, she’d then been left reeling with the bitter sting of betrayal. Panicking in a way that showed the exact opposite of the slick, cool gangster he always portrayed, Dexter had shot her in the fucking head. After his goon had beat her to a fucking pulp. Which, of course, V assumed would be the end. A world class beating and a bullet to the brain did tend to bring an end to someone’s life. Well, the bullet would do that by itself. All the implants in the world couldn’t save you if your mind was completely fucked.

But somehow she’d fucking made it through that. Left in a pained daze as confusion overrode any sense of fear or anger. Jackie had died. Why hadn’t she? There was a bullet in her head, so why the hell wasn’t she wherever you went when you died. If there was ever any such place, that is. Why had she somehow survived, not only through said beating + bullet, but through the insane fucking car chase after?

That had ended in a crash that almost took out the guy who pulled her through all that.

As if all of those events weren’t consecutive, metaphorical and literal hits to the heart, there was then the mind-fucking revelation that followed. That the relic wasn’t just any piece of fancy tech. No. Well, sure, it was a fancy piece of tech. But it was also so much more. As were the memories V had previously believed were some kind of hallucination. This piece of tech, buried in their own fucking head, was a digital construct. Something that was almost like a human soul . Which was mind blowing as it was.

But then there had been the moment V realised the truth of what Viktor was saying to them.

They had Night City legend Johnny Silverhand in their head. His construct had been what Dexter and Evelyn had risked everything for. What Jackie had given his life for.

Yeah, the guy was no doubt a terrorist. But there had been some kind of method to the guy’s madness. And even with that, they couldn’t work out how to feel. Yeah, the idea of being wiped clean was fucking terrifying, but the fact that neither of them would be able to do anything about it? That changed things. V thought the tech was conscious in its decision to take over her body. But it was just that. A piece of tech, going on what it had been programmed to do.

Of course, they were still terrified. They’d beaten death once, only to have it looming at their back again. But there was some sliver of hope. The guy who saved them, Goro Takemura, had ultimately saved V because they were the only other living witness to the Emperor’s murder, but their first meeting had given V that hope. He’d given them some leads to follow, promising more information if V helped out on his end.

And that had been just enough to keep V going. Whilst they’d yet to see any sort of physical manifestation of Silverhand’s construct, what they were dealing with outside of that was still more than any sane person would want to deal with. They’d found out, in the absence of her return, Delamain had returned Jackie’s body to his family.

Meaning some strange, shot up car had arrived on Mama Welles’ doorstep, carrying her son’s broken and bloody body.

Facing the woman after that had been almost as terrifying as staring their oncoming death in the face. But she’d shown V compassion they still didn’t believe they’d deserved, including them in every part of Jackie’s memorial celebration, letting them contribute to the ofrenda and speak of just some of the many fond memories V had of her son. Who had been taken from the world far too fucking early, right when they’d really started their climb to the top.

Then there had been the sucker-punch of emotions that resulted when the woman gifted Jackie’s motorcycle to her. The piece of hardware he’d saved up for months to get, buffing it up and tweaking it every chance he’d got. The one vehicle he never, ever, let V drive.

God, that...that had been something else. Picking up the keys, turning them in the ignition, and being sent to their knees by the rush of memories that resulted. Memories that turned into an agonising blur, sending spikes of pain into their head, leaving V unable to move from where they’d knelt against the unforgiving ground.

That, of all places, had been the first time Johnny Silverhand had showed up. In the flesh, so to speak- standing before V almost as clear as a real fucking person. It was also the time they learned that a hell of alot of the stories about the guy were true. If she had his memories, he had hers, so he’d no doubt have known the sequence of events that brought him here.

But he’d still gone into some kind of rage, taking control of V’s body for a few terrifying moments, scattering some of the clutter that Jackie had clustered in every corner of his garage. Slamming her head against the fucking wall . The guy had been fucking terrifying, all but holding V by the throat, going off on some tangent about how he now had a chance to end the shit he’d started with Arasaka half a decade ago, with that fucking bomb that wiped out damn near all the tower- the blast of orange light shattering every single window in a several mile radius.

A blast that had been powerful enough to shake the foundations of the buildings around the tower, in a way that signalled the start of something. Or what Johnny wanted to start back then, at least.

V shouldn’t have expected much more from someone who was a known anarchist, but they did. Because in a way they’d been dodging talking about, they knew a hell of a lot more about Silverhand than they were letting on. How he’d not seen certain memories, V wasn’t sure. But they were grateful to that twist of fate. Because yeah, they knew way more than they should. That was an understatement. When they’d been tossed from foster home to foster home after their parents died in an armed robbery, one of the few things V had been able to do to escape it all had been through getting into music.

One of the handful of friends she had at her last home, before turning 16, had saved up from this little waitressing job they had at some tiny diner- all so they could gift V with a retro music player she’d been coveting. It was second hand, perhaps a few times over, bought from some old rocker- but it was one of the best gifts they’d received.

At first, they’d thought about using the tech skills they’d learned in their research outside of school to wipe the device clean. But something had stuck out. The device showed up the album covers on the screen, but would also play a holographic image of the main performers via a tiny projector in the device itself. And, bored of waiting for other music to download through the home’s crowded, outdated internet, they settled in to scroll through what the old rocker had left on there. One particular album had stood out to them amidst the black and silver of metal and old rock.

It was a dark cover, upon which was set a distinct logo. A black and red Samurai-type mask, eyes seeming to be set ablaze even as a still image. When they’d selected it, they saw the projection. Admittedly, it was a bit fucked up- blurry and glitchy in places. Not in as high quality as the rest; clearly recorded by a fan in the audience.

Patched together. But patched together in a way only a devoted fan could.

That, and the bright-ass logo, convinced V to listen.

And that had been it, pretty much. They’d gone through the entire album in one sitting, and that was all they listened to for three days straight. At first, it was just the general tune and the lead singer’s voice that drew her in. But then she started really listening to the lyrics, and that’s what truly started her down that twisted rabbit hole. She started digging into who Samurai were, and, more specifically, who their lead was. They were a proper, kind of old school rock band, who had a pretty decent and dedicated following.

But they never went mainstream. Which, given their lyrics and what happened with Silverhand, made sense. When V first read about how Johnny Silverhand started a one-man war against Arasaka, the figurehead of the monopolising corporations that had taken over the world, they were hooked pretty much instantly. They saw and heard way too many stories growing up on the streets, of shops being taken over and homes being demolished for shiny skyscrapers and luxury hotels.

Of how the streets became laden with neon logos and signs blaring into your vision as far as your orbital implants could see. How they held a terrifying amount of control over the NCPD and major leadership positions. That the city was basically a monopoly board for the ultra rich to play in. To fuck with in whatever way they saw fit.

So yeah, like any sane person (or angsty teen) would do, V found themselves in Samurai’s music. And as the years went by, and they learned more about Silverhand and how he’d somehow managed to bring down Arasaka’s own fucking tower in Night City- at the cost of his own life now less- for the chance at bringing down the megacorporations ruining people’s lives, they found it being a part of themselves. Especially as they got into the mercenary gig at 18 and started working their way up, seeing the deepest and darkest parts of Night City’s underworld.

Ok, it was kind of an obsession.

But it wasn’t only an ideal that V could get behind, it was also an escape from the chaos of her life.

Fucking hell, she even spent a huge chunk of her first well-paying job on tracking down and obtaining one of Silverhand’s original guitars. Sure, him and Samurai weren’t the only band with posters and memorabilia decorating her apartment walls (which she carefully took down and carried with her as she moved from place to place), but they were definitely the majority of it. There was even an original poster, taken and edited by a photographer who got into one of Samurai’s last concerts.

A photo of Silverhand all but screaming into the mic, one hand on said microphone, and the other on a gun that gleamed as silver as his cybernetic arm. The crowd reaching out to him amidst a haze of blazing lights and dense smoke.

Which, after all that and a string of events that were like something out of an old Hollywood action movie, left V where she was now. After spending 3 days hopping around Night City, taking on job after job, and switching between motels, they’d finally gotten the courage to go back to their apartment. Because yeah, they were definitely still scared shitless about the idea of their brain essentially being wiped clean. But the immediate issue was that, in the few days she’d had with him cropping up everywhere, she’d gotten to know Silverhand a bit.

The guy still scared her half the time; not that she’d admit that to his fucking smug (and annoyingly good-looking) face, but the other half of the time? He was pretty interesting. Definitely still holding on to a metric tonne of anger towards Arasaka, and more blunt and abrasive than any person she’d ever met, but interesting. Beneath the layers of anger and resentment, as well as more cockiness than one person should ever fucking possess, there was hints at the shit beneath all that.

Of who Johnny was, beyond the legend attached to his name.

So yeah, that left them stuck outside the door of V’s apartment, Johnny crossing his arms as he leant back against the wall with a huff- the former being more than a little afraid to open the door. They’d lucked out with the memories of hers that he’d seen so far, but that was going to run out sooner or later. Especially with the both of them being on borrowed time. So it was better to get this shit out of the way sooner, rather than later.

Didn’t make the prospect any more appealing, of course. She knew how Johnny felt about the so-called fanatics and groupies. Good for a one night stand, but nothing else. 'Just following the slightest sense of fame' as he put it. So V could only imagine how he’d react to not only seeing a room half full of Samurai memorabilia, but also the knowledge he was stuck in the body of the owner of said memorabilia.

One of the ‘wild fans’ he’d said he despised. Sure, V wasn’t exactly ashamed of liking Silverhand’s music (or him, because fuck) but having your teenage hero seeing a room full of his band’s shit was on another level.

And she couldn’t even duck away afterwards. They were literally stuck together for the foreseeable future.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck fuckfuckfuck.

“Any reason you’re stood there with your eyes wide as hell, like your fucking brain already got wiped?” Johnny spoke up, abruptly bringing her back to the present.

“No. No reason.” V shrugged, hoping to appear nonchalant whilst internally screeching.

“Something in there you don’t want me to see?” Johnny showed up in the corner of her vision, leaning against the wall. “Can’t be any worse than the shit out here.”

“You that interested in seeing my apartment?”

“With the alternative being stuck in your head staring at a fucking door, yeah. I am.”

Okay, he was definitely getting more and more pissed off as the seconds ticked by. To be fair, she had been staring at the door trying to gather the courage to open said door...for about...five minutes. Truth be told, she was surprised Silverhand lasted that long. Guy wasn’t exactly one for being patient.

Which was the understatement of the fucking century. But the idea of him fucking her up for making him wait was somehow, somehow, worse than the idea of who was basically her (he was an anarchist asshole, but damn if the guy didn’t make a good point sometimes) idol growing up, seeing her apartment plastered in his band’s memorabilia. There was already an onset of cringe overtaking V’s system, grimacing as she anticipated the barrage of fucked up questions that would be coming her way- but somehow she finally got in in her to swipe the key across her door.

At least she hadn’t left it in a fucking mess like she normally did.

That would be something.

When Johnny casually walked through her to examine the apartment, V stepped in after him, the door sliding shut agonisingly loud behind her. Those first few seconds were some of the longest of her life, and given all the shit that had happened recently, especially what got her to this bizarre fucking moment in the first place- that was saying something. Saying something. Which was, V realised, something that Silverhand wasn’t doing.

In the few days they’d spent together, he rarely shut up. So this was about as miraculous as her rising from the fucking dead. Of course, the silence had it’s drawbacks- V could practically feel the tension rising...as Johnny scanned the room. As he no doubt saw the countless Samurai poster variations amidst the swathes of rock memorabilia. And, of course, landed on the huge fucking poster of him on the opposite wall.

Which went literally floor to ceiling, beaming out amidst the cluttered apartment like the fucking neon lights of the city outside.

Something that made the silence all the more-

“Hey, V?” Johnny spoke up abruptly.

“...yeah?” V braced herself.

“What the fuck?”

V opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was a nervous laugh. Sure, she was mildly terrified, but the way he just said it so deadpan and blunt as he slowly turned halfway- eyebrows raised so fucking high you could see it above those trademark sunglasses...it was honestly one of the funniest things she’d ever seen and heard.

It somehow sounded simultaneously unlike him, without any of the usual spite or anger, but so much like what she’d expected all the same. He sounded a mixture of disappointed, and outright freaked the fuck out. Which was...understandable. The guy had been brought back from the dead, stuck in some random ass stranger's body, only to walk into their apartment to see half of the wall was like some fucked up poster shrine to him and his band.

Yeah. V could understand his reaction. Didn’t make it any less hilarious. (Or make her any less scared of the inevitable fallout, but hey)

“You gone deaf or something? Relic malfunction?” Johnny tried getting her attention. “I said...what the fuck, V?”

“I...uh...can...explain?” V spoke hesitantly, hands raised in mock (no, totally real) surrender.

“Uh huh. Really?” Johnny didn’t look or sound convinced, arms crossing in front of his chest as he turned to fully face her. “Going to make this worse and tell me what I think is going on?”

“What...do you think...is going on?”

“This shit isn’t in bad condition, but I can tell its old as fuck.” Johnny gestured to the wallpaper-like swathe of posters. “And not because its Samurai shit either.”

“So…” V wrung her wrists together nervously.

“You’ve probably had it since you were like, what? A fucked up hormonal teenager?”

“I…”

“Great.”

“Look, this-”

“Is somehow worse than waking up in your body?”

“Hey!”

“How would you feel if you rose from the fucking dead and found a shrine to yourself?”

“It is not a shrine- ”

“Sure looks like it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself-”

“Says the asshole with a huge fucking poster of me on their living room wall.”

“How am I an asshole?”

“Because this shit is weird, V!”

“Liking a band is a bad thing?”

“No. Having a fucking shrine is-”

“IT’S.NOT.A.SHRINE!”

Yeah, V was definitely considering that she was going crazy. Here she was, after almost pulling off the most insane heist Night City in years, the death of her best friend- and rising from the dead...arguing with the digital construct of the guy she’d looked up to for half her fucking life. Over whether her (admittedly kind of oversized) poster of said idol made up the centerpiece of some kind of shrine. If you’d told her this was what her life would amount to, trying to defend her teenage-borne obsession with an indie rock band to their resurrected anarchist/terrorist lead singer, she wouldn’t have believed you.

Not even after overdosing on every fucking drug Night City had to offer.

God, worse than the insanity was how fucking embarassed she felt. Because even she was starting to realise how weird it would be for Silverhand to wake up in someone’s head, only to walk into their apartment and see said person was pretty much obsessed with him. Because yeah, she had to admit to herself it was an obsession.

How could you blame her? The guy’s music was pretty fucking awesome, he had somewhat understandable views on corporate overlords... and he was probably one of the most attractive guys to ever walk the streets of Night City.

But he hadn’t seen every poster yet. He’d turned back round, talking about something V couldn’t hear over the rising mix of terror and cringe running through her veins, fixated on that huge-ass poster of him on the wall opposite them. And he’d yet to almost crack his voice with another what the fuck , meaning yeah. He hadn’t seen every poster.

Namely, the one she’d stuck on the square wall behind her bed. Which was worse than the gigantic one taking up a quarter of one of her living room walls. It was some reporter’s photo from a backstage venture at one of Samurai’s concerts. (Taking up that whole section of wall) Silverhand was sitting on top of an unused amplifier, looking at someone outside of the camera’s point of view. Signature vest top nowhere to be seen, leaving him shirtless. In those stupid tight leather pants and boots combo. With his trademark sunglasses on. Smoking a cigarette, smirking, skin shining-

Possibly the thirstiest fucking image that photographer could have taken.

“V?” Johnny snapped her out of it.

"What?" V bit back.

Shit, she’d gotten distracted by the somewhat spicy photo. (Another thing she’d take to her fucking grave) She had to move while his attention was still on the other poster. Because if she could just cross the few feet over to her bed, unnoticed, she could carefully pull the poster down and stash it under the bed. She could say some shit about how yeah, it was pretty fucking weird, and take down the other one after.

Yeah, if V could just make it across the floor, she’d get through this with at least a shred of her dignity intact.

However, Fate (the bitch) seemed to have even more fucked up plans for her.

Because today, of all days, in this one shitty moment…

Her foot landed on the creakiest fucking patch of flooring in the entire goddamn apartment.

Johnny instantly turned to face her, downed eyebrows raising once more when he took in her almost cartoon-like sneaking stance. Even though she knew she looked fucking ridiculous, V couldn’t quite bring herself to move. She was literally frozen in fear, knowing that any second now...

“The hell are you-” Johnny started, before turning his head.

As he started to follow her line of sight, V relaxed her cartoon pose and started slyly backing away, (Like that would help her. The guy was literally stuck in her head) following his gaze. When his eyes finally crossed over to her bed, V felt herself get struck with the hugest fucking sucker-punch of cringe she’d felt since she was the angsty teenager that had inadvertently gotten her into this mess.

But then Johnny finally fixed his eyes upon the shirtless photo of him, stuck up next to her bed of all places.

“Oh for fuck’s sake-”

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askgundamwingfans · 3 years ago

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This concludes the answers so far for the first set of AskGWFan Questions. If you have anything you wanna ask the group, use the ask function on tumblr or send me a dm!

What's a character/ship you've learned to appreciate? What made you change your mind?

Relena x Dorothy. Both as characters and as a ship. Part of this is that I hadn't seen all of the series at the time I first did fandom, but I had seen Endless Waltz, and that was the extent to which I had known Dorothy. She doesn't even interact with Relena in EW!! I had no impression of her (besides whomst??), and I honestly don't even remember if Relena ever appeared in fics I read since a lot of them were AUs anyway. However, after seeing the series and MISS RELENA and all of Dorothy's... Dorothy, I think she's got some great cult appeal!! And my mind really changed on both when I saw the whole series properly. I'm not sure I would have been on board with them at the time since I was less discerning about how female characters often get developed poorly, but I don't regret that I experienced Relena and Dorothy fully at a time where I could appreciate them.

I eventually started to appreciate Relena more, she grows up a lot by the end, even if she definitely should not be handling the responsibility she has...

Honestly breaking outside of the typical ships by reading more fics broadened my horizons. Writers I loved ventured into non-typical and I found myself enjoying the exploration. I think over time it had less to do with the ship and more to do with the characters as the fandom aged.

I've been reading a lot more yaoi since interacting with the larger fandom. I've always loved non-traditional gender roles in romance stories, and I don't know why it took me so long to try yaoi? I've read some yuri but never in Gundam Wing. Interacting with the yaoi community has opened up a lot more characterization of the pilots for me, which have always played the role of "tough, emotionless boys" in my headcanons.

Howard. He’s amazing and hilarious and as I get older I’m more and more like, is this the only sane character? I used to just be like “who is this weird guy?” and now I’m like “why isn’t there more Howard?”

What characters/ships do you think got some negative flack? How has the GW fandom's attitudes towards those characters/ships changed?

The scientists hahahahahaahah. I think for the most part unless you are in a niche group, the scientists are generally seen as child abusers to varying degrees. Tsubarov? Everyone still hates him but acknowledge he has a flair for the dramatique. Camp villain appreciation I guess. Relena was definitely shat on, being at the unfortunate intersection of romantic rival and 'annoying' female lead. Again, as someone whose canon experience was informed by Endless Waltz more than the anime, I don't remember if I had any opinions on her at all. However, I think people have admitted where they were wrong (whether owning up to bashing, or speaking up about fandom broadly).

Well besides the obvious Relena, one character that got so much hate and bashing in 1xR circles was Sylvia. I remember one of the first things I checked when I got back into fandom was Sylvia's role in the show and was surprised to see how little she actually does?? She's literally in one episode but was constantly dragged into 1xR stories to be a romantic rival for Relena. Pretty much the same role Relena took on in a lot of 1x2 stories. I guess we just got away with it because she was a minor character. It was just interesting to me that 1xR fans gave some girl the same treatment that 1x2 fans did to Relena. I think that realization helped me put aside the Relena bashing and move on from it. If I don't see Sylvia as an evil character anymore, why would Relena bashers? And I was really happy to find that I was right. As the fandom moved away from romance-centric plots to look at self growth and politics, less characters became target for fandom hate/bashing, and we moved on.

Well, back in the olden days Relena and Wufei were probably the ones who got it worst. Dorothy. Hilde. Zechs. Treize. Heck, even reasonably popular characters like Duo and Quatre had their own "defense" societies against some of the fanon surrounding them. But fans have grown up over the years and portrayals of the characters and various ships have too. (2x5 for instance has gone from a total rare pair to one of the top GW ships on AO3 which I find a fascinating trajectory.) Have we evolved into a perfect utopia? No, and there will probably always be complaints about how a given character or ship is popularly portrayed. I certainly have my bugbears, just like anyone else might. But it's a long time since I've opened up a fic and seen character bashing of the sort that was common c. 2001. People might not be shy about sharing their opinions on their own blogs, but picking fights on other people's content? Flame wars? Not so much these days. The GW fandom might be smaller, but we're also closer-knit. Fandom is about having fun; finding the pockets that bring you enjoyment and finding ways to filter out the rest, and I think we mostly get that (or we're just too old and tired to have much fight left in in us lol).

Well, very early Relena and Duo battles made me nervous of the fandom back in the day, but I think those mainly came from places within ourselves that we can see now don’t need to be at odds. I love them both and I am glad to see the fandom embrace them both on their own merits. I think it’s easy to be anti- when you are younger and appreciative when you are older (and I totally understand how people could be anti! No judgements. I just love everyone and want everyone to be happy. Except Zechs. He has some SERIOUS explaining to do.)

Oh, Relena *definitely* had a lot of negative flack. I'm glad most of us seem to have mellowed out about the poor girl. It's hard to hate a kid when one is in their 30's, lol

Relena of course, but also 3x4 was seen as the “lesser” ship back in my day and there wasn’t much depth or enthusiasm by many other fans.

#askgwfans #gundamn wing #ask #ask gundam wing fans #prev character bashing #new favs

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gameofdrarry · 3 years ago

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Wizards Hearts Smut Recs: BDSM

Wizards Hearts was a four-month-long Drarry reading fest. Players were given a playing deck of 52 tropes, and were asked to find 52 different fics to read and comment on to fill their decks. To prevent the same few fics from being read, fics were restricted to only being used for the game three times before being considered ineligible for further points. The tropes and submissions list can be found here. Players could opt in to an additional suit of 13 cards, all themed around various popular smut tropes.

Check out the masterlist of fics for this trope below the cut!

📜 We Take Care of Each Other by keyflight790 Rated: Explicit Words: 54308 Tags: BDSM, bdsm club, Dom Neville Longbottom, Dom Draco Malfoy, Top Draco Malfoy, Top Neville Longbottom, Bottom Harry Potter, although it might seem like hes a dom at first, Sub Harry Potter, Teddy Lupin makes an appearance, as does Luna and Rolf, but not...sexually, Set in 2009, So Teddy is turning 11, just for context, Draco is the only one who penetrates Harry though, in case you were concerned, but Neville is there.. a lot, Flogging, Rimming, Will tag all of these in chap notes as well, for squicks and such, this is pretty indulgent, For the Writer, learn all of keyflights kinks, by reading this fic, note: every BDSM club is slightly different, so if this isnt your experience, no problemo, but please don't judge the writer on their experiences, and notes and research, More tags to follow, dom/sub dynamics, Safewords, Sex Toys, past trauma discussions, TW: Panic Attacks, Panic Attacks, draco is a bit of a switch, but he doms in this fic, Spanking, Daddy Kink, TW: spousal abuse (Narcissa and Lucius mentioned in chap 10), TW: Breakdowns, daddy Neville Longbottom, Little Theodore Nott, Anal Sex, Praise Kink, Choking, Masturbation, self love, did i mention theres spanking?, theres spanking, harry gets spanked by, Daddy Dom Neville Longbottom, Talks of Death, Suicidal Thoughts, discussions of dying, Harry talks about his canon death and rebirth Summary: Draco has been having panic attacks for years, until his best friend, Pansy, welcomes him into a whole new world. And he thought being a wizard was neat. Being a dom was even better. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Don't Have to Say the Words by jeni_andtheafterthought Rated: Explicit Words: 2944 Tags: Established Relationship, Auror Harry Potter, Potioneer Draco Malfoy, Domestic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Insecurity, Anxiety, Healer Harry Potter, Smut, Anal Sex, they have a cat, PWP, EWE Summary: Draco is having a hard time separating his own insecurities from the difficulties in his relationship with Harry. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The Hand That Feeds You by gracerene Rated: Explicit Words: 17381 Tags: Harry Potter, Epilogue Compliant, Non-Linear Narrative, Infidelity, BDSM, Dom/subTotal Power Exchange, Minor Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Dom Draco Malfoy, Sub Harry Potter, Collars, Praise Kink, Blow Jobs, Face-Fucking, Hand Jobs, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Subspace, Aftercare, Bondage, Sex Toys, Anal Sex, Bottom Harry Potter, Top Draco Malfoy, Ambiguous/Open Ending, H/D Food Fair 2018, Hand Feeding, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Second War with Voldemort, POV Harry Potter Summary: Harry needs something only Draco can provide. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Little Prince, Kneel by DragonGirl87 Rated: Explicit Words: 478006 Tags: BDSM, Dom/sub, Dom Harry Potter, Top Harry Potter, Sub Draco Malfoy, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Experienced Harry, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Head Auror Harry Potter, Lawyer Draco Malfoy, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Flirting, First Dates, Romantic Harry Potter, Sassy Draco Malfoy, POV Harry Potter, POV Draco Malfoy, Falling In Love, Harry Has Secrets, Not Epilogue Compliant, Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley Friendship, Teddy Lupin was Raised by Harry Potter, Magical BDSM, Rope Bondage, Shibari, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Shower Sex, Masturbation in Shower, Draco Malfoy Loves Dogs, Good Narcissa Black Malfoy, Sexual Fantasy, Discipline, Non-Sexual Bondage, Punishment, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Rough Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Beads, Anal Plug, Riding Crops, Teasing, Dungeon, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Multiple Orgasms, Forced Orgasm, BDSM Munch, Master/Pet, Collars, Leashes, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Sex Toys, Improvised Sex Toys, Improved Use Of A Spatula, Protective Harry Potter, Possessive Harry Potter, Spanking, Prostate Massage, Power Play, Praise Kink, Aftercare, Sensation Play, Blindfolds, Subspace, Mild subdrop, Rutting, Wax Play, Angst, Pyrophobia, Draco Malfoy Speaks French, Harry Potter Speaks French Summary: Almost immediately after the war, Harry Potter took his godson and Andromeda and left England behind. He returned five, nearly six, years later; changed, healed, and a very different man altogether. Now an extremely handsome bachelor in his late twenties, and with a promising career at the Ministry, he suddenly finds his life turned upside down after unexpectedly bumping into his former school nemesis, Draco Malfoy, Prosecutor Extraordinaire. Is Harry going to be able to stay away from Draco? Does he even want to? And exactly how will Draco react once he discovers how the Saviour prefers to spend his free time? ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Misguided at Best by agentmoppet Rated: Explicit Words: 3011 Tags: Bondage, BDSM, POV Draco Malfoy, Dom/sub, Sub Harry, Dom Draco Summary: Draco has grown bored of the aristocratic fetish clubs, and decides to try something new. But he never would have expected to find Harry Potter, disguised and on his knees, waiting for him. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The Gift by magpie_fngrl Rated: Explicit Words: 26069 Tags: Writer Draco Malfoy, Voyeurism, Sharing, Dildos, Blindfolds, Internalized Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Captive Prince Darker Themes: please see chapter notes, Bondage, Discipline, Sensation Play, Semi-Public Sex, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Lack of aftercare in one instance, Explicit Sexual Content Summary: "‘You’ll give me an hour of your time and I’ll take your thoughts and your worries. You’ll let me take control; dictate your actions. One hour where you’ll blindly obey me—in return for… distraction. ’"Or, in which Draco is a writer struggling with his first novel, Harry is worried about something he won't reveal, and they both try to figure out how to put their tangled past behind them and move on. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Sweet Little Distractions by krystalliumm Rated: Explicit Words: 3103 Tags: Gay, Gay Sex, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Top Harry Potter, Kinky, Established Relationship, Boyfriends, Rimming, Anal FingeringPlot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Dom/sub Undertones, Light Bondage, Fluff and Smut, that's literally all that this is, Don't Judge Me, Dorks in Love, AAAAAAi'm a simp for these two, just read it omfg, Light BDSM, Smut, Fluff, Soft Harry Potter, Soft Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts Era, Banter Summary: Draco thinks studying for his NEWTs was the worst—it's tiring, stressful, and exhausting. Luckily, Harry's there to be his sweet little distraction. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 A Man Like Him by darkestbliss Rated: Explicit Words: 60132 Tags: Post-Hogwarts, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Romance, Slow Burn, BDSM, Loss of Virginity, Virgin Draco Malfoy, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Sub Draco Malfoy, Experienced Harry Potter, Top Harry Potter, Dom Harry Potter, Anal Fingering, Anal SexRimming, Contracts, Impact Play, Flogging, Whipping, Suspension, Wax Play, Safewords, Biting, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Subspace, Aftercare, Safe Sane and Consensual, Drinking, Smoking, Breathplay, Boggarts, References to ABBA, NSFW Art, Falling In Love, Porn With Plot, Harry/Draco Big Bang 2018, Community: harrydracobang Summary: Draco Malfoy has made a name for himself after the War as 'the wizarding world's best interior architectural designer' (his words), taking old, decrepit spaces and transforming them into exquisite homes for those who can afford the hefty price tag. His most recent assignment is number twelve, Grimmauld Place, which has only deteriorated more in condition since the elusive Harry Potter inherited it after Sirius Black's death. When he stumbles upon a collection of questionable items in one of Potter's wardrobes, he finds himself appalled, shocked, distraught, and just a little bit turned on. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Scars and Lions by kizkhalifa Rated: Explicit Words: 10411 Tags: EWE, Light Bondage, Teasing Summary: The one in which Harry Potter orders a "call guy" for dinner (+fun) and Draco Malfoy shows up. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Aftershocks by Lokifan Rated: Explicit Words: 1447 Tags: Fingerfucking, Anal Fingering, Bottom Draco, Sub Draco, Light Dom/sub, Dom Harry, Top Harry Potter, Fluff and Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Established Relationship, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Dirty Talk, fluffy kinkfic, Harry Potter is the soppiest dom of all Summary: Harry’s favourite time to finger Draco is right after sex. ❤️ Read on AO3

#drarry #drarry recs #game of drarry #wizards hearts #wh masterlist

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i-like-plan-m · 4 years ago

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Prompt: (Part 1) Lan Qiren and his young (maybe 14 and 10 yrs old, respectively?) nephews (Lan Xichen and Lan Zhan) are all going to a discussion conference. To go to that conference they pass through Yiling. An attack occurs and tiny Lan Zhan gets separated from Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen for whatever reason. Lan Zhan meets young Wei Wuxian and for some reason, Lan they have to run away from the attackers and end up in the burial mounds as that’s the only palace they can hide.

(Part 2)To Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen, Lan Zhan goes missing and they can’t find him among the dead nor anywhere in the village. Eventually, they leave but never stop looking around the cultivation world in hope of someday finding him. I’d like to see how Lan Zhan’s disappearance affects the Lan family and how they change as characters with a Lan Zhan filled a hole in their lives.

(part 3) Meanwhile, in the Burial Mounds, Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian have to figure out how to survive in this dreadful environment as well as get to know each other and become close as they hurt and struggle throughout their stay. They try to find exits but the Burial Mounds is designed to keep its occupants in, not out.

(Part 4)Some years later when they finally find an exit, they have no idea how to function in normal society as all the company they have had for the last few years was each other and they can’t really remember how to interact with other people. A prominent theme could be their codependency and separation anxiety that they have for each other and how they try to fit in with other people. If you’re interested, please feel free to make any adjustments or make any changes to the prompt!

...this got long, whoops [posted to Ao3]

The problem, Wei Ying reflected, was that, regardless of his ratty robes and threadbare shoes, Lan Zhan was just too damn pretty to be overlooked.

It made traveling unnoticed impossible. Worse, Lan Zhan didn’t even notice. He only cast an icy glare at those who wandered too close, forever mistrustful of strangers who dared approach him-- or worse, approach Wei Ying. He acted as though he expected someone to snatch him right off the street.

To be fair, it had happened once or twice.

Demonic cultivators, it seemed, were not appreciated outside of the Burial Mounds. Wei Ying took the brunt of the harm that the occasional cultivator they crossed (and always the ones with far too much moral superiority to allow Wei Ying to pass without harassment, the bastards) inflicted upon them. They never expected the full force of Lan Zhan’s fury to come crashing down upon them.

Wei Ying wondered if perhaps they were gaining a reputation in the cultivation world. It was potentially a problem-- he had no intentions of returning to the Burial Mounds. Not after six years of uninterrupted hell, with only his Lan Zhan there to keep him sane.

The Burial Mounds had taken so much from them-- hope, joy. Memories, even, of their lives before. But not each other. Not even literal mountains’ worth of resentment and hate and slaughter could separate them. Between Wei Ying’s quick, clever thinking and Lan Zhan’s indomitable will and strength, they’d slipped the net and stumbled back into the world outside, one that held so much life and brightness it physically hurt to witness.

But oh, how he loved re-learning how to be human. The Burial Mounds had made them something else, something a little too strange to be just ordinary cultivators. They’d learned to wield resentment early on-- Wei Ying much faster than his forever stubborn Lan Zhan-- in order to survive. There had been no other option.

Now, though. Now they had the freedom of choice. Lan Zhan could unbind his golden core after years of hiding it from the Burial Mounds’ sights, could use his own spiritual energy instead of the resentment he so detested.

Wei Ying smiled, eternally fond, and glanced sideways at Lan Zhan, who was eyeing a particularly boisterous vendor with a familiar, dangerous glint in his eye.

“Aiya, Lan Zhan,” he said, exasperated. He nudged him in the side, drawing Lan Zhan’s attention away from the vendor insistently flapping poorly drawn talismans after them. “You’ll scare everyone away, looking like that!”

“He should not sell useless protections,” Lan Zhan muttered, staring straight ahead. “It gives false hope.” Behind them, there was a cry of dismay as the vendor’s talismans burst simultaneously into flames.

“So cranky,” Wei Ying sighed, leaning his weight into Lan Zhan’s side. “Simple wanderers like us can’t judge others for how they make a living!”

“I can and I will,” Lan Zhan said reasonably, and Wei Ying dissolved into giggles. Lan Zhan frowned down at him, softened by the slight, affectionate curve of his mouth. “He makes people think they are safe when they are not.”

Ah. Wei Ying sobered. “Well, when you put it that way..” Hard to argue, really. After half a lifetime of the same feeling in a place much worse than this... The vendor wasn’t so harmless after all.

He stared into middle distance, lost in thought as they walked, never more than an arm’s length from Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan’s gaze flickered to Wei Ying when he remained uncharacteristically quiet-- after years of forced silence in the Burial Mounds, sometimes because their lives quite literally depended upon it, Wei Ying responded to the freedom of the outside by chattering nonstop, as though compensating for six years of quiet.

Wei Ying stuttered to a stop a moment later, realizing that Lan Zhan had stepped aside, out of the stream of people. He had a single heartbeat of pure, unfiltered panic, dizi clutched tight in his hand as he searched frantically for Lan Zhan. He raised it to his mouth, prepared to send a burst of noise into the air to find him-- and then went limp in relief as Lan Zhan appeared beside him once more.

“Lan Zhan!” He scolded, trying for stern but undermined by the wobble in his voice. “You can’t just disappear on me like that! I was about to level the street.” He was only kidding. Mostly.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said disapprovingly anyway, then softened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worried.” And then, because Lan Zhan was the greatest thing to ever happen to Wei Ying, he held up a jar of Emperor’s Smile.

“Forgiven!” Wei Ying chirped, and snatched it from his grip. Lan Zhan watched the spill of the alcohol from his mouth, down his neck, and suddenly turned sharply on his heel and stalked back into the street, ears a delightful shade of pink.

“This way,” he said, guiding them to a small building just off the main street. Lan Zhan’s qin needed serious repairs-- it had been a stroke of pure luck that he’d had it with him the day they’d been swallowed whole by the Burial Mounds, and only with his meticulous care had it survived. A few strings had snapped on their last night hunt, and Lan Zhan had been so quietly devastated that Wei Ying had badgered him into visiting Caiyi, known for their famous Emperor’s Smile... and their mastery of music.

The shop was large and clean, with small rooms off to the side for repairs. Lan Zhan strode immediately to the desk, quietly discussed the items he needed with the owner, and then followed behind the closed door of the back room. Wei Ying nursed his Emperor’s Smile and wandered around the shop, pausing occasionally to inspect the dizis displayed on the wall.

He smiled, sharp and dark, and rubbed his thumb along his own instrument. Chenqing was slender and pitch black, carved in and from the Burial Mounds. He suspected these dizis would shatter under his full power where Chenqing only sang for more.

“Sir,” the owner said politely, hovering behind him. “Looking for a new dizi?”

“Oh, no,” Wei Ying laughed, wincing internally at the flicker of indignation from Chenqing. He patted it reassuringly. “This dizi has been my friend through many dangers. I couldn’t bear to part with it.”

“It is certainly... unique,” the man said, like he’d had to choke it out. Amused-- his carving skills at the time had been fueled by desperate terror and shaking hands-- Wei Ying nodded cheerfully in agreement.

“Is Lan Zhan almost finished?” He asked, and let the man guide him into the room.

“How’s it going?” Wei Ying asked, hooking his chin over Lan Zhan’s shoulder to watch the way his long, elegant fingers ran along the qin. Suddenly flushed, he sat back and sprawled out beside him, averting his eyes to his Emperor’s Smile.

“Repairs require attention and care,” Lan Zhan said, intently focused on his instrument.

Wei Ying left him to it, knowing he’d get no attention from Lan Zhan until the qin was fixed, and closed his eyes, tipping his head back against the wall. His situational awareness was unmatched except for Lan Zhan, so they both noticed when someone else entered the store, unseen through the closed door.

But Wei Ying was aware-- always aware-- that this man was a cultivator, and so immensely powerful his spiritual energy was almost tangible. He opened his eyes and eyed the door, absently mouthing at Chenqing’s mouthpiece now instead of the jar of alcohol.

There were quiet voices outside, and he exchanged a wary glance with Lan Zhan. The shop owner didn’t sound agitated, though, or like he was ratting them out to the newcomer.

Soon after, another door closed and soft music reverberated through the thin walls. He didn’t recognize the song, uncultured as he was by the Burial Mounds barbaric version of society, but something about it made him ache. His eyes burned at the outpouring of emotion, a lament of grief and regret, of pain so encompassing it reshaped the very air.

“Another qin,” Lan Zhan murmured, hands frozen in place over his own instrument. Wei Ying sat up and curled a hand around Lan Zhan’s wrist, needing the touch to keep him grounded, to keep the memories of the Burial Mounds at bay in the face of such a song. They sat in suspended silence until the song ended, heads bowed under the weight of such grief, and listened as the cultivator very softly thanked the shop owner and left.

“Who was that?” Wei Ying wondered, and the shop owner paused as though confused as he entered their room.

“That was Sect Leader Lan, young master. He comes every week to play.”

“A sect leader?” Wei Ying traded a glance with Lan Zhan, who had clearly once been a member of the Lan Sect at one point but had no memories of it otherwise. “Can’t he afford a qin of his own? Why does he come here?”

The shop owner’s mouth twisted with something like pity. “He comes to play for his lost brother, young master. Sect Leader Lan still deeply mourns the loss, but the qin was his brother’s favored instrument. It is hard for his uncle to hear, I’m told.”

“Everyone mourns in their own way,” Wei Ying said, sympathetic. He waited until the man left again to turn to Lan Zhan, who hadn’t moved. “Lan Zhan?”

“Hm?” Lan Zhan blinked as though awakening from a deep sleep.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes. I have finished with the repairs.” He stood and left the room, off to use their meager funds to pay for the supplies.

But Wei Ying didn’t move, wondering if perhaps the sect leader would know of Lan Zhan’s family. How to find them. Part of him wanted to take Lan Zhan out of Gusu immediately, to keep him to himself, and he hated himself for the thought.

If there was a chance for Lan Zhan to find the family he’d lost, then Wei Ying would help him... even if it meant losing the only thing that mattered to him in the world.

#this was so fun #i got carried away #prompts #writing #my writing #asks #anon #the untamed #wangxian #wei wuxian #wei ying #lan wangji #lan zhan #lan xichen #mdzs

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xhanisai · 5 years ago

Text

SALTING AROUND AT THE SPEED OF SOUND

AO3 / FFN

Summary: Introducing!!!!

The! Ultimate! Salt! Fic! Ever! IN ZA WARUDO!

Featuring Dumb Noir getting taught a lesson about boundaries, Perfectnette getting friends and love interest(s), and LILA GETTING HER ASS HANDED BACK! HOW COULD YOU RESIST SUCH A WONDERFUL FIC?

(All in all, a crack fic on salt fics to bring our spirits up~)

Disclaimer - I've actually only read like one sentence of a salt fic and fucked off afterwards so everything I'm basing off in this fic is purely from exaggerated rumours and gossip about the salt corner THEREFORE if anything here looks familiar or if it seems like I'm taking the piss out of a specific story, it's all just one big coincidence. >:D ~(x)~ . . . Of all locations to settle on for the beginning of this amazing, wonderful, fucking fantastic story, it's established on the Eiffel Tower. Cliched but wonderfully ironic for the phenomenal heroes of Paris. On the beams, higher than the naked eye could see, Ladybug and Chat Noir were... Arguing. The feline hero had his partner's wrist clasped in an iron hold, digging those deadly claws ever so slightly into the soft flesh, piercing the supposed indestructible suit with a creepy grin- "Wait- hold up a second. I would never, NEVER hurt My Lady! Not even unintentionally! And what's with that face I'm making!?" Oh SHUT UP Shit Noir! Let me carry on writing my fucking story jeez! Stop breaking out of character and keep following the script! Anyways~ The skinny, pasty assed hero- "This script sucks..."- -TUGGED Ladybug closer to him, grin widening like he won the lottery as his demonic looking eyes perversely drank in the sight of the clearly uncomfortable looking heroine in his grasps. His face leaned into hers, only coming closer as she tried her best to lean back with a grimace. "Just one kiss Bugaboo~ one kiss won't hurt..." His grip tightened on the appendage, making the girl wince painfully. "Come on Chat Noir...let go! I have already told you, I'm in love with someone else. You seriously need to back off!" Ladybug whimpered, tossing away all her badassery and ability to suckerpunch a fuckboy in the face because hell yeah it ain't relevant to this sexy fic- "You're right Chaton, this script does suck lmao"- IGNORING WHAT THE CANON LB JUST SAID. Ehem. Like a defenseless little shoujou manga protagonist, Ladybug felt tears sparkle in her eyes and pure sadness washed over her frail body before Fuck Noir dipped her into a romantic pose and smashed his lips against hers with soooooo much passion and tongue and teeth and- . What. On. Earth. Oi you stupid cat! Watch where you're putting your hands on the girl! Yikes! What do they teach these Europeans!? Break it up already you hormone riddled boobs! "Oh Minou~ You're so daring~" "Just for you, My Lady~" STAY ON SCRIPT YOU BRATS! Hmph! Carrying on. Suddenly, herculean strength riddled through Ladybug's blood, falcon punching Bitch Noir off her and off the tower, thus HenchBug™ was born. Panting and wiping her lip with her thumb in a really really badass way (YOU KNOW THAT EPIC WAY THAT ANIME CHARACTERS DO TO WIPE THE BLOOD OFF THEIR LIP, RIGHT? RIGHT? ex deeeee), MachoBug swept towards Pussy Noir's broken twiggy body at the bottom of the tower. "You disobeyed me for the umpteenth time, Noir." BadassBug uttered cooly, keeping a blind eye to the growing crowd around her and the mangled up flesh on sticks at her feet. The black and yellow mess didn't respond. "Lo-oooool cos I'm dead!" WE'LL PRETEND WE DIDN'T HEAR THAT EITHER. Anger coursed through Ladybug's veins as all those traumatising memories and moments she had with her horrific partner flashed through her brain like an old window's movie maker AMV with Evanescence's 'Bring Me Back To Life' song blasting at full volume. The conveniently arrived Alya at the front of the crowd live streamed everything on the WadyBwog, babbling about ice cream scoops. "Every time we met up, you'd always make unwanted advances to me. You'd always force a kiss on me. You even slapped my thicc™ ass a few times- once to the beat of fucking Nyan cat!" The hive minded crowd surrounding them 'oooed' and 'aaahed', some snapped a selfie with what's left of the black cat. "Therefore," The sun auspiciously shone behind MariBug, giving her an ethereal, angelic look as she carried on her lecture. "I now deem you unworthy of the miraculous." BugBug fluttered her eyelashes with so much pain as if reciting those words killed her whole generation and their dogs and their hamsters. "Hand it over to me or else I'll force it off you." All of a sudden BuffBug™ was back, bitch slapping CryBabyBug away and menacingly placed one foot on the carcass. "Wow I think she forgot that you're dead Chat Noir," THE HIGH TENSIONED MOMENT REMAINED UNBROKEN AS FAKEBUG- oof- Ladybug rolled her eyes with annoyance at the disgusting boy's silence and immediately knelt down to yank the miraculous off his bony fingers- "Never!" The catboy sprung back to life before anyone could breathe, clutching his hand to guard his ring ferally, froth seeping out of his teeth and fangs gnashing against one another- "Looks like I'm a vampire with rabies now, Bug." "Since when did you have fangs?" "Since two seconds ago-" OH MY GOD YOU TWO! SHUT UP AND LET ME WRITE! Zombie Noir leapt back with a hiss, faux ears and tail twitching with indignation and summoned the ancient destruction power whilst BossBug spun her yoyo around in battle formation, ready to call for her lucky charm anytime soon. Cat and Bug kept up the intense eye contact as that cowboy music from the good, the bad and the fugly played in the background (cheers Lahiffe mah d00d!). "You don't want to become my enemy, do you, Chat N00b?" The heroine spat, bones clicking in place as she stretched her fingers when she and the lad in black circled each other slowly. The crowd and Alya were casually chilling in the background, the latter still narrating about an epic ice cream scoop. "Heh, I won't need to be the enemy if you don't touch MY ring... Milady~"- "MON DIEU! C'EST 'MY LADY'! C'EST N'AI PAS 'MILADY'!" THAT'S THE POINT YOU STUPID CAT! Break out of character one more time and I'll castrate you and feed your teeny tiny *censored* to the dogs! "...My Lady? Is my *censored* small? :(" "If your *censored* was small, you'd never have been able to make me scream at night, Minou~ ;3" ":D"

Regardless! The pussycat feinted to the left before dodging the razor sharp wire of his Lady's (not) yoyo, whipping out his baton (not the tiny one either) and swiftly used it to vault himself away like the coward he CLEARLY is. "You'll never get me alive, THOT!" Was the last thing that small dick energy minded cuck yowled and fled with his tail between his legs. BigBug let out a yell of rage™ and slammed her fist on the ground, branding the sloppy concrete job with a crater as the shockwaves caused the audience to let out a little 'DAYUMMMMMMMM'. "Lol I thought the geezer was dead hahaah! Yo Ladybuggy, mah homie, you and kitty cat did the shame shame already or nah?" Alya, the lil hoe, leant into the heroine's personal space with a crazed grin. She only received a middle finger from the annoyed Asian. (MMmm Mmmm yEAH YEAh trANSiTION so SEXYYYY) Now, it is conveniently time for Marinette's afternoon classes. The exhausted girl dragged her feet up those weird ass spirally steps that could break ankles JUST by looking at them and made it to her classroom, only to pause at the shouting she was hearing behind the door. "Oh boy, time to unleash the kraken..." Silence Adrien! You're not supposed to have appeared yet! Dumb ass blondes these days smh... "HEY! >:0" With a deep breath, the raven haired girl pushed the door open only to be met with what could be best described as a clusterfuck. Tears welled up in her eyes as the remains of her sketchbook (which looked like it had a trip in a paper shredder) was dumped all over the floor. She snapped her head back up only for her heart to literally shatter when she was met with a furious Alya Motherfuckin' Césaire. "Marinetti DupainGhetti. This. Is. Your. Punishment." Alya's glasses flashed sinisterly as her lips curled up into d i s g u s t . The rest of the class mirrored a similar look, acting as if poor little Cheng vored everything they loved and cherished. All except two people. That witch BITCH Lie-la smirked secretly as she cowered behind Alya and the wimp, spineless little shitty Dumbdrien whimpered on his desk, pretending that nothing was happening. "P-P-Punishment for wh-what?" Babynette sobbed, clutching her shoulders as if to hug herself and make her look smaller than she is. She darted her eyes towards the model, begging him internally to say something, anything! Alas, Bitchdrien only looked away guiltily, his thin chapped lips sealed shut. Marinette couldn't believe her bad luck. First there was an akuma attack, then she was assaulted by her shitty partner for the millionth time and now this? "Punishment for bullying our lord and saviour, Lila of course! How dare you make such a sweet girl like her suffer!?" Alya roared, using the power of the seven chaos emeralds and twenty dragonballs to go super satan and pinned Sweetienette against the wall with an elbow. Her hair fizzed with animosity and her eyes gleamed in a demonic red colour- "Dieu...you just had to drag my best friend into this too, huh?" "You'd think this writer is sane enough to know that I'd cataclysm anyone that dared to harm Ma Princesse, non?" "The writer? Sane? Good joke."- IGNORING STUPIDNETTE AND BLOODYDRIEN- Alya snarled, bruising our sweet little angel's poor skin with her brute strength whilst the rest of the class watched without a question. The sausage haired wench munched on some greasy ass popcorn as she watched the show whilst Shamedrien became one with the floor, a perfect doormat for us queens to stomp on. "You tripped her all the time when no one was watching, aggravating her shattered kneecaps. You plagerised her designs, ruining what's left of her sensitive self esteem and dammit don't even get me started on all those rumours you attempted to spread about her, smearing her celebrity status! I've never hated anyone more than you, BITCHINETTE!" Alya harrumphed and then shoved Brokenette against the wall again, possibly snapping her spine and stormed back to her new bestie. "Mon Dieu your best friend just murdered you..." "Mon Dieu my best friend just murdered me..." Tosses a knife at the duo to make them shut the fuck up. Everyone else applauded the psycho journalist for putting Poornette in her place, even Stinkdrien cos he can't handle peer pressure- BAM! . . . "HOW DARE YOU HURT MARINETTE DUPAIN CHENG!" A tall, stern looking boy slammed the door open, scooping Deadinette in his arms and blew out steam through his nostrils like a bull. Everyone le gasped as the girl suddenly turned into Alivenette and embraced the stranger like he's her long lost lover (Aiyeeeeeeeeeeee mUH O-T-FUCKING-P! K Y A A A! EVEN THOUGH WE KNOW JACKSHIT ABOUT HIM). "BELIX BRAGRESTE! You saved me~ Don't hurt my homiesexuals please- they're all brainwashed by the sausage haired girl..." The blackberry haired angel begged, tugging on Belix's sleeves. "I didn't do anything-" Uglydrien was quick to defend himself only to melt back down into a doormat by Belix's dark glare, ripping out what spinal tissue the model had left. "Damn straight you didn't do SHIT." Bragreste swiftly delivered a power-kick against Assgreste, yeeting him to the moon and then turned towards the rest of the f00king class, rolling his sleeves up. "As for you nerds...I'm gonna chop you all up into mincemeat and EAT you all with my spaghetti!-" "I'm here Marinette!!!" Another lad swooped in through the door, hips swaying to the beat as 'Luka Luka Night Fever' plays in the background and then posed! Why it's none other than the obviously best written, best character, best BOY in the world: RUKA COFFEE- sorry, I mean Luka Couffaine! He strummed his guitar a few times, nodding and humming as if he was conversing with the beautiful instrument whilst bokeh dots and pink sparkly glitter floated around him. "Ah~ my guitar said that everyone's being a bitch ass motherfucker to our beautiful designer! Come with my Mari~ Take my hand and I'll take you away from this school!" The lycee student didn't wait for her answer and grabbed the star struck girl oh SO romantically~ "No! She should move schools with me!" Belix Bananagreste snatched Nettie back possessively, just like a cat. It was then that the girl decided that when she managed to snatch the black cat miraculous back from the loser that currently wielded it, she was going to give it to Belix- "Ugh don't fuck with me..." "Shhh. You're supposed to have been yeeted to the moon, Chaton," "Marinette please just throttle the writer already-" AND THEN! SUDDENLY! Erm... Errr... AHA! Suddenly all these people from some furry superhero universe came flooding in through the door, yelling insults and real truths about LIE-LA and protecting my best girl Maribear like a boss! Heroes like Gamien and Dason Bob and that guy and err, the other guy and yeah AND THEN they all began to BEAT UP that BITCH LILA and then- "Oh no she's losing it, Adrien I don't think this will last any longer..." "No kidding!" THEN JAGGED STONE CAME FLYING THROUGH THE WINDOW, JAMMING OUT HIS LATEST SONG ABOUT HOW LILA IS SUCH A LIAR AND EXPOSED EVERY SINGLE THING SHE DID TO BEST GIRL MACHONETTE! THEN ALL THESE OTHER KIDS FROM THE SCRAPPED PV UNIVERSE CAME IN VIA A CONGO LINE AND MARINETTA DECIDED TO GIVE THEM THE OTHER MIRACULOUS COS WHY NOT!? AND THEN CHLOE BECAME MARINETTE'S NEW BFF COS HELL YEAH I LOVE VIBING WITH PEOPLE WHO BULLIED ME AND MY PEERS FOR FOUR YEARS STRAIGHT AHAHAAHAH QUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENS- "Adrien, I'm going to kill her. She needs to stop." "Go on then~" AND THEN! AND FUCKING THEN! SCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW!!!!!! . . . [Error 404: The following writer has unfortunately met her demise through unknown means. We apologise for any inconveniences. Please keep scrolling as we clear up the mess. Have a good day.] . . . "Huh...that was anticlimactic...now what?" "You go off snogging my rejected predecessor and the guitar boy? >:(" "As if I'd go for anyone other than my silly kitty!" ":D" . . . ~(x)~ A/N: I am never EVER writing anything this cursed AGAIN! How can you bash anyone but the villains in this series!? Damn! I can't even say I'm sleep deprived! This is the most fucked up shit I've written and I'm super alert oof!

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